A Wartime Nurse (28 page)

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Authors: Maggie Hope

Tags: #Nurses, #World War; 1939-1945, #Sagas, #War & Military, #Fiction

BOOK: A Wartime Nurse
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‘I’ll take you,’ said Gene, who had his own car with him.
‘You be careful, our Theda,’ said Joss. ‘You can’t trust these Yanks. You know what they say: overpaid, overfed, oversexed—’
‘An’ you watch your language, our Joss,’ said Bea, trying to look severe.
‘—and over here,’ he finished, unperturbed, and grinned amiably at Gene to show he meant no offence really.
‘I can catch a bus just outside,’ said Theda.
‘No, I insist, I’ll take you,’ said Gene. ‘I’m not drunk, honest.’ And neither he was, Theda knew. He had only had a couple of beers all day.
They said their goodbyes and went outside to a chorus of catcalls and knowing looks from the company. ‘Go to it, Gene!’ the airmen called, and were still whistling as the door banged closed after them.
There had been a snowfall while they were inside the club and the street was deserted and dark. Gene’s car was still parked outside the chapel and they walked up the street to it, the snow becoming thicker and faster even as they went. He held his greatcoat over her, shielding her from the worst of the storm, his arm around her holding her close against him.
A man passed holding an umbrella coated with snow. ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘Nasty night, isn’t it?’ Then he stopped and stared at her. ‘Miss Wearmouth, isn’t it?’ he asked, and she saw it was the mine manager, Tucker Cornish.
‘Good evening, Mr Cornish,’ she murmured, keeping her head down, her heart dropping. The events of the day had kept her brooding thoughts of Ken away but seeing his uncle brought them back and it was like a blow. She was aware that he was standing watching as Gene opened the door for her and she got in.
Gene had to clean the snow from the windscreen before they could go and when the engine started it shattered the deep, muffling silence. But the snow soon stopped and by the time they got to the hospital what was on the ground had turned to slush and the roads were becoming bare.
‘At least you’ll be able to get back to base,’ said Theda as she turned to thank Gene for the lift. All she wanted to do was get back to her own room, and to be by herself.
‘Yes,’ he replied, not very interested because he was leaning towards her and, taking her by surprise, kissing her on the lips.
‘Please don’t,’ she said, her hand on the door handle.
‘Too soon? OK, I can wait. I’ll see you again?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’ Theda was miserably conscious that all day she had allowed him to think his attentions were welcome. ‘I have to go now, or I’ll be in trouble.’
He got out and opened the car door for her. ‘I’ll call you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Goodnight. Thank you for the ride.’ And she hurried away, not looking back until she got to the main door. Gene was still standing there, by the open car door. When he saw she was looking he waved and swung the door to and climbed back in at his own side. She watched as he did a three-point turn and headed back up the road.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with our Theda,’ Bea confided to Matt. ‘She’s living in a world of her own these days.’
He looked up from his perusal of the
Daily
Herald
. ‘Aye, she looks a bit pale. I thought she’d got over Alan when she started going out with that doctor. But it’s hard for the young ones nowadays, the men going off an’ all. It’s my belief she’s working too hard. Same as most of us till this war’s finished and done with.’ Matt yawned and scratched his head and stretched his bare feet along the fender towards the blazing fire. ‘I’m tired to death meself. By, that extra half hour on the end of a shift feels like half a day’
‘Best get up to bed then,’ said Bea. ‘Let me get on with the baking. I don’t get much help these days. When Theda does come home she spends half her time in the bedroom. I’ve seen the day she would come home and pitch in with the work almost before she’s got her coat off.’
Matt stood up and curled his toes into the proddy mat. He knocked the glowing end of his cigarette into the fire and carefully put the stub behind his ear. ‘I’m off then. Don’t forget, I want to be up early, I’m going to the match. The Bishops are playing Crook today.’ He glanced out of the window at the empty yard before taking hold of her and nuzzling his face into her neck. ‘I don’t suppose you want to come up wi’ me for a minute or two?’
‘Oh, had a way with you! It’s all you men think about, it is an’ all.’
‘All what men? Who else has been in here making suggestions, eh? Best come clean, woman!’
‘Who else would have me?’ she asked, and watched as he went to the bottom of the stairs and turned and winked at her. She snorted and turned to the earthenware bowl by the side of the hearth. She picked up the tea towel covering it and prodded the dough with a fork. It could wait a while, it wasn’t proved yet.
It was quiet with all the family out of the house. Chuck would be in off the back shift but soon he would be married and away an’ all. Bea moved to the door and turned the key in the lock, then padded upstairs after Matt.
But still, she told herself as she took off her clothes and climbed into bed beside her husband, she would have a talk with Theda the very next time she came home. She would do her level best to get to the bottom of what was troubling the lass.
In the bathroom of the nurses’ home, Theda leaned over the lavatory basin, retching. This was the third time this week, she thought. Standing up straight, she wiped her mouth with toilet paper and went over to the wash basin. She filled it with cold water and splashed her face and forearms, though she was already shivering in the glacial bathroom.
What was she going to do? There was no word from Ken, none at all. Perhaps she could go and see Mr Cornish? He would know where Ken was, wouldn’t he? She shrank from going, though, the very thought humiliating. There was a knock at the door.
‘You going to be in there all morning? Some of us are due on the ward, you know.’
‘Sorry, I’m coming now.’ Theda picked up her wash-bag and unlocked the bathroom door. She darted past the couple of nurses waiting with her head down and went into her room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment. How could she even have thought of making a critical judgement on Clara? At least her sister had been going out with her Canadian for a few weeks, her child conceived in love.
My
child is a love child, thought Theda. Trouble was, the love was all on my side. She smiled grimly and pushed herself away from the door, weariness in her every movement, and began to dress for her day on the ward. What she really wanted to do was go home and hide in her own bed, the bed that was hers alone now that Clara had got married. But she daren’t do that. Bea would know straight away what was the matter in that bathroomless house.
Major Koestler was on the ramp just outside the prisoner-of-war section. Whether he had just come out of a ward or was waiting around for her, which was what Theda suspected, she didn’t want to see him. She couldn’t deal with him at the moment.
‘
Morgen
, Staff Nurse,’ he said, clicking his heels and tipping his head forward in that foreign way he had. ‘May I walk with you to Hut K?’
Theda was in no mood to be diplomatic. ‘No, I think not, Major Koestler,’ she said, walking straight past him, but he fell into step with her anyway.
‘Your name is Theda, I think? A pretty name, though I haven’t heard it before,’ he said, and she stopped abruptly and turned to face him.
‘Please, Major Koestler, stop following me about. If you don’t, I will have to report you to the authorities.’
She was sorry she had been so sharp as soon as she saw his shocked expression but it was too late to take it back.
‘I simply wished to ask you if you had heard from Major Collins.’ He turned on his heel and walked rapidly away, disappearing into the next hut. His pride was hurt, she realised, but the realisation was overlaid by the pain his mention of Ken had brought to her. She carried on down the ramp, feeling more miserable than ever.
In her break, Theda made her usual fruitless journey over to Block One to check her pigeon hole for any post, most especially a letter from Ken. Still in the back of her mind was the thought that there must have been a mistake. Surely he would write to her. Was it possible for him to be in a situation where he couldn’t get in touch? But the war was going well, it would be over soon, please God, and Ken was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. He wouldn’t be in the front line, now would he?
There was a letter in the cubby hole, a long brown envelope, and her heart flipped and began racing until she could hardly see the typed name and address. Typed. Why would Ken type a letter to her? She stared at it but the envelope gave nothing away and as her eyesight returned to normal she turned it over and tore it open.
It was from Sunderland Royal Infirmary. The disappointment was like a physical pain. It offered her a place on a course, Part One in Midwifery, beginning in March. Theda stared at it. It was useless, she couldn’t go now. She stuffed the letter and envelope into the pocket of her uniform dress and walked out of the building and across the open space to the hutted section.
Somehow she had to get through the day. It stretched ahead of her, never ending, and would be followed by another and another just the same. And now there was not even any hope of getting away for how could she take her midwifery now?
Theda went back to Winton Colliery that afternoon. She was working a split shift and expected back on the ward by half-past four but she had foregone her lunch and it was only fifteen minutes past one. She had plenty of time. Not that she intended going home, not unless she was seen by someone who would tell her mother she was there. No, she was going to the gaffer’s house to see Tucker Cornish. She had to find out if he had Ken’s address.
It was a quarter to two when she descended from the bus, still the dinner hour. If she hurried she might find Mr Cornish at home. She paused at the gate, almost changing her mind, then walked up to the door and knocked, her heart thumping. Mrs Parkin answered the door.
‘You’re lucky to catch him – he’s finished his dinner and will be going back in a minute. He hasn’t got much time, mind. Is it important?’
‘I won’t keep him long,’ Theda assured the housekeeper. She said no more though Mrs Parkin looked enquiringly.
‘Well, then, I’ll just tell him you’re here,’ she said finally.
Tucker was in his sitting-room, smoking his pipe before the fire. He rose to his feet as Theda went in, smiling coldly enough to make her rush into her explanation of why she was here, almost before they had exchanged polite greetings.
‘Do sit down, Miss Wearmouth,’ he said, cutting into her explanation, and she sat awkwardly on the edge of a chair. ‘Now, what is it you want?’
‘I wondered, Mr Cornish, if you could let me have Major Collins’s address?’
Tucker looked at her consideringly. He took some time before answering by relighting his pipe. ‘My nephew? Has he not written to you?’
Theda flushed. ‘No.’
‘Well then, Miss Wearmouth, I think perhaps you should wait until he does, don’t you? In any case, I don’t have his address. He could be anywhere in Europe.’
Theda got to her feet. Her flush had receded and she held her head high as she replied.
‘It doesn’t matter, it wasn’t important. Look, I have to go, I have to be back at the hospital . . .’ She turned for the door and Tucker moved to open it for her but was too late.
‘Goodbye then, Miss Wearmouth,’ he said. He watched her going down the drive, unsure now that he had done the right thing. She wasn’t the sort to chase after a man who didn’t want her. Was she in trouble? There had certainly been an air of desperation about her.
He remembered the day he had come back from Marsden early in January.
‘Major Collins must have brought a friend here over the holidays,’ Mrs Parkin had said. ‘A lady friend.’ She was cleaning the sitting room and held up a green chiffon scarf she had found behind the sofa.
‘Major Collins knows he is welcome to bring any of his friends here,’ Tucker had said. And then there was the time Ken had taken Theda Wearmouth over to Marsden. Tucker’s mother had been delighted that her grandson was showing an interest in girls again after Julie’s tragic death. Perhaps he would write to Ken via Jane and ask him if he wanted Theda to know where he was? That was the best idea.
Still, he remembered the night he had seen the girl come out of the Working Mens’ Club with a Canadian airman. The man had had his arm around her, and they were laughing together. And though he never took notice of the tittle-tattle in the village, he knew tales were going around about her sister’s marriage to another Canadian – a flighty sort of girl, that one, according to village opinion.
Tucker had a horror of flighty women. The very thought was enough to make him shy away. There was the woman his father had run off with, or rather had gone to live with in Winton Village, leaving his mother with two small boys. The shame of it had ruined his childhood, leaving deep indelible scars. Wesley Cornish and his fancy woman had been the talk of the place. Ken wanted nothing to do with anything like that. The dirt would only rub off on the lad. Pulling on his overcoat, Tucker called goodbye to Mrs Parkin and went back to the pit.

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