Queenie (33 page)

‘That’s enough now, Angus,’ said Sir David firmly, while Sister Baker flushed – but the Queen threw back her head and roared with laughter.

‘So which one of you is Elsie?’ she said, looking back at all of us.

I swallowed. ‘I’m Elsie, Your Majesty,’ I said. She came tip-tapping back to my bed, Sir David and Sister Baker in reluctant attendance.

‘So we danced together, did we, Elsie?’ said the Queen.

‘Yes, we did,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d be an excellent dancer, Your Majesty.’

‘Now now, Elsie, that’s quite enough,’ said Sister Baker. ‘We don’t want any of your cheek.’

But not even Sister Baker could shut me up now.

‘You wore a lovely dress in my story, Your Majesty – and your crown, of course.’ I looked pointedly at her.

‘Yes, children are always disappointed when I don’t wear my crown,’ she said.

‘Well, never mind, it gives your head a rest,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you. Me and my nan were coming to see you on Coronation Day. Nan gave me this little replica of your coach.’ I held it out and showed her.

‘Ah yes,’ said the Queen. ‘The real one’s very similar, but much bigger, of course.’

‘But then Nan got ill and I did too, and we couldn’t go to your Coronation after all,’ I said.

‘Well, never mind,’ said the Queen. ‘Perhaps some day, far in the future, you’ll be able to go to Prince Charles’s Coronation.’

I thought about it. ‘Nan won’t be able to come then,’ I said.

‘No,’ said the Queen. ‘And neither will I!’ She burst out laughing, and then she stepped forward and pulled one of my plaits. ‘You’re a real little character, Elsie. I shall remember you.’

‘I shall remember you too. I shall remember this day for ever and ever,’ I said.

The Queen turned at last, Sir David and Sister Baker swivelling round too. As I stared at the retreating royal back, I knew exactly what I had to do. I took a deep breath.

‘God save the Queen!’ I shouted.

NURSE GABRIEL SAID
I was the talk of the entire hospital.

‘Trust you, Elsie!’ she said. ‘It sounds as if the Queen took such a fancy to you.’

‘I think she liked the ribbons on my plaits,’ I said. ‘Wait till I tell my mum!’

But Mum didn’t come the next weekend either, though all the other parents came flocking to hear all about the royal visit. I decided I didn’t care. I had Nurse Gabriel instead.

‘And I’ll write to Nan and tell her all about it,’ I said.

I wrote her a really long letter, recounting almost everything I said and the Queen said – though I left out the part about Prince Charles’s Coronation because it didn’t seem tactful.

I made Nan a picture too. I drew our beds all along the veranda, with me sitting up in the middle in my bolero talking to the Queen. I gave Her Majesty a crown instead of her lilac hat to make it clear to Nan who she was.

‘That’s a really
lovely
picture, Elsie,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

‘I’ll draw you one too if you like – but this picture’s for my nan,’ I said.

‘Of course it is,’ she agreed.

‘I need Mum to come so she can give it to her,’ I said. My voice went a bit wobbly. ‘Do you think she’ll come
next
week, Nurse Gabriel?’

‘I hope so.’

‘I wish Nan could have my letter right now,’ I said, sniffing.

‘
I’ll
post it for you, sweetheart,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘I’ll put it in a nice white envelope.’

‘My nan’s name is Violet Kettle— Oooh!’ I wailed. ‘I don’t know her address at the sanatorium.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll find out the right address.
Don’t
worry. Hand it over, sweetheart.’

‘You are so
lovely
to me, Nurse Gabriel. I’ll always love Nan most, but you’re definitely my second-best person in the whole world,’ I said.

I was so glad I had Nurse Gabriel because I kept losing everyone else. Nan was in the sanatorium, Mum had disappeared – and now Martin was gone too. He couldn’t walk really properly yet, but he could shuffle along using his crutch. Sometimes he stood on both legs and aimed his crutch at everyone, pretending it was a machine gun. They said he had to have a lot more physiotherapy, but he could live at home now.

His mum and dad came to collect him. Nurse Bryant helped him put on his outdoor clothes. His jersey sleeves were much too short and his trousers showed a lot of bare leg.

‘Oh darling, I didn’t realize just how much you’ve grown,’ said Martin’s mum, starting to cry.

‘We’d better get you some long trousers, old chap,’ said Martin’s dad.

‘Really? That would be so wizard,’ said Martin. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Say goodbye to all your friends, dear,’ said his mum.

‘Goodbye,’ said Martin, giving a lordly wave.

‘Martin! Say goodbye
nicely
.’

So he hobbled round to each of us.

‘Cheerio,’ he said to Angus. ‘Don’t let all these soppy girls get you down.’

‘Ta-ta, small fry,’ he said to Babette and Maureen.

‘Toodle-oo,’ he said to Rita.

‘See you later, Miss Kiss,’ he said to Gillian.

I waited. He went to his locker. He was meant to have cleared it, but he still had a whole pile of
Eagle
comics.

‘You can have this lot, Gobface,’ he said.

‘
What
did you call her, Martin?’ asked his mum.

But I knew Martin meant it kindly, and I took the comics from him gratefully.

Little Michael was crying because he looked up to Martin so. Martin didn’t say anything at all to him, but he gave him a quick hug.

Then he stumped hurriedly down the veranda. It looked as if he were trying hard not to cry himself.

I needed Queenie badly that night. She was missing Martin too, clearly puzzled by the empty bed, stripped down to a bare mattress. She circled it twice, and then jumped up beside me for reassurance.

‘I know, Queenie. It’s weird, isn’t it? I never thought I’d miss old Farty Marty, but I do,’ I whispered. ‘Still, we should be pleased. He got better. I’m going to be better one day.’

My broken leg was fully healed and I could waggle
my
toes and tense my calves at Miss Westlake’s command, though my poorly leg was still a wizened dead thing in its hateful splint. Sometimes at meal times I took my knife and played cutting it off at the hip. I didn’t press hard, it was just pretend, but it felt as if I’d really left my useless leg behind in the bed. I’d jump down and hop about the ward like a lopsided frog, free at last.

Martin’s bed didn’t stay empty for more than a couple of days. A big girl called Ann came to join us. She was only a year older than Gillian, but she wore lipstick and had a proper lady’s figure under her nightie. She had long thick wavy hair that she set in pin curls at night. She looked very pretty, even when her head was all over metal grips. I saw she walked with a bad limp when she went to the bathroom the first night – she utterly refused to use a potty.

‘I’m not weeing with all these kids watching me!’ she said firmly.

I admired her enormously and hoped she might be my friend, but it was clear she looked down on me. The only one of us she talked to was Gillian – and in a day they were best friends.

‘What do you want to be friends with
her
for?’ said Rita when Ann was wheeled off to have her surgery in the main hospital. She had to have an operation because her limp was so bad.

‘I think she’s really, really nice,’ said Gillian, smacking her lips together and then pouting. Ann had let her borrow her lipstick.

‘But you’re
my
best friend.’

‘I can be best friends with both of you, silly,’ said Gillian.

Rita didn’t look convinced – with good reason. When Ann came back from the main hospital, in plaster instead of a splint, she was very distressed, especially when she couldn’t sit up properly to fix her make-up or do her hair.

‘Can’t you do it for me?’ she asked Nurse Smith.

‘I should cocoa!’ she said. ‘I’ve got my hands full as it is. And you shouldn’t be wearing make-up and having a perm at your age! You’re still only a little girl.’

Ann called Nurse Smith a very rude word indeed. Nurse Bryant was more sympathetic, and did try to pin Ann’s curls into place that night, but she wasn’t very good at it.

‘You’re doing it all
wrong
,’ said Ann ungratefully.

‘I’ll do it! I know exactly how to do it. I’m going to be a hairdresser when I’m grown up,’ said Gillian. ‘Nurse Bryant, if you’d please push my bed right up close to Ann’s, then I can reach over and pin it up for her. Go on, there’s a darling.’

‘Girls girls girls! I’m here to
nurse
, not play
Musical
Chairs with the furniture!’ said Nurse Bryant – but she pushed the beds right up close even so.

Gillian did Ann’s hair for her that night, and combed it out beautifully in the morning.

‘Do
my
hair, Gillian,’ Rita begged.

‘Don’t be daft, Rita. Yours is just a kiddy’s bob cut. It just needs a quick brush. You can do it yourself,’ said Gillian.

In a few days Ann had learned to hitch herself upright gingerly and do her own hair, but she begged to keep her bed pulled right up close to Gillian’s. The nurses separated them whenever Sister Baker came on a round of inspection, but they were allowed to stay squashed up together at all other times. They lay whispering and giggling all day long.

Rita tried to join in, but she was too far away to hear properly.

‘Besides, we’re talking private big girls’ stuff,’ said Gillian. ‘You don’t know about film stars and fashion.’

‘Or boys,’ said Ann, and they both started giggling again.

‘I do
so
know,’ Rita lied, and then started crying.

She was so miserable that Nurse Bryant tried pushing my bed next to hers when we were out on the veranda.

‘There! You two can keep each other company,’ she said.

I didn’t really fancy keeping Rita company at all, but I did try to be friendly to her. I even told her a private Queenie story as a very special favour.

‘Did you know Queenie came padding very quietly up to my bed last night, and when I reached out to stroke her, I felt these strange fluttery, feathery things coming out of her back,’ I started.

‘What?’ said Rita. ‘Had she been catching birds again?’

‘Well,
I
wondered that at first, but then the moon suddenly came out behind the clouds, and it was like Queenie was in an eerie spotlight and I saw she had grown
wings
, Rita – wonderful white wings to match her white fur.’

‘She never!’

‘Oh yes she did! I watched in wonder, and she flapped those wings, and they grew bigger and bigger, and then she purred to me, “Come for a ride on my back, Elsie. We’ll fly into the night sky, right up to the moon and stars.”’

‘What?’ Rita repeated. ‘Piffle! Cats can’t fly. They can’t talk either. You’re barmy, Elsie Kettle. Just shut up. I’m sick of you and your silly stories.’

It was obvious we were never going to get along. When Babette went home, a new girl called Moira took her place. She was a funny little girl with bright red curls. She had a silver bracelet with fantastic
dinky
charms dangling from each link. The best one was of the Queen’s Coronation coach. You could tug at the top with your fingernail so that the roof lifted up on a tiny hinge, showing a minute silver Queen sitting inside.

‘We’ve
met
the Queen, Moira,’ I said. ‘I had a long conversation with her and she told me all about her coach.’

‘You fibber,’ said Moira.

‘No, it’s true – really, cross my heart. Tell her it’s true,’ I said, and everyone confirmed it.

‘I’ll let you hold my Coronation coach if you let me try on your bracelet,’ I bargained, but Moira said she wasn’t allowed to take it off her wrist.

It had to be removed when she went to have her operation, and Moira cried, though the nurses promised to look after it and keep it safe for her.

‘I want my
bracelet
!’ she yelled. ‘I’ll tell my mum of you. Give me back my bracelet!’

‘Oh dear, what a little spitfire!’ said Nurse Smith.

Nurse Bryant tried harder, and gave Moira a cuddle.

‘There now, darling, don’t take on so. You’ll be back in the ward in no time, wearing your pretty bracelet. You can’t wear it while you have your operation though. It’s against the rules.’

‘I don’t
want
an operation,’ Moira sobbed.

‘Yes you do. You want us to make your poor old neck better, don’t you?’

Moira didn’t have TB like the rest of us. She had a wry neck, so that her head poked to one side. Moira didn’t seem to care. She was still screaming for her bracelet when she was wheeled away.

When she came back, she was in plaster. I felt really sorry for her then. All the charm bracelets in the world couldn’t make up for being stuck there like a mummy, unable to sit up or take notice. They put her next to Angus so that he could encourage her, but Moira didn’t feel like talking to him.

Rita was just starting to be allowed up. She shuffled over to Moira’s bed and chatted to her every day. It was very
boring
chat, a drippy monologue about her mummy and her daddy and her baby sister and Harry and Billy. I thought they were baby brothers, but it turned out Harry was a hamster and Billy was a budgie.