Connie’s Courage (12 page)

‘No, Cecily, it was Connie,' Ellie insisted again. ‘We must go after her.'

‘Oh, Ellie, my dear, be reasonable. How could it possibly be Connie?'

Ellie stared at her cousin, suddenly realising how she must appear to her.

And Cecily was right. How could it have been Connie? Connie was dead. Ellie had let her own pain overwhelm reality! Bleakly Ellie let Cecily lead her away.

‘I'm sorry, Cecily,' she apologised shakily. ‘It was that just for a minute …'

‘Let's go and have our tea,' Cecily told her firmly, tightening her grip on Ellie's arm.

‘I've ordered us tea and some crumpets,' Mavis told Connie, as she hurried into the teashop. ‘I'm really looking forward to Christmas at the Infirmary now. I wasn't at first, but Josie told me that Sister said that it is the most jolly time, with every ward having its own party and all manner of festivities taking place. There's a proper Christmas dinner and Matron herself hands out presents from a huge tree.'

‘And, with a bit of luck, that handsome young policeman who's got an eye for you might be on duty?' Connie teased her mischievously, laughing when Mavis blushed.

‘If you mean Frank, the only reason he stopped me to talk to me the other day was because he wanted to ask after old Mr Beddoes. He brought him in, you see, and he wondered how he was getting on!'

‘Oh, I see, it was just to talk about the old man that he stopped you, was it?' Connie asked guilelessly. ‘I'm only asking, seeing as how Mr Beddoes is on my ward.'

Seeing how self-conscious Mavis looked, Connie relented and stopped teasing her. ‘Did Frank say if they've found out who it was who knocked him about so badly? Poor old thing's got a broken leg and Gawd alone knows what happened to his insides! Mr Clegg isn't saying anything, but somehow I don't think he's going to be going home,' she added darkly.

‘Frank said that Mr Beddoes wouldn't tell them anything, but that Mrs Beddoes said something
about them being pestered for money by some man. Frank says there's some sort of gang been set up that goes round demanding money from people. But they can't do anything, because everyone's too afraid to talk to the police.'

Connie shivered as she climbed reluctantly off the bus, and huddled deeper into her coat, wrapping her scarf more closely around her face against the taste of the freezing vapour shrouding the street.

It was the week before Christmas, Mavis had gone to New Brighton to see her family and to take her Christmas presents to them, as they were both working on Christmas Day. Vera had gone out with her young man and Josie was on duty, which had left Connie free to complete her self-imposed task.

Apprehensively, she turned to look over her shoulder, but to her relief the dingy street was empty. Even so, Connie was nervously aware of being in a part of the city which was neither safe nor desirable.

And yet, she had lived here with Kieron, she reminded herself, as she hurried down the street, hoping that she did not look as vulnerable and out of place as she felt.

It might be less than a year since she had left this
area, but already the time she had spent here was a dim memory she wanted to forget rather than to remember.

The laughing, loving girl who had come here with Kieron had gone. She was a different person now, Connie recognised. A wiser, more cautious, person who bitterly regretted what she had done. She knew she would never forget what had happened to her here, neither Bill Connolly's harsh cruelty nor the wonderful kindness of Ma Deakin. But for her, Connie suspected that her miscarriage might well have taken her own life, as well as that of the child she had been carrying.

A small stab of guilty pain ached through her. She was glad, of course, that she had not had to endure the stigma of bearing an illegitimate child, but, even so, the thought of that small lost life saddened her.

The corner of a building loomed up marking the entrance to Back Court where she and Kieron had lived. As Connie hurried past it, she turned her face away from it, and fought her compulsion to turn back to look into the dank sour-smelling opening, in case Bill Connolly was waiting there to pounce on her, and drag her into the pit of sin he had planned for her.

It was only a few more steps to Ma Deakin's small house, and, as she stepped up to the door and knocked quickly on it, she looked anxiously up and down the street. It was unlikely that if anyone saw her, they would recognise her. But
what if they did? What if they were to tell Bill Connolly?

Not for the first time, Connie questioned the wisdom of what she was doing. But something stronger than her fear had made her come here, and although Connie herself did not know it, it was the same something that her superiors at the Infirmary had recognised in her: a strength of character and a fortitude, which she had been born with, but which her circumstances had forged into true strength and inner courage.

The door opened, and a sullen-faced, unfamiliar young woman stared aggressively at Connie.

‘If it's me mam youse is wantin' she's away at a laying-out,' she announced brusquely, and made to shut the door.

Quickly Connie put her hand against it, and produced the small package she had brought with her. Inside it was the lavender blue shawl she had bought for Ma Deakin, and which had cost her more than she could easily afford. Wrapped in bright-coloured Christmas paper, it looked almost obscenely out of place in such grey surroundings, and Connie could see the woman's eyes widening, as Connie thrust it toward her.

‘You will give this to your mother, won't you!' Connie asked her anxiously.

‘'Course, I will,' the young woman replied fiercely. ‘I ain't no thief, and even if I was I wouldn't take from me own mam. What do you take me for, and who are you anyway? she demanded suspiciously.

Satisfied that she was speaking the truth, Connie guessed that the young woman must be Lily, whose bed she had taken whilst Ma Deakin was nursing her back to full health. Whoever she was, Connie was glad that she did not recognise her.

The moment the other girl had taken the parcel, Connie turned and plunged back into the thickening, freezing mist, hurrying away from the shame of her past and toward the bus that would take her back to the safe security of her present and her future.

Connie, I'm glad you're on your own.'

Connie smiled as Mavis sank down onto her bed.

‘Were your mother and sister well, Mavis?' she asked.

‘Oh, yes, they were fine, that's what I wanted to say to you. I …' She went slightly pink as she hesitated, and then burst out. ‘Connie, my mother has asked if you would care to come and stay with us when we get our two days off in lieu of Christmas. I have told her so much about you, and that you have no family of your own.'

Connie had gone pink herself as she listened. Those nurses who were going to work over the Christmas period had been given two days off after it, and Connie had already wondered how on earth she would spend hers.

‘Did your mother really mean it?' she asked Mavis excitedly.

‘Connie, she said she would love to meet you, and so did my sister, and I would love you to meet them. I know that Josie is to go and stay with her aunt, and I expect that Vera will be seeing Bert and her parents.

‘Isn't it funny how things turn out? Connie murmured thoughtfully. ‘When we all met that first day, I thought that Vera and I were so alike, and we were, then, but now … Connie paused and shook her head. ‘I never imagined that learning to be a nurse would make me feel the way that it does.

‘I always knew I wanted to be a nurse, Mavis said quietly.

Silently they looked at one another, both recognising in each other a kindred spirit, in a way that went far deeper than mere shared interests.

Putting her hand out, Connie touched Mavis's arm and said huskily, ‘I am so glad that you have asked me to come home with you, Mavis.

Unbidden, the thought came into Connie's head that both her mother and her sister would have liked Mavis, and approved of her as a friend. But neither of them would ever know her. Her mother was dead, and she, Connie, was as good as dead to Ellie.

‘Connie, you look so sad, what is it? Mavis asked her worriedly.

‘It's nothing, really,' Connie fibbed, but inside she was acutely aware of how much she wished both her mother and her sister might be able to
recognise how truly she repented of her stubbornness, and selfish foolishness. She longed to feel that both of them might be able to witness her remorse, and forgive her for her past sins. Especially Ellie. If Ellie could see her now, would she hold out her arms to her, and tell her that she still loved her? Did she ever think of her and wonder about her?

Suddenly Connie was filled with a longing to see Ellie again … to talk with her. It was almost Christmas after all. A time when families came together.

‘But Vera you can't do that! We all have to work over Christmas, Connie protested.

‘Well, I'm not going to. Bert wants me to spend Christmas day with his family, and that's what I'm going to do. You won't catch me missing out on a good opportunity like that! I'm lookin to better meself!' Vera answered her, tossing her head belligerently.

‘You ll be found out, Connie warned her, ‘and after what's already happened …

‘So what if I am found out, Vera shrugged. ‘I don't care. I'll be leaving here anyway just as soon as I've got Bert's engagement ring on me finger, and like as not he'll be putting it there Christmas day! Do you know something? Vera continued sharply. ‘The trouble with you, Connie Pride, is that you are getting more like Mavis every day!

‘I've got to go,' Connie told her, quickly finishing
her meal and getting up from the table, ‘I'm back on duty in a few minutes.'

Connie walked as quickly as she could through the tunnel, without breaking into a run, which was strictly forbidden by Matron, since the sight of a nurse running might panic the patients.

The operating theatre, and the wards for the surgical patients were on the top floor of the Infirmary, and Connie knew she would have to hurry to be back on duty in good time.

Mr Clegg the Infirmary's senior surgeon, a man who was admired both by his patients and those who worked under him, had the previous day had to perform an emergency amputation on a young man who had slipped under the wheels of a brewery dray. Mr Clegg had had to remove both his legs, and Connie was thinking of the young man as she hurried onto the ward.

The sight of his empty bed, stripped of its bedding, and the set, stiff faces of her colleagues told its own story.

Connie felt tears burn the backs of her eyes, but she knew better than to let them fall. It was a strict rule that nurses were not supposed to become emotionally involved with their patients.

‘What happened?' Connie asked one of the other nurses in a hushed whisper.

‘E started bleeding about six o'clock this morning. Nothing we could do could stop it and, in the end, Sister sent for Mr Clegg, but it was too late. Poor lad had died ‘afore he got there.'

The young man's death had cast a pall of sadness over the normally cheerful ward, and Connie could see the fear in the eyes of the other patients.

Even after her shift had finished, Connie discovered that she could not forget about the young man and his sad death, and she said as much to Mavis, when Mavis joined her in their room after her own shift had finished.

‘It is sad, Connie. I felt the same way when we lost Mr Beddoes, the old man who Frank brought in so badly beaten.' She gave a small sigh. ‘It reminded me of how my own dear father lost his life.'

‘What did happen to him, Mavis? I don't want to pry, of course, if it's too painful for you to talk about what happened.'

Mavis shook her head.

‘It was dreadful, Connie. My father's shop was broken into and my father was attacked – murdered.' She gave a deep shudder. ‘I must admit, I still can't bear to think about it. Not really. We were all so shocked, especially my mother. She and my father were devoted to one another. My father's death left us virtually penniless, and we had to move from our lovely house to this horrible, horrible place.

‘Harry, my brother, said that he would take on some kind of clerking work, for a junior teacher does not get paid very well at all, but my mother begged him not to. You see, our father was so proud of Harry's cleverness and scholarship, and
the fact that he was to be a teacher. He talked of nothing else, and swore that one day Harry would be a headmaster!

‘And then father's aunt, who is not very well, said that she would take us in, provided that Mother would run the house for her and look after her. Mother said it was the answer to her prayers, but Harry was not so pleased. He feels that our great-aunt puts on Mother and does not treat her at all kindly. But Mother says that it is just her way, and that she does not mind, and that all that matters to her is that we are happy.

‘I know that Harry does without himself so that he can send Mother money, even though he pretends that he does not. I try to save something from my wages to help out as well, although it is not easy when we are paid so little.

‘But there I am, speaking as though we have nothing to be grateful for, or happy about, and are very sorry for ourselves. But that is most certainly not true!

‘I could never think of you as someone who feels sorry for herself, Mavis, Connie assured her truthfully.

Mavis smiled gratefully. ‘I am so glad that you are to come home with me next time, Connie. I have told my mother and my sister, Sophie, so much about you.

‘I'm looking forward to meeting them! Connie smiled, her mood lightening. It was true that she was looking forward to going home with Mavis
and being part of a proper family again, if only as an outsider.

‘And I've just learned that my brother will be home at the same time, so you will be able to meet him as well,' Mavis said to her happily. ‘He is the dearest person, Connie.