The Bad Penny (27 page)

Patty, panting up breathlessly, took the bicycle from Darky’s hands and propped it carefully against the kerb. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Knight,’ she said in a small, tight voice. ‘I did my best to reach her but I was too far behind.’ She turned to Ellen. ‘It was all my fault, queen. I never warned you about the tramlines, but I’ve got so used to avoiding them myself that I suppose I just didn’t think. Are you all right? No bruises or bumps? Can you wheel your own bicycle or do you want me to take the pair of them?’

‘I think I’m all right,’ Ellen said. Darky saw that she was crying and imagined it was relief after her narrow escape from, if not death, at least serious injury. She turned her face towards Darky, her tear-filled eyes shining with admiration and gratitude. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Knight! You saved my life – and you saved my bicycle too. I were almost as worried about the bike as about myself because I borrowed the bike from Mrs Gundry and she’d never forgive me if it came to harm.’

Darky muttered that it was all right and turned to leave the two girls, then remembered Bet. She was still standing where he had left her but with a very much softer expression on her face, and as soon as she saw that the two girls had left him she came hurrying to his side, saying: ‘Well, and who’s a bleedin’ little hero then? You saved that gal from a horrible accident, there’s no doubt o’ that; I never seen anyone move so fast in me life, nor act so brave. Wait till I tell the gals at work what you done.’

‘I just happened to be nearer than anyone else,’ Darky said gruffly. ‘Don’t you go blabbin’ at work, Miss Grainger, or you’ll be in my bad books.’ A brilliant thought occurred to him. ‘It ’ud only embarrass my young lady.’

Darky felt he could almost see Bet pricking up her ears. ‘Young lady?’ she said suspiciously. ‘What young lady? They say, in Levers, you haven’t had no young lady since … not for years,’ she amended.

Darky laughed. ‘Why do you think I dived into the road and risked me own life to get young Ellen out of trouble?’ he asked. ‘I’ve not known her all that long, as she’s only just moved into our neighbourhood, but I suppose you could say we’ve got an – an understanding.’

There was a short pause whilst Bet digested this, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Are you tryin’ to tell me that girl’s your young lady?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Well if so, you’ve a bleedin’ funny way of showin’ it! Why, you let the two of them go off wi’out so much as a word. If she’d bin your young lady, you’d ha’ give her a kiss and an ‘ug, an’ don’t try to tell me different!’

‘Ah, but you don’t understand,’ Darky said. He felt astonished at his own quickness of wit and ingenuity. ‘Ellen’s a nurse – a trainee midwife actually – and the girl with her, the blonde, is her boss. She’s ever so strict and spiteful to girls who have fellers – you know how spinsters can be. Why, if she knew I were courtin’ Ellen, she’d make sure to get Ellen dismissed for some imaginary fault or other. What’s more, she hates me and would do me any harm she could.’

Bet looked at him with round eyes. ‘Aye, I know what you mean. There’s some of the supervisors at work what has a down on particular girls and sets out to make them so miserable that they’ll leave,’ she agreed. ‘Well, good luck, Mr Knight, wi’ your romance. And now I’d best be off. Me mam’ll have tea on the table and I’m off dancin’ later so I must gerra move on.’ They crossed the road together but Bet turned back along Vauxhall Road, confirming Darky’s suspicion that she did not live in the vicinity of Ashfield Place. She took half a dozen quick steps along the pavement, then turned back. ‘Why don’t you bring your young lady on the charabanc trip to Rhyl?’ she enquired. ‘They’re pickin’ up at the junction of the Scottie and Silvester Street so you wouldn’t have far to walk, and you won’t find no other nurses on the trip, ’cos it’s all Levers, as I said.’

‘I dunno,’ Darky muttered, feeling trapped. If he did not go, then Bet’s suspicions would become aroused and she might try to follow him home again. But he did not know Ellen well enough to ask her out for the day and, in any case, was not sure that he wanted to do so. She was a pretty thing with her bouncy brown hair, clear skin and long, greenish-hazel eyes but, when it came down to it, he scarcely knew her. In fact, if he asked anyone out … but he killed the thought quickly. Patty might fascinate him – she did fascinate him – but she was his enemy as well as being a member of a profession he hated.

It did not occur to him until he was turning into Ashfield Place that Ellen was also a midwife, and that some of the instinctive mistrust which he’d told himself he felt for Patty he should also have felt for Ellen. He was mildly surprised to find that he had no such feelings towards the younger girl, then shrugged the thought away as immaterial. Nurses were nurses, and there were plenty of pretty girls around without even having to consider the nursing profession.

Whistling, he ran up the stairs on to the top landing and headed for his mother’s door.

Although Ellen had told Patty, after her first week, that she preferred the district to working in hospital, it took her a little longer to realise that the friendliness of the patients, and their open championship for the nurses who looked after them, could never have happened on a hospital ward. Visiting the women in their own homes meant that the nurses really understood their problems and were not merely paying lip service to them.

Ellen revelled in the freedom which she and Patty enjoyed when compared with life on the ward. Mostly they worked together, though as Ellen’s experience grew there were some cases which she could deal with alone, and this made the job easier. When in any doubt as to the treatment required, however, Ellen knew she could turn to Patty and always did so. As a last resort, there were doctors, but though some of these were excellent men, as devoted to their patients’ welfare as were the nurses, others were not. They did their job well enough but never tried to see things from the patient’s point of view. Patty told Ellen that one elderly and cross-grained doctor had actually drawn up a diet sheet for a sick woman which included eggs, fresh milk, poultry and fish. ‘Her husband was out of work and she had five children. She could not possibly afford any of the items he suggested, not even as an occasional treat, far less seven days a week,’ Patty had said. ‘Others recommend that a patient should convalesce in the country or by the sea, when if they only looked around them – used their eyes – they would realise that even a day out would strain the family finances intolerably. We do what we can on the district, though it’s little enough in all conscience, but people appreciate that
we
have to make do and mend as they do themselves.’

At first, when Ellen was searching round for a clean sheet or something sustaining for a new mother to eat after her delivery, she thought wistfully of the advantages of having everything to hand on the maternity ward, a cupboard full of clean linen and other nurses to help manoeuvre a heavy or difficult patient. But soon she realised that she had no desire whatsoever to return to the hospital. She and Patty worked well together and never disagreed or argued. They went to Paddy’s market to buy piles of rags which they washed and dried to use as nappies for babies whose mothers could not provide for them. They bought cheap sweets which could be given to older brothers and sisters if they woke frightened by their mother’s cries, and Ellen soon realised that, as the neighbourhood midwife, she was a person of some importance to patients old and new. Whereas in hospital one met a patient, knew her vaguely for a week and then never saw her again, on the district it was quite different. Patty explained that one of the pleasantest parts of her job was watching the children she had delivered grow up.

‘When I was younger, I decided to work in the city until I had enough experience to take on a country practice,’ Patty had told Ellen, as they enjoyed a rare day off. ‘I still think I’ll do so one of these days, but it will be a real wrench to leave these people. I know it sounds like a cliché, Ellen, but they really are the salt of the earth. They’ll do anything for each other – think how they rally round when a new baby is born to a family in miserable circumstances – and they’ll do anything for us, too. When we have an inspection, they make sure everything in their homes is as it should be, even though perhaps almost all of the equipment has been borrowed from neighbours. Yes, it’ll be a wrench to leave my district, though the thought of a little house of my own, and a dog and a nice piece of garden, keeps me going when times are hard.’

The thought of a little house in the country might have appealed to Ellen at one time, but ever since Darky had rescued her and her borrowed bicycle from the tramlines she had known that the best thing about living in Ashfield Place was Darky’s nearness. Ever since that first occasion, he had been very friendly towards her. He had actually taken her to the cinema two or three times and always asked her to dance when they both visited the Grafton Ballroom or the Daulby Hall, though Ellen did not kid herself that he was courting her. She knew that Darky had his reasons.

‘To tell the truth, Miss Purbright,’ he had said when she had tried to thank him for rescuing her, ‘I’d ha’ done the same for anyone – well, any fellow would – but I had a motive as well. There’s a girl in Levers been makin’ a dead set at me – Betty Grainger, her name is – so I told her you were my young lady. She won’t believe I’m just not interested in marrying again, you see, but once word gets around that I’ve got me eye on a girl living in my own neighbourhood they’ll draw back a bit, I hope.’ He had looked at her anxiously, a slight flush staining his cheeks. ‘You don’t mind, do you? If we could go around together a bit, have a dance or two sometimes, visit the cinema together, then you’d be paying me back double or treble for fishing you out from under that tram.’

Ellen had been grateful to him for his honesty and agreed not to tell a soul because, as Darky had said, once a rumour that he was putting on an act got around, it would be an end to peace at work.

There was no doubt that Ellen enjoyed his company, but she could not help hoping that one day Darky’s eyes would be opened and he would stop thinking of her as a friend and start considering her as a future wife. He had never kissed her, never even held her hand, but Ellen told herself proximity often worked wonders. One day, he would realise that she really liked him, was actually giving up the chance of being courted by another feller just to please him, and then … and then …

Sometimes, Ellen wondered what Patty would say if she knew the true situation. Ellen could not tell her, having promised Darky she would not, but sometimes she thought Patty looked at her rather oddly, no doubt wondering why she, Ellen, did not make a push to go out with Darky more often. However, when her training period finished, Ellen had already made up her mind to apply for a midwife’s job on a district and when she was given one adjacent to Patty’s the two girls agreed to continue to share the landing house. Darky’s presence was an added bonus, Ellen told herself.

By the spring of 1934, the girls were working the two areas between them and managing to do so with such skill that no one had objected. Ellen adored Merrell and told Patty she envied her her little daughter which made Patty grin, though Ellen had no idea why. ‘And you’re real lucky with Maggie, because the kid’s devoted to you and to Merrell,’ Ellen told her friend. ‘She works ever so well at school – her teacher said so when we met on the Scottie last Tuesday – and she’s becoming a real little housewife.’

The only thing which, Ellen felt, caused a slight strain between them was her friendship with Darky Knight. At first she had wondered why Patty disliked him so, for he had the sort of brooding good looks which few girls could resist and he was good-natured too, frequently helping various neighbours by carrying their heavy shopping up the metal stairways and giving Maggie a hand with the pram when it was laden with Merrell, Christopher and the messages. Recently, however, Maggie had decided to enlighten her. She had explained that the very first time Patty had gone dancing with the other nurses, Darky had stopped her on her way home and tried to get a bit too friendly.

‘He must have been drunk as a wheelbarrow,’ Maggie said wisely, ‘because Darky ain’t that sort, as you very well know. I expect all he wanted was a kiss, but Patty didn’t know that so she struggled and probably hit out. Nothin’ makes a feller madder than bein’ hit by a woman; I know that because me mam often said so. He must ’ave grabbed her face under the chin, because she had bruises and some on her arm as well. He were real sorry, came round wi’ her gaberdine which she’d dropped in the street, said he was sorry … but it made things awkward between them. I ’spec’ you’ve noticed they don’t speak if they can help it, and if he comes in when we’re with Mrs Knight Patty scoots as soon as she can. It’s a pity, but as me mam used to say, “There’s nowt so queer as folks.”’

Ellen was relieved to know that the trouble between Patty and Darky was of a fairly trivial nature. She had long realised that Patty was not at ease with men, treating them all with circumspection and never allowing a feller to walk her home after a dance. Indeed, to Ellen’s knowledge, no man had ever entered No. 24 Ashfield Place.

But I do believe she’s getting better, Ellen told herself now, as she pedalled along Latimer Street, slowing to a halt as she reached the little shop on the corner of Westmoreland Place. She’s been nicer to the fellers she dances with, she isn’t afraid to joke with them any more, and though I’m sure she means it when she says she’ll never marry, at least the day may come when she isn’t actually scared of men.

As Ellen entered the shop and waited for her turn at the counter, it occurred to her that she had never before actually realised her friend was afraid of men. She frowned, thinking it over; being shy was one thing but being actively scared quite another, and she knew Patty well enough by now to realise that it could not possibly have been Darky’s attempt to kiss her which had made her fearful of men. Certainly, it had caused a coolness between her and Darky, but an apprehension such as Patty displayed was a great deal stronger and came from farther back than a mere few months. Something awful must have happened to Patty, and Ellen determined to discover what it was. If Patty brought her fear into the open, Ellen was sure that, between them, they could somehow disperse it.

‘Can I help you, Nurse?’

Ellen jumped. She had been so immersed in her thoughts that she had failed to realise she had reached the head of the queue and Mr Flowerdew, trim in a brown overall, his moustache neatly waxed and his brown eyes kindly, was waiting to serve her.

‘Sorry, Mr Flowerdew, I were dreaming,’ Ellen said. ‘Could I have two ounces of bull’s-eyes and a sherbet dip, please? And half a pound of ginger nuts.’

‘Certainly, Nurse,’ Mr Flowerdew said, reaching for the big jar of bull’s-eyes. He weighed the sweets with practised speed, shooting them into a white, conical bag, then weighed the biscuits. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes please; I’d better have an ounce of jelly babies,’ Ellen said. Patty did not really approve of sticky sweets for children but Ellen reasoned she could scarcely hand over a sherbet dip to Maggie and share the bull’s-eyes with Patty without giving Merrell something nice. The child was bright as a button and beginning to talk and sing nursery rhymes, even chanting the skipping games when she watched Maggie and her pals at play. Ellen would not have hurt Merrell’s feelings by leaving her out for anything.

Leaving the shop, Ellen remounted her bicycle and pedalled off in the direction of Ashfield Place. The trouble was, it was difficult for her to have any talk of a private nature with Patty. At home, the children were almost always present, and at work it was impossible to talk confidentially because there was always someone to overhear. At dances, it would have seemed very strange had they huddled in a corner and the same applied to cinema or theatre trips. But if she and Patty took the children to Seaforth Sands on Sunday afternoon, with a nice picnic and a couple of tablespoons and old enamel mugs, then the children could make sand pies and dig out moats and castles whilst she and Patty talked.

Well satisfied with her idea, Ellen swerved into Ashfield Place, parked her bicycle under the first-floor balcony, padlocked the front wheel and began to collect her messages. The bicycle was her very own for she had bought it from an elderly neighbour just as soon as she had saved up enough money and was very fond of it. She always made sure that it was clean and well oiled, with tyres hard and the brakes in good working order.

‘Ellen! Where’ve you been? Ain’t it a lovely day though? As soon as I gorrout of school, I picked our Merrell up and played on the swings. I went too high and fell off – see me grazed knee? But I managed to stop Merrell from hitting the ground. She were on me lap and never a squeak did she give when we sailed through the air.’ Maggie leaned over the pram and plonked a kiss on Merrell’s fair and smiling face. ‘There ain’t never been a better girl than our Merrell here, has there?’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Ellen said.

She picked the baby out of the pram and lodged her on her hip but Merrell squeaked indignantly: ‘Merry wanna go down! Merry wanna walk!’ so Ellen stood the child on the cobbles, though she retained her hold on Merrell’s small hand.

‘I’ve got something nice for us all,’ she said as she lifted her shopping bag from the bicycle basket. ‘Have you got many messages, Maggie? Can you manage ’em if I take Merrell here up to the house?’

‘I’ve got a great sack of spuds, two cabbages and an orange each an’ I can manage ’em easy,’ Maggie said briefly. She followed Ellen, lugging the pram behind her with her shopping still inside it, and began to hump it up the noisy metal stairs. Before she had got more than half a dozen steps up, however, Ellen heard her thanking someone and looked round to see Darky Knight taking the main weight of the pram. She smiled at him over her shoulder and he grinned back, saying gruffly, in answer to Maggie’s thanks: ‘It’s all in a day’s work, queen. My goodness, but you must ha’ done messages for half the landing houses, or else you gals is hungrier’n most Irish navvies! All them perishin’ spuds!’

‘Some of ’em’s for your mam,’ Maggie agreed, rather breathlessly, ‘and some’s for Mrs Clarke. I only shop for our landing, as a rule, ’cos of the weight.’ They reached the top landing and Darky went ahead of them, disappearing into his own house whilst Maggie carried the potatoes into Mrs Clarke’s kitchen and handed over change. Rather to Ellen’s disappointment, when they knocked at Mrs Knight’s door it was that lady herself who answered; Darky had vanished.

‘Got your spuds, Mrs K.; Mr Knight helped me lug the pram up the stairs though, so I ’spect you already know,’ Maggie said cheerfully. She picked up a newspaper-wrapped bundle and handed it to the older woman. ‘You wanted an onion and a couple of carrots an’ all. They’re in the same parcel and there weren’t no change.’