Книга - The Little Runaways
The Little Runaways
Cathy Sharp
A gritty drama that will appeal to fans of The Throwaway Children and authors Nadine Dorries and Kitty Neale.When little Terry and Nancy arrive at the door of St Saviour’s Children’s Home, they seem shellshocked after being orphaned in the fire that killed their parents. Terry is terribly damaged by his experiences, though the concerned staff, especially Angela Morton, suspect that there is something more sinister behind his disturbing behaviour.Angela shares her anxieties with Mark Adderbury, a psychiatrist volunteering at the home. They’ve grown closer recently but Angela, still grieving the loss of her husband, feels that Mark needs more from her than she can give. Then why does she feel so jealous at the arrival of Staff Nurse Carole, who seems to have captured Mark’s attention?They must all pull together to get to the bottom of what really happened to Terry and Nancy, but the truth may be harder to take than they realise . . .
Copyright (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Henry Steadman (children); Mary Evans Picture Library (East End background)
Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008118471
Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008118488
Version: 2016-01-13
Contents
Cover (#u97594653-0667-5f3a-9c3c-2ab272a9b75e)
Title Page (#ue6a37e87-67bb-58a1-a626-67bb5e1bacb2)
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Extract from The Christmas Orphans
About the Author
Also by Cathy Sharp
About the Publisher
ONE (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
Nancy stared out of the kitchen window at the piles of rubble across the street, where six houses had once stood. The space was due to be developed soon, and weeds grew between the cracks in the concrete, giving it a desolate air that echoed the feeling in her young heart. Every one of those terraced houses had been bombed during the terrible Blitz that had decimated the area round her home. Poplar and Bethnal Green had caught it as much as anywhere, because of their close proximity to the Docks. Other people said it was a miracle that the houses this side of the street had escaped the bombs, but Nancy wished that hers had been demolished that same night. Perhaps then she wouldn’t be here, living in fear and misery, waiting for Pa to return from his job in the machinery works down by the Docks.
It was the 23rd of December 1947. Soon it would be the special, holy day that families looked forward to spending together – not that it would make any difference in this house. Nancy knew she would receive no presents from her parents and the only small gift her brother had was the colouring book and crayons she’d bought with what she’d taken from the housekeeping pot. Nancy felt no guilt for spending the few pennies on a gift and some sweets. If she hadn’t walked all over the market to save money buying their Christmas dinner of scrag end of lamb, which she’d make into a tasty casserole with carrots, onions and potatoes, there would have been nothing left – and if she hadn’t spent it on Terry, her mother would have taken it for drink.
Tears stung her eyes but she rubbed them away with the backs of her hands, which were red and stung from the soda she’d put in the water to soak Terry’s sheets. He’d wet the bed again and if Pa came home and smelled stale urine he’d belt Terry, Ma and her – no, he’d reserve a different kind of punishment for her; one that turned her stomach sour and made her burn with resentment. What Pa did to her wasn’t right, for all he claimed it was his due for feeding and housing them all.
‘Any other man would put that useless slut out on the street and her brats with her. Think yourself lucky that I let you stay, and that idiot brother of yours,’ Pa had sneered when Nancy protested at his behaviour the previous night.
‘Terry isn’t an idiot.’ Nancy defended her brother fiercely. ‘He might be a bit odd sometimes, but he can’t help that …’
Pa leaned in close so that she caught the stink of beer on his breath. ‘You listen to me, and listen good, girl. Breathe a word of what goes on to anyone outside this house and I’ll have him put away somewhere he’ll never see the light of day again.’
His threats terrified Nancy, because she knew he didn’t care for any of them, not even his wife. She glanced across the kitchen to where her mother sat nursing a bottle of beer, clutching it to her as if it was her very existence, her lifeless hair hanging about her face in greasy strands and her eyes dead as they stared into nothingness. She’d been like this since the night of that terrible raid when the Blitz was at its height during December 1940 – the night they’d lost all their family and friends.
Nancy shivered as she recalled how they’d hurried through the dark streets, the sound of the sirens already loud, fleeing for the shelter. The drone of the planes heading up the river was terrifyingly near. Ma was carrying Terry, who was not yet four, and Nancy was running to keep up with her, Bear clutched to her chest and a bag with a flask and sandwiches over her shoulder.
‘Hurry up, Nance. If they start droppin’ them bloody bombs we’ll be caught like rats in a trap.’
Nancy had run and run until her chest hurt, hurtling into the shelter after all the other frightened people, and almost tumbling down the last of the steep stone steps. She and Ma had huddled together as the raid went on for what seemed like hours, Terry whimpering and grizzling, even though she’d remembered to bring Bear, the much-loved teddy that had once been hers. She’d given him a drop of sweet tea in his bottle and he’d quietened, holding his chubby arms out to her.
‘Nance cuddle,’ he’d said, and she’d taken him in her arms, crooning a nursery rhyme softly against his ear as she waited for the all clear.
It had been morning before they were finally allowed to go home … and when they did everything had changed. The sound of fire engines and ambulances screaming through the streets assaulted their ears, and the sky was red, flames still shooting skyward. When they approached their home, where two rows of terraced houses had stood facing each other across a narrow lane, only one row still remained intact. All the others had been damaged in some way or other, and the three opposite that had housed Gran and Grandda, Auntie Freda and Uncle Jim and their two young sons, and Auntie Molly were gone, nothing left but a pile of rubble. Smoke was still drifting from the blackened heap into the sky, though the firemen had put out the flames.
Ma had run at one of the men pulling at bits of wood and bricks in a fruitless attempt to discover anyone under the rubble, hitting at him in her terror, her eyes wild with fear and grief.
‘Where are they? Where did they take them? I begged them to come to the shelter but they wouldn’t listen …’
He shook his head sadly. ‘If they were in the house when the bomb dropped they’ve had it, love. No one could survive under this lot. They took a couple of direct hits – the bloody Boche bastards! Why can’t they drop ’em on the Docks or the factories and leave the poor bloody people alone for a while?’
Ma had staggered away, her face ashen. She stood staring at the piles of rubble that had housed her parents, her sister’s family and her best friend, Molly, as if she couldn’t take it in. Feeling cold and wanting her breakfast, Nancy pulled at her mother’s arm.
‘Come away in, Ma. If they find them they will tell us …’
‘Get in yourself and look after your brother …’ Ma said furiously. ‘Leave me be, can’t you?’
Nancy had never known her mother like this before. She’d always been cheerful, out in the street as soon as her chores were done, chatting to her friends with her hair in wire curlers and a headscarf. Now she looked like a wild creature, blonde hair flying in the breeze, her children forgotten as she mourned all those she’d lost. It was to be the first of many changes.
‘Ma, hadn’t you better get the tea on?’ Nancy said now, trying to rouse her mother from her brown study. It didn’t do to dwell on the past, even though she missed her gran and her aunts, particularly Aunt Molly, who hadn’t truly been an aunt. If Molly Briggs had been alive Nancy could have talked to her about what was happening. She would have given Ma a good shake and told her to pull herself together.
‘You’ve still got your children and a home, Sheila Johnson, so think yerself lucky!’ Nancy could hear Molly’s voice challenging her mother but it was only in her head, because Molly had died in the rubble of her home.
Ma was still sitting there, just nursing what was probably an empty beer bottle. Nancy took the wet sheets out to the yard at the back and threw them over the line. She just hoped her father wouldn’t notice when he came back for his tea.
When Nancy got back to the kitchen she discovered that Terry was home from school, or wherever he’d been – more likely down the Docks, helping out with casual jobs. He’d cut a doorstep of bread himself and was getting dripping all over his chin and down his jacket, which was second-hand off the market but the best Nancy could get for the money her mother gave her from her meagre housekeeping.
‘Ma!’ Nancy shook her shoulder. ‘You need to get Pa’s supper on or he’ll be angry when he gets back. I’ve got all this ironing to do and the bedrooms need a turn-out.’
Ma lifted hopeless eyes to hers. ‘You can do the bedrooms tomorrow, Nance. Get your pa’s tea like a good girl. The chops are in the pantry and there’s some cabbage and cold taties you can fry together. I don’t feel well … I think I’ll go up and lie down.’
‘I’ve got lots to do tomorrow,’ Nancy said as her mother left the room but Ma didn’t answer.
What about me? Nancy wanted to shout and scream after her. Every day she had to look after her brother, get the shopping, go to school and clean the house and her mother did nothing but sit around all day in a daze. Pa would be furious if the house looked dirty or if his tea wasn’t to his liking, and the thought of her father in a temper made Nancy shake with fear. Terry would get a thrashing, and Ma would get a black eye … and she would be made to suffer his hateful touch again and again. Even the thought of it made her want to vomit.
It had started when Pa came back from the war with a wound to his leg that left him with a limp and in a permanent state of anger. Before that he’d been a bit rough sometimes, but he had never hit any of them that Nancy could recall. When he returned and found the way Ma had changed he started to lose his temper with her and then with Terry. He’d not taken much notice of Nancy at first, but then, when she was nearly eleven, just a couple of days before her birthday, he’d entered her bedroom and found her standing there with nothing on in front of the mirror.
Nancy had wanted to see if she had breasts yet. Her friend Janice was only three months older and she’d started to have breasts, but Nancy could see only a slight rounding and she was staring at herself in disappointment when Pa walked in.
‘What are you doing, girl?’
‘I was just going to have a wash.’ Nancy grabbed a towel and covered herself, not liking the way Pa was staring at her. ‘Go away and let me get dressed, Pa.’
‘No need for silliness, girlie,’ he said, a little smile curving his mouth. ‘I hadn’t realised what a big girl you’re getting … almost a little lady, aren’t you?’ He’d moved closer to her, reaching out to pat her bottom as she scampered to the bed to grab her underclothes and pull them on. ‘You don’t have to be shy with me, Nance. I’m your father. It’s all right for me to look at you like this … and to touch you, see. It wouldn’t be right for you to let a stranger see you naked, but I’m your dear old pa and you know I wouldn’t hurt you … not you …’
‘Go away, Pa!’
‘All right, I’ll go, but I shall come back soon. You’re nearly old enough to know what it’s all about. I’ll teach you things, sweet, secret things – and if you’re good I’ll buy you something nice. What would you like? Sweets or some ribbons for your hair?’
‘I don’t want anything.’
Nancy had known instinctively that it wasn’t right for Pa to look at her when she had no clothes on, and she didn’t like what he was saying or that funny way his mouth went loose and wet. It made her shudder inside. She’d been innocent then; she hadn’t realised what a beast he really was.
At first Pa had pleaded with her to let him touch her in places that made her recoil in horror, but when she was resolute in refusing he began to threaten, first Ma and then Terry. It didn’t take him long to realise that Terry was her weak spot. When he’d started to hit Terry for no reason she’d known she had to let Pa touch her, even though she hated it – but it hadn’t stopped at touching …
Nancy felt the acrid taste of vomit in her throat as she remembered what he’d done to her the previous night. She’d screamed and cried out, begging him to stop because he was hurting her, but he’d just gone on and on until she couldn’t fight any more. It was the first time he’d done that, but she knew it wouldn’t be the last and she wanted to run away and crawl into a big hole.
Why hadn’t Ma interfered ever? She must have known what was going on. Pa hadn’t bothered to hide it from her. He often touched Nancy’s bottom or slid a hand over her breast when Ma was in the kitchen; Nancy had small breasts now that she was nearly fourteen. How could Ma just sit there and let him do these things to her own daughter? How could he do them?
‘Nance …’ Terry came to her, his bread and dripping finished, the only evidence the grease on his chin. ‘What was Pa doin’ to you last night? I heard you call out and I wanted to come and stop him, but your door was locked.’
‘Nothing, Terry, love. You mustn’t come even if I scream out, all right? If you interfere Pa will thrash you – and I don’t want you to be hurt. Please promise me you won’t do anything silly.’
Terry looked at her strangely, and for a moment his eyes seemed to glaze over. He put out his hand to touch hers.
‘I hate Pa,’ he said. ‘He hurts Ma and me – but if he’s doin’ bad things to you I’ll hurt him. I won’t let him make you cry any more, Nance. You’re the only person in the world I love – except Ma, but she don’t know I’m here much.’
‘Ma doesn’t know anything much,’ Nancy said, and bent down to hug him, inhaling the boyish scent of him, soap from where she’d washed him that morning, and his own special scent; a clean decent smell, not like Pa’s … not like that salty sweet stench that she could always smell after he’d been doing things to her.
She wished she could take Terry and run away, somewhere they would be safe and Pa would never find them – but how would they live? She hated her father, wished that he would have an accident at work and never come home. Why hadn’t he been killed in the war like so many soldiers? Why did he have to come home and make all their lives a misery? It would have been better if one of the V2 bombs had fallen on the house and killed them all than to live this way.
If there was only some way she could make them all safe …
‘I’m not goin’ to let him hurt you no more,’ Terry said, and Nancy smiled. He was a good boy and she loved him. He’d never wet the bed until Pa started knocking him around. If it was just her and Terry she could be happy for the rest of their lives.
A cold shiver started at her nape as outside the kitchen door she heard the sound of brutish laughter and coarse voices, and she knew that Pa had started his celebrations early. By the sound of it he was drunk already.
TWO (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
Angela yawned, coming slowly awake to a feeling of luxury and excitement. She stretched in the comfort of the soft bed and then realised that she was home in her own room. It was Christmas and Mark Adderbury was coming to spend the day with them. A smile touched her lips, because she was aware of a sense of peace. Christmas Eve at St Saviour’s had been so lovely, with the staff and children singing carols and Mark playing Father Christmas to the excited orphans of Halfpenny Street. It had been a very special time at the children’s home in London’s East End and Angela felt warmed because she knew that much of that happiness had been brought about by her efforts as the Administrator – and Mark’s too, of course. In fact all the staff had played their parts in giving the children something they would always remember with pleasure, but for Angela it had been uplifting. She really believed that she had begun to come out of that dark place to which she’d been driven by the death of her beloved husband, John Morton.
John’s death in the terrible war that was still fresh in everyone’s minds had sent Angela into a spiral of despair. Outwardly, she’d carried on at her job in the military hospital, but inwardly she’d felt the bleakness of an emotional desert. When she’d given up the job and returned home some months after the end of the war because her mother had been unwell and asking for her, Angela had felt as if she had little left to live for. Mrs Hendry had soon recovered from her chill and become her usual self and Angela felt trapped in the senseless round of entertaining and mindless chatter from her mother’s social acquaintances. She’d wanted something to do, something worthwhile that would make her feel it was worth living again – and she’d asked Mark for help. He’d suggested the post at St Saviour’s and she’d taken it instantly, and it had turned out so much better than she would have believed.
The children had touched her heart, especially one little girl called Mary Ellen and her friend, the rebellious Billy Baggins, but they all needed love and care, and Angela had discovered that she had a great deal within her still to give. Her heart might grieve for John but it was not dead. She could love the children, therefore perhaps she could find love for a man once more – know the happiness that had been hers so briefly before the cruel war had taken John from her.
For a long time she’d thought it would never happen, but recently she’d become more aware of Mark, of his strength and his generosity of spirit. In his work as a psychiatrist Mark helped his patients to recover and although Angela had never been his patient, she had learned to trust him and respect his judgement. She’d turned to him for help after John died and he’d always been there for her, as a friend; it was only recently, since she’d started work at St Saviour’s, that she’d begun to feel there might be something more than friendship between them. A certain look in the eyes, a smile or the touch of his hand – but Angela had not been certain, either of Mark’s feelings or her own. Perhaps it was still too soon – but she was happy to know that he was coming to lunch and would be with them until late afternoon, when he had to leave to visit some cousins.
She still didn’t quite hit it off with Sister Beatrice, the nun who was Warden of St Saviour’s, though they had somehow weathered the storm and were beginning to know each other a little better. Sister Beatrice acknowledged that Angela had her uses, particularly in the matter of overseeing the new wing, which would provide much needed extra space. Perhaps one day she would realise that what Angela really wanted was to help her and the children.
Hearing a crash from downstairs in the kitchen, Angela glanced at her watch and realised it was just after seven. Surely it was too early to start cooking the turkey for dinner? They would not eat their special lunch before two and it was the custom for them to get up at about eight, have a leisurely breakfast of warm muffins and jam or poached eggs on toasted muffins, when fresh eggs were freely available, and then start to prepare the turkey. So why was her mother up so early?
Dressing quickly in trousers and an old jumper, Angela went down to investigate. Slim and lithe, she had dark ash-blonde hair and eyes that someone had once said were azure. Perhaps not the perfect beauty she’d been in her twenties, at thirty-four she was still attractive enough to turn heads when she walked into a room. She discovered her mother in a kitchen that looked oddly disorganised. As a rule everything was set out neatly, but pans were everywhere, including the one on the floor that had recently been dropped.
‘You’re up early,’ Angela said brightly. Her mother had her back turned to her and seemed to be intent on whatever she was doing. ‘I’m going to help with the cooking, Mum. You don’t need to start on the dinner yet.’
‘What do you know of cooking?’ Her mother turned round, staring at her in what Angela thought a strange, almost truculent, manner. ‘I cook dinner almost every day of the year. Why should I need your help today?’
‘Because Christmas is special. We always do it together – and you used to have help in the kitchen and with the cooking sometimes.’
‘Mrs Downs decided not to come in any more,’ Mrs Hendry said. ‘If she hadn’t I would have sacked her. She was rude and lazy – and I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help.’
Angela was puzzled. Her mother seemed angry, resentful, and she couldn’t think why. ‘Are you upset about something? Have I made you cross?’
‘Have I made you cross, she says …’ Her mother’s eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, then she blinked and said, ‘You know very well what you did, Angela. I begged you not to go away, but you had no consideration for me. Oh no, my wishes did not even enter into the equation. I am not cross but your obvious lack of interest in my opinion hurt me.’
‘If I hurt you I am very sorry,’ Angela said. ‘It was simply that I couldn’t bear the emptiness of my life. You have such a good life, Mum, with your friends, your entertaining and your committees for the Church. You couldn’t know how bored and empty I felt with nothing worthwhile to do.’ She moved towards her mother and kissed her cheek. She seemed to smell very heavily of some expensive scent, and since she was wearing a very old dress covered by a pink and white spotted apron it seemed a little odd that she’d splashed herself so liberally with French perfume. ‘Sit down and let me make you a lovely cup of coffee. I’ll toast the muffins and then we can have some of that lovely jam we made in the summer.’
‘If you insist. I’ll have the Victoria plum jam – and a drop of cream and brandy in my coffee.’
‘Do we have cream?’ Angela investigated the contents of the large pantry. It made her shiver, because it was as cold as any refrigerator and kept even cream and butter really well. She found two glass jars of thick cream, which came from a local dairy farm and would be delicious with puddings and mince pies, also a jug of thinner cream, which she brought to table. ‘Are you sure you want brandy this early?’ she joked. ‘We don’t want to end up stuffing the turkey with the pudding instead of—’
‘Please credit me with some sense,’ her mother said sharply. She got up and fetched a brandy bottle from the dresser, and when Angela placed the beautiful French earthenware coffee bowl in front of her, she poured a liberal measure into hers and offered the bottle to Angela.
‘No, thank you,’ Angela said, smiling as she shook her head. ‘Not this early. I want to enjoy my dinner. I’ve been looking forward to this – I can hardly believe we’ve actually got a turkey this year. It seems ages since we could find one.’
‘Suit yourself,’ her mother said, and left the bottle on the table in front of her. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘Just until tomorrow after lunch.’
‘Hardly worth the bother coming down,’ her mother muttered. She tasted her coffee and then drank it all, but she didn’t touch the lovely golden muffin that Angela placed in front of her, even though it sizzled with fresh farm butter and there was a dish of plum jam set before her. ‘You eat it. I’m not hungry.’
‘Why don’t you sit and relax in the other room for a while?’ Angela looked at her mother, noticing that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a little red. ‘Are you feeling a bit feverish, Mum?’
‘I’m perfectly all right, but I’ll go upstairs and get changed – if you insist on taking over.’
‘I’ll do the vegetables and various bits,’ Angela offered, but her mother wasn’t listening.
She frowned as she put an apron over her clothes. Going back into the pantry she saw that everything had been bought in preparation for this day, but although she noticed some sausages and jars of mincemeat, none of the usual Christmas fare had been prepared. It looked as if she was going to have to make a few things for after lunch herself. First she would get the vegetables done and make the stuffing for the turkey, which they had received as a gift from a grateful farmer her father had helped with a legal problem. At least there were plenty of ingredients and the turkey looked lovely.
She set to with a will and peeled, chopped and sorted the vegetables; then she made the stuffing and prepared the turkey for cooking. She had everything well underway when her father entered the kitchen. He looked apprehensive but his frown cleared as he saw that Angela was in charge.
‘Your mother not down yet?’
‘She had coffee but went back to her room to get changed.’
‘Have you everything you need? I did the shopping this year, because Phyllis didn’t have time. Have I forgotten anything?’
‘I don’t think so. I wondered why Mum hadn’t made any mince pies or sausage rolls – though I see there is a trifle on the shelves.’
‘Yes, a friend of mine made that for me as a gift,’ her father said. ‘Your mother was annoyed when I brought it home yesterday, but I said it would save her work – it is a sherry trifle and I know it will be delicious.’
‘It does look lovely,’ Angela said. ‘Do you know if Mother made any Christmas puddings this year?’
‘I believe she said she couldn’t get the ingredients.’
‘Then we shall have the trifle after dinner instead of a pudding. No one ever wants any tea anyway, just a few mince pies.’ She put down her knife. ‘Would you like some breakfast, Dad?’
‘I’ll have one of those muffins, but I can toast it myself; I often make my own breakfast these days. Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ he asked, and then frowned as he saw the brandy bottle on the table. ‘You didn’t use this best brandy in the mince pies, I hope?’
‘No, of course not. Mother had some in her coffee.’
He nodded, seemed about to say something and changed his mind. ‘Well, it is Christmas. I’ll make a cup of tea while you finish what you’re doing …’
Angela went back to making pastry. She watched him, a little surprised at how easily he seemed to toast his own muffin and make a cup of tea. In the past her mother had always done everything, except when they had a housekeeper.
‘Why did Mrs Downs stop coming in? I remember her as being a pleasant woman.’
‘She was – is,’ he said, looking up from spreading butter on his muffin. ‘She and Phyllis had words, I’m afraid, and Mrs Downs wouldn’t stay.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Angela wondered why it had come to that. ‘Unfortunate. You need to get someone else, Dad. I think the housework is too much for Mother with all the other things she does.’
‘Yes …’ Once again he hesitated, seeming as if he wanted to say more, but then he just shook his head. ‘Is there anything I can do to help – what about the washing up?’
‘Yes, all right, if you like,’ Angela said. ‘I want to prepare these ready for cooking. I see we have some nice dripping for the potatoes – did you get that too?’
‘Oh, a friend of mine got it for me from her butcher,’ her father said, rising to gather the various pots and tins she’d been using in her cooking. ‘I’m lucky in this village; there are a lot of people I count my friends.’
‘Yes, I know. You’ve helped many of them with small legal problems without charging them huge amounts of money.’ Angela had worked as a secretary for her father before the war, until she’d started her job at the military hospital, and she knew he made less money than he might have. His practice was successful, but he worked long hours and wasn’t the kind of man who wanted or set out to make a fortune.
‘It’s what life is all about,’ her father said. ‘Doing what you can for your friends – and I’ve been lucky. I’ve done well enough. We have a decent life, I think, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, wondering at the look in his eyes. ‘I never wanted more. I didn’t marry John for money. I had no idea his family were wealthy when he asked me.’
‘Comparatively wealthy,’ her father said with a wry smile. ‘Your mother hoped you would marry into the aristocracy and be really rich, Angela.’
‘I would only ever marry for love. I’m sorry if I let Mother down.’
‘You didn’t let me down. I only want you to be happy, my love.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Angela sighed with pleasure as she saw the tins filled with mince pies and sausage rolls ready for cooking. ‘All done, I can stop now and go up and change. Mark will be here in a few hours.’
‘Yes, you go, Angela. I’ll pop in and see how your mother is. She may have one of her headaches.’
Angela came downstairs after she’d changed to discover that her mother was in the kitchen and seemed more like her old self. She was just about to put the turkey into the oven.
‘Do you think it needs to go in yet?’ Angela asked. ‘It’s not nine o’clock yet and the turkey isn’t that big, Mum. Mark won’t be here until just before one and we want time for a few drinks first.’
‘Allow me to know my own cooking methods,’ her mother said, giving her an annoyed glance. ‘Where have you put the brandy bottle? I usually put a little in my mince pies.’
‘I’ve made them and put them in the pantry to keep cool until I cook them last thing,’ Angela said. ‘Dad thought perhaps you might have a headache? I think he took the brandy.’
Her mother made a rude sound that might have been laughter or derision. ‘What your father thinks and what he says is not always the same, believe me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Never mind. I dare say he hid the brandy. He’s rather greedy with it and won’t let me use it in the cooking. We’ll have a sherry instead.’ She crossed to the dresser and picked up the sweet sherry, pouring two large glasses, which she brought back to the table.
‘Happy Christmas, Angela. I am glad you could spare the time to visit – even though you seem to feel others need you more.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Angela said, and took a tiny sip of her sherry. She noticed the strong smell of French perfume again. ‘That’s a new scent, isn’t it? Not your usual …’
‘It was expensive, too expensive for me as a rule. I was lucky to get it …’
‘On offer?’ Angela pulled a face. ‘You were lucky. There is so little decent stuff in the shops yet – those that do have any charge the earth for it. If it wasn’t a luxury in the first place the Government would fine them for profiteering.’
‘You can afford it; John left you well off, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I’ve invested my money for the future – or Daddy did for me.’
Her mother sniffed. ‘You could quite easily marry again, Angela. Your in-laws would gladly introduce you to their friends, if you would give up this foolish job of yours and go to stay with them.’
‘I love my job – and I have no wish to live with John’s parents. I am not sure I shall marry again, but if I do it will be because I can love again, not for position or money.’
‘Well, if you’re looking after the dinner I shall go down the road and have drinks with some friends of mine. Your father doesn’t want to come – but there’s nothing to stop me.’
Angela watched as her mother left. She wasn’t sure anyone would want visitors at this hour of the morning, because even her mother’s friends had dinner to cook, and excited grandchildren who would be opening their presents.
Angela noticed that her mother had drunk the large glass of sherry, but she wasn’t interested in hers. Placing it on the windowsill out of the way, she made a pot of coffee and took it through to the sitting room. Her father was reading a magazine but put it down as she entered. They sat in comfortable silence enjoying their coffee until she returned to the kitchen.
Angela was busy looking after the dinner most of the morning and hardly noticed that her mother was absent. Peeking in the oven at a quarter to one, she saw the turkey looked beautiful, golden brown but not burned; the pastries she’d made were cooked and ready and she was just putting the vegetables on when Mark arrived. He came into the kitchen, bearing gifts and a bottle of champagne, which he placed on the dresser.
‘Your father said you were busy cooking so I thought I would offer my services, Angela.’
He looked so handsome, dressed casually in light slacks, shirt and a V-neck sweater that her heart caught with pleasure when he smiled. She’d begun to like Mark more and more and it was good to have him here on this special day, not just as a formal guest, but as one of her family. He had a glass of sherry in his hand, which he sipped before placing it on the table. It was almost as if they lived together. Rather than having to leave everything to take formal drinks in the parlour, he was here offering to help – just as if he was her husband.
‘Well, I should like someone to lift the turkey out in about twenty minutes and set it to rest on the board. I’ve put the plates to warm and I’ve made some little starters of salmon mousse with cucumber salad. I had to use some of the tinned salmon you gave me to bring home. It wasn’t possible to buy fresh, but they taste nice just the same.’
‘Your father said you’ve had a lot to do, Angela. Apparently, your mother hasn’t been too well – a headache perhaps?’
Mark looked at her oddly. Angela wondered about that expression, because it made her feel that he was keeping something back; like the similar look in her father’s eyes earlier it aroused her suspicions, but she was too busy getting the food ready to pursue it. Her father came into the kitchen and was given the task of carrying the starters through to the dining room.
‘I hope Mum is ready for her dinner,’ she said. ‘If you’ll bring the turkey through when we’ve eaten the first course, Dad, I’ll fetch the rest.’
‘Your mother isn’t down,’ her father said, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Angela. She promised me it wouldn’t happen today but …’
‘What do you mean?’ Angela asked. ‘Is she lying on the bed?’
‘Yes …’
‘Another headache? Poor Mum. Is she coming down at all?’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll see later. We’ll eat our starter and then I’ll check if she wants to come down – or I can take her a tray up.’
‘I’ll do that. Mark, I’ll take Mum her starter up first and then we’ll eat …’
‘No, Angela,’ her father said, and touched her arm. ‘Leave it for now.’
‘Why …’ Angela looked from one to the other. ‘What do you know that I don’t? Please, tell me. I have to know.’
Her father glanced at Mark, then, ‘She’s right. I wanted to tell you before – oh, months ago, when it first started, but she begged me not to. It wasn’t so bad then, but recently it has got so much worse.’
‘Her headaches? Has she seen a doctor?’
‘Phyllis refuses all help. She will not admit there is a problem.’
‘What kind of problem? This is ridiculous. I’m not a child – I want to know what is going on. Please tell me.’
‘Mark thought you were too wrapped up in your grief and we shouldn’t worry you. And she seemed better for a while after you came home from Portsmouth …’
‘Angela …’ Mark looked at her uncomfortably. ‘You were so unhappy. I thought it might be more than you could bear …’
Angela was about to ask him what he meant when the door of the kitchen opened and her mother walked in. As she saw the lipstick smeared over her mother’s face, her hair all over the place and her crumpled dress, she started forward, hands outstretched.
‘Mum, what’s the matter?’
‘Who sh-haid anything whass the matter?’ her mother demanded in a belligerent tone. ‘Whass going on here? Let me through, I’ve got to dish-h up the dinner …’ She took a step forward, crashed into the table and then crumpled to the floor in a heap.
Angela stared at her father and then at Mark. The looks on their faces were identical: guilty but not surprised. ‘She’s drunk. How long has this been going on – and why haven’t I been told about it?’
‘You were still grieving,’ Mark said. ‘I didn’t want to put more pressure on you, Angela.’
‘Your mother didn’t want you to know, love,’ her father said. ‘It has been happening for some months, but she controlled it in between bouts of drinking, and I didn’t guess how bad it was until a few weeks ago, when things suddenly got much worse.’
‘Why did no one tell me?’ Angela felt anger mixed with sympathy for him and a kind of anguish that she couldn’t name for herself. Why did Mark think she was so fragile that she couldn’t face the truth? ‘If I’d been here perhaps I could have helped her.’
‘She wouldn’t let you. Besides, you have your own life, Angela. This is my problem. She’s my wife and I’ll cope with it.’
‘Mark – surely you could have given me a hint?’ Angela looked at him in reproach as her mother stirred and promptly vomited on the floor.
‘I’ll clear that up,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could get Mother to bed between you – and then we shall have dinner. I’ll put some aside for her if she feels like it later.’
For a moment they both stared at her, and then Mark bent and lifted Phyllis in his arms. ‘I’ll carry her up and then you can look after her, Edward. I’m sorry, Angela. If I’d thought this would happen I would’ve warned you …’
‘Forgive me,’ her father said after Mark had left them. ‘There’s a lot more to tell you and to show you – but it will keep until Mark has gone. You shouldn’t blame him, Angela. She talked to him about it and I suppose he didn’t want to betray a confidence, though she isn’t his patient.’
‘Yes, I understand that,’ she said, but, left to herself to repair the damage and sort out the dinner she’d prepared so carefully before it ruined, Angela knew that she understood too well. Mark had been more concerned for her mental state than worried about giving her a hint of her mother’s failings. She had been close to despair at times during the years since her husband’s death – but surely Mark could see that she was much stronger now?
If he couldn’t see her for the woman she was, how could he respect her? She wasn’t some fragile flower that would bend in the wind, she was a strong woman who had known devastating grief and come through it.
Angela would rather have known the truth. She might not be able to do anything, but the last thing she wanted was to be treated as someone who couldn’t face reality. John’s death had devastated her, but the fact that her mother was an alcoholic was another matter – one that she was strong enough to accept.
THREE (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
It was early on Boxing Day but already Alice could hear the bitter quarrelling going on in her parents’ room. Did they never stop this relentless bickering? She sighed, glad that she was going to her friend Michelle’s home that day. Like her, Michelle worked at St Saviour’s, though she was a staff nurse while Alice was merely one of the carers. She didn’t think she could have stood being here all day if her mother was going to nag them the whole time. She stretched and yawned as Mavis slept on in the bed next to her. Mavis was also going out later to spend the day with her boyfriend, because she had several days off from her job at the factory.
Alice had opted to work on Christmas Day, because it was better than being at home with her mother, who made life miserable for her family on every day of the year and saw no reason to be any different at this special time. So Alice preferred her duty to being at home with her brothers, Joseph and Saul, her sister, Mavis, her father, who would probably get drunk by lunchtime, and her nagging mother. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to sit down to a meal and be watched by Mrs Cobb’s sharp and knowing eyes. One of these days her mother was going to ask questions Alice didn’t want to answer.
She’d missed a couple of periods and because of that she was sure that she was carrying Jack Shaw’s baby. Alice felt a shiver of fear run through her as she thought about the future. Had Jack died in the fierce fire at the boot factory, or had he somehow escaped? Billy Baggins had been there and he’d told the police that it was Arthur Baggins, his elder brother, and Jack Shaw that had broken in and blown up the safe. Someone else had set the factory on fire while they were inside, and the newspapers seemed to think it was someone with a grudge against Arthur and Jack, or the factory owners. Most people believed it must have been Jack who had died, although something inside Alice wasn’t ready to believe that.
How could he be dead? Surely she would know if he’d died; she would feel it inside – wouldn’t she? The last time Alice had seen him, he’d dumped her outside St Saviour’s and gone racing off in his car after telling her the Lee gang was going to kill him. All she knew for certain was that he hadn’t tried to contact her since, and she couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been alive he would surely have come back for her or at least sent her a letter. Jack had known Alice believed she was having his baby.
How could she know what he’d felt about that? Jack had pursued her, never leaving her alone, throwing off all her attempts to rebuff him, until she gave him what he wanted. Had she been a terrible fool to let him make love to her? Alice had thought she was in love with him, rejecting the offers to go out with Bob Manning, a soldier she’d met at a dance with her cousin Eric. Bob was a nice steady bloke with a good job in the Army, but he didn’t excite Alice the way Jack had – and so she’d been stupid and given herself to the wrong man. Now she was frightened, scared of what her mother would do when she discovered her daughter was pregnant.
What could she do if her mother threw her out? Their home was only three rooms in a shared house; it smelled awful when the toilet in the yard stank and it was cramped and often damp and cold, but it was still her home. Where would she go – and how could she manage with a job and a baby? That’s if she still had a job when Sister Beatrice discovered the truth. It was unlikely the strict nun would keep her on once her condition became noticeable.
Alice thought about the previous day at work. After all the excitement prior to Christmas Eve and the fun of carols, Father Christmas giving presents to all the children – not forgetting their carers – and the party afterwards, Sister had decreed that the day itself would be spent quietly in order to reflect on the true meaning of Christ’s birthday.
Alice had been happy just to be in the peaceful atmosphere at the home. The children all seemed satisfied to attend church or chapel in the morning and to spend their time eating a special dinner and reading or playing one of the new board games they’d been given. She herself had been asked to do Sally the carer’s job after breakfast was over and gather the smaller children together in the playroom, where she’d read one of Mr Markham’s lovely books to them for a while, and given the others puzzles to keep them happy. It was as she was getting the children ready for tea that Nan came up to her.
‘Some of the older children are going for a walk before supper. Jean will be going with them to make sure they don’t get into any trouble. I want you to keep the little ones amused until it is time for their beds.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Alice said. She liked the head carer and often wished her mother was a bit more like Nan. ‘They’ve been good all day.’
‘Well, that takes care of the little ones.’ Nan hesitated, then, ‘Is something bothering you, Alice? You know you can come to me for anything – don’t you?’
‘Yes, thank you, Nan,’ Alice said, but there was no way she could tell Nan what was really bothering her. ‘I’ll find some sort of game they can play quietly, because I know Sister doesn’t want them running around today.’
‘Off you go then, Alice – but don’t forget I’m always here if you need me.’
Alice walked away, feeling a little easier in her mind. If the worst came to the worst and Jack didn’t come back for her, perhaps she would talk to Nan about her problem … that’s if she really was having his baby. Yet why was she kidding herself? She couldn’t ignore the signs and they were all telling her she must have fallen for a baby either in late October or early November and she would have to accept her fate and find a way of coping with it.
If she worked extra hours she could perhaps stay out of her mother’s way, and earn a little extra money for when she needed it, because she knew her mother would be furious when she found out that Alice was pregnant. She would probably throw her out on the street and the thought terrified her.
Lying in her bed beside her sleeping sister that Boxing Day morning, Alice turned the problem over and over in her mind. Silent tears trickled down her face in the faint light of early morning. She felt so alone, so miserable. What was she going to do when her condition began to show?
Even though Nan had been so kind, Alice respected her and it would shame her to confess what she’d done. Michelle wouldn’t scold her but she couldn’t help her to find a home for herself and the child – and Sister Beatrice would give her the sack. Alice couldn’t think of anyone who would help her to find a place to live and have the child.
Alice had heard of those homes where girls like her went to have their illegitimate child. She had a vague idea that they weren’t very nice, and they made you give up your baby. Alice didn’t know how, but she wanted to keep hers. Even if it was possible to get rid of it – a shudder went through her, because she knew of a girl who had died of blood poisoning after visiting one of those backstreet butchers who got rid of unwanted children – she would never do that. She didn’t want to die – and she wasn’t going to kill her child. There must be someone she could turn to for advice – someone who would know what to do … perhaps Angela Morton.
Alice didn’t know their Administrator well, but she admired her for standing up to Sister Beatrice when Mary Ellen had been banned from going to the pantomime. Alice had never been to one as a child, and she knew how much it would mean to a kid from a poor home like her. It was rotten to take the best treat away from the girl and Alice had been on Angela’s side when she took Mary Ellen to the pictures when the other kids were at the pantomime. Alice didn’t know, of course, but she’d bet Sister Beatrice had had a few words to say about that!
Angela smiled and spoke whenever they met and she knew she was very friendly with Sally – but would she be sympathetic if Alice told her what a mess she was in? Angela could have no idea of the sort of family Alice came from so perhaps she would be like Sister Beatrice and take the moral ground. After all, she probably had a perfect family life at home and would think Alice a stupid girl who was no better than she ought to be.
Angela stared at her father in disbelief as he showed her the things he’d taken from her mother’s wardrobe. Besides a lot of empty gin bottles, there was an assortment of dresses, handbags, perfume, soaps, scarves and hats – and many of them were stolen, according to her father.
‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why would Mother take things like this? The clothes wouldn’t fit her or me – it doesn’t make sense.’
‘I asked Mark about it and he said that she’s ill, Angela. Sometimes when she’s had a few drinks she goes out and takes things from shops: local shops, where we have an account. That’s how I found out about it. One of the managers telephoned me from his office in private; he didn’t want to go to the police and asked me to discover whether she still had the things she’d stolen. Of course when I found all this – I didn’t dare to ask if it all belonged to him. I simply arranged to pay for the items he’d lost, and then he asked if I would care to settle the account.’
‘Was it very bad?’ Angela asked, noticing the new lines about his eyes. No wonder he’d been looking worried the last few times she’d seen him. ‘I can help with money, of course.’
‘I’m all right for the moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve cancelled the accounts in her name and closed the joint account at the bank. I didn’t want to humiliate your mother, Angela – but I couldn’t let it continue.’
‘So the drinking isn’t the worst of it, then.’ Angela reached across the kitchen table to squeeze his hand. ‘I’m truly sorry – but what can we do? She needs help …’
‘Mark says there is a very good clinic in Switzerland that would help with all her problems – the only trouble is your mother will not hear of it. She insists that nothing is wrong with her and said she hadn’t realised she’d run up large bills and promised not to do it again.’
‘What about the stolen stuff?’
‘She absolutely refuses to acknowledge that she took anything.’
‘It makes things so difficult for you, Dad. What are you going to do?’
‘I can’t force her to go away. She is my wife and I must try to protect her as best I can. I’ve told her she can’t use the car in future and the bus only goes into town twice a week. I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t catch it unless I can go with her – what more can I do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Angela said. He’d closed his eyes, as if he found the worry almost unbearable. ‘What about you? Are you all right?’
‘Just a little tired,’ he said, but she had the feeling that he wasn’t telling her everything. ‘I’ve seen my doctor and he advises cutting down on work.’
‘You must try not to worry. If you need me I could come down at a couple of hours’ notice. You know I would stay if you thought it would help.’
‘I don’t think she would take any notice even of you, Angela. I had hoped that she would make an effort for Christmas – as she did for the dance she organised for your charity.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She used to have good days and I kept hoping – but her drinking is getting worse. She would only drink sherry or wine once, but now she will drink whatever she can get.’
‘I wish I could do more.’
‘Just being able to tell you has helped a lot,’ he said and smiled. ‘Mark has offered to advise her but so far she just refuses to listen.’
‘I see …’
Angela turned away to pour more coffee, distressed by the news of her mother’s illness. Mrs Phyllis Hendry was the last person to drink to excess or steal from shops – at least she always had been. Angela couldn’t imagine what had happened to change the rather snobbish, intelligent woman she loved but couldn’t quite like, into this person who drank too much and stole things. Yet Mark’s attitude had distressed her more – or perhaps hurt was a more apt word. Yes, she was hurt that he’d decided he couldn’t tell Angela in case it made her break down. Had he thought she would turn to drinking like her mother?
She felt a little diminished, too. She’d turned to Mark in her grief over John’s terrible death, sobbing out her pain on the shoulder he offered – but now she felt patronised. When he’d suggested the job at St Saviour’s she’d thought he trusted and respected her – but if he felt anything for Angela, he would not have hidden her mother’s secret from her. There was little Angela could do here, it seemed, but at least she could offer her father support.
‘If you need me – anything, you have only to call, Dad.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘Now go up and talk to your mother. She’s feeling a little fragile – and ashamed. Try to make peace with her before you leave, my love.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Angela said and kissed his cheek. ‘I do love you, Daddy.’
‘I love you,’ he replied. ‘You’re the light of my life and always will be. Please don’t worry. I’ll manage somehow. Perhaps in time she will agree to go somewhere they can help her …’
FOUR (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
‘I’m cold, Nance, and ’ungry,’ Terry sniffed, and wiped his dripping nose on his coat sleeve. ‘When are we goin’ ’ome?’
‘We can’t go home, love,’ Nancy said, and put her arm round his thin shoulders, pulling him close in an effort to inject some warmth into them both.
‘Why not?’ He tugged at her arm. ‘I want me ma …’
‘Don’t you remember what happened?’ she asked him. Terry shook his head and Nancy bit her lip, because he surely couldn’t have forgotten the terrifying events that had led them to flee the house as it was burning. Nancy had such terrible pictures in her head of the door of their parents’ room. It had been blazing by the time she’d reached the landing and saw her brother staring wide-eyed at the door. She’d known immediately that it was impossible to reach them, and as Terry started to scream, Nancy had seized him and pulled him down the stairs, grabbing coats and a hunk of bread that had been left on the table earlier. There just hadn’t been time to bring anything else; besides, there was never much food in the house.
‘We shan’t talk about it then, Terry.’ What was she going to do? Nancy hadn’t thought past their escape from the fire, but now after several days hiding in a disused shed on the Docks, and eating only the scraps of food that she could beg from a night watchman, she was beginning to realise they couldn’t stay here for much longer.
‘Nance, me stomach hurts …’ Terry whined, and rubbed grubby fingers at his face. ‘I want ter go ’ome …’
‘Shush … someone is coming,’ Nance hissed at him. She clutched hold of her brother’s arm as the door was opened and a large man in working clothes entered. She’d thought no one came near this place, and that they were safe from discovery because the Dock workers were still having their Christmas break. ‘Let me do the talking, Terry. Don’t say anything but agree with whatever I say.’
‘What ’ave we got ’ere then?’ the man said, and frowned as Nancy pushed her brother behind her.
‘We’re not doing any harm, mister,’ she said defensively. ‘We’ve got nowhere to go …’
‘Why aren’t you at ’ome?’ he asked, and then his frown cleared. ‘I reckon you’re them kids the coppers ’ave been lookin’ for … the ones whose folks got burned in the fire.’
‘What’s ’e mean, Nance?’ Terry pulled at her arm and she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. ‘Where’s Ma? What’s ’e mean they got burned?’
‘My brother doesn’t remember anything, mister,’ Nancy said, though she remembered all too well. ‘We didn’t know what to do when we ran away … it all happened so fast. We had to leave quick and I couldn’t help them …’ A choking cry broke from her. ‘I had to get Terry out …’
‘Yes, o’ course yer did,’ he said soothingly.
‘I didn’t know where to go …’ Nancy was poised ready to flee, though she knew there was nowhere she could go, because they were both filthy, cold and near to starving.
‘Well, I reckon the coppers will know what to do,’ he said gruffly and kneeled down beside them. ‘You can’t stay here or you’ll freeze – tell me, ’ave yer had anythin’ ter eat today?’ Nancy shook her head. ‘You come along of me then, and I’ll sort yer out … no need to be frightened, nipper. I ain’t goin’ ter ’urt yer.’ He reached out towards the boy.
Terry pulled back from the man, looking wildly from side to side, as if he wanted to escape, but Nancy took a firm hold on his arm. ‘Come on, love,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got a choice. You’ll be all right, I promise.’
‘Constable Sallis won’t ’urt yer,’ the man said. ‘I reckon as he’ll be right glad ter find yer …’
‘Well, here you are then, Sister, our little runaways,’ Constable Sallis said. ‘I told you the other day that we feared the pair of them might be dead in the fire, but they’d run away because they were frightened and they were found down at the Docks, hiding in one of the sheds. One of the Dockers discovered them late yesterday afternoon on his way home and brought them to the station. We’ve kept them there overnight.’
‘What are their names?’ Sister asked, glancing towards the children, who were at that moment being cared for by Nan, St Saviour’s head carer.
‘Terry and Nancy Johnson,’ he replied. ‘Amazingly, neither of them was burned or had any ill effects … well, not physical. The boy seems terrified and screamed when I tried to touch him earlier, but that is natural enough. The girl is older and she says she was in the kitchen when she smelled smoke. She rushed upstairs to find her brother and dragged him out of bed and downstairs, and finally out of the house through the back yard – that’s why he’s in his pyjamas and his mother’s coat …’
‘We’ll soon sort them some clothes out,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘How long were they missing?’
‘Well, the fire must have started some time on New Year’s Eve – and here we are 9th of January. I think one of the night watchmen gave them some food. They weren’t lost long enough for them to become really ill or to pick up lice anyway.’
‘I dare say they need a nice bath and some good food,’ Sister said. ‘You did right to bring them straight here, Constable. We’ll look after them now.’
‘I’ll get off then,’ he said. ‘It’s bad news about their parents – the fire started in a locked bedroom and neither of them got out, I’m afraid. Terrible time of year to find themselves orphans and homeless, isn’t it?’
‘I doubt it matters what time of year something like that happens,’ Sister said wryly, and he shook his head as he went off.
Sister Beatrice went over to Nan. ‘I’ll just take a look at them and then you can pop them in the bath … the boy first …’ Nan turned to try to help Terry get undressed, but he kicked out at her and backed away, his eyes rolling wildly.
‘Don’t yer touch me …’
‘You have to be examined and then have a bath,’ Sister told them. ‘It’s just routine, Terry.’
‘Nance, don’t let them ’urt me,’ he cried, and clung to his sister.
‘It’s all right, love,’ his sister said. ‘We’ve got to do what they say for now, Terry – and they won’t hurt you.’ She turned to Nan with a look of appeal in her eyes as she removed the coat and pyjama top. ‘Please, let me help him. He’s used to me.’
‘If you wish,’ Nan said, ‘but Sister needs to make sure he doesn’t have …’
Her words were left unfinished as she saw the marks on the child’s torso where he had obviously been beaten recently.
‘Who did that to him?’ Sister asked, shocked by the sight of his thin body and bruised flesh. She’d seen children in this condition often enough, but this was a particularly severe beating by the looks of it.
‘No one,’ Nancy said quickly. ‘He fell over and hurt himself – at the dockyard, after we ran away because of the fire.’ Nancy looked at Terry urgently. ‘That night I sent Terry to bed with a hot drink and then I went down and cleaned the kitchen … and then I smelled the smoke …’ She caught her breath and put her arms protectively around her brother. ‘Everything was blazing upstairs. I just grabbed him and we ran away …’
‘Yes, so Constable Sallis told me,’ Sister said. ‘Well, that was a brave thing to do, to go upstairs to rescue your brother when the fire must have been very strong – so I suppose you can be left to bath him. Just let me look at you, child. I promise I shan’t hurt you.’
‘You’re quite safe here,’ Nan told him, and looked kindly at Terry as he reluctantly submitted to Sister’s brief examination.
‘Caught you!’ Sally Rush gave a little scream and turned swiftly as she felt the hands on her waist. She was looking into the face of the man she loved but had not seen since Christmas Eve. He’d gone out of London for the festivities but she’d expected him back several days ago and been disappointed that he hadn’t kept his word to take her somewhere nice when he returned. ‘I’ve missed you, Sally,’ Andrew Markham said, and snatched a quick kiss on the mouth. ‘Any chance you missed me?’
A pretty girl with reddish brown hair cut short to form little flicks about her face, and melting chocolate eyes, Sally couldn’t help a smile peep out at him. She’d been feeling annoyed because he hadn’t contacted her in the New Year as he’d promised, but he was so attractive with his light brown hair and gentle smile, so the slight feeling of hurt melted away in her pleasure at seeing him.
‘Oh, Andrew, you know I did. I thought you would be back in London days ago …’
‘I intended to be,’ he said, and his smile dimmed. ‘Forgive me, darling Sally. My aunt had a bit of a turn and I had to take her into the hospital. She is over the worst, thank God, but she will need to stay in a nursing home for a few weeks.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ Sally said. ‘I hope she isn’t really ill?’
‘Her heart isn’t strong,’ he said. ‘The specialists say she may have a few years yet. I must hope so. Aunt Janet brought me up after my parents died and I’m fond of her. I have to look after her now – as she did me.’
‘Yes, of course you must,’ Sally said, giving him a loving smile. ‘It was just that I missed you.’
‘Had you been on the telephone I would’ve called, but telegrams only ever carry bad news and I didn’t want to scare you, hence the surprise.’
‘You certainly did that,’ she said, her cheeks warm because Nan had just entered the playroom. ‘Did you want me, Nan?’
‘I need you to help me with a couple of new arrivals,’ Nan said.
‘Yes, of course,’ Sally said, and turned to Andrew. ‘Shall I see you later?’
‘I’ll call for you at home at half past seven.’
Sally nodded and turned to Nan as they went into the hall together. ‘Who have they brought in for us today?’
‘It’s a brother and sister. Their names are Nancy and Terry Johnson. They both seem nervous – the boy is terrified, I think. The police have been looking for them, as they were missing after their home caught fire, and found them hiding down the dockyard. Unfortunately, the parents were killed but the children got out somehow and ran off in fright … I suppose that is natural enough. It must have been terrible.’
‘It’s a miracle they got out, isn’t it?’
‘Constable Sallis thinks the girl pulled her brother out of bed and they fled, not knowing what else to do.’
‘Poor little things,’ Sally said. ‘How old are they?’
‘I think Nancy must be nearly fourteen and her brother …’ Nan frowned. ‘I’m not sure, because he looks as if he might be ten or so but seems backward for his age. I left him with Michelle. She was giving them a little check over when I left …’ Nan’s words were cut off by the sound of screaming from the bathroom. They looked at each other and Sally broke into a run, arriving just in time to see the boy sink his teeth into Michelle’s hand.
‘No, stop that, child!’ Nan cried as she followed her into the room. ‘You mustn’t bite. It isn’t nice …’
‘Has he drawn blood?’ Sally asked the staff nurse. ‘Shall I put some disinfectant on for you?’
‘The skin isn’t broken,’ Michelle said with a wry look. ‘Terry objected to my trying to take his pyjama bottoms off – didn’t you, Terry?’
‘Don’t like you,’ the boy muttered sullenly. Sally could see what Nan meant because he was nearly as tall as his sister, thin and wiry, and he looked quite strong, but his attitude was that of a small child. ‘Shan’t be washed. Nancy washes me – don’t yer, Nance?’
‘Yes, Terry, love, I look after you.’ Nancy came forward and placed herself between Michelle and the boy. Her eyes were filled with a silent appeal as she said, ‘Terry relies on me. I’ll give him a wash if you let us alone for a while.’
‘Staff Nurse Michelle wants to help you,’ Nan said. The children often resented the implication that they might have nits, but many of them were crawling with lice when they first arrived, and these two had been living rough, although if Constable Sallis was right, only for a few days. ‘No one is going to hurt either of you, Nancy, but you must have a bath – you may wash him if that is what you both wish.’
Nancy stared at her defiantly for a moment, and then inclined her head. ‘I’ll take your things off, Terry. Nurse has to look at us both but she won’t hurt you. I’m here to protect you.’
His sullen expression didn’t alter but he allowed Nancy to take everything off. Nancy turned him round so that they could see his thin body and Sally caught her breath as she saw the bruises all over his back, arms and legs.
‘Who beat you, Terry?’ Nan asked, but he just stared at her. She looked at Nancy, who hung her head but then mumbled something. ‘Speak up, my dear. We want to know who did this to your brother. It wasn’t just a fall, was it?’
‘It was a tramp where we were hiding,’ Nancy said, contradicting her earlier statement. ‘He was drunk. I pushed him over and we ran off and hid somewhere else – didn’t we, Terry?’
The boy nodded his head, seeming almost dazed as if he wasn’t sure what was going on. Sally suspected Nancy was lying to them, but if she didn’t want to tell them the truth there wasn’t much anyone could do.
‘I’ll leave you two to get on,’ Nan said, and went out.
‘Shall I show you how to run the water?’ Sally asked, leading the way to the old-fashioned bath at the other end of the large room. ‘Have you ever used a bath like this, Nancy?’
‘No, miss,’ Nancy said, staring at it. ‘We brought in a tin bath from outside when we had a bath – but we mostly just had a wash in the bowl in the kitchen, miss.’ She stared at Sally and then back at Michelle. ‘Are you all nurses?’
‘I’m a carer and my name is Sally. Nan is the head carer and she looks after us all. She is very kind, Nancy. You can trust her – and all of us. You’ve been brought here so that we can look after you. Once you’ve had a wash you’ll go into the isolation ward for a while, and then Sister Beatrice will decide which dormitories to put you in.’
‘What are they – dormitories?’
‘It’s another name for bedrooms. The girls go one side and the boys another.’
‘No!’ Nancy was startled, a frightened look in her eyes. ‘Terry can’t be separated from me in a strange place. We have to be together … please, you must let us. He won’t sleep and he’ll be terrified. Please, Sally, help us to stay together.’
‘I’ll talk to Nan about it,’ Sally said, ‘but I’m not sure what I can do – we’ve always separated the boys from the girls.’
‘Don’t tell Terry yet. Ask first, because he’ll get upset,’ Nancy begged.
‘Yes, well, you’ll be together for a while anyway. So I’ll see what Nan says. Now, I’m going to stand just here to make sure you can manage everything. If you need help, you only have to ask …’
Angela heard someone call her name as she walked towards the main staircase of St Saviour’s later that morning and paused, smiling as she saw it was Sally. She liked Sally very much because she was the first person to make her feel welcome at St Saviour’s when she’d arrived, feeling very new and uncertain just a few months earlier. Her friend looked happy and cheerful, even though her rubber apron was a bit wet and she’d obviously just come from bathing one of the children.
‘New arrivals?’ she asked, with a lift of her fine brows.
‘Yes, brother and sister,’ Sally said and sighed. ‘They were in a fire. I understand their parents died of smoke inhalation before the fire service got there.’
‘Oh, how tragic,’ Angela said. ‘Only a short time after Christmas and already we have another tragedy.’
‘Terry seems to be in a traumatised state. We couldn’t do anything with him but, fortunately, he does whatever his sister tells him so we’re getting by, so far.’ Sally frowned. ‘The boy has a lot of bruises. He looks as if he’s been beaten pretty severely recently. His sister said he’d had a fall and then a tramp had attacked him, but I think she was lying.’
‘At least he is safe now. He won’t be beaten here.’
‘No.’ Sally beamed at her. ‘It’s good to know he is safe with us …’ She hesitated, then, ‘Have you moved into your apartment?’
‘I got the keys two days ago and much of the stuff my father is sending up is coming later today. I have to meet the removers at around two o’clock so I’d better get going − I have a lot of work to do first.’
‘Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be here later this evening. I’ve arranged to help out with the night shift.’
‘I’ll have finished my shift by then. Andrew is taking me out soon. We’re going somewhere special.’
‘Andrew Markham?’
‘Yes …’ Sally’s cheeks were flushed. ‘We’ve been going out since before Christmas, but just casually. It’s going to be different now, I think.’ She paused. ‘You did once say I might borrow a dress sometimes, if you remember?’
‘Yes, of course, Sally. Pop round tomorrow evening – say about eight? I’ll can show off my new home and you can choose something.’
‘I wouldn’t ask, but Andrew mentioned taking me to the theatre and I don’t have anything suitable. Mostly, I can wear my own things, but …’ She stopped and blushed, embarrassed at having to borrow Angela’s clothes.
‘Sally, I’d happily lend you anything of mine. I should have remembered my promise before this, but I haven’t stopped since we came back after the holidays.’
‘I don’t think any of us have had a spare moment,’ Sally said. She looked shyly at Angela. ‘I don’t want to let him down, you see.’
‘You couldn’t do that,’ Angela assured her. ‘You’ll look wonderful whatever you’re wearing.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must fly or I shall never get there.’
‘Go on, you don’t want to be late,’ Sally called after her but Angela didn’t stop to look back.
FIVE (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
Angela looked around the spacious sitting room with satisfaction. She’d been lucky to find an apartment of this size so close to her work at St Saviour’s, and after hours of moving furniture about and hanging curtains, she was finally happy with the effect. From outside, the building looked almost shabby, in keeping with its situation near the river and the old warehouse it had been some years before the war. During the bitter war that had wreaked so much havoc on the East End of London, it had sustained some fire damage but remained structurally sound. The building had since been restored to become a block of flats, some of which were quite small and others, like Angela’s, large with rooms big enough to hold her beloved piano and her gramophone, both of which had now been brought up from her father’s house in the country. Besides the large, comfortable sofa and chairs, and a selection of small tables, there was also a pretty mahogany desk and an elbow chair set near the picture window. Above her head, a wintry sunshine poured in through the skylights. Angela had fallen in love with it as soon as she walked in even though it had cost her more than she’d intended to spend on her new home. Her mother would think it an extravagance if she’d asked her, but her father had told her to go ahead and buy with confidence when she’d asked his advice.
For a moment Angela’s eyes filled with tears, because the thought of her mother’s behaviour at Christmas still made her want to weep. She hadn’t come to terms with what her father had told her concerning her mother’s mental breakdown – because, of course, that was what it was. Mrs Hendry had always been a highly strung woman but something had changed her. In her right mind, her mother would never have stolen things from shops or drunk so much or run up a huge debt for her husband to pay.
When she saw him alone after returning to London, Angela had asked Mark if he knew why her mother was ill but if he did he hadn’t told Angela.
‘People sometimes become overwhelmed by life,’ was all he would say. ‘Something was triggered in your mother’s mind and …’ He shook his head. ‘If I understood why these things happened I would be able to do more for my patients. I believe it was a slow, gradual illness, made worse by the war and then …’ Mark had refused to elaborate. ‘I’m sorry, Angela, but I cannot reveal confidences.’
‘But she isn’t actually your patient.’
‘No, but your father is trying to persuade her to consult me – and she has talked to me in confidence.’
‘And you feel you can’t talk about it?’ Mark nodded and Angela felt annoyed with him. ‘I wish you’d let me know sooner that she was drinking too much. Perhaps I could have helped her.’
‘I doubt it,’ Mark said. ‘Even had you been living at home it would still have happened – it was already happening before you took the job at St Saviour’s. You’d had enough to bear with John’s death. I just wanted to spare you the pain of knowing for as long as I could. We hoped that she would conquer the habit. Instead, it has become very much worse. I thought she was much better at the dance she organised – but perhaps that was because you’d trusted her to do it. She is very proud of you, Angela.’
‘She never shows it.’ Angela shrugged the suggestion off. The fact that Mark had kept her mother’s addiction from her rankled more than she liked and she wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She’d believed they might be getting closer to one another – but a man who truly cared for her would have known she was strong enough to face up to the challenge.
She put the thought from her mind, glancing round her apartment once more. She would have a house-warming party soon, Angela thought, going through to the modern and very new kitchen to boil a kettle. Yes, something simple would do; with a buffet if she could find anything nice in the shops.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Angela,’ Sister Beatrice greeted her as she walked into the sick bay that Sunday evening. ‘Nurse Paula has gone down with flu and rang to say she would be off work for the rest of the week.’
‘Oh, poor Paula,’ Angela said. ‘It is as well we’ve taken on Staff Nurse Carole.’
‘Yes, she has excellent references. We were lucky to get her – and that’s down to you, I suppose.’
‘Why down to me?’ Angela was surprised at the praise, faint though it was.
‘Yes, because of the extra funds you raised before Christmas, we’ve been allowed to employ another nurse with the necessary level of experience.’
‘Oh … well, yes, I suppose that did help but once the new building is finished we shall need more …’ Angela’s words were lost as they heard blood-curdling screams from the isolation ward next door. ‘What on earth was that?’
‘I think it must be Terry Johnson,’ Sister Beatrice said, ‘and that is why I’m glad you’re here this evening. We tried to separate him and his big sister, Nancy, into different dormitories earlier this morning, because they been here a couple of days and are obviously not carrying an infection, but the boy became violent and bit Staff Nurse Carole when she tried to part them. His sister intervened and he quietened, but he is going to need watching. We were forced to give him a mild sedative and leave them both in the isolation ward – but it sounds as though it has worn off.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I think Nurse will need help in there this evening.’
‘I’d better go and see whether he needs anything,’ Angela said, though the first screams had not been repeated.
‘I imagine his sister is calming him down, but they can’t be ignored. Go and talk to them, Angela, see what the matter is if you can. He won’t speak to me, I’m afraid. Usually, I can get children to talk, but not this boy. He just stared vacantly at me, though I’m sure he understood every word I said.’
‘Yes, Sister, I’ll see what I can do,’ Angela promised.
She left the sick bay and went through to the isolation ward. The dormitories were almost full in any case, because since Christmas six new children had been brought to the home and it was just about at bursting point. Angela knew that Sister Beatrice was impatient for the new wing to be ready, but although the builders had promised to be out by the end of this month, it looked as if they might not be finished for weeks yet. Angela would have to do what she could to hurry them up.
Entering the ward quietly, Angela saw a girl of slight build, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, sitting on the edge of one of the beds. She had fine fair hair and was talking softly to the boy in the bed, stroking his much darker hair, her voice gentle and comforting.
‘Was it ’cos the door was locked, Nance?’ he asked, his eyes wide and scared. ‘I can’t remember … was it my fault … did I do something bad …?’
‘No, of course not, love,’ she murmured. ‘Pa was a brute – what he did to us both … He made it happen – it wasn’t your fault—’ Suddenly, she broke off and turned her head to look at Angela, a look of fear in her soft grey eyes. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Angela Morton. I work here, in the office, and sometimes help out with our children. I’ve been asked to see that you and your brother are safe and have all you need …’
‘Thank you,’ the girl said, and the fear in her eyes lessened, though Angela sensed hesitation in her. ‘Terry was having a bad dream – about our ma and pa …’
‘You’re Nancy, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, miss,’ she said, her eyes never leaving Angela’s face, almost as if she were trying to assess her, to see if she could be trusted. ‘I’m the eldest, almost fourteen. Terry is only ten; eleven in September. He’s usually as good as gold but …’
‘Yes, of course. We do understand what you’ve been through, Nancy. I hear you were a very brave girl. You should be proud of yourself for saving your brother’s life. It must have been terrifying to go back upstairs when the fire was raging.’
‘I had to, miss. It wasn’t his fault that the fire started – Pa was drunk. He must have knocked over the lamp and not noticed what he’d done. He was always getting drunk, miss, and Ma wasn’t much better. They locked Terry in his room and went out drinking together that night. Terry didn’t have any supper and he was crying but Pa had the key in his jacket pocket, and after they came back drunk, I unlocked the door and gave Terry a drop of tea and a crust of bread and jam … I was still in the kitchen clearing up the mess they’d made when the fire started. I heard Terry scream and went up and dragged him down the stairs. He just stood there staring …’
Nancy’s voice had risen, and she seemed on the verge of hysteria herself. ‘Terry shouted to Ma but their door was locked to keep us out and they either didn’t hear or they were too drunk … I couldn’t get them out, because the door was blazing – it was too late.’ Her voice broke on a sob of despair. ‘Too late …’
Angela could see that the girl was suffering from delayed shock herself. ‘It was a terrible tragedy, Nancy. No one blames you or your brother for what happened. You got your brother out, and you tried to save your parents too.’
Nancy’s gaze veered away, seeming to look into the distance. ‘Yes, miss, that’s what the policeman said. The firemen tried to get in but they couldn’t reach them; the stairs were all afire by then and no one could get to the bedrooms that way. When they got in through the window, they were dead from the smoke. We ran away because we didn’t know what to do – and Terry said Ma was screamin’ but I didn’t hear her. I think it’s just in his head, ’cos he loved Ma. It wasn’t our fault …’
Nancy was so intense. Angela reached for her hand and pressed it reassuringly. ‘I am quite certain it was not, Nancy. As you said, your father probably knocked his oil lamp over and didn’t notice because he was drunk. Fire spreads so quickly in old houses and by the time the fire service came it was too late. I am so sorry for all you and your brother have suffered.’
‘Yes, miss, thank you, miss,’ Nancy said and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I don’t want to lose Terry, miss. He’s all I’ve got now – and it’s always been the two of us …’
‘I’m sure you love him. He will be quite safe with us, I promise you. In time he will stop being so afraid and then he will realise that we are here to help children who have lost their homes. Do you have any other relatives?’
‘No, miss, not that I know of. They mostly died in the Blitz. Me ma once spoke of her cousin in the country, but she never come to see us …’ Tears welled in Nancy’s eyes. ‘Ma didn’t deserve to die. She did what she could for us until she got bad. Pa spent all he earned on drink and she gave us most of her food. I wanted to save her, miss. Truly I did, but the flames were so hot I couldn’t get near the door …’
Angela handed her a clean white handkerchief. ‘Wipe your eyes and blow your nose, Nancy. I am quite sure you did what you could for your mother and your father. It isn’t your fault. They were the adults; it was their job to keep you safe in your own home – no one will blame either of you.’
‘Will that Sister Beatrice let us stay here if Terry keeps screaming and being wild? She was very cross when he fought the nurses who tried to give him a bath. The only person he trusts near him is me.’
‘Why is that, Nancy?’ Angela asked, but the girl just shook her head. Clearly she didn’t want to talk about it, and it was too soon to press for details, although Angela suspected that the bruises on Terry’s body might have been inflicted by his father and not a tramp. No doubt Nancy would tell them the truth when she was ready.
‘I’ve always cared for him.’
‘The nurses have to make sure you don’t have anything infectious when you come – but perhaps Sister will let you stay here in this ward until he is more himself.’
‘Will you ask her if we can stay here together, miss? Sometimes, he wets the bed, and he walks in his sleep. If I’m not there to take him back to bed he might … hurt himself.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Angela said. She thought privately that Terry was a very disturbed child and might benefit from Mark Adderbury’s attention. Mark specialised in helping mistreated children in his spare time from his busy practice. Sister Beatrice relied on the help and advice he gave freely. ‘I’m sure you can stay in here for a while, just until we can sort something out …’
‘Thanks, miss. You’re kind.’ Nancy sniffed into the handkerchief and then offered it back.
‘You keep it for a while; you must have lost everything in the fire. I know St Saviour’s provides new clothes, but is there anything I can get for you that you need?’
‘Terry had a teddy bear he used to take to bed, but it was left behind when we escaped. It might have helped him to sleep …’
‘I can’t give him back the one he lost, but I do have my own very old and much-loved bear, if you think he would like that?’
‘You’d really let us have it?’
‘Yes,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll bring it tomorrow – and I’ve got a few pretty things you might like, Nancy. A case to put hankies in, and a brush and comb for your hair – and some satin ribbon to tie it up. You’ve got nice fair hair and it curls naturally.’
Nancy blushed, the tears glistening on her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Terry had been lying in the bed, just staring up at her, but now his eyes closed and Nancy smiled.
‘I think he will sleep now, miss. Shall we see you tomorrow?’
‘Yes. I shall be in and out this evening, just to make sure you’re both all right. I can get you a mug of cocoa to help you get off to sleep if you like?’
‘No, miss, I’m all right. I’m going to get into bed with Terry so that if he wakes again he won’t start screaming and wake everyone.’
‘Well, make sure you get out before the morning staff come on duty – they might not approve of you sleeping in his bed.’
Nancy looked at her sadly, reflecting more knowledge than ought to be in the eyes of a girl of her age. ‘I know, miss, but our Terry wouldn’t hurt me: he isn’t like Pa …’
‘Nancy.’ Angela caught her breath in shock. ‘Your father didn’t …?’
Nancy’s eyes filled with suffering but she didn’t say anything. Angela couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions that hovered at the back of her mind. If her suspicions were correct, Nancy had been interfered with by her own father and she was less than fourteen years old. What kind of a man would subject his own daughter to something so vile? He had more than likely beaten his son as well. She couldn’t help thinking that neither Nancy nor her brother would mourn him, though both seemed to be upset over their mother.
Angela left the children to sleep, but she couldn’t put the look in Nancy’s eyes out of her mind. Perhaps it was an act of fate that had caused the fire and set them free – and yet Angela had an uncomfortable feeling that there was much more that Nancy could have told her had she wished.
The problem was, what ought she to do about it? She supposed she should report what Nancy had let slip to Sister Beatrice, who would no doubt inform the police – but what was the point of that? Nancy hadn’t really told her anything and it could lead to lots of questions for the girl, and she’d already been through so much. She’d trusted Angela enough to open up a little and it would be a betrayal of that trust to tell. For the moment Angela would keep her suspicions to herself. What harm could that do?
SIX (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)
Carole looked at herself in the rather mottled mirror on the wall of her room at the Nurses’ Home and patted her natural blonde and very short hair with satisfaction. It was important to keep hair clean and neat for work, and her new fashionable boyish crop suited her. She was pleased with herself for finding this job. After completing her training at the London Hospital, in Whitechapel, she’d wanted a change, somewhere that she could influence her own life.
The Sister in charge of her ward at the teaching hospital had disliked her almost from the start and Carole was fed up with being picked on the whole time. She was an excellent nurse and had passed all her exams easily, and yet Sister Brighton seemed to hate her. That was probably because Dr Jim Henderson had taken an interest in the younger nurse, and everyone knew that Brighton was mad about him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t looked at her and it had turned her sour – at least, that was what all the nurses under her supervision thought.
For a while Carole had believed that Jim Henderson was the right man for her. Yes, she had imagined being a doctor’s wife and all of the perks that it would have brought. But he had been too dedicated to his job for Carole’s liking, neglecting her to work all hours and talking endlessly of going overseas for a few years to work in a mission hospital and taking her with him to do his charitable works. That was the last thing she’d wanted. Besides, she wasn’t in love with him; there had been a man once, but he had died on the beach at Dunkirk … Carole had hardened her heart after that and now she kept her distance. If she did marry it would be because it fitted in with her plans for a good life – and that didn’t include being a missionary’s wife in some godforsaken backwater. Once the romance was over, she’d given in her notice and taken this job. She was glad to see the back of Henderson and Sister Brighton; they were welcome to each other as far as she was concerned.
At least here she didn’t have to share a room any more. One day she’d have her own little flat, but this would do for now – besides, if you had your own place men tended to ask if they could come back for a drink when what they really wanted was something more. Carole wasn’t a complete innocent, and she would have gone to bed with Jim if he’d shown more interest in her sexually … but he was too intent on his good works. Next time, she would choose a man who was more worldly …
St Saviour’s had exactly what she was looking for. The atmosphere was more relaxed than at the hospital, though Sister Beatrice was a bit of an old dragon. She breathed fire and brimstone whenever she considered someone had done something wrong, but Carole knew her standards were excellent and the nun would be unlikely to find fault with her work. If she’d guessed what was in Carole’s mind, well, it was doubtful that she would ever have taken her on.
Men were unreliable and selfish, and apart from using them to further her ambitions, Carole was opting to focus her efforts on building her career – in her own way. Sister Beatrice was getting on a bit and old-fashioned. An intelligent nurse such as herself could work hard and find a way to make herself indispensable so that when the old harridan retired in a few years she would be the natural successor.
Carole fixed her cap at the precise angle, smoothed her uniform and left her room, locking the door behind her.
It was chilly as she walked to the children’s home through the connecting gardens. St Saviour’s was almost unique in having more than a back yard in this area of London, but it was a relic from the past, when the house had been an impressive early Georgian mansion – and then later a hospital for contagious illness. Similar buildings had grown up all round as the area was peopled with silk merchants, and then the Jewish immigrants who had taken over the streets around St Saviour’s when the rich merchants had moved up West. The house had been used as the old fever hospital until it was closed in the early 1930s, but since then many of the Jewish synagogues and shops in the area had been replaced and there was a mixture of cultures and peoples working and living in the narrow dirty streets. St Saviour’s had become a home for children in need during the war, and the house the nurses occupied was what had once been a rather grand home for the Warden of the fever hospital.
Carole was surprised that the buildings here had survived the bombing in the war. The surrounding streets were filled with large empty spaces overgrown with weeds and neglected, awaiting renovation. In Bethnal Green several bomb sites had been turned into gardens and small allotments for the local residents; here the ruins were just left to decay while local children made a playground from the ruins of their former homes. The Government was going to build houses and shops to replace those lost in the war, but because of the shortage of building materials they were instead putting up prefabricated bungalows and they were dotted here and there amongst the decay and destruction; some had been built further out from the centre, where the air was fresher. Londoners were starting to drift out to the suburbs with the promise of new homes and a better life. From the outside St Saviour’s looked grubby like the rest of the buildings in the area, though inside it was as clean as Sister Beatrice could persuade her staff to keep it.
Most of the girls here were all right. She quite liked Staff Nurse Michelle, though she hadn’t seen much of her, but she was an East End girl and didn’t seem a threat to Carole’s ambition. Angela Morton was a different matter; she wasn’t sure whether she liked Mrs Morton or not, because although she was always friendly there was something about her – something that made Carole sense a rival.
Carole hadn’t yet worked out what Angela’s role was here. She talked of herself as being the odd-job lady, but she carried authority, speaking with a confident smile and amusement in her eyes. Everyone seemed to like her – at least Nan spoke very highly of her and Sally Rush seemed to think she was wonderful. Nan was a surrogate mother to the children, helping with everything, from washing them to giving them hot drinks in the night, taking them to the toilet if they couldn’t manage, or out on school trips. She was the lynchpin of the home and she seemed to be in Sister Beatrice’s confidence. But Nan wasn’t an ambitious person and wouldn’t think of herself in the position of Warden – though Angela Morton might.
Yes, she would bear watching, Carole thought as she let herself in through the back door and went along the rather dark corridor to the dining room, where breakfast was still being served. Helping herself to coffee and a piece of toast with a scraping of what looked suspiciously like margarine and a spoonful of marmalade, she sat down at the table reserved for nursing staff.
Most of the children had already eaten and were leaving the tables in an orderly fashion, under the eye of some of the senior children: new monitors that Angela had appointed since Christmas, so Carole had been told. Sally Rush was gathering the smaller ones, preparing to take them to wash their hands and jam-smeared faces. She saw Carole and nodded to her in a friendly way. Sally was all right; Carole had already marked her down as harmless.
Carole glanced at the little silver watch pinned to her uniform. She had another fifteen minutes before she was due on duty, but she might as well go up to the wards and look in on the new arrivals. Being early for work was always a good way to impress and she wanted Sister Beatrice to think well of her, because she knew she was still on probation as far as the crusty old nun was concerned. She was wed to her order and her religion and had probably never had a man in her life; at least that was Carole’s guess. Her whole life revolved around St Saviour’s and the children. Carole would never be like that; even if she did stay on to become Warden, she would never let her job become her whole life. No, she wanted it all and she intended to get whatever she could out of her present position.
Patting her mouth with the napkin, she stood up and straightened her uniform and then walked briskly from the dining room, almost colliding with a young red-haired boy who was running as if his life depended on it. She grabbed hold of his arm to steady him as he almost fell over in his efforts to avoid knocking into her.
‘Sorry, Nurse,’ he said. ‘I was in a hurry to catch up with Mary Ellen – you won’t tell on me, will you?’
‘You must be Billy Baggins,’ Carole said with a frown. ‘I’ve heard about you. You’re the little rebel. You really should start looking where you are going, but no, I shan’t tell on you – this time; just don’t do it again.’
‘Thanks, Nurse.’ Billy grinned cockily and walked nonchalantly away.
Carole guessed he would run as soon as he was out of view, but why should she care? She smiled, because she was a bit of a rebel herself and always had been. Perhaps it came from being the youngest of a clever brood and always the last to know what was going on in the family home. Not that she had much family now: the war had seen to that, taking her father and two elder brothers and leaving her with just her sister, Marjorie, and her mother.
Just as she reached the top of the stairs she saw a man come from Sister Beatrice’s office. He walked towards her, stopping to smile as they came face to face outside the sick bay, and then he offered his hand. Carole noticed at once that his hand was strong and assured as he clasped hers firmly; on the little finger of his right hand he wore a solid gold signet ring.
‘I’m Mark Adderbury,’ he said. ‘You must be Carole Clarke, the new staff nurse. Sister Beatrice told me about you. I’m glad to meet you, Carole.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard a bit about you too.’ Carole gave him the special smile she reserved for men who passed the test, and he did with flying colours. Good-looking, mature, rich and intelligent, he had all the necessary qualities – but what was he like as a man? ‘You visit the disturbed children, I think?’
‘Yes, that’s my job, but I’m interested in everything that goes on here and all the children. St Saviour’s gives hope to children who had none when they were brought here, Carole. I think helping a place like this to exist is the best job in the world.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Carole said, groaning inwardly. Not another man bent on a mission! She didn’t want to dedicate her life to good causes, unless there was something in it for her. Yet Mark’s smile was rather enticing and she decided to let the jury stay out for a while on this one. She wouldn’t mind getting to know him better before she wrote him off. ‘I do enjoy working with children; they are much easier than adults, I think. Elderly patients complain all the time and the younger men never do as you tell them.’ She gave a soft laugh to show that she was teasing and saw the flicker of appreciation in his eyes.
‘Yes, I imagine so, though I work with all ages. This is my pleasure in a way, though I wouldn’t want you to imagine that I have no other interests – good music, the theatre, dancing, books …’
Carole raised her eyes to his, seeing the sparkle there. Just the sort of things in life she liked herself – but was he taken?
‘I expect you and Mrs Adderbury have a wonderful social life …’
‘We had one, but my wife died some years ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, though she felt quite the opposite at the news he was a widower.
‘Thank you, but I have a pleasant life and lots of friends,’ he murmured.
Carole felt a spurt of annoyance. Did he mean women friends? Men usually fell at her feet, but Mark Adderbury showed no sign of following the herd and that aroused her hunting instincts – better to keep him keen.
‘Gracious, look at the time,’ she said, though she was still early. ‘It was nice meeting you, Mr Adderbury, but I must fly.’
‘Oh, Mark, surely,’ he said, calmly. ‘But I mustn’t keep you waiting and I too have to hurry …’
Carole could feel her heart racing as she went into the sick ward. She rather liked him, even if he did look at her as if she were a charming child rather than the exciting woman most men seemed to think her …
‘Oh, you’re early,’ Nurse Paula said as she entered. ‘Good, I can tell you the latest and then get off.’
Carole nodded and smiled. ‘I just met Mr Adderbury. He seems very nice?’
‘Yes, I suppose he is. I’ve hardly spoken to him, other than about the children. He and Angela Morton are good friends, I think – not that there’s anything in it. Sally says she still loves her husband: he was killed in the war …’
‘Lots of us lost loved ones in the war, my fiancé, father and brothers were all killed,’ Carole said without blinking. ‘But some of us choose not to wallow.’
‘What rotten luck, to lose so many men in your family. I can’t imagine how that feels,’ Paula said, looking sympathetic. ‘When I’m not on nights we might go to a film together sometime?’
‘What about your boyfriend?’
‘I don’t see Fred all the time,’ Paula sighed. ‘I used to go out with Sally sometimes, but she doesn’t have time these days.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Carole said. It was always best to make allies but she’d no need to commit herself at this point. Something better might come up − she thought again about Mark Adderbury. ‘Now, shall we look at what’s been happening? What about the new arrivals?’
‘Medically, they seem all right now; they were not much affected by the smoke, because Nancy got her brother out quickly – but the boy is difficult; he just stares vacantly, though I’m sure he knows what I say.’
‘Still in shock, I suppose, though he can talk when he likes. Has Mr Adderbury visited them?’
‘Yes, a little while ago. He said the girl was the best judge of her brother’s behaviour and very good at handling him; he advised me to just leave him for now and hope that he comes out of it – but he never tells us nurses more than he thinks we need to know.’
‘Well, all we can do is to keep an eye on Terry,’ Carole said. ‘If he is calmer now we shall not need to sedate him. We must just let his sister look after him and wait until he recovers. It was a terrible thing – to lose both parents in that awful fire.’
‘Yes, horrid,’ Paula agreed but frowned. ‘I don’t know why but that boy gives me the shivers. I wish they could be moved into one of the dorms.’
‘Don’t be foolish, Nurse,’ Carole said briskly. ‘Terry is just a child and he’s been through an ordeal. You must learn to make allowances.’
SEVEN (#ulink_caa083a3-23fa-5cd5-99c3-ced031abb1da)
Nan walked through to the hall of her small prefabricated bungalow and picked up the envelope the postman had just delivered. She’d been fortunate to get this place, having been bombed out twice during the war: the first time she’d lost almost everything, recovering only a few precious photographs and papers that were saved from the fire because she’d kept them in a biscuit tin, which miraculously survived under the rubble. The second time she’d merely had a room in a terraced house, sharing with three other families, and she’d been lucky, because it was the house next door that took the direct hit and she’d had time to pack a few things before the wardens came and moved everyone out as the fire spread. The powers that be had rehoused her here after the end of the war and she was gradually turning her little bungalow into a home.
She took the letter into the warm kitchen. These prefabs were not popular with everyone, because outside they looked a bit soulless, but the fortunate tenants loved them. The kitchens had modern electric fittings and hers had a nice closed-in stove that she could cook on and kept a steady temperature; the rooms were also warmed by coal fires and a copper boiler heated the water and provided a bath whenever she needed one. Nan thought she’d landed in heaven the first day she moved in. God knew, her life had never been easy, but at least here she was warm and comfortable and she only had herself to worry about … Well, that wasn’t strictly true, of course. She worried about Maisie in that place – but she was a fool to let herself think about things that distressed her. It was her daughter’s choice and Nan had to accept it, as Beatrice had told her when it all happened.
‘The girl has a right to her own life, Nan,’ her friend had said as they talked over a cup of tea. ‘We’ve both suffered tragedy, and you know as well as I do that we just have to get over it. You have a home and you have a decent job – and if Maisie is happy where she is …’
‘I know it has to be her decision after what happened to her,’ Nan agreed. ‘I don’t want to force anything on her, but I wish she would talk to me – she won’t even see me, Beatrice. She blames me for what he did …’
‘She’s wrong to blame you, Nan. It wasn’t your fault. After you lost your Sam and the boy – you had no choice but to take in lodgers.’
Nan felt a choking sensation in her throat. She’d been lost in her grief after her husband and her son, Archie, had both died of the typhoid fever. Maisie had been just a child of twelve then, and perhaps she’d neglected her – she must have done something wrong or Maisie wouldn’t have turned against her, because Nan couldn’t have known what that filthy brute had on his mind.
If she’d known she would have taken the meat cleaver to him!
Tears stung her eyes as she looked at the writing on the envelope. She didn’t recognise it, although it had come from that village down there in Cornwall. It hadn’t been written by her daughter, she knew that much.
Tearing the envelope open, she saw that her last letter to Maisie had once again been returned unopened. Slumping down at the kitchen table, Nan bent her head and wept. How could Maisie do this to her time and again? She was supposed to have devoted her life to God and was bent on becoming a nun and yet she didn’t care about the pain she inflicted on her own mother.
There was a brief note of regret from the Mother Superior and that was all. Sister Mary, as she was called these days, did not wish to receive letters from her mother just yet, but she would be informed if there should be a change …
Angry with her daughter and with herself for caring, Nan threw the letters into the fire. She looked at the precious photos in the frames she’d bought as and when she could afford them; they took up a whole shelf of the old oak dresser she’d purchased when she came to live here. There was only one of Maisie – after it all happened, looking pale and withdrawn, so different from the happy, pretty child she’d been when her father and adored brother were still alive.
Maisie had been Archie’s twin, and the change in her had started after he died, because she’d kept asking why she was alive and her twin was dead of the typhoid. Nan hadn’t been able to answer that, any more than she could explain what had happened between them – why she’d drifted away from her daughter, why she hadn’t seen what was happening, hadn’t realised what that filthy beast had on his mind.
No, she wasn’t going to let her thoughts drift in that direction. It was madness to dwell on whether she’d been at fault, as Maisie had claimed that day when she’d told her mother she was retiring to a convent to give her life to God.
‘You must have known what he was,’ Maisie had said calmly in a voice of ice. ‘How could you not have seen what was happening – the way he looked at me …?’
‘I was too busy, too tired.’ Nan had tried to explain that she had thought her lodger wanted to get her into bed rather than her twelve-year-old daughter. Yet she knew that however many times she apologised, however many times she begged Maisie to forgive her, she could never take away the horror of her daughter’s suffering at the hands of that beast.
Maisie had run away and it had taken months of searching before Nan found her living rough. She’d never known what had happened in those intervening days and weeks, because her daughter refused to speak for years. All the doctors she’d taken her to had been baffled, expounding all kinds of theories, but they’d all been wrong. Maisie had simply refused to speak until she was ready – until she’d made up her mind to leave her home for good.
It was all Nan’s fault, because she hadn’t looked after the girl; she hadn’t noticed what was happening under her nose, and for that she was to be punished for the rest of her life, it seemed.
Nan’s throat swelled with emotion, choking her, but she fought down the anger and the self-pity, refusing to give way.
She couldn’t let the past haunt her because Maisie had returned her letter again, and she wouldn’t, Nan decided. She’d been so happy while Sam lived but these past seven years had been nothing but grief – or they would have been had it not been for the friendship she’d formed with Beatrice.
Beatrice had suffered enough herself, though she never spoke of it to anyone, as far as Nan knew. Her secret remained locked inside her, and she had never revealed the whole of it even to Nan. Their friendship was strong and they’d grown closer over the years, especially since Beatrice had joined the staff at St Saviour’s. They’d met when Beatrice was ill in the Infirmary years before and Nan had been one of the cleaners on the ward. That was before Beatrice had decided to become a nun and take up nursing. Nan remembered taking her cups of tea and sitting on the edge of her bed talking to her until one of the nurses asked her what she was doing. Even then she hadn’t talked about what had made her so ill or why she’d decided to enter a convent, though Nan knew it was a personal tragedy that had brought her so low.
Sighing, Nan took out a clean handkerchief and wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. This wouldn’t buy the baby a new coat! The old saying made her smile, reminding her of her grandmother and happier times. They’d been really poor in those days, but everyone seemed more content, at least that was the way she remembered things. It was ridiculous to feel sorry for herself when there were so many worse off than she was; so many war widows and orphans. Nan was lucky to have this new home, a job at St Saviour’s that she loved and several good friends – a reluctant smile touched her lips as she thought of one of her newer friends. She liked Angela a great deal, and she had something to ask her …
Getting up, Nan pulled on her rather shabby grey coat, set a little blue felt cloche on her head and picked up her gloves and handbag. She must be getting back to St Saviour’s, because she knew that two of the kitchen staff were down with sore throats again, and Cook would be shorthanded. Besides her own work with the children, she would have to lend a hand with the fetching and carrying. Not that she minded what she did, and she had a scheme that might give her something to think about and stop her fretting about Maisie.
Going out into the morning air, she discovered it was colder again, a light dusting of snow on the ground, and she pulled her coat collar up around her throat. The weather had been bitter ever since the turn of the year, the coldest winter Nan could recall, and the snow had caused endless problems in many parts of the country. It was never quite as bad in London, because the traffic soon cleared much of the slush and ice away, but they’d had another power cut the previous evening. Nan was fortunate to have the stove, which kept her warm. She’d bought in a good store of coke and coal before Christmas, but she knew that some people were running short, especially those who could only afford to buy in small amounts. The last thing Nan wanted was to get ill again. She’d had a touch of flu late last year and she didn’t want another chill just yet.
Her bus was drawing up as she reached the stop and the conductor gave her a cheery smile as she climbed on board and found her seat. He was usually on the run to her stop just outside St Saviour’s and it was like meeting a friend every morning.
‘Usual fare, love?’ he asked, churning his machine without waiting for her answer and handing her the ticket. ‘Bit nippy out, ain’t it?’
‘Yes, very cold,’ Nan said, smiling at the understatement. ‘How is your wife getting on, Ned? Still got that nasty cough?’
‘She’s about the same, but she won’t go to the doctor’s,’ he said and winked. ‘Says a drop of brandy will set her straight and mebbe she’s right.’
He moved off down the bus as it drew into the next stop and a man in a grey coat and black trilby got on. He was carrying a newspaper, some worn leather gloves, and a brown paper parcel tied up with string; he dropped the parcel as he reached the seat where Nan was sitting. The conductor retrieved it for him and he struggled to tip his hat to Nan, dropping his paper on the seat in the process. She moved along to give him room.
‘All right if I sit here, ma’am?’ She thought his accent sounded a bit northern but wasn’t sure, because it wasn’t pronounced.
‘Yes, of course. I’ve got four stops to go yet.’
The man sat down and handed his fare to the conductor, then hunted for his newspaper. Nan wriggled it out from beneath him and he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with merriment. He must be in his early sixties, Nan thought, but attractive with it and clearly good-natured.
‘I should lose my head if it wasn’t stuck on,’ he confessed. ‘I always start off with half a dozen things and end up with most of them left on the bus or train.’
‘That must be awkward?’
‘They know me well at lost property,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I usually get everything back, though the newspaper doesn’t get handed in very often.’
‘I expect people think it has been abandoned and take it home.’
‘Very likely. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important today. I’m delivering this parcel and I’d hate to lose it. It’s part of the job I started last week, see. Work is hard enough to come by for a man like me.’
‘Yes, that would be awkward,’ Nan said, and laughed. ‘My name is Nan. I work at St Saviour’s – it’s a home for children in need …’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of it,’ he said, and offered his gloved hand. ‘I believe it’s run by Sister Beatrice – a friend of mine says she’s a marvel.’
‘Yes, Beatrice is wonderful with children. She is strict, because she has to be, but underneath she loves them all, as I do.’
‘What do you do there? Are you a nurse too?’
‘No, I’ve never had any training, but I had a family – and I help to look after the children. I suppose I’m the head carer. I just pick up the pieces and look after anything that needs doing, for the children, but also for everyone else. I do whatever I can to help, you see – and sometimes that is just a matter of a little tea and sympathy.’
‘Ah yes, I’m a great believer in tea and sympathy,’ he said. ‘Army life depends on it, you know. I was with the medics during the first war, just an orderly, running around fetching stuff for the doctors, and sorting out the men’s problems in me spare time. This time round I helped out at a care home; a biscuit and little drink of tea in my room helped to break down their reserve sometimes. Poor young devils; they’ll suffer for that damned war for the rest of their lives.’
‘Are you still in the Army?’
‘No, they threw me out after the Armistice; too old, they tell me,’ he said, and his eyes twinkled again. ‘I am lucky enough to have found myself a little job delivering books to the college. I’ve been taken on by a professor at the University. Nice chap, doesn’t ask much. I fetch his shopping, mostly cakes for the teas he gives his students. Like I said, a cup of tea makes the world go round and I enjoy meeting the lads. Decent bunch but a little mad at times.’
Nan laughed, because he was an old soldier, a bit like her Sam had been; he made her feel comfortable and she knew he must get on well with his employer and the students. He seemed an amiable, fatherly sort of man whom everyone could trust and rely on.
‘I expect they are just grateful that they didn’t have to fight that awful war.’
‘The lost generation,’ he said, and the smile left his eyes. ‘So many friends were killed in the Great War, though I came through it almost unscathed, but this time it was my friends’ sons … they deserted their education and their jobs to fight for King and Country and too many didn’t come back.’
‘Yes, it is so sad, but wars always are,’ Nan said. ‘Well, it was nice talking to you, but the next stop is mine.’
‘Ah, then I must let you escape.’ He got up, his parcel sliding to the floor. Nan squeezed out into the aisle and then picked up his parcel, handing it to him as he sat down. ‘Goodbye, Nan. I enjoyed our chat.’
Nan smiled. He hadn’t told her his name but he probably didn’t realise that.
‘So did I,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t lose anything …’
He murmured something but Nan was moving down the bus ready to get off at the next stop. Something made her look back before she stepped down, and he lifted his hat to her.
Nan smiled inwardly as she started the short walk to St Saviour’s. It was funny how often you met pleasant people on a bus and fell into conversation, yet you probably never saw them again. She wouldn’t mind travelling with the old soldier more often, but doubted if it would happen.
One thing, he’d cheered her up. She no longer felt so distressed by that letter. After all, Maisie was old enough to know her own mind and she would have to decide for herself if the future she’d chosen was what she truly wanted.
EIGHT (#ulink_9ddca5ee-c04d-51d0-84ee-7ce00316ac5d)
‘Are you sure you can part with them?’ Sally asked that Monday evening as she tried on the beautiful gown in Angela’s apartment. It was a delicious powder-blue satin with thin straps and a low back, and then there were two gorgeous fine wool dresses that were simple in design and suitable for an informal evening out or lunch at a nice hotel. This was the second time she’d tried on Angela’s clothes; she’d borrowed a smart grey dress when Andrew took her to the theatre the previous week. Sally had returned it nicely sponged and pressed, but now Angela had offered to give her these. ‘I’ve never worn anything like this, Angela. The material is wonderful and the styling – I only meant to borrow something now and then and I ought not to take them …’ She looked a little embarrassed.
‘I’m happy to know they will be useful to you,’ Angela said. ‘Honestly, Sally. I shall never wear them and I would much rather you had them than give them to the jumble sale.’
‘You’re so kind,’ Sally said, and slipped out of the gown, pulling on her own tweed skirt and pink and grey striped hand-knitted jumper. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do for you, you must let me know.’
‘I shall,’ Angela laughed, and poured more coffee for them both. ‘I’m arranging some fundraising events soon at the church and I’d like to enlist your help if you’re free.’
‘Of course. What are you thinking of doing next?’
‘Well, I’m considering putting on a concert of some sort. Some little sketches, a few songs, that sort of thing. We could involve the children and the staff and hold it at the church hall, sell tickets for a raffle and refreshments.’
‘I’d love to help. I could do a bit of sewing for the costumes or painting scenery,’ Sally offered. ‘I don’t think I’d be any good on the stage though.’
Angela shook her head. ‘Some of the staff at St Saviour’s have lovely singing voices. I noticed it at the carol service. Father Joe helped with that, but I don’t suppose he would want to help with a concert …’
‘Not unless it was a religious one for Easter.’
‘I was thinking of a simple theme with some of the popular songs. I could play the piano for them myself.’
‘You’re so talented, Angela,’ Sally said. ‘I often wish I had some kind of talent.’
‘But you do.’ Angela contradicted her instantly. ‘You’re so good with children, Sally. Even the naughty ones do as you tell them, and the little ones love you. I’ve seen the way they cluster about you when you read to them. Sometimes I think you should have been a teacher.’
‘I’ve never thought of that as a talent.’
‘We shall all miss you if you leave to become a nurse.’
‘It won’t be just yet. I have to take one more exam and pass my scholarship to the college before I can get taken on at the hospital. I’m not sure if I can afford to take it up even if I do pass. It depends on whether my father gets this new job.’
‘Has he applied for one?’
‘Yes. A builder got in contact with him and asked if he was interested in taking on the job of helping to restore some war-damaged buildings. It was such a surprise, because although Dad had put his name down all over the place he didn’t think anything would come of it … but this looks like it might lead to something, if Dad fits the bill and has got the right skills.’
‘Well, that is encouraging,’ Angela said, and turned away to look at some sheet music, because she didn’t want Sally to guess that she’d had a hand in getting Mr Rush a chance of this work. She’d spoken to the builder who had renovated her flat. He’d been talking about the lack of skilled men, because of all the casualties during the war, and she’d mentioned Sally’s father. He’d promised to give it some thought, and it seemed as if her suggestion might have borne fruit, but Angela had no intention of telling anyone that she’d mentioned Mr Rush’s name. It would only embarrass Sally.
‘Dad says it will mean giving up his job on the Docks, but his firm have been cutting his hours for months, because the work just isn’t there now since the war ended. The returning soldiers took all the jobs there were going and Dad lost out. There are all sorts of schemes for the future, but nothing certain. Mum says he’s a fool if he turns this offer down.’
‘He wouldn’t do that, would he?’
‘He said that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but Mum has talked him round, and I’m sure he’ll go if he gets the chance.’
‘Let’s hope he does,’ Angela said, and looked at her thoughtfully.
She’d been wondering whether she should voice her suspicions about Nancy. Had the girl really been implying that her father had abused her or had Angela imagined that look? That kind of thing was too horrible to contemplate. Angela couldn’t be certain, yet she’d sensed it that night when Nancy looked at her so oddly. If she spoke to Sister Beatrice or Father Joe, she knew that they would both want to investigate immediately – and Angela felt that Nancy needed a little time to recover from the trauma she’d experienced.
‘What do you think of Nancy and Terry?’ she asked casually. ‘They ought to be in the dorms with the other children, but he screams if anyone tries to take him away from his sister.’
‘I haven’t seen much of them,’ Sally said. ‘I’ve been on normal duties recently. Michelle asks for me to work with her when she needs a carer, but Staff Nurse Carole, she sort of ignores me. Oh, she says hello if we meet in the staff room, but she never says about going out or talks about her life – not that I’ve seen her much.’
‘We’ve just sort of smiled in passing.’ Angela raised her fine brows. ‘I expect most of your evenings are taken up now?’
‘With Andrew? We’ve been out three times since he got back after the New Year. He takes me to lovely places – what about you and Mark?’
‘Mark and I are just friends, Sally.’ Angela frowned slightly, knowing she sounded defensive.
‘Oh yes, I know that,’ Sally was quick to reassure her friend, ‘but sometimes he takes you out, doesn’t he?’
Angela felt a slight hesitation. She knew that she was still smarting over the business with her mother. She had been avoiding him at St Saviour’s and the thought of it made her unhappy, so she quickly changed the subject.
‘We’ve both been busy,’ Angela said. ‘Let’s see, this is Monday and I’m actually dining out with another friend of mine this week, Nick Hadden, but I’m free on Thursday evening. I think Forever Amber is on at the Regal; it came out last year but is still doing the rounds. I’d like to see it – if you would?’
‘I’d love to, but you mustn’t feel you have to.’ Sally looked shy.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t, believe me.’ Angela and Sally both laughed. ‘Like you, I haven’t made much headway with Carole Clarke yet. I like Michelle and I’m hoping she will come to my house-warming, but as yet I don’t have many friends here in London.’
‘Perhaps Carole is just slow to make friends,’ Sally said. ‘I must try to get to know her.’
‘Yes, me too. I’ll ask her to come to my house-warming. You’re right, Sally. We mustn’t misjudge her.’
‘Well, I ought to go now,’ Sally said. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve given me, Angela, and remember I owe you a favour.’
‘Forget the clothes. I should never wear them because of the memories they arouse. Now don’t say another word about them, and if you need to borrow shoes or anything for a special date just tell me …’
Sally laughed. ‘You’re a real friend, Angela. I’m glad you came to St Saviour’s.’
‘So am I; it’s given me a new life,’ Angela said, and pecked at her cheek. ‘Are you all right walking or can you get a bus? I imagine it is a bit slippery out, because I think there was some more snow – just a sprinkling, thank goodness, but it can be treacherous to walk on.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll go carefully. I’ll walk over the bridge and then take a bus,’ Sally said, picking up the bag of clothes. ‘Goodnight, Angela. I think your apartment is lovely … different and smart.’
Angela accompanied Sally to the door and waved her hand until she was in the lift going down. Then she locked her door, collected the dirty dishes and took them into the small kitchen. As she did so she thought again about Mark and realised that she hadn’t seen him since Christmas. He’d been in and out of St Saviour’s over the last week or so but she had deliberately avoided him and he hadn’t rung to ask her out. She knew that her feelings of anger at him were silly and unfair. She’d missed his company and yet was somehow reluctant to repair the breach between them; Mark was at fault, he should come to her.
Sighing, and feeling annoyed with herself, Angela ran a bath and slipped into the water scented with Yardley’s English Lavender. She knew she ought to talk to Mark about Nancy, because she had a feeling something was wrong with those children – something that wasn’t visible on the surface. Angela didn’t know why she felt so uneasy about them. St Saviour’s took in a lot of mistreated or damaged children, but there was something different about these two – something hidden.
Perhaps, she should invite Mark over for a drink one evening and ask what he thought of the children. Angela trusted his judgement and if he thought all was well, she would keep her suspicions to herself.
It was perhaps fate that Angela should bump into Mark a couple of days later when she went into the isolation ward. She’d made some lemon barley and was bringing a jug of it to the ward, and felt pleased when she saw that Mark was standing close to the boy’s bed with Staff Nurse Carole, checking the records. He turned as Angela entered and smiled, his eyes holding hers for just a moment.
‘Good morning, Angela. This young man was just saying he was thirsty.’
‘Yes, I came earlier to bring him something …’ Angela’s words died away as she saw her own teddy bear that she’d given to Terry. It was lying on the floor and its head had been torn off the body. The sight of her much-loved toy mutilated like that made Angela go cold all over. This was the teddy she given him to replace the one that Nancy said he’d lost in the fire. Why had he destroyed it?
Glancing at Terry, she saw a gleam in his eyes and knew that he was waiting for her to say something. He looked expectant, wary but excited, as though he had deliberately done it to make her angry. Carefully keeping her expression blank, she poured two glasses of lemon barley and took one to Terry and then one to Nancy, standing them by the sides of the beds.
‘I’m sorry, miss.’ Nancy spoke in hushed tones, glancing anxiously at the nurse and Mark, who were talking and looking at her brother. ‘I know you meant it kindly, but it upset him. He didn’t mean to do it, but when he gets upset he sometimes does silly things.’
‘It is all right, Nancy,’ Angela managed, though she was upset. ‘It was only an old thing. I just thought he might like it.’
‘He will like it after I’ve mended it,’ Nancy said. ‘If I could have some sewing stuff – I’ve always looked after him, sewing buttons on and things …’
Angela saw the frightened look in the girl’s eyes and reached down to touch her hand sympathetically. ‘Is that what you would like – some sewing things? I have some spare bits and bobs you could have if you like, and I could get you some material to make yourself a pretty dress you can wear for best.’
‘Sister Beatrice came earlier and told us I should join the others for meals and other things. I’ve been given two skirts and two blouses; they’re nice, better than my own clothes. She says I ought to go to school next week – but Terry isn’t well yet, miss. I can’t leave him or he’ll start screaming and breaking things; it was after she said that we should soon have to move to the dormitories that he did that …’ Nancy’s eyes flicked to the mutilated teddy bear. ‘Terry cried after he did it, miss. He wants me to mend it.’
Angela looked at Terry, but his eyes were flashing and it wasn’t remorse that she saw there. She looked back at his sister reassuringly. ‘All right, Nancy. I’ll fetch the sewing things in my lunch hour and bring them for you.’ It was very unusual for the brother and sister still to be in the isolation ward almost two weeks after they were admitted; but because Terry still woke screaming sometimes, Sister Beatrice had thought it might be for the best until they could decide what to do with them, otherwise they might wake the other children in the dorms. ‘Why don’t you sit over there by the window and look at the garden as you work? It would be better than being in bed when you don’t have to be.’
‘I pretended to have a headache so Sister wouldn’t make me get up and leave him …’ Nancy shut up abruptly as Mark approached them, looking thoughtful.
‘Hello,’ he said, bending down to pick up the mutilated bear. ‘What happened to this?’
‘We had a fight over it,’ Nancy lied. ‘I’m going to mend it.’
‘Well, poor teddy,’ Mark said, and put the bear down on a chair. ‘You seem well recovered, Nancy. Sister says you can get up but don’t want to – would you tell me why, please?’
‘I can’t leave Terry. He’s frightened on his own and he’ll start screaming.’
‘Yes, I thought that might be it,’ Mark said. ‘Well, I’ll have a word with Sister Beatrice for you and see if we can sort something out.’ He looked at Nancy a moment longer and then turned to Angela. ‘If you’re going to your office, I’ll walk with you.’
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Angela said hesitantly. She glanced towards Staff Nurse Carole at that moment and was surprised to see the annoyed expression on the attractive girl’s face. Her pale blue eyes glinted with ice, and Angela received the distinct impression that the girl had taken a dislike to her, though she had no idea why.
She nodded her head at Carole and walked to the door. Mark opened it and held it for her, closing it quietly behind them.
‘That was your bear, wasn’t it?’ he asked. ‘I’ve seen it before – when we brought some of your stuff to London just before Christmas?’
‘Yes, it was mine; fancy you remembering. I think it was getting very fragile, but Terry lost his in the fire.’
‘So you gave it to him and he destroyed it.’ Mark frowned. ‘It was a shame after you’d had it all those years.’
‘It didn’t matter. I expect he is just upset. It may have reminded him of things he doesn’t want to remember.’
‘Very shrewd,’ Mark agreed. ‘Yes, Terry is extremely disturbed and at the moment refusing to accept what has happened. He doesn’t want to remember anything. I’m not sure why – though of course the fire was terrible and they’ve lost their parents, but …’ He shook his head. ‘It’s all rather troubling. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with my musings, Angela. It’s just that I wondered about the bear.’
‘I’m not upset, Mark. Perhaps he did it to see what I would do. Sort of testing me, so I thought it best not to mention it to him. Nancy apologised.’
‘Yes, well, I shall have to see how things go,’ Mark said, and then smiled at her. ‘You wanted to talk to me?’
‘Yes. Actually, it’s about Nancy.’ Angela hesitated, she felt a sudden urge to make things right between them and it seemed silly to be avoiding him. Her father was right: Mark always did things for the best of reasons, even if she didn’t like the outcome. ‘Perhaps not now, Mark … I wondered if you would like to come to the apartment for a drink one evening? Not this evening because I’m going out with Sally to the pictures – but perhaps tomorrow, before you go down to the country?’
‘I can’t manage it this weekend unfortunately,’ he said. ‘Friday next week would be perfect. I was going to ask you for dinner one day soon but I never seem to have time these days.’
‘Yes, lovely. We’ll talk about it on Friday week – about eight?’
‘Just right,’ he said as they arrived at her office. ‘Well, I need to speak to Sister Beatrice about those two. Do you think you could find them a small room to themselves somewhere? Have a think about it and tell Sister if you can work out where we could put them together.’
‘Yes, all right, I will,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll look forward to Friday then …’
She went into the office and closed the door. It was only as she sat down at the desk that she recalled the way Carole looked at her.
NINE (#ulink_7eb86d7f-5f43-550a-b5ba-3bc5cc1b2e0f)
Carole glared as the door closed behind Angela and Mark Adderbury. She’d been getting on so well with the psychiatrist until Angela Morton turned up, breezing in on a cloud of fresh perfume – very expensive by the smell of it, her dress simple but well-cut and elegant, her shoes low-heeled patent leather. She looked confident and sure of herself – and of Mark Adderbury, smiling up at him in that guileless way of hers: the supercilious cat! Carole had decided she didn’t like the other woman, because she was too damned sure of herself and always looked as if she’d stepped out of a glossy magazine.
Carole felt a frump in her regulation uniform. Mark had been on the point of asking her to dinner, she was sure of it, before Angela Morton wafted in. Then there were all the questions concerning those two peculiar children. Neither of them was truly ill in Carole’s opinion. Nancy was putting on her headaches to get her own way, and the boy was just sullen. What they both needed was a good shake. Sister should put her foot down and make them separate into their various dorms. If she were in charge she wouldn’t take any nonsense.
Oh, well, it wasn’t part of her job to decide what happened to the children at St Saviour’s. All she was employed to do was to look after the sick ones.
Carole popped next door to the sick ward. Her patients were being served hot drinks by Jean Painter.
‘I’ve got some girls with sore throats to visit, Jean,’ she said to the young carer. ‘You can stay until I get back, can’t you? I don’t like to leave my patients alone – and the boy next door may start screaming. If he does just leave him to his sister. She can cope.’
‘Oh – if you’re sure,’ Jean said, and looked a bit nervous. ‘I haven’t been on sick ward duty alone before. Sally asked me to bring these drinks, because she was busy. It’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, fine,’ Carole said impatiently. The young carer was inexperienced and clearly unsure of herself, but she could manage for a while. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be long.’ She picked up a bag containing various bits and pieces she might need and took it with her. Nan had said it was the second room along the girl’s corridor. She was new here herself and it took time to find your way about, because the building was old-fashioned with unexpected staircases that led to different parts of the house. Completely unsuitable for its purpose in Carole’s opinion.
She took the lift up to the next floor and counted the rooms, but the sound of coughing from one of them would have told her where the girls were. She entered and saw they were all huddled in their beds, looking sorry for themselves.
‘Have you had anything for your sore throats?’ she asked, and got nothing but moans and complaints about aching limbs and feeling hot.
A brief examination of the girls told Carole that they had all gone down with a nasty bout of flu. Immediately, her training kicked in and she became the efficient and capable nurse she was when a patient was truly ill. These girls ought to be in the isolation ward so that she could keep an eye on them. It was so ridiculous that the brother and sister from the fire should be taking up much-needed beds.
‘How are they?’ Nan’s voice asked from behind her, and Carole turned with a frown.
‘They’re suffering from flu as you suspected. I can’t keep running up and down stairs. I must speak to Sister Beatrice about getting Terry and Nancy moved into the dorms.’
‘Let me speak to her. I quite agree that these children should be in the isolation ward – either that or we need another nurse on duty …’
‘Yes. It may come to that if more of the children go down with it.’
‘I’ll speak to Sister Beatrice now, but I know we don’t have much room.’
Nan went out and Carole checked the girl called Sarah’s temperature again. It was a little lower but she was still very flushed and moaned when Carole took her pulse, crying a little. She was certainly worse than the other two. Carole felt a little anxious about her, but she ought to go back and see how Jean was coping.
She was returning to the ward when she saw Sally Rush coming towards her and stopped her. ‘It’s Sally, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sally Rush. Can I help you with anything?’
‘Are you very busy this morning?’
‘No more than usual,’ Sally said. ‘I’m just about to take my lunch break – but that doesn’t matter if I can help?’
‘Thanks.’ Carole felt relieved. ‘I know you’ve been here longer than most of the carers and I’ve got rather a lot to do. Could you give me a hand this afternoon?’
Sally hesitated. ‘I should be taking the little ones to the park, but Jean could swap duties with me.’
Carole felt the relief flood over her. ‘Thank you. I should feel easier in my mind if I knew you were around. I am quite anxious about one of my girls. Sarah is very feverish.’
‘Sarah Morgan?’ Sally looked concerned. ‘Yes, with good reason. She has a history of respiratory trouble. When she came to us she was recovering from pneumonia in the children’s hospital and she was in the sick ward for months before she was able to join her friends in the dorm and at school.’
‘Nan never said a word about her needing special care. I ought to have been told,’ Carole snapped.
‘Nan probably thought you knew,’ Sally said. ‘Sorry, you haven’t been here long. You couldn’t know about Sarah’s weak chest but of course it was a long time ago.’
‘At least I know now. Thank you, Sally. This makes it even more important that Terry and Nancy should be moved.’
‘Are you too busy?’ Nan asked, poking her head round the door of Sister’s office. ‘It is quite important.’
‘Come in, Nan. Mark has been telling me that Nancy and Terry must not be parted, but we need the isolation ward free. I can’t let them stay there indefinitely − but I don’t have anywhere they can be put together …’
‘Have you asked Angela?’ Mark said, and received a glare for his pains.
‘She brought me an up-to-date list of available beds this morning. It’s impossible – until the new wing comes on stream.’
‘This is why I came to see you. The children can have my sitting room,’ Nan said. ‘It’s big enough for two single beds and I can use the staff room when I need a rest. It would be a temporary thing, until they can be split up – besides, we’ll have the new wing in a few weeks.’
‘Nan! You need a room where you can be private sometimes,’ Beatrice said, but the relief was in her eyes. ‘I suppose it would be useful for the time being … It means inconvenience for you, though.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. Excuse me now; I am supposed to be taking the younger children out. We’re going to Itchy Park, as it used to be called – Christ Church Gardens, as you probably know it.’
‘I won’t ask why it was called Itchy Park, I can probably guess – because of all the down and outs that congregated there?’ Mark followed her from the room. ‘You get on,’ he said, and watched her walk off down the hall.
Mark’s thoughts turned from St Saviour’s problems as he remembered the look in the attractive young nurse’s eyes. Staff Nurse Carole had been giving him sweet smiles and discreet hints ever since they met. She was very young, of course, but there was something about her that he was drawn to. He liked her and if it wasn’t for Angela …
Not that he knew where he stood with the woman who had become so important to him. Angela had grown since she came to St Saviour’s. If he’d helped her achieve peace of mind and a new confidence he was glad – but he still had no idea whether she thought of him as any more than a friend. At times he’d thought he was making headway but then, after Christmas, when she’d discovered her mother’s illness, she’d seemed to withdraw – even to blame him; though how he could have told her what was going on when both her parents had asked him not to, he had no idea.
Angela had embraced this new life with enthusiasm and it had given her the purpose she needed to live and be happy. He thought she was happy, though he could never be quite sure what lay behind the quiet eyes – as blue-green as a mountain pool. She was a deep character and he found her captivating, but Angela never gave him reason to think that she felt more than friendship.
What was it he wanted from his own life, he wondered. Was he content to continue as he had for years, living as a bachelor without a wife or family? He wasn’t too old to start a family, surely? For years he’d felt that he didn’t deserve a second chance, because after he and his wife, Edine, had lost their son, they had drifted apart and she’d died a pointless, lonely death.
Yet of late Mark had begun to think of a time when his working life was over. Did he really want to dwindle into some crusty old man living alone, too old for a social life and no family to care what happened to him? Mark laughed at himself for brooding. He would advise his patients not to dwell on negative things …
If he was to marry again, he would need to be sure it was to the right woman; that they had the rest of their lives together to look forward to. Was there anything wrong with asking a pretty girl out, even if she was too young? If he did, it might even make Angela notice him as a man rather than a friend.
He found he had a spring in his step as he went down the stairs and out of the home into the cool air. He loved this old city, with so much history in its ancient buildings – a good brisk walk as far as the London Hospital would clear his mind – and he ought to be thinking about his patients’ problems, not his own love life, or lack of it.
TEN (#ulink_be9304eb-90ed-5237-9020-990d2ee706d9)
Alice came in from the yard, shivering from the bitter chill and still wiping the remains of vomit from her lips. Her soft fair was lank because it needed washing and her pretty face was pasty. Always a little plumper than she’d have liked, she’d been putting on weight recently and her clothes had begun to feel tight around the waist. She’d already been sick twice that morning; once into the chamber pot in the chair commode both she and Mavis used in their bedroom, managing to empty that into the outside toilet without letting her mother see, but then she’d felt ill when she saw her brother eating bread and dripping and she’d had to make a dash for the yard to be sick again.
‘And what have you been up to, miss?’ Alice’s mother greeted her with a scowl. ‘What did you go dashing off like that for?’
‘I felt sick,’ Alice admitted, because she couldn’t get out of it. ‘I think there’s a bug going round at work. I must have got a touch of it.’
‘Yeah, several girls at the factory are off sick too,’ Mavis said, swiftly coming to Alice’s aid. ‘I felt a bit sick myself this morning …’
‘Well, I hope you don’t give it to me,’ their mother said unsympathetically. ‘I’ve got meself a little job scrubbing floors at the offices down the Docks. I can’t rely on your father bringing in money so I’m off to earn a wage meself. It means yer’ll ’ave to see to yerselves and yer brothers for breakfast from now on.’
Alice and Mavis looked at each other in relief as she left the kitchen. ‘I’ll do the washing up,’ Mavis offered. ‘You have to get to work before me, Alice – if you’re home early you can tidy up or get the vegetables done.’
‘Thanks, Mave,’ Alice said. ‘Are you goin’ out this evening with your fella?’
‘Might be,’ Mavis said and grinned at her. She turned on Saul as he grabbed another slice of toast and spread the rich fatty dripping on it. ‘Oi, take it easy with that, you greedy monkey, or you’ll be sick too.’
‘I’ll blame it on Alice if I am,’ he quipped. ‘If I was sick I wouldn’t have to go to school. I could go down the Docks wiv me mates and find meself a job.’
‘No, you couldn’t,’ Alice said sharply. ‘You have to work hard at school so that you can get a good job when you leave. Do you want to stand in line like Dad all the time and hope for a few hours’ work?’
‘That’s his fault,’ Saul said. ‘If he weren’t drunk and late all the time he’d get more work. They won’t take him because he’s unreliable.’
Alice didn’t answer as she took her coat from behind the door and went out into the street. Her young brother was right, of course, but her father drank because it was the only way he could bear his life – and that was Alice’s mother’s fault. Her tongue was like a razor and she never gave her poor husband a minute’s peace, even when he wasn’t drunk.
Pulling her coat collar up around her neck to keep out the icy wind, Alice walked quickly. It had been a close thing this morning. If Mavis hadn’t intervened about girls at the factory going sick, their mother might have suspected that Alice was pregnant. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her mother at bay, and she was terrified of the row that would erupt once her secret was out. Her mother would raise hell and then she’d throw Alice into the street. She didn’t know what she would do if that happened and she was close to despair. Oh, why had she ever let Jack get her into this mess?
So far she didn’t show very much so she should be able to keep her job for a while but what was she going to do when it became obvious? Her mind felt numb with fear and she couldn’t think past the day when her mother found out.
Smothering her sigh, she nodded and began to walk as fast as she dare; it had frozen again last night and the pavements were icy. During the worst of the weather, shops and factories had closed, because the electric kept going off and even the schools had shut their doors some days because they were too cold for the children. Alice thought it seemed a little better this morning and she didn’t want to spend money on a tram while she could manage the walk, because she would need all her money once her condition left her homeless and without a job.
‘Alice,’ Nan called to her as she entered the home, still hurrying; it had taken her longer to walk to work, because of the slippery pavements. ‘I wanted a word with you, please.’
‘Yes, Nan?’ Alice paused, the breath catching in her throat because she was always aware that she was here on probation. One false move and Sister Beatrice would send her packing. ‘Do you need me to do something?’
‘One of the children in room five was sick all over her bed this morning. I think there must be a bug going round. I’ve been busy since I got here and I haven’t had time to clear it up. Can you change all the sheets and covers and take them to the dirty laundry room, please?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Alice said, relieved that it was just a straightforward request to clean up a bed. ‘I’ll be glad to.’
‘Make sure to wash your hands afterwards. We don’t want you to go down with the sickness, Alice. I’ve enough trouble with the kitchen staff. Muriel was complaining of feeling a bit under the weather first thing. If she goes off sick I’ll be left with all the cooking.’
‘I don’t mind working a bit longer today,’ Alice volunteered. ‘I don’t need a lunch break, just a cup of tea.’
‘You need to keep your strength up,’ Nan said, looking at her with concern. ‘You’ve been a bit pasty recently, Alice. You’re not sickening for anything yourself?’
‘No, I’m all right, thanks,’ Alice replied more cheerfully than she felt. ‘If you need me to stay on, just ask.’
‘You’re a good girl, Alice.’ Nan hesitated, then, ‘It was a pity about what happened to your boyfriend, Alice – though perhaps you’re better off without his sort.’
Alice didn’t answer. Any girl in her position wanted to be married and respectable. Alice knew that once her condition became known people would turn their backs on her and whisper about her. Girls who went with men before marriage were not considered decent where she came from. You might be poor and you might have to mend your stockings and the holes in your clothes, but you kept yourself decent if you wanted to hold your head up high. Alice had broken the code when she’d let Jack make love to her and she was going to have to pay for it soon enough.
As she turned away, Nan touched her arm. ‘If you’re ever in trouble, Alice, come to me. I’m sure I can find a way to help …’
Alice stared after her. How could Nan know that she was in trouble? Of course she couldn’t – surely there was no way anyone could guess her secret yet?
ELEVEN (#ulink_63df0ed4-4e45-5b67-862f-3e6a740592af)
The old house was silent apart from the whispering of the wind in the eaves and the occasional soft tread of a carer’s footstep as she passed their room. Someone had looked in about ten minutes earlier, which was what had woken Nancy, and then she’d heard her brother whimpering in his sleep and the words he muttered sent chills down her spine. No one else must ever hear what he was saying or they would both be in terrible trouble.
‘Listen to me, Terry,’ Nancy said, leaning down to whisper close to his ear. ‘You’ve got to behave, because if you don’t they might try to separate us again. You’ll be taken somewhere they put bad boys – no, you’re not bad, but they’ll think you are if you say things like that – and they might lock us away in prison. You don’t want that, do you? You mustn’t ask who locked the door … if you do they might put us both in prison.’
Terry clutched at her hand, his dark eyes wide and fearful as he gazed up at her. ‘I don’t want to say, Nance, but the dreams keep coming. I’m frightened that he’ll come after me again. Next time he’ll kill me …’
‘Pa won’t hurt you no more,’ Nancy said, reaching out to smooth his dark curly hair back from his forehead. He felt damp to her touch, because he’d been sweating. The nightmares kept on returning and then he woke screaming, his body drenched. ‘I told you, he died in that fire. Him and Ma …’
‘I didn’t want Ma to die.’ Terry’s eyes spilled their tears. ‘What happened, Nance? I can’t remember when I’m awake but – I dream terrible things, hear them screaming but the door is on fire and it’s locked. I can’t get to Ma in my dream – I can’t get her out …’
‘Hush, now,’ Nancy said, and stroked his face gently. He was so terrified of his father’s cruelty; it was better if he didn’t remember what had happened. ‘It was Pa’s fault. He was drunk when they came back that night and so was Ma. He left his jacket on the chair and I took the keys and unlocked your door. I gave you some bread and dripping and a drink of tea and then – I left you to go back to sleep while I cleared up the kitchen. They had made such a mess … Pa was sick all over the floor. He shouldn’t have drunk so much and then it might not have happened.’
‘Pa beat me again, didn’t he?’ Terry clung to his sister’s hand. ‘He was bad, Nance – what he done to you. He deserved it but Ma didn’t deserve to die – why didn’t she come out?’
‘Stop thinking about it,’ Nancy ordered. The door had been blazing and she’d known it was too late when she saw how fierce the fire was and him standing there staring at it. ‘You have to forget it, Terry. Ma should have left him and taken us with her years ago.’
‘Are you angry?’ Terry asked, looking at her strangely. ‘You’re not angry with me? I was just standing there in the hall and then you grabbed me and pulled me down the stairs and we ran away …’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Nancy gave him a little shake. ‘Listen to me, Terry; this is important. You were in your room until I came and got you out of bed. What happened wasn’t your fault. Remember that if the police ask questions.’
Terry was shaking all over. ‘Why should they ask questions, Nance? We didn’t do nothing wrong, did we? Did I do something bad, Nance?’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Nancy said, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she shook him again. ‘Just remember, you were asleep until I grabbed you out of bed and shoved you down the stairs. Your dreams are just nightmares – you stopped on the landing and looked at the door. It was a sheet of flames and you just stared at it and then you screamed for Ma, but there was nothing we could do. Pa locked us out. It was his fault, that’s all you have to remember.’
‘I didn’t do anything bad?’
‘No, love,’ Nancy said, and held him in her arms, kissing the top of his head. He smelled clean and decent and she loved him. He didn’t carry the foul stink of a man that clung to Pa: sweat and beer and other things that made her shudder.
‘Nance, you won’t ever leave me? You won’t ever go away? I’m afraid of the dreams – afraid of what I see; afraid they might be true next time.’
‘It’s only because of the shock,’ Nancy said. ‘That doctor with the funny name said you were traumatised. I think that means you don’t know what’s happening – all those things you think happened are just bad dreams. Pa used to hit us, but that’s all.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m your own Nance, ain’t I? And I’m never going to leave you. I shall always look after you – just as you looked after me.’
‘Did I look after you, Nance? What did I do?’
‘You stopped Pa hurting me,’ she said. ‘You kicked and punched him and that’s why he went mad and beat you with his belt. He sent you to bed with no supper and said he’d deal with you in the morning.’
‘What was he doing to you, Nance? I heard you crying lots of nights – but I can’t remember what he did …’
‘That’s because it wasn’t important. He just hit me, the way he hit you and Ma – there was nothing else. You forget about it. We’re all right here for the moment, but you have to be good. Sally, she’s the nice one who came and brought us some sandwiches and talked to us today – and Miss Angela. They’re friends, Terry. You mustn’t pull the head off that teddy bear again or they will think something is wrong.’
‘All right. I’m sorry, Nance. I was just angry because my bear was lost in the fire and I couldn’t remember what happened …’
‘I should’ve brought Bear but there was no time. I’m sorry, love – but you must try, please, for both our sakes. I want to stay here, ’cos some places they might send us are terrible – worse than being at home with Pa.’
‘I’ll do what you say, Nance – as long as they don’t part us. I can’t be alone at night or the dreams will come true, I know they will.’
‘No, they won’t, because they can’t; it’s all over now,’ she soothed. ‘Now, I’m going to go down to the kitchen and ask for a hot drink for us both. Nan said that was what I should do if we woke in the night. She said someone would be about, because there are nurses and carers on duty all night – but you mustn’t be frightened. You mustn’t scream or call out. I shall come back. I promise I’ll always come back for you, Terry. They can’t part us for ever.’
Unless the police thought they’d planned it together and then they might put Terry in a mental institution and Nancy in prison.
‘All right,’ Terry said. ‘Go on then; I’m awake now. It’s only when I’m asleep that the dreams come.’
‘I know, but they will fade in time,’ Nancy said. ‘I miss Ma too – but Pa was bad. He deserved what he got – you’re not to blame, love.’ Their parents wouldn’t have known anything about what was going on, because the smoke would’ve killed them long before the fire touched them. Nancy couldn’t be certain how it had started, though she had a terrible suspicion that her brother might have had something to do with it. No, she wouldn’t let herself think it; her father had been drunk and he must have knocked the oil lamp over, mustn’t he? It had all been so quick and nothing was clear in her mind.
‘Just forget it, my love. We mustn’t think about it any more.’
Terry nodded; his eyes were wide and frightened even now. Nancy squeezed his hand and then left him to look for the hot drink she’d promised. He wasn’t the only one to have bad dreams; it was just that hers were with her all the time, waking and sleeping, but she could control them, could stop herself crying out things, and he couldn’t.
Nancy knew that she had to be careful. It was easy to make a mistake and say too much. She’d let her guard down with Miss Angela and she thought the woman might have guessed her secret – a part of her secret, but not the dangerous bit. Their lives depended on people believing her story. If they knew what Pa had done to her they might suspect she’d intended him to die and then … no, she had to keep it all inside.
It was Pa’s fault that he and Ma had died in the fire, though Nancy’s guilt over her mother was sometimes unbearable – but Pa was evil. He’d abused and ill-treated them all. He deserved to be dead and Nancy was never going to cry for him. She’d cried for Ma at first, but now she cared only about her brother. It was her duty to protect him from – whatever came along. Her eyes were burning with the need to weep, but she forced herself to keep the pain, the grief and the shame inside herself. She could never tell anyone the real truth as long as she lived …
TWELVE (#ulink_af084899-8387-5b74-89c1-6893001ec23f)
‘You must promise to have tea with me every day, at least until you get your room back,’ Beatrice said when Nan came to visit her the next morning. ‘I told you that you would have your own sitting room when I took over here – and I feel guilty about turning you out for that pair.’
‘Don’t make a fuss, Beatrice.’ Nan smiled comfortably. ‘We have a perfectly adequate staff room I can share and I like chatting to the younger ones. I’ve known you too many years to make a fuss over something like this – besides, what else could you have done?’
‘I should have insisted on splitting them up, as they ought to be. It isn’t natural for a girl of that age to be sleeping in the same room as her brother.’
‘I dare say there are thousands of them sleeping top to toe all over the country. Most families cannot afford the luxury of separate beds for the children, let alone separate rooms. My mother had five children and two bedrooms; we kids had to crowd into one room, but at least we were all girls. Two of my sisters died of scarlet fever when they were eleven and ten, and my eldest sister caught diphtheria when she worked at the Infirmary and died of it when she was seventeen. There’s only Geraldine and me left now and she lives down in Dorset. Apart from a Christmas card, I haven’t heard from her in years – but I don’t think our upbringing did us any harm.’
‘I know you’re right. In a perfect world – but I doubt we shall ever have that, Nan.’
‘Perhaps one day things will change. They will build lots of lovely houses with electric, modern bathrooms and enough bedrooms for a family …’
‘And if they do a lot of the tenants won’t be able to afford the rent, unless the Government pays out money to keep them.’ Beatrice smiled wryly. ‘How are you anyway? Have you heard anything positive from Maisie?’
‘No,’ Nan sighed. ‘We don’t have much luck, you and I, do we?’
‘Not with our private lives. You should go down there – insist on talking to her. She’s your child, Nan, and you have a right to at least talk to her.’
‘I tried that last year and the Abbess told me I was wasting my time. She was very kind and understanding, but said Maisie needed privacy to recover and heal – but she didn’t call her by her name, of course. She’s known as Mary there.’
‘You’ve never known why she suddenly took it into her head to go off and enter a convent?’
‘She didn’t speak to me for years after I found her living rough with those tramps under the arches, but on her eighteenth birthday she told me that she had to find peace, and that she had to be away from me. I’ve never understood why she blamed me for what that brute did to her.’ Nan closed her eyes in remembered grief. ‘I can’t believe I was such a fool – but he was kind to us and I was missing Sam.’
‘You shouldn’t take all the blame, Nan. Why didn’t Maisie tell you when it began? She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t give you a chance to help her.’
‘Perhaps she tried and I didn’t listen. I remember being tired and feeling unwell a lot back then. I suppose I was lost in my grief over Sam and Archie.’ Nan shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t talk about it, it only upsets me.’
‘My fault. I know how you feel – but if I had a chance to make amends … It is too late for me, Nan, but not for you. Don’t ever give up. Maisie is alive and one day she might need you again. I needed the protection of the convent when I made my vows and I dare say Maisie did too, but she is very young. You should let her know that she can return to her home if she needs to. Not every nun remains a nun for the rest of her life. There is a chance that Maisie will change her mind one day.’
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- Жанр: Историческая литература, Современная зарубежная литература
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 430 стр. 3 иллюстрации
- ISBN: 9780008118488
- Дата выхода книги: 10 мая 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
A gritty drama that will appeal to fans of The Throwaway Children and authors Nadine Dorries and Kitty Neale.When little Terry and Nancy arrive at the door of St Saviour’s Children’s Home, they seem shellshocked after being orphaned in the fire that killed their parents. Terry is terribly damaged by his experiences, though the concerned staff, especially Angela Morton, suspect that there is something more sinister behind his disturbing behaviour.Angela shares her anxieties with Mark Adderbury, a psychiatrist volunteering at the home. They’ve grown closer recently but Angela, still grieving the loss of her husband, feels that Mark needs more from her than she can give. Then why does she feel so jealous at the arrival of Staff Nurse Carole, who seems to have captured Mark’s attention?They must all pull together to get to the bottom of what really happened to Terry and Nancy, but the truth may be harder to take than they realise . . .
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