The Foreshadowing (7 page)

He left a day early, too. He said in his telegram that he had six days, but he was gone by Wednesday morning. If I’m honest, though, it was a bit difficult anyway. Mother would be furious with me for saying something like that, but it’s true. Edgar spent much of the time out of the house, who knows where, as if he was an animal that didn’t like being locked up. When he was at home he was silent for the most part. Mother kept on smiling and having Cook put food in front of him. Father did all the talking, and spoke about the war and the army, while Edgar sat staring into the fire clutching a glass of beer with his big hands.

I sat and watched, pretending to read Miss Garrett’s
Greek
Myths,
while inside I felt a sadness so strong it seemed to paralyze me.

It was strange that Edgar left early, as if he thought he would be more comfortable in France than he was here. What could make him feel like that?

When the time came for him to leave, Father said he would walk with him to the station, but he forbade Mother and me to go. He said we would only get upset. I have walked past the station a hundred times and seen women saying goodbye to their men, some calm, but many with tears streaming down their faces. Father is probably right, but I don’t see what would be wrong with getting upset.

So the moment came for Edgar to say goodbye, and it was a moment I had been fearing, in case . . .

In case I should feel something.

He gave Mother a kiss, and she smiled at him, but there were tears in her eyes.

He took a step toward me. I froze. Then he put his arms around me and kissed me. It has been years since he has done that, since I was a child. I could feel him, strong and wiry under his smart uniform, and it was a surprise to me. And though he was home for five days and had a bath almost every day, I could smell the war on him still.

I could smell earth and things that I don’t know the names of. A faint but clear aroma of something chemical that pricked the back of my nose, a smoky smell.

I could sense it all, but as my heart began to calm itself, I realized I could sense nothing of death.

I pulled away from Edgar, relieved, smiling.

“Have a good Christmas,” I said, and almost for the first time since he had returned, he laughed.

“Bless you, Alexandra,” he said, and then he went.

82

At last I have been able to get back into the hospital. Father called me to see him a few days ago. It was quite late and he was obviously tired, but he seemed to want to talk there and then.

“You’re still serious about this nursing business?” he said.

I was taken aback, but this was no time to appear vague or uncertain.

“Yes, Father,” I said. “Yes. I really want to do it.”

“Very well, then. You may begin your training as a VAD nurse. You know what that is?”

I said I did. I’m seventeen, so it means I can work part-time in one of the hospitals, though I will live at home.

“You’ll be among the youngest. There are Voluntary Aid Detachment nurses at my hospital. I’ve got you a place there, starting next week. But you’ll have to fit this in around your studies, you understand that?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “Thank you!”

I smiled from sheer happiness.

“Don’t let me down, Alexandra, will you?”

There was no smile on his face.

“No,” I said, “I promise.”

“Off you go, then,” he said, as if I were ten years younger.

I turned, but then stopped. I had to know something.

I wondered if he had forgotten, or decided to ignore, the business with Simpson. Whatever else, I am pleased that nothing has happened since those three recent occasions when I saw the future. I hardly dare to think it, but maybe it has stopped. Things come in threes, after all.

“Father?”

“What?”

“What made you change your mind? About me working in the hospital?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” I said. I was taking a big risk questioning him, but I thought it too odd to drop the subject.

He looked at me, but I could read nothing from his face; as if he were a stranger.

“It was your brother,” he said, eventually.

“Thomas?”

“No, Edgar.”

“Edgar?” I spluttered.

“When I walked him to the station, he said you ought to have your chance. He convinced me. So I’m giving you your chance.”

I smiled, my hand lingering on the brass doorknob.

“It’s a good thing, Father,” I said. “I believe I should have work to do.”

“He also said he didn’t think you were up to it.”

He looked away out the window.

The smile left my face and I left the room. As I closed the door behind me, I heard Father say one more thing.

“Prove him wrong.”

81

I spoke to Thomas on the telephone this evening, and Mother let me have almost the whole three minutes myself. Father didn’t talk to him at all.

When I told Thomas about Edgar’s visit and what he had done for me, he said, “That’s wonderful,” but you wouldn’t have thought so from the sound of his voice.

It’s hard to tell what someone is really thinking on the ’phone. I could only feel the distance between us.

It’s such a long way to Manchester. In fact, it’s a funny thing that Tom is farther away from us in Manchester than Edgar is in France. But Edgar’s not just in a different place, he’s in a different world now too.

80

It was my first day as a VAD nurse today. I am only allowed to work part-time, but it’s a big step forward from my few days’ trial earlier in the autumn.

I walked to Seven Dials and carried on up Dyke Road. At the corner of the Old Shoreham Road the hospital stood waiting for me. It’s a massive building, of red brick, with an elaborate sculpture on the portico above the entrance, and on top, a small cupola with a copper dolphin weathervane.

I stood for a moment, feeling scared, but then two girls brushed past me, laughing.

“You lost?” one of them asked.

“No,” I said. “Well, a little. It’s my first day.”

“Well, you don’t look like a patient, that’s for sure! You need to report to reception.”

Before half an hour had passed I was standing in my uniform outside Sister’s office, waiting to be called in. The uniform felt strange, and itchy, but I was happy to be wearing it. It’s a long gray dress, with full sleeves. Over the top I wear a white apron with a bold red cross.

Sister Maddox is not nice. She’s a small, thin woman, maybe in her fifties, but I’m not sure, because I have tried not to look at her directly. She seemed hostile before I had even opened my mouth.

“Fox,” she said, “you may only be a Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse, and a part-timer at that, but in my hospital you will behave correctly. You will refer to me as Sister, and my nurses as Nurse such-and-such. You will not refer to VAD nurses by anything other than their surname, nor will you expect to be addressed in any other way yourself. Clear?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to speak in case my voice sounded as scared as I felt.

“VADs are here to relieve the workload on my nurses, those who have proper medical training. And you are only here because of who your father is. Now report to Staff-nurse Goodall.”

That was my introduction to the world of nursing, but I am determined not to let one horrible sister spoil it. Later in the day, talking to other VAD nurses, I discovered that Sister Maddox hates all VADs because we haven’t had full medical training and yet are in demand. The soldiers call everyone Sister, out of friendliness, or politeness, or maybe just ignorance, when really they shouldn’t, and that annoys her even more.

“So don’t take it personally,” one girl said.

“But it is personal, with me,” I said.

“Oh, yes. Your father,” she said. “But don’t worry, most people around here like him. And they respect him because he has hard work to do. He works on the neurasthenia patients.”

“The what?” I asked.

“Neurasthenia. The ones with shell-shock.”

I noticed that the corner of her mouth twisted slightly as she said the word. She got on with her work, and I with mine.

It was a hard day, and by the time I got home this evening, I was ready to cry. Fortunately Father was working late. Mother seemed to realize I’d had a difficult time. She didn’t question me, just asked Molly to bring my supper. Then she sat and talked to me.

“My first day, too,” she said, but I didn’t understand. I felt guilty because although I could see Mother wanted to talk, I needed silence.

“What do you mean?” I asked, forcing myself to talk.

“My first day alone. Father at work. Edgar and Tom gone. And now you.”

“Mother, I—”

“It’s all right, Sasha. I’m just saying. That’s all.”

“You had Cook, and Molly.”

Mother dropped her voice.

“That’s hardly the same,” she said, pulling a face.

In spite of myself, I laughed. I knew what she meant.

“I’ll get Molly to bring in your favorite supper. I’ve had her make an omelette for you.”

Any other day I would have been delighted. But I was just too tired.

I made an excuse and left Mother by herself in the dining room.

I came upstairs to bed, where I am now. I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to think about anyone at the moment, not even Tom.

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