Some Lucky Day (14 page)

She closed her eyes as the tears welled. ‘That was before,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t do it now.’

He took her fingers in his warm hand. ‘Oh, I think you can,’ he replied softly. ‘You’re a fighter, Kitty Pargeter, and although the battle ahead seems daunting, I have no doubt you’ll find the strength to win it.’

Kitty looked at him through her tears, saw that he genuinely believed she had the strength to fight this awful thing, and felt a spark of something she’d thought was lost. ‘A challenge?’ she murmured.

‘A challenge,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’m laying down the gauntlet, Kitty. Don’t disappoint me,’ he added with a gentle smile. ‘I like a good fight.’

Kitty slowly smiled back as the spark inside her blossomed. ‘So do I,’ she breathed. Then the spark flickered as the doubts crept in. ‘But I’m scared,’ she admitted softly.

‘Of course you are,’ he replied in his deep, gentle voice. ‘Anyone standing at the top of a mountain and preparing to ski down it has that moment of doubt, that adrenalin rush of fear. But fear doesn’t have to weaken you; it can be used in a positive way.’

She looked back at him through the haze of tears, remembering how frightened she’d been when she’d crashed the Typhoon. Her fear had sharpened her mind and stoked her determination to survive then – perhaps it
was
possible to do it again?

‘I can see you’re thinking about it,’ said the surgeon. ‘In your line of work you must have had many a scare, but you came through them, didn’t you?’

She nodded, and her gaze fell on the small hand-mirror that lay on the bed. Perhaps it was time to trust in him and begin to face things. She licked her dry lips as her pulse began to race. ‘Let me see just how good you are at sewing,’ she murmured.

He held onto the little mirror as he placed it in her fingers. ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded and he released the mirror. With a shallow, trembling breath, she lifted it and stared at her reflection.

A great wave of relief swept through her, for the scar on her cheek was just a thin red line, and she could see it would fade with time. Her hair looked as if someone had hacked at it with a pair of garden shears, and the short style made her look like a young boy, but it would grow as he’d said. Yet it was her eyes that told the story of what she’d been through, for they were dull and lifeless in her thin, wan little face.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘I think someone around here needs to learn how to cut hair properly,’ she said with a shaky smile. ‘It’s truly awful.’

He took the mirror and placed it on the bedside cabinet. ‘It’ll grow back soon enough, and then we can get the visiting hairdresser to do something with it.’

Kitty looked down at the cage beneath her blankets. Her hair would grow, certainly, but the leg was gone forever, and the knowledge made her sink back into despair.

‘I think that’s enough revelation for one day,’ he said as he got to his feet. ‘We’ll leave you to rest now it’s almost supper time. Do you want the curtain drawn back, so you can finally get to meet the other girls?’

She’d heard them talking, and they sounded a nice bunch, but the thought of having to face strangers, of seeing pity in their eyes, was just too much. ‘Not now,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

The army surgeon nodded his understanding and followed the nurse out, carefully drawing the curtain so she was once again cocooned against the outside world.

Kitty lay there listening to the women on the other side of that curtain. They sounded quite cheerful as they discussed articles in magazines, their love lives and the latest matinee idols that made them swoon. It was obvious that none of them could have suffered such devastating injuries as she had, and she rather resented their cheerfulness.

She shifted on the mound of pillows she was propped against. Both her arms were still in plaster, but at least the tight bandaging around her chest had been removed now her ribs had mended, and she could wear a nightdress – though it did get rucked beneath her and it was the devil’s own job to get it straight again.

Her gaze once again settled on the cage beneath the blanket. Her right leg was still suspended from a pulley and encased in plaster of Paris, but she had yet to see the left – or what there was of it. She’d always closed her eyes and turned away when the doctor came to examine it, or when one of the nurses changed the dressings or attended to her other needs.

Kitty plucked at the corner of the blanket and sheet, feeling an urgent need to scratch her ankle. They had explained that this itching was something to do with memory and nerve endings, but it seemed real enough now. Without giving herself time to think about it and change her mind, she gripped the sheet and blanket and drew them back until her left leg was exposed.

It was tightly bandaged from her groin to the rounded end at her knee. She stared at it, still feeling the phantom itch in the phantom ankle, her emotions in turmoil, the tears streaming down her face as she collapsed back against the pillows. This was one challenge she had no hope of winning, and the sobs came from deep within her as she buried her face in the pillow.

‘It’s a bugger, ain’t it?’ said a cheerful voice beside her. ‘Fair knocked me sideways when I first saw what they done to mine.’

Through the blur of her tears, Kitty saw a short, curvy girl with a freckled face, a big smile and lots of red lipstick that clashed horribly with her lurid red dressing gown and bright ginger hair. ‘Get out,’ she rasped. ‘Go away.’

‘It’s all right, love,’ the little Cockney said as she pushed through the curtain on crutches, and made herself comfortable in the chair beside Kitty’s bed. ‘I knows just how you feel, so you cry and shout all yer like. I don’t mind. Dun it meself, if the truth be known. Howled like a baby, I did. Fair put the wind up the other girls, and that’s the truth.’

‘I don’t want you in here,’ Kitty snarled. ‘Go away.’

Impervious to Kitty’s anger, she shook her head. ‘Nah, I ain’t going nowhere.’ She adjusted the folds in her dressing gown and ran her fingers over the embroidered gold dragons that breathed orange fire all over it. ‘You been shut in ’ere over three weeks now, and that ain’t no good for yer, believe me.’ She shot Kitty a smile. ‘The name’s Doreen Larkin, by the way. You’re Kitty Pargeter, ain’t you?’

Kitty was so astonished by the sheer audacity of this brash girl that the tears stopped flowing.

Doreen took a handkerchief out of her dressing-gown pocket. ‘Don’t worry, it’s a clean one,’ she said, before she dried Kitty’s face and held it to her nose. ‘Blow,’ she ordered as if Kitty was three years old.

Kitty was still so stunned by this force of energy, colour and noise that she did as she was told.

‘There, that’s better, ain’t it?’ Doreen reached into the pocket again and drew out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Fag?’

Kitty could only stare at her and shake her head.

‘I don’t blame you,’ said Doreen with a grimace. ‘These are them Pashas. Taste like . . .’ She grinned. ‘They taste foul, but it’s all I could get off the tea lady, so beggars can’t be choosers.’

Her green eyes narrowed against the smoke as she coolly regarded what was left of Kitty’s leg. ‘So you’ve ’ad a look then,’ she said casually. ‘Wotcha think? Bit of a bugger, ain’t it?’

Kitty felt the laughter bubbling just under the surface. It was impossible to stay sorry for herself in the light of this persistent, irritating yet delightful barrage of cheerfulness. ‘It certainly is,’ she managed with a smile.

‘Yeah, they took mine off in the same bleedin’ place.’ She swept back her dressing gown to reveal a sheer black nightdress and what was left of her right leg. ‘I thought I’d liven it up a bit with this,’ she said, twanging the scarlet and black lacy garter. ‘Wotcha think, eh? Looks pretty swanky, don’t it?’ She gave a naughty grin. ‘It don’t ’alf cheer up the blokes on the men’s ward, I can tell you.’

Kitty eyed the garter and was in awe of Doreen’s devil-may-care attitude to what had happened to her. Never in a million years could she have done something as flippant and eye-catching as putting a garter around her butchered leg – let alone flaunt it in front of the male patients. ‘How can you be so cheerful?’ she asked quietly.

Doreen shrugged as she blew smoke. ‘Well, there ain’t no point in being miserable, is there? It ain’t gunna bring me leg back.’ She twanged the garter again, then smoothed the silky bright dressing gown over her neat bosom and waist. ‘At least I’ve still got all me other working bits, and once I’ve got the ’ang of the false leg, there won’t be no stopping me.’

‘You’re very brave,’ Kitty murmured.

‘No I ain’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I just decided to make the best of things, that’s all. When you’ve been born in the East End you learn to sort yerself out, ’cos no other bugger can do it for yer, and that’s a fact.’ She smoked her cigarette while Kitty absorbed this bit of philosophy.

‘How did . . .? I mean what happened to . . .?’

Doreen grinned. ‘I were on me motorbike delivering dispatches between Cliffe and Wayfaring Down when I got caught out in the open by a Messerschmitt 109 on a solo raid. The pilot obviously thought it would be fun to use me as flaming target practice. I dodged and weaved and went hell for leather, but ’e shot out me tyres and I went flying. I ended up with a leg full of holes from his bleedin’ bullets, and concussion where I ‘it me ’ead on some hard rocks hidden in the grass.’

She stubbed the butt of her cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table. ‘Luckily the blokes from a nearby gun emplacement saw what happened, and after they’d shot Jerry out of the sky for his flaming cheek, they came to rescue me.’

Kitty just nodded, for she could imagine the scene, with this feisty girl trying to avoid the enemy fighter plane.

‘What about you, then? What brought you to this house of fun?’

Kitty smiled. ‘I pranged an Airspeed Oxford in the middle of a field covered in anti-aircraft stakes and barbed wire. It was my own fault,’ she admitted. ‘I should have turned back when the weather closed in.’ She eyed the pathetic remains of her left leg. It had been a hefty price to pay for breaking the rules.

Doreen’s green eyes widened. ‘Blimey, you’re one of them famous ATA glamour girls,’ she breathed. ‘I thought I recognised you. You’ve ’ad yer picture in the
Picture Post
and the magazines, ain’t yer?’

Kitty squirmed against the pillows. She’d always been uncomfortable with the press exposure and the photographs. ‘The reporters follow us about,’ she muttered. ‘None of us likes being singled out, and we all find the pictures embarrassing.’

‘Cor,’ Doreen breathed. ‘I wouldn’t have minded a bit of that – always fancied ’aving me picture in the paper.’ There was deep respect in her eyes as she regarded Kitty. ‘You call me brave,’ she said solemnly, ‘but you’re much braver than I’ll ever be, what with flying them fast planes.’

She sat forward in her chair, her face alight with curiosity. ‘So, what’s it like to fly a Spitfire, then?’

Kitty smiled. ‘It’s the best, most thrilling thing I’ve ever done.’

Doreen leaned closer. ‘I ’eard tell it’s better than sex,’ she whispered.

Kitty thought of the single, hugely disappointing occasion when she’d allowed herself to be persuaded into bed by a man. ‘It certainly is,’ she replied, ‘and it lasts a good deal longer too.’

They both collapsed into giggles and it was some time before they were able to talk again.

‘So, Doreen, what’s it like here?’ Kitty asked after she’d borrowed her new friend’s handkerchief and dried her eyes again.

‘It ain’t bad. The nurses are lovely, and General Thorne is a diamond geezer for sure. But Matron’s a right old battleaxe who came out of retirement because of this flamin’ war.’ Doreen leaned her elbow on the bed and rested her chin on her hand. ‘She’s built like a tank, has a heart of stone and is as friendly as a grizzly bear with piles.’

Kitty giggled. Doreen certainly had a way with words.

‘Gawd knows why she became a nurse,’ continued Doreen. ‘She’d have made a better prison warden.’

‘She sounds horrid,’ said Kitty with a shudder.

‘She is, so try not to cross her.’ Doreen leaned back in the chair and grinned. ‘It’s ever so nice to have someone new to chat to,’ she said. ‘It can get a bit boring in here now I’ve ’eard all the gossip from the other girls. But there’s a lovely garden, and once you’ve got your leg out of that pulley thing you’ll ’ave to have a butchers for yerself. The weather’s ever so warm at the moment, and me tan’s coming along a treat.’ She rolled up the wide sleeves of her dressing gown to show Kitty her brown arms.

The curtain was suddenly whipped back to reveal a large square woman with beefy arms and a furious expression. An enormous bosom heaved beneath the starched white bib of her apron as the ribbons from her fancy white cap trembled like some small trapped bird on her big head. ‘What is going on in here?’ she boomed.

‘Gawd help us, Matron,’ spluttered Doreen. ‘You nearly give me an ’eart attack, coming in like that.’

‘You shouldn’t be in here, Larkin,’ Matron ordered. ‘Remove yourself immediately.’

Kitty realised that Doreen’s description of a bear with piles was all too accurate and she began to giggle – which set Doreen off as well.

‘I can’t,’ spluttered Doreen. ‘Me leg ’as gorn all to jelly.’

Kitty’s sides and stomach were hurting from her laughter as Doreen waved the stump of her leg and twanged the elasticated garter.

‘Pull yourselves together,’ stormed Matron. ‘As for you, Larkin, you will leave this cubicle immediately.’

‘I can’t,’ Doreen howled through her laughter. ‘Really I can’t.’

Matron grasped Doreen’s arm and hauled her none too gently out of the chair. ‘Do not defy me, Larkin,’ she said ominously as she rammed the crutches beneath Doreen’s armpits, ‘or you will find that I am not as easy-going as you think.’

Doreen was no longer laughing. ‘Gerroff me, you old cow,’ she snarled, pulling her arm out of Matron’s grip.

Kitty had sobered too, and didn’t like the way Matron was manhandling her new friend. ‘Doreen was just keeping me company,’ she protested. ‘And I do think you’re being rather unnecessarily rough with her.’