Nightingales on Call (3 page)

‘I knew it! You sly little bitch. Wait until your dad’s gone, then sneak off and leave us . . .’ Gladys planted herself squarely between Jess and her suitcase. ‘You can’t go! I ain’t allowing it. I need you here at home. How am I supposed to manage the kids on my own?’

‘You could start by spending less time at the pub.’ Gladys had wasted no time in going back to her old haunts once her husband was locked up. She didn’t go short of male company either, by all accounts.

Not that Jess really cared what she did. Life was easier when her stepmother was out with her men friends.

The slap was sharp and sudden, catching her off guard. Jess flinched, angry with herself for not evading it. After four years, she could usually tell when Gladys was about to strike.

‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me!’ Angry colour clashed with the bright spots of rouge in Gladys’ cheeks. ‘After everything I’ve done for you, too. I’ve taken you on as my own . . . not many women would do that. Treated you as my own flesh and blood, I have.’

In spite of her stinging face, Jess fought to stop herself from laughing out loud. She had never known a moment’s kindness from her stepmother. Jess’ own mother was barely laid to rest before the newly installed Gladys had insisted her stepdaughter should leave school and get a job to start paying her way.

‘Anyway, you ain’t going,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m in charge of this family while your dad’s banged up, and what I say goes.’

‘You can’t stop me,’ Jess said.

‘Can’t I, now? We’ll see about that, won’t we? You’re not twenty-one yet. You can’t just do as you please, whatever you might think. You’ve got to listen to your mother.’

‘You ain’t my mother!’

‘I’m the only mother you’ve got!’ Gladys shot back at her. ‘You can pull a face, miss, but your sainted mother’s dead and gone. And good riddance too by all accounts. You’re just like her, ain’t you?
She
thought she was better than the rest of us too.’

‘She was better than you,’ Jess muttered.

‘What’s that? You answering me back again? What have I told you about talking back to me, you lippy little bitch?’

Gladys lunged at her again, but this time Jess was ready for her and sidestepped out of her reach.

‘Go on, then,’ she taunted. ‘But if you touch me again I’ll tell Aunt Hannah what really happened to her brooch.’

Gladys stood still, her hand raised in mid-air. ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘I found the pawn ticket. In that biscuit tin under the bed where you hide everything.’ Jess lifted her chin. ‘I wonder what Aunt Hannah would say about that? I don’t expect she’d be too pleased. Nor would Uncle Johnny, come to that.’

Gladys paled under her make up. For all her bluster, she knew she had broken the unspoken Jago rule that the family never nicked from their own.

Jess slammed her suitcase lid closed, and fastened the buckle. ‘I’ll be off then,’ she said.

She half expected her stepmother to make a move to stop her, but she shifted aside to let Jess get to the door.

‘You needn’t think you’re coming back,’ Gladys called after her. ‘I’m warning you, my girl. If you set foot out of this house you’re not welcome here again. This is not your home any more!’

Thank God for that, Jess thought as she walked away, her stepmother’s curses ringing in her ears.

‘BURN IT,’ SAID
Sister Parry.

Dora looked at the teddy bear that dangled from the ward sister’s outstretched hand, then back at the little girl in the cot. Her howls of despair cut straight through to Dora’s heart.

‘But, Sister, she’s so upset—’

‘She’ll calm down,’ Sister Parry said dismissively, not even glancing in the child’s direction. ‘They always do, once they realise they’re not getting any attention.’ She thrust the teddy at Dora. ‘Her parents were told the rules. No toys from outside on the ward. Heaven only knows what germs this thing might be carrying.’ She shuddered. ‘It needs to be destroyed before it infects the other children.’

Dora looked down at the teddy. It had been loved to death, with bald patches, only one eye left and an ear hanging off by a thread. She could imagine the little girl hugging it close to her every night, comforting herself to sleep.

And now she was all alone. Wasn’t it bad enough for the poor little mite, being abandoned in a strange place, full of bright lights, unfamiliar smells and stern-looking women in uniform, without having her only comfort taken away from her too?

She glanced back at the child. Barely three years old, she was too young to understand, but her huge, wet eyes were fixed on Dora as if she were her last hope.

‘But Sister—’

Sister Parry stiffened. ‘Are you arguing with me, Nurse Doyle?’

‘No, Sister,’ Dora said. ‘But she’s so young, and this toy is all she has. Surely it wouldn’t hurt for one night . . .?’

‘Wouldn’t hurt? Wouldn’t
hurt
?’ Sister Parry’s nostrils flared. ‘You are a third-year student, Doyle. Surely by now you must have a basic idea of how disease spreads?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘All it takes is a few germs and the whole ward will be infected. We have some very poorly children here, Nurse Doyle. Are you happy to let them die so that one child can keep her plaything? Or perhaps you know better than I do?’ she said. ‘Perhaps you feel you’re better qualified to run this ward than I am?’

Their eyes met. ‘No, Sister,’ mumbled Dora.

‘I thought not.’ Sister Parry snatched the teddy bear out of her hands and handed it to Lucy Lane who, as ever, was lurking just behind her shoulder, waiting to be useful. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking this to the stoke hole for me, Nurse Lane. Unless you too wish to question my authority?’

‘Not at all, Sister.’

Dora caught Lucy’s quick smirk as she sauntered off, teddy in hand. She didn’t even glance towards the bed where the screaming child still held out her arms beseechingly. Knowing Lane, she would have put a match to the toy before the poor child’s eyes if she thought it would win her more favour with Sister Parry.

‘I’m glad to see someone understands about following orders.’ Dora cringed under Sister Parry’s scathing look. ‘You should be careful you don’t end up with a black mark on your hospital report,’ she warned. ‘You’re six months away from qualifying, you don’t want to be branded a troublemaker, do you? I can’t imagine any hospital wanting to employ a nurse who argued over every simple instruction.’

‘No, Sister.’ Dora stifled a sigh. She already had too many black marks against her name, and she’d only been on the ward a few days.

‘Now, go and start the dressing round. Unless you want to argue with me about
that
, too?’

Dora went to prepare the dressings trolley, but couldn’t shut out the sound of the little girl howling from the other end of the ward. How Sister Parry could ignore it she had no idea. Dora couldn’t bear to hear a child crying without wanting to go and comfort them, but Sister seemed deaf to such distress.

And to think Dora had been looking forward to coming to this ward. She had wanted to nurse children ever since she started training. But now she was here, she was finding it a very different place from the one she’d imagined.

She didn’t get on with Sister Parry at all. The ward sister looked like a favourite auntie, with her plump, rounded figure and pink cheeks. But inside she was as hard as nails. Dora had known they weren’t going to get on from the first day, when she saw Sister order a probationer to tie a child’s hands behind his back to stop him scratching his chicken-pox spots. And she had been proved right.

Now she wasn’t sure she could face the Children’s ward for much longer if it meant continuing to work for Sister Parry.

Dora finished setting up the trolley and pushed it out into the ward. It was a long, high-ceilinged room, with tall windows that flooded the ward with April sunshine. On one side were twenty metal-framed beds, and on the other were the same number of cots for the babies. In the centre of the ward stood a long table, and beside it Sister’s desk.

But it was the silence here that struck Dora, and had since that first day. Every bed was occupied, and yet apart from the sobs of the little girl at the end, none of the children made a sound.

She paused, listening. It wasn’t right. Even poorly kids should be making a bit of noise.

‘All right, Nurse?’

She started as Nick Riley brushed past her, pushing the linen bin in front of him. They had been courting for more than six months, but the sight of his dark curls and tall, powerful frame in his brown porter’s coat still made Dora catch her breath.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Riley,’ she replied politely, treating him with distant courtesy as she knew she must on the ward. But their eyes locked, telling a very different story. Nick could smile without moving his lips. The warmth in his intense blue gaze made Dora blush.

Even after all these months she could still hardly believe he loved her as much as she loved him.

‘Can I see you tonight?’ he whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’

Dora glanced around to make sure Sister wasn’t watching. If she were caught talking to a man, it would be another black mark against her name.

‘I finish at five,’ she hissed back.

‘Meet you at six? The usual place?’

Before she could reply, Lucy interrupted them.

‘Sister said I must help you with the dressings.’ There was a sour expression on her sharp-featured face.

‘I can manage, thanks.’

‘Sister doesn’t seem to think you can, otherwise she wouldn’t have sent me, would she?’ Lucy turned to Nick. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Linen collection.’

‘Well, you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you? I don’t know why you’re standing around here, wasting time.’

‘I’m on my way, Nurse.’ He leaned his weight against the trolley, pushing it forward towards the double doors of the ward. Dora watched him go. At the doors, he turned and winked at her.

She started to smile back, but quickly composed herself when she saw Lucy staring at her.

‘I hope you weren’t flirting with him, Doyle?’

‘Of course not.’ Dora prayed Lucy wouldn’t see her blushing face and guess the truth. She knew she would be dismissed instantly if Matron ever found out about her and Nick. And knowing Lucy Lane, she would be only too eager to report anything she discovered.

Dora changed the subject. ‘We’d better get on with these dressings, then.’

‘Yes, we should. Do buck up, Doyle, for heaven’s sake. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get this over with.’

Lucy seized control of the trolley and strutted off towards the first bed, leaving Dora trailing behind her.

Typical Lane, always had to be in charge, Dora thought. In the three years they had been training, Lucy had never missed a chance to try and make her feel small. But Dora was an East End girl, and far too tough to allow herself to be bullied by a petty snob like Lucy Lane. After three years of constant sniping, they had at least learned to tolerate each other. But being stuck together on the same ward for fourteen hours a day was testing Dora’s patience to its limits.

With Lucy taking charge, they moved briskly down the ward from one bed to the next. If she’d been working on her own, Dora would have taken the time to chat to the children as she changed their dressings but Lucy worked quickly, barely sparing a glance at the faces of her patients as she worked.

When Dora did stop for a moment to admire a drawing one of the boys had done, Lucy stood at the foot of the bed, drumming her hands on the rail.

‘Oh, do let’s get on, Doyle,’ she sighed. ‘We haven’t all day. I’m due to finish at five, and I want to get off duty on time, even if you don’t.’

‘Keep your hair on, I’m coming.’ Dora put the drawing carefully back in the boy’s locker and followed Lucy to the next bed.

She felt Lucy twitching as they prepared the dressings for the next patient, desperate to say something.

‘Don’t you want to know why I have to finish on time?’ she burst out finally.

‘Not particularly,’ Dora shrugged.

Lucy ignored her. ‘My parents are having a soirée,’ she announced. ‘There will be all kinds of very important people there.’

Of course there will, Dora thought. Lucy’s father was Sir Bernard Lane, a millionaire who’d made his fortune manufacturing lightbulbs. Lucy never let anyone forget how rich and well connected he was.

As they reached the end of the ward, the little girl was still crying behind the bars of her cot. Her howls had subsided to a pathetic whimper that cut through Dora even more than her screams of protest.

‘I do wish that wretched child would shut up,’ Lucy snapped, pressing her fingers to her temples. ‘All that whining is giving me a headache.’

‘Have a heart,’ Dora said. ‘She’s in a strange place, and she’s had her only comfort taken away from her.’

‘For heaven’s sake, it was only a stupid teddy bear!’ Lucy retorted. ‘Besides, it was practically falling apart. Sister Parry was quite right, it was probably crawling with all kinds of germs.’

Sister Parry was quite right
, Dora mimicked behind her back. No wonder Sister liked Lucy so much. They were as heartless as each other.

‘You take the trolley back to the sluice. I’m going to comfort her,’ Dora said.

Lucy stared at her, appalled. ‘You heard what Sister Parry said. We’re to leave her be until she stops crying.’

‘She hasn’t stopped yet, has she?’

‘But Sister—’

‘Sister’s on her break, she won’t know anything about it.’ Dora handed the trolley over to her. ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to break any rules. Just keep an eye out and warn me in case she comes back.’

Lucy hurried off, her turned-up nose in the air, the picture of disdain.

Dora tiptoed to the cot and peered over the bars. The little girl was curled on her side, whimpering and sucking hard on her thumb to comfort herself. Something else Sister Parry would not approve of, Dora thought.

‘All right, love?’ Dora gently lowered the bars of the cot. The little girl looked up at her, red-rimmed eyes wary. Dora didn’t blame her. In the few hours she’d been on the ward, all she’d known was unkindness from the nurses in their uniforms. ‘It’s all right, don’t be scared. I expect it’s not very nice for you, is it, being away from your mum and dad?’