Queenie (24 page)

‘Nurse Patterson and Nurse Curtis couldn’t hear me, could they?’ I said.

‘No, no.’

‘So who told you?’

‘Oh, just a little bird.’

I frowned at her. I hated it when grown-ups played that ‘little bird’ trick. I thought it was beneath Nurse
Gabriel.
I knew Martin and Gillian and Rita and Michael hadn’t told on me, because they were within earshot. Babette and Maureen might have blabbed, but they both seemed fast asleep by the time Nurse Gabriel came on duty, worn out playing with their toy stove and bunny. That just left . . .

‘It was Angus,’ I said. ‘He snitched on me.’

‘He didn’t
snitch
– what a terrible word, Elsie! He just couldn’t help telling me what a wonderful storyteller you are. He thinks the world of you,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

I lay there fidgeting, trying to take it in. I had thought I’d be in trouble for making up stories. Even kind Miss Roberts at school shook her head when I went rambling on, and said reprovingly, ‘Oh Elsie, you’re such a storyteller.’ I knew it drove Mum nuts. Even Nan sucked her teeth at me sometimes, her eyebrows raised, and went, ‘Yatter yatter yatter – how about saving your breath to blow on your porridge?’

‘So you’re not cross with me?’

‘I’m very, very pleased with you, you silly girl. You’ve cheered everyone up – and you’ve made my little friend Angus very happy. You’re the best medicine he could possibly have. He’s been very down since he had his treatment. We’ve all been worried about him.’

‘But
I’ve
made him better?’

‘Yes, you have. You’ve cheered him up enormously.’

‘I’ve written a letter to my nan,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it to my mum when she next comes. I’m keeping it under my pillow so that no one else can read it.’

‘Well, I can post it if she doesn’t come next weekend – but no one else will read it – it’s yours and your nan’s. It’s private,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

She was being so kind that I felt my lips trembling and my eyes filling with baby tears.

Nurse Gabriel misunderstood. ‘Oh dear, it’s so difficult for all of you, when you can’t be private at all in hospital.’ She seemed really distressed herself. ‘I nursed in Potter before here – that’s for the babies, and somehow it doesn’t seem quite so bad for them. Often they’re not old enough to wash or dress themselves or be potty-trained, so it’s not such a shock. But it’s so hard for you older ones being trussed up in bed, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ I said. ‘And – and I’ll have to stay here weeks and weeks, won’t I?’

‘Perhaps months and months,’ said Nurse Gabriel gently. ‘But then you will be better.’

‘And Nan will get better too?’

She hesitated. ‘I really hope so.’

‘I do love my nanny,’ I said.

‘Of course you do,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

‘It isn’t really
her
fault . . .’

‘What’s that, Elsie?’

‘She didn’t
mean
to give me TB. Mum says it’s all her fault and she’ll never forgive her for giving it to me, but Nan couldn’t help it, could she?’ I said.

‘Oh Elsie, your nan didn’t give you TB, darling. You have tuberculosis of the knee. If your nan’s in the sanatorium, she must have TB of the lungs. That’s entirely different. You don’t catch TB of the bone from a person. Yours is
bovine
TB. You got it from a cow. You must have drunk infected milk at some time.’

‘Are
you
telling a story now, Nurse Gabriel?’

‘No, I promise you.’

‘But it seems so weird. I got ill straight after Nan.’

‘You probably had it quite a long time before it was diagnosed. How long were you limping?’

‘I don’t know. Can’t remember.’

‘It was such a good job you went to get checked out by your doctor though. If it had gone undiagnosed, it would have eaten its way right through the bone and you’d have been in a terrible state.’

This new knowledge seethed in my head all through the long week. It washed over me when Nurse Patterson subjected me to her sloppy bed baths. It scraped me during my toileting. It stung me when I was given my horribly painful injections. It threatened to choke me when I ate my breakfast and lunch and supper. It distracted me during Nurse
Patterson’s
story time and overwhelmed me when I tried to tell my own story afterwards. It wasn’t my poor dear nan’s fault that I had TB. She hadn’t given me her germs. As soon as I could, I got out my letter and scribbled in big capitals on the back:
IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, NAN, HONEST
. Then I put it safely under my pillow again.

I couldn’t wait to tell Mum when she came on Saturday. She wasn’t there at two o’clock with all the mothers and fathers, and I began to be horribly scared that she wasn’t coming.

‘All on your ownio again?’ said Martin’s father.

I ducked my head, not wanting to give an answer.

‘Poor little scrap,’ his wife whispered. ‘What kind of a mother
is
she?’

I pretended to be absorbed in my
Girl
comic. I’d read it again and again but I had nothing else. I tried to join Belle on the stage doing a
pas de deux
, but my feet were leaden. Then I heard
clip-clop, clip-clop
, the heart-warming sound of high heels – and there was Mum, picking her way along the veranda, wearing tight white slacks and an apricot jumper with her best white high heels.

‘Gordon Bennett, here comes Diana Dors!’ said Martin’s dad.

‘Oh Mum, you’re here after all,’ I said, fighting back tears.

‘Well, of course I’m here! Haven’t you got a nice smile for Mummy when I’ve come all the way to see you?’

I tried very hard but my lips wobbled. ‘You were late – I thought you weren’t coming,’ I mumbled.

‘For God’s sake,
I
can’t drive the blooming bus and make it come any quicker, can I? It’s all right for the other parents – they can all roll up in
cars
.’ Mum sniffed and sat down on the side of the bed, crossing her legs. She saw that her stocking seam was twisted and wriggled it round, emphasizing her shapely calf as she clasped the slippery nylon. Martin’s dad was practically drooling.

‘Mum! Mum, wait till I tell you,’ I said, tugging at her sleeve.

‘Careful, Elsie, I don’t want your grubby little mitts all over my jersey! Do you like it? I got it in Dorothy Perkins, five and six. I had my first wages on Friday. Six pounds, ten shillings – not bad, eh, when I’m just sitting at a desk going,
Yes, Mr Perkins, No, Mr Perkins, Three bags full, Mr Perkins
. I think I’ve been a bit of a mug toiling away in the chorus all these years. I’ve never earned more than a fiver a week there.’

‘Mum, listen! It’s
not
Nan’s fault. I didn’t get my TB from her,’ I blurted.

‘You what? Don’t be daft, Elsie – who else could have given it you?’

‘I was talking to Nurse Gabriel.’

‘What a name! Has she got wings and one of them gold plates stuck to her head then?’ Martin’s dad heard and chuckled appreciatively. Mum looked up at him slyly through her blonde waves and waggled her foot at him. I hated it when she was in this sort of mood, so cock-a-hoop and cheeky. She usually acted like this when she’d met a new uncle.

‘Nurse Gabriel said I got my TB from a cow,’ I said.

Mum burst out laughing. ‘The things they come out with!’ she said to Martin’s parents. ‘I thought you were meant to be bright, Elsie. How could you catch it from a
cow?
When have you ever been hob-nobbing with a herd of cows? Are they out there mooing away up and down the alleyways and dancing round the gasometer? You’ve hardly ever
seen
a cow. We’ve never been to the countryside – it makes me depressed because there’s nothing there.’

Martin’s dad laughed uproariously. His wife barely responded, just twitched her lip in brief acknowledgement.

‘No, I can’t quite see you walking through a ploughed field in those shoes,’ said Martin’s dad. He’d laughed so much he had to dab the spit off his mouth with his handkerchief. ‘Still, your little girl’s right,’ he added.

‘What?’

‘That’s how all the poor little things got TB – dodgy milk. TB’s rife in cows, and they can carry the infection in their milk. Mad, isn’t it? My wife was always on at Martin to drink his pint a day, thought it was so good for him – even bribed him to drink more by adding chocolate – and what was she doing? Infecting him with this beastly disease.’

‘Don’t. Please don’t,’ said Martin’s mum weakly. She looked as if she might start crying.

‘You’re having me on,’ Mum said uncertainly. ‘So you think Elsie caught it from
milk
?’

‘Yep. Never touch it myself – terrible stuff. I prefer a drop of whisky any day of the week,’ said Martin’s dad.

‘Well, I’ll second that,’ said Mum. They held imaginary whisky glasses in the air and clinked them together.

Martin’s mother muttered something, stood up, and walked down the veranda.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Martin’s dad. He groaned and stretched. ‘Better go after her. She can’t take any banter nowadays. She’s grown very sensitive since our boy got ill.’ He sighed at Martin as if it were all his fault, and lumbered after her.

‘Sorry!’ I mouthed at Martin.

He shrugged, seemingly quite happy to be shot of both parents for the moment.

‘Milk!’ Mum muttered.

‘So you see, Mum, it’s just coincidence that Nan has TB too. She didn’t give it to me – so you won’t still be cross with her, will you? You
will
go and see her and tell her? And I’ve got a letter for her – you can take it to her, can’t you?’

‘Do stop nagging, Elsie. Calm down now. Dear goodness, what’s the matter with your
lip
?’

I nibbled at it anxiously, while Mum put her hand under my chin to look properly.

‘Stop
doing
that! You’ve got a nasty-looking cold sore, that’s what you’ve got! And no blooming wonder, keeping you out here all the time when it’s been arctic this spring. It’s all right getting a bit of fresh air, but this is going too far. I’m going to have a word with one of them nurses.’

‘Oh please don’t, Mum. I’ll get into trouble. I’m not cold, really I’m not.’

I had a sore on my mouth because I kept licking it anxiously. Nurse Patterson had noticed and smothered it with horrible grease, so that my mouth tasted funny all day and I couldn’t nuzzle into Albert Trunk at night because I’d smear him too. I was sure I had a sore on my bottom too because Nurse Patterson wiped it so fiercely, but I was keeping quiet about that.

‘Your hair needs a good wash too. It’s ever so greasy,’ said Mum, her nose wrinkly. ‘You must ask
them
to wash it more often, Elsie, especially as you’ve got a fringe. You’ll be getting spots on your forehead if you don’t watch out.’

I lay there feeling ugly, as if spots were popping out all over my face as she spoke.

‘I still think it’s mad keeping you lying here in hospital all the time. It doesn’t look like it’s making you
better
. You must buck up, Elsie, and make an effort,’ said Mum. ‘Look at me – I lost my job, didn’t I, with fat chance of getting another dancing job round here. I’d have had to go up to London and they always want younger girls. Some of them are only fifteen and sixteen, still silly little kids. But did I lie on my back feeling sorry for myself? No, I went right out and got myself an office job, which was maybe a bit premature – I
could
have gone back to the show up north and finished the season, seeing as you’re stuck here. Still, it’s an ill wind, and all that, and Mr Perkins and I are getting on like a house on fire. And I’ve got to think of the future. My legs aren’t quite what they were.’ She stuck them out one at a time to see if they still passed muster. Then she suddenly lifted my blanket to peer at
my
legs.

‘Mum!’ I said, pulling my pyjama top down to make sure I was decent. I hoped Martin wasn’t looking.

She tutted at my splint. ‘And look at
your
poor little leg,’ she said. ‘It’ll wither away, trapped in that
thing
. I hope they know what they’re doing, that’s all I can say. What if you end up crippled? What are we going to do then? You were perfectly fine just a fortnight ago, running around like any other little kiddie. If only your nanny hadn’t infected you.’

‘Mum, I
said
. And Martin’s dad. Didn’t you listen? It’s nothing to do with poor Nan,’ I said.

‘Hey, hey, no need to take that tone, young lady. I still think it’s pretty rum, your nan getting ill and then you going down with the self-same disease.’

‘How
is
Nan, Mum?’

‘You know how she is. We trailed all the way out to see her.’

‘But can’t you go and see her
again?
Here’s my letter,’ I said, fishing it out from under my pillow. ‘You’ll give it to her, won’t you?’

She took it and put it in her handbag. ‘How can I be in two blooming places at once, answer me that! I’ll go tomorrow, if I can manage it.’

‘And tell her that I’m all right and it isn’t her fault. If you don’t go and see her, can you post it to her for me? I just hate the idea of her fretting. Oh Mum, I miss her so,’ I said, starting to cry.

‘Oh dear, not the waterworks again! Stop it now or you’ll start me off. I can’t bear to see you like this. Here, have some chocolate. I bought you a Fry’s Five Boys bar. You look just like the little boy grizzling in
the
picture! Come on – eat it all up now. I don’t hold with you having to hand your sweeties in to those nurses. I bet they just help themselves.’

‘Can I give a bit to Martin and Gillian – and Angus?’ I asked.

‘No, you eat it up yourself. I’ll have a chunk too. I just had bread and dripping for lunch.’

‘I tell everyone stories, Mum,’ I said proudly, my mouth full of chocolate.

‘Well, you’re a naughty girl,’ she said. ‘Your tongue will go black.’

‘No, I don’t mean I tell fibs. I tell proper bedtime stories and everyone listens and
likes
them. I made up this story about a magic land up at the top of a tree.’

‘That’s not your story, that’s in a book.’

‘Yes, but I do it
better
than the book. I make it real, and everyone likes it,’ I said. ‘Nurse Gabriel says I’m a brilliant storyteller.’