The Nightingale Girls (23 page)

‘Put some boiling water in it,’ Dora whispered. ‘Hurry up, before they come.’

‘But it’ll taste awful.’

‘It can’t be any worse than it is now, can it? Just boil up a kettle and hope their taste buds are too numb to notice.’

Lucy shook her head mournfully. ‘I didn’t light the gas for my vegetables either. They’re not even cooked.’

‘Then you can share mine. Now quickly, get that kettle on while they’re still having a chin wag over there.’

Her face still blank with shock, Lucy did as she was told while Dora strained and pureed her vegetables and mashed her potatoes. Before the sisters came to inspect their trays of food, she quickly dolloped a spoonful of veg on to Lucy’s plate.

They both held their breath as the sisters sampled their dishes. When Dora glanced across, she saw Lucy had her eyes tightly shut, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

After a long time, one of the sisters put a tick on her clipboard.

‘Thank you, Nurses,’ she said. ‘Please send in the next pair.’

It took Millie several minutes to take in what Sister Parker had said to her. Even then she’d had to show her the printed result sheet before she would allow herself to believe it.

‘I’m sorry, Sister, I’m just so surprised I’ve passed,’ she said.

Sister Parker regarded her severely over her spectacles. ‘Believe me, Benedict, no one could be more surprised than I am,’ she said with feeling.

The others had all passed too, and there was much excitement in the nurses’ block as they swapped horror stories.

For once Lucy seemed oddly quiet, Millie noticed. She hadn’t bragged about how well she’d done, or how easy the test had been. She hadn’t made a single nasty remark. During supper, she had even offered Dora the cocoa jug first for once, instead of grabbing it for herself.

‘What’s the matter with her, I wonder?’ Millie mused.

Dora shrugged. ‘Maybe the test has brought her down to earth?’

‘I doubt it. You wait, she’ll be full of herself again by tomorrow.’

‘You never know,’ Dora said. ‘She might be different once we start training on the wards.’

‘The wards!’ Excitement bubbled inside Millie. ‘Just think, we’re going to be real nurses.’

‘Steady on, we’ve got another three years of training before then.’

‘But at least from now on we’ll be on the wards, dealing with real patients.’

‘Yes, and have you seen the state of some of them?’ Dora laughed. ‘I bet after six months we’ll be longing for Mrs Jones again!’

‘Well, she did it. I don’t know how, but somehow she managed it.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’ Veronica Hanley looked up from her quilt-stitching and pretended not to know what Sister Parker was talking about.

‘Young Doyle. She passed her preliminary training.
More than passed, in fact. Her marks were excellent. They might have been even better if she’d had access to books earlier.’

Veronica gave her a tight smile. ‘She is a tribute to your excellent teaching, Florence.’

‘She’s a very bright girl,’ Florence Parker corrected her, a touch of irritation in her voice. ‘Even if some people would have dismissed her out of hand,’ she added pointedly.

‘You’re talking as if she’s already a qualified nurse,’ Sister Sutton said, leaning over her sewing to pass a biscuit to Sparky. ‘She still has three years and several more examinations to go before we can say that.’

‘Indeed,’ Miss Hanley agreed. ‘Girls can change a great deal in three years.’

They lapsed into tense silence. Veronica had the feeling Florence was bursting to say something more, but manners prevented her. She was surprised at her friend. She had always thought Sister Parker had standards. Now she was beginning to sound like some kind of socialist.

‘What about Benedict? Did she pass?’ Sister Sutton asked.

Florence Parker thought about it for a moment. ‘She scraped through, yes.’

‘Well, I hope
she
changes in the next three years,’ Agatha Sutton said with feeling. ‘Otherwise God help our poor patients!’

HAVING TEA WITH
her mother was always an ordeal for Helen. Constance Tremayne criticised everything, from where they were seated – ‘Not a corner table, please. And not over by the window, either’ – to the quality of the sandwiches. ‘I hope they are freshly made?’ she frowned at the waitress, who stood with her notepad poised.

‘Yes, Madam. Freshly made to order.’

‘Then we shall have an assortment and a pot of tea for two.’ She snapped her menu shut.

‘Any cakes, Madam?’

Constance looked down her nose at the girl. ‘Did I order cakes?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then obviously we do not require any. And make sure the pot has been warmed and the water is boiling,’ she called after the waitress.

Helen put down her own menu. There wasn’t much point in looking at it, since her mother always ordered for her anyway.

It was a cold, wet January afternoon, and Helen was on her break. She was due back on the ward at five o’clock, and felt guilty that she was already counting the hours. She found herself thinking about Charlie Denton. He was due to go home that day, and Helen had hoped she might be there to see him off. But Sister Holmes had put her down on the rota to take her break from three
till five, and then her mother had summoned her for afternoon tea, and Helen couldn’t possibly say no to either of them.

The waitress returned with their tea and sandwiches. Helen cringed as her mother inspected everything. It took her some time, but finally Constance found something that wasn’t to her satisfaction.

‘Waitress! Over here, if you please.’

The girl came over, her expression resigned. ‘What can I do for you, Madam?’

‘You can take this teacup away and bring me a clean one. Look at it, it’s revolting.’ She shuddered with distaste.

The waitress peered into the cup. Helen prayed she wouldn’t argue; she could already see the light of battle gleaming in her mother’s eyes.

‘Very well, Madam.’

Helen caught the waitress’ scowl as she took the offending cup away. The poor girl might feel put upon, but at least she only had to put up with Mrs Tremayne for half an hour or so. Helen had been under her thumb for the last twenty years.

‘That’s better,’ Constance said, when the waitress had returned with a spotless cup. She turned her attention back to Helen. ‘Now, where were we?’

Helen folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently for her own inspection. She was certain that, unlike the second teacup, she would not pass muster.

She could feel her mother’s gaze, raking her up and down. Finally, Constance said, ‘Have you cut your hair?’

‘Just a couple of inches.’ Helen fingered the ends of her hair uncertainly. ‘But I was thinking of having it cut a bit shorter,’ she ventured. ‘A lot of the other girls are having theirs done, and—’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ her mother cut her off.

‘But it’s all the fashion. And it would be a lot more practical.’

‘Short hair looks fast.’

Helen watched her mother pour the tea. It was a waste of time to argue. Constance Tremayne had spoken and that was the end of the matter.

She allowed her thoughts to drift back to Mr Denton, or Charlie as she called him in her head. He had been in an odd mood as she’d helped him to pack that morning, as if he had something weighing on his mind.

Helen did her best to cheer him up. ‘I bet you’re looking forward to getting out of here?’ she’d said, as she carefully folded his spare pair of pyjamas.

‘I don’t know about that. I’m not sure I’m ready for the big wide world yet, Nurse T.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ she reassured him. ‘You’ve learned to cope really well with your new leg.’

‘Oh, I can manage all right in here. But what’s it going to be like when I get out there?’ He turned his gaze towards the window.

‘You’re bound to feel a bit nervous at first,’ she said briskly. ‘But I bet in a couple of weeks you’ll be happily drinking pints in the Rose and Crown and won’t even remember this place!’

‘I won’t forget you in a hurry.’

Helen was on her hands and knees, clearing out his locker. She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing face.

‘Helen? Have you listened to a word I’ve said?’

She looked at her mother across the table. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I thought not.’ Constance’s mouth pursed with irritation. ‘I hope you’re more attentive than this when you’re working on the ward?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you’re
representing me at the Nightingale. I do not expect you to let me down.’

‘No, Mother.’

‘And if you make a mistake, be sure I will find out about it.’

‘I know, Mother.’

As they nibbled their sandwiches, her mother quizzed her. How were her studies? What had she learned? Was she doing better than the other students?

Helen did her best to answer tactfully. But she made a mistake when she tried to tell her mother a funny story about one of the pros on her ward who had got confused by Sister’s instructions to give a patient an air ring to sit on after his haemorrhoid operation.

‘She thought Sister meant give him an airing. The Staff Nurse caught her trying to drag him outside, howling in pain!’

She hoped her mother would laugh, but Constance Tremayne’s face grew serious.

‘Really, Helen, I see nothing to laugh about,’ she said sternly. ‘A patient’s life could have been put at risk.’

‘He only had haemorrhoids!’ Helen protested.

‘Perhaps, but tomorrow it could be someone with a heart condition or a head injury. You may smile, Helen, but I’m serious. Quite honestly, I don’t know what you young nurses are thinking about these days. When I was training—’

Helen mentally tuned out, playing with the crumbs on her plate. It was going to be a long afternoon, she could tell.

She hurried back to the ward just before five, but Charlie had already gone. Two pros were making up his bed with fresh sheets, ready for the next patient.

‘He left half an hour ago,’ Amy Hollins told her. ‘If
you ask me, he couldn’t wait to see the back of this place.’

‘I don’t blame him,’ Helen sighed. But she couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment that she’d missed saying goodbye.

The following morning Helen was surprised to see him coming through the doors as she was taking TPRs at the other end of the ward. Charlie was leaning heavily on his stick while balancing an enormous bunch of chrysanthemums in his free hand. She felt a sudden wave of panic and lost her count while taking Mr Stannard’s pulse.

‘Looks like someone’s got a secret admirer.’ Mr Stannard grinned at Helen, showing off his few remaining teeth. ‘Who’s the lucky girl, I wonder?’

‘I really wouldn’t know.’ Helen quickly copied the previous figure on his chart and moved away. Her own pulse had started racing so hard she couldn’t keep count of that, either. She tried to ignore the conversation that was going on at the other end of the ward between Charlie Denton and Staff Nurse Lund. They talked for a minute or two, then he left. Shortly after, Lund summoned Helen over.

‘Mr Denton brought these flowers in to thank us for looking after him. Isn’t that kind?’ she said.

‘Very kind, Staff. Shall I put them in water?’

‘Good idea, Tremayne. But be sure you’re back before Sister returns from her break, won’t you?’

Helen didn’t understand the look Lund gave her until she found Charlie Denton waiting for her by the sluice-room door.

‘The nurse said I could have five minutes with you.’ He looked so different all dressed up in a suit and shirt, his red-gold hair brushed back off his smiling face. So
handsome, too. Helen nervously checked the thought, as if he could somehow read her mind.

He was looking at her expectantly, but Helen didn’t know what to say. Finally she asked, ‘How’s your leg?’

‘All right, thanks. Takes a bit of getting used to, but it’s not as bad as I thought.’

‘That’s good.’ She moved awkwardly past him into the sluice room. Mr Denton followed her.

‘Cold in here, isn’t it?’

‘That’s because there’s no glass in the windows.’ Helen pointed at the high screen-covered gap above their heads. ‘It’s better for ventilation. But it does get freezing in the winter.’

‘Is that right?’

It seemed so ridiculous, having a chat about the sluice-room window. But Helen had no idea what else to say. She could feel him watching her from the doorway as she found a vase in the cupboard and filled it under the tap.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said at last.

‘You’ve only been gone a day!’

‘I know, but it feels strange, not seeing your smiling face when I wake up.’

The silence stretched between them. Helen glanced down at the watch pinned to her bib. Another minute and she’d have to go back to the ward.

‘I’m making a right mess of this, aren’t I?’ Charlie Denton ran his hand through his sandy hair. ‘I had it all planned on the way here, but now it’s all gone out of my head.’

‘What did you want to say?’ Helen could hear her heart beating in her ears.

He smiled at her, his blue eyes warm. ‘I don’t suppose you’d think about coming out with me one night?’

Her surprise must have shown on her face because he went on quickly, ‘No, sorry, forget I asked. I don’t know
what I was thinking. You’ve probably got dozens of lads after you. Why would you want to have anything to do with me?’

‘I haven’t, honestly,’ Helen blurted out.

His face brightened. ‘So does that mean you’ll come out with me?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m going on nights from tomorrow.’

‘How long for?’

‘Three months.’

‘Three months! That’s a long time to wait for a night out at the pictures!’ Charlie Denton thought about it for a moment. ‘But I reckon you’re worth waiting for,’ he said cheekily. ‘So what d’you reckon? Will you go out with me then?’

Helen hesitated. She longed to go, but . . . ‘My mother wouldn’t like it.’

‘I’m not asking your mother. I’m asking you.’ He grinned. ‘And I’m warning you, if you say no, I’ll come back in three months and ask you again!’

‘You’re very persistent.’