The Nightingale Girls (35 page)

‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not letting you study a minute longer,’ she would say, tugging away Helen’s books. ‘Come on, even you can spare a few minutes to listen to music in the sitting room?’

With her being young and pretty, it was only a matter of time before William made a play for Peggy. Helen was happy for them at first, and even hoped that Peggy might be the one to make her brother settle down. But it soon became clear that Peggy was taking their romance a lot more seriously than William was. After a matter of weeks it was all over, and William was flirting with a staff nurse on Female Surgical while poor Peggy cried herself to sleep every night.

And then one evening she came home from her shift and found Peggy slumped on her bed sobbing, a bottle of Lysol in her hand.

‘I – I can’t do it,’ she’d wept. ‘I want to kill myself, but I’m not brave enough. Help me, Helen,’ she’d begged. ‘Please help me take the pain away.’

Helen had sat up with her all night, holding her while she cried, one minute raging, the next inconsolable with grief. All she could do was cling to her and pray she would calm down.

By the morning Peggy was subdued, but still chillingly determined to end her life. Helen tried to plead with her, to convince her that no man was worth so much misery, especially not her brother. But Peggy just shook her head and told her she wouldn’t understand.

‘There’s nothing left for me,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not just William. I’m so unhappy, I can’t bear it any more. And if
you don’t help me, I’ll find some other way to do it. You might have managed to stop me last night but you can’t watch me for ever.’

It was that fear that kept Helen awake, watching over her as she slept night after night. But just as Peggy had said, Helen soon realised she couldn’t keep an eye on her for ever. She needed to do something to make sure her friend stayed safe.

And so she did the only thing she could. She told her mother. Peggy was diagnosed with a nervous breakdown and taken away for treatment.

She had been careful to keep William’s name out of it to protect him. No one else at the Nightingale ever guessed he was part of the reason Peggy had gone.

And now he had chosen to tell Millie about her. Helen had never known him confide in anyone else before. It made her wonder if perhaps Millie meant more to him than either of them realised.

ON A SATURDAY
afternoon a week later, the three of them caught the bus into The Strand. While Dora and Millie chatted on the seat in front, Helen sat behind looking around her apprehensively. She half expected her mother to appear at any moment and send her back to the hospital.

As they passed St Paul’s Cathedral, they saw workmen busy building stands along Ludgate Hill ready for the King’s Jubilee. Two days later His Majesty would travel by carriage from Buckingham Palace for a thanksgiving service in St Paul’s, and the whole city was in a state of high excitement. Especially Millie, who was going to watch the parade with some of her friends.

‘I do hope the sun shines,’ she said, looking up at the gloomy grey sky. ‘It will be so much nicer if the weather’s fine.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Dora said. ‘We’re planning a street party and we don’t want it to be a wash out.’

‘A street party?’ Millie looked intrigued. ‘What is that, exactly? I don’t think I’ve ever been to one.’

‘Never been to a street party? Then you haven’t lived!’ Dora laughed. ‘We’re always having them down our way. Any excuse to get the flags out!’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ Millie sighed. ‘I think I’d much rather come to your street party than watch the procession.’

‘What, and miss the chance to see the King?’ Dora looked astonished.

‘But I’ve seen the King, remember?’ Millie reminded her. ‘When I was presented at court.’

‘So you were. I’d forgotten you were practically royalty!’ Dora laughed.

Millie twisted round in her seat to face Helen. ‘What are you doing for the Jubilee?’ she asked.

‘Working, as usual.’

‘You mean you didn’t manage to get the day off? How awful for you.’ Helen listened to Millie sympathise. She didn’t like to tell her she didn’t have any plans anyway. Everyone else in the country seemed to be having a party, or going into town with friends to celebrate, except Helen.

She felt like such dull company as she listened to them chatting away. She hoped they didn’t regret bringing her along.

They got off the bus in The Strand and walked down to Lyons’ Corner House. As it was a busy Saturday afternoon there was quite a queue waiting outside but Dora and Millie didn’t seem to mind as they joined the end. Helen looked nervously at her watch.

‘Are you sure we’re going to have time?’ she said. ‘We’ve got to be back in our uniforms and on the wards by five, and it’s nearly half-past three now.’

‘Stop fretting, we have ages,’ Millie reassured her breezily. ‘Honestly, this queue will move in no time, and the service is so quick in here. They don’t call the waitresses Nippies for nothing, you know!’

Helen tried to smile and to join in with their chatter and laughter, but she was beginning to feel anxious about the idea of going out. She didn’t usually venture far from the hospital on her break, just in case she couldn’t get back on time. Mostly she stayed in her room, studying or else writing to her mother. She had
no idea when she was going to finish today’s letter. Her mother would be most upset if a day went by without hearing from her.

‘Here we are,’ Millie said, as they approached the plate-glass doors. ‘You see? I told you we wouldn’t have to wait long.’

The seater showed them into the cheerful, brightly lit restaurant and guided them to a vacant table.

Helen had visited the local Corner House with her mother, but Dora had never been inside such a place before. Helen could see her trying to keep her excitement under control as she gawped around at the glowing lights overhead, and the walls which were richly decorated with pictures. Heavy draped curtains hung at the windows. A band played softly over in the corner.

‘It’s like a palace,’ she breathed.

‘Wait until you try the food.’ Millie picked up a menu. ‘Now what’s everyone having? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

‘This all looks a lot better than the food we get at Nightingale’s,’ Dora said, perusing the menu.

‘Ugh, don’t remind me.’ Millie pulled a face. ‘How do you think they get their mince that awful grey colour?’

‘Dunno. I reckon they must cook it in the autoclave!’

‘If they cooked it in there at least it would come out hot. The stuff in the dining room is so cold it sticks hard to your plate.’

The nippy approached, looking smartly turned out in her black dress and white cap. ‘What can I get you?’ She smiled brightly at them.

Helen ordered sandwiches and a plate of assorted fancies.

‘I told you I was starving,’ she said, as Helen laughed at her.

Dora took much longer to order, frowning in deep concentration over the menu before closing it up and saying, ‘Just a pot of tea, thank you.’

‘You must have more than that!’ Millie protested.

‘I’m not very hungry.’

‘But we’ve come all this way—’

‘I told you, I’m not hungry.’

Helen caught the obstinate set of Dora’s chin, and realised at once that a pot of tea was all their friend could afford. She also understood that there was no point in offering to pay her share, because Dora was far too proud ever to accept charity, no matter how well meant it was.

They had fun for the rest of the afternoon, laughing and chatting. Helen relaxed so much she was shocked to find a whole twenty minutes went by without her checking her watch. It was such a relief to be able to enjoy eating in a cafe without worrying that her mother was going to pick on a waitress or make a scene.

Millie made them laugh with her stories about what she’d got up to as a debutante.

‘Weren’t you supposed to be chaperoned?’ Helen asked, after she’d finished an outrageous tale about taking a dip in the Serpentine one warm summer’s evening.

‘Oh, yes, but we usually managed to give them the slip.’

‘Sounds like good practice for Nightingale’s!’ Dora said, helping herself to one of the dainty cakes Millie offered her. Helen noticed Millie had pretended to be too full to finish the plate, and told her they would only go to waste otherwise.

‘Yes, it is. Except unlike Nightingale’s we were practically thrown at eligible young men, instead of being kept away from them.’ Millie sighed. ‘But I still managed to
avoid getting myself engaged. Now my grandmother thinks I’m on the shelf.’

‘You never know, maybe someone will take pity on you and marry you one day?’ Dora joked, licking icing off her fingers.

‘I hope not! Not for a while anyway. I intend to forget about men and devote myself to nursing for the next three years at least. I mean it,’ she insisted, catching the smile Dora and Helen exchanged. ‘Nearly getting kicked out that last time has made me realise that nursing is really what I want to do.’

‘You said that last time,’ Helen reminded her. ‘Although I must admit, you do seem like a reformed character. You haven’t sneaked in through a window for at least a week.’

‘And I definitely saw you with your nose in a book yesterday,’ Dora put in.

‘You may laugh, but you’ll see. I’m going to be as clever as Lucy Lane.’

‘Oh, no, please!’ Dora laughed. ‘One know-all is enough!’

‘We’ll be the most virtuous room in the whole nurses’ home,’ Millie said. ‘We’ve got no choice really, since none of us has a boyfriend.’ She gazed around the table. ‘Unless anyone’s got one hidden away they’re not telling me about?’

‘No chance,’ said Dora. Helen kept silent.

She stared down at her teacup, but she could feel Millie’s gaze fixed on her. ‘You’ve gone very quiet, Tremayne. You haven’t got an admirer, have you?’

‘Of course she hasn’t,’ Dora answered for her. ‘Leave her alone. You know she’s shy.’

‘Actually,’ Helen found her voice, ‘there is someone . . .’

It was worth breaking her silence just to see the looks of astonishment on their faces.

‘No?’ Millie’s jaw dropped. ‘You
are
a dark horse,
Tremayne. Who is he, this boyfriend of yours? Come on, spill the beans. We’re utterly agog.’

‘He’s not really a boyfriend,’ Helen admitted shyly. ‘He’s just someone I met when I was on Holmes ward.’ Shyness crept over her. ‘He sent flowers and asked me out when he was discharged. He’s written to me a couple of times since then, asking to meet up with me when I’ve finished on nights.’

‘Oh, how thrilling! And so romantic, too.’ Millie sighed.

‘Love among the bedpans. That’s dead romantic, that is,’ Dora put in dryly.

‘Oh, do be quiet, Doyle. Just because you have no poetry in your soul.’ Millie turned to Helen, her blue eyes shining. ‘So when are you seeing him?’

‘I’m not. It was just silliness, really. I expect he’s forgotten me now.’ She blushed, feeling their eyes on her. ‘He was probably just being polite,’ she added lamely.

Millie laughed. ‘Young men don’t bother sending flowers and writing love letters if they’re just being polite! No, if you ask me, I reckon he’s smitten.’

‘Do you think so?’ Helen paused for a moment, enjoying the warm glow it gave her inside. Then she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t possibly go out with him. My mother would never allow it.’

‘Why does your mother have to know?’ Dora asked.

Helen stared at her, dumbfounded. Her mother knew everything. Even if Helen didn’t tell her, she would find out somehow.

And if she discovered her daughter had done anything so daring as going out with a boy, her wrath would simply know no bounds.

No, it was too big a risk to take. And Helen would never be that brave.

Would she?

GRIFFIN STREET DID
His Majesty proud for his Silver Jubilee. Church bells were ringing all over the city as Dora left the hospital early on that sunny May morning. She turned the corner into Griffin Street to find neighbours hanging out of the windows high above her, shouting to each other as they strung colourful bunting across the gap between them. On the street, women were busy arranging long tables, laughing as they tried to stop the tablecloths fluttering away. Children darted in and out around their feet, into everything, already over-excited.

‘Dora!’ Bea rushed up to her, dragging Little Alfie behind her. His chubby legs could hardly keep up with her long strides. ‘Have you seen it? Isn’t it grand? Mum’s made a jelly and fairy cakes and sausage rolls, and later on we’re going to have races and games, and look what they gave me . . .’ She opened her palm to reveal a small silver medal on a burgundy ribbon. ‘Everyone at school got one but mine’s the best.’

‘That’s smashing, love. Be careful you don’t lose it.’ Dora scooped her baby brother into her arms. ‘You look very pretty, too. Is that a new dress?’

Bea nodded. ‘Mum made it for me. She says everyone’s got to look their best for the King’s Jubilee.’ She tweaked her pigtails, tied up in fancy new ribbon. ‘Nanna says she’s going to wear her fur coat, but Mum says it’d look daft. And our Josie’s shut herself in her room and won’t come out,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Has she now? It doesn’t sound like our Josie to miss a day of fun and games.’ Dora hitched Little Alfie on to her hip. Except he wasn’t so little any more, and weighed heavy in her arms. When did he grow so big? she wondered. ‘Come on, let’s go and find out what it’s all about, shall we?’

The kitchen table was crammed with plates of sausage rolls and dainty little iced cakes as fancy as anything from Lyons’. In the centre a large bowl of scarlet jelly glistened like a jewel. Nanna Winnie sat at a corner of the kitchen table, making fishpaste sandwiches. She had fetched her best green coat with the fox fur collar out of the wardrobe, and the smell of mothballs filled the tiny kitchen.

‘All right, Mum?’ Dora greeted her mother with a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you? It all looks lovely.’

‘She’s done enough to feed an army!’ Nanna Winnie grumbled. She pointed the end of the butter knife at her daughter. ‘You just be sure to bring back more than you take, that’s all.’