The Nightingale Sisters (22 page)

‘Completely crushed?’

‘There was nothing left of it, once they cut my trouser leg off.’

‘Goodness, I would have loved to have seen that. I’ve been present at amputations before, but nothing as dramatic as that. I don’t suppose they took photographs?’

‘I don’t think there was much left to photograph, to be honest. The doctor reckoned—’

‘Really, I hardly think this is suitable conversation!’ Constance let her knife and fork drop with a clatter, silencing them. ‘Timothy, perhaps you would like to tell the children about your sermon this morning, since they missed the service?’ She turned pleadingly to her husband.

William noticed the mischievous wink that passed between Phil and Charlie, and smiled to himself. He didn’t blame either of them. Charlie deserved some revenge after the way Mother had treated him.

It was a relief all round when the afternoon ended. Phil drove them back, since William’s beloved car Bessie was in the garage yet again.

‘Nice car,’ Charlie commented. ‘Hillman Minx?’

Phil nodded. ‘Pressed steel body and a thirty brake horsepower engine.’

‘Synchromesh?’

‘Of course. Got it new last year.’

‘Phil knows about cars,’ William said.

‘Phil knows about everything,’ she corrected him, gunning the motor into life.

‘But she’s incredibly modest with it,’ he added, grinning at her.

The atmosphere in the car was much more relaxed on the way back to London. They chatted, and laughed, and were generally relieved that they had survived another Sunday at the Vicarage.

‘Your mother’s not that bad,’ Charlie said tolerantly. ‘Well, she isn’t,’ he insisted, to a chorus of groans.

‘Why do you insist on seeing the best in everyone, Charlie?’ William asked, exasperated. ‘You make the rest of us look terrible.’

‘I’m dreading her official visit with the Board of Trustees next week,’ Helen sighed. ‘I know she’s going to find fault with everything. And poor Millie’s already having sleepless nights at the thought—’ She stopped dead, her mouth clamping shut.

‘I’m not surprised,’ Charlie laughed. ‘That mate of yours is an accident waiting to happen. Did you tell your brother what she did the other week?’

‘What did she do?’ William asked.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Helen muttered.

‘It was a riot.’ Charlie grinned. ‘Millie only went and accidentally bleached some woman’s hair when she was meant to be delousing it, didn’t she?’

‘She sounds like an idiot,’ Phil said, her eyes fixed on the road.

‘She isn’t. She’s actually a very sweet girl,’ William said, a little too quickly.

He hoped Phil wouldn’t notice, but she was far too sharp for that. ‘What’s this? Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me about this Millie? Is she yet another of your old flames, by any chance?’

‘No.’

‘But you wanted her to be, is that it?’

William glanced at Helen, but she was staring out of the car window, refusing to meet his eye. She had never approved of his friendship with Millie, had even warned him off getting too close to her. ‘She’s a sweet girl,’ he said again. ‘Very naïve, very innocent.’

‘She doesn’t sound like your type at all!’ Phil laughed.

‘No,’ he said. ‘She wasn’t.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Phil said. ‘Don’t tell me she rejected you? Should I be jealous?’ She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Don’t look so worried, I’m only teasing you. I’d like to meet her. She sounds utterly charming.’

They dropped off Helen and Charlie outside the hospital, then Phil drove William the short distance to his lodgings on the other side of Victoria Park.

‘Well?’ she said, as she pulled up at the kerb. ‘Did I pass muster with your mother, do you think?’

‘You did wonderfully. I was very impressed.’

‘I was on my very best behaviour. I hope you noticed?’

‘I did. Thank you. And thank you for biting your tongue on several occasions.’

‘Actually, I quite enjoyed playing the dutiful girlfriend. Even though, as you know, I’m far from the dutiful type.’

‘I’d be disappointed if you were.’

‘Wouldn’t you just?’

She slid along the polished leather seat towards him, and for a moment he thought she was moving in for a kiss until she leant over and opened his door for him.

Disappointment flooded through him. ‘Aren’t you coming in? I thought we could spend the evening together?’

‘Not tonight. I’m meeting someone.’

He felt a stab. ‘A man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is he? Do I know him?’

She put a finger to his lips. ‘So many questions,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t ask you about your mysterious Millie, do I?’

‘There’s a difference,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m not sleeping with Millie.’

‘How do you know I’m sleeping with my friend?’

‘Are you?’

She sighed. ‘Jealousy really doesn’t suit you, William.’ She kissed his cheek and then slid back behind the wheel. ‘I’ll see you,’ she said.

‘When?’ He hated the pleading note that crept into his voice, but he couldn’t help it.

‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘I’ll call you.’

He got out of the car and slammed the door. She blew him a kiss and roared off straight away, leaving him standing on the pavement.

A sour taste filled William’s mouth. It always ended like this with Phil. She seemed to enjoy going off and leaving him full of fear that he might not see her again. He knew he would spend the rest of the evening torturing himself with thoughts of who she was with, and what she was doing. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help it.

Phil was right, he thought. Jealousy really didn’t suit him.

DORA’S BROTHER PETER
was built like a brick outhouse. But Nanna’s ringing slap nearly knocked him off his feet.

‘I won’t have it,’ she declared fiercely. ‘I will not have you bringing your Blackshirt nonsense into this house, d’you hear me?’

‘It’s not nonsense,’ he muttered, rubbing his ear. ‘Anyway, you should be thanking us. At least we’re standing up for the East End.’

‘I don’t need a bunch of thugs standing up for me, thank you very much,’ Dora retorted, as she helped her mother fold damp laundry and drape it in front of the fire to dry.

Peter glared at her. ‘We ain’t thugs.’

‘You look like one.’ He had been so proud to show off his new black uniform, but the sight of it made her feel sick. ‘And what else do you call people who beat up anyone who disagrees with them? Or who go around smashing up shops?’

‘We’re only doing what’s right.’

‘So it’s right to terrorise a poor old man in the middle of the night, like they did when they broke into poor Mr Solomon’s pawnshop?’

‘Old Solomon’s a crook. It’s about time he got what’s coming to him.’ Peter’s lip curled. ‘And you want to watch what you’re saying,’ he warned Dora. ‘You don’t want anyone thinking you’re on their side.’

‘Why? Will you come round and throw a brick through my window in the middle of the night too?’

They faced each other angrily across the steamy kitchen. Dora barely recognised her own brother any more. Peter used to be so full of fun and laughter, but since he’d lost his job and fallen in with Mosley’s fascists he’d become a snarling bully.

‘Why don’t you like the Jews?’ Bea piped up.

‘Because they’ve got what’s rightfully ours,’ Peter told her, his gaze still fixed balefully on Dora. ‘They own all the businesses around here, and they make all the money. They get rich and us honest British men don’t get a penny.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ Bea said, frowning. ‘If they make all the money, why shouldn’t they be allowed to keep it?’

‘Listen to her,’ Nanna said. ‘Out of the mouths of babes.’

The sharp knock on the back door made them all look round.

‘I’ll get it,’ Bea said eagerly, already on her feet and halfway across the kitchen.

‘You’ll be thanking me one day, for what I’ve done,’ Peter hissed to Dora.

‘And you’ll be behind bars, if you carry on doing it.’

‘No chance. I’m a hero.’

‘Stop it, all of you,’ Rose shushed them. ‘Haven’t we got enough trouble in this house without you lot bickering all the time?’ She looked up as Bea closed the back door. ‘Who was it?’

‘Mrs Peterson. She gave me this.’

They all stared at the cooking pot in her arms. ‘Why did she give you that?’ Rose asked.

‘Dunno. She didn’t say.’

‘Has it got anything in it?’

Bea lifted the lid and peered inside. ‘It’s empty.’

Nanna and Rose looked at each other. ‘Well, that’s a bit rum, ain’t it?’ Nanna frowned.

They were interrupted by another knock. This time Dora went to answer it.

It was Tom Turnbull, a neighbour’s son. He was carrying a battered old nightstand.

‘Dad says to bring you this,’ he said, dumping it down in front of her.

‘Why?’ Dora started to ask, but Tom had already bolted back over the fence.

Rose came up behind her. They both stared, mystified, at the nightstand in front of them.

‘Do you know what’s going on?’ Rose said. ‘Because I’m sure I don’t.’

‘Maybe we should ask her?’ Dora nodded to where Mrs Prosser was heading towards them across the yard, staggering under the weight of a pile of clothes.

‘Just a few bits and pieces my lot have grown out of,’ she said, dumping them into Rose’s arms. ‘I thought they might do for your little ones.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m so sorry for your troubles, Rosie, I really am.’

Dora glanced at her mother’s face. She could tell all kinds of emotions were going on behind that rigid mask.

Her pride finally surfaced. ‘I can’t take these—’ She started to hand back the clothes, but Mrs Prosser put up her hand.

‘It’s not charity, Rose. We’re just helping each other out, that’s all. God knows, you’ve done the same for us enough times over the years. It’s about time we were all able to do something in return.’ She glanced uncertainly at Dora. ‘I feel proper ashamed of myself when I think about how we just stood there gawping the other day. We should have done something about it then.’

She stood to one side as two of their neighbours staggered across the yard under the weight of a chest of drawers.

‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ Rose murmured.

‘You don’t have to say anything.’ Mrs Prosser patted her hand. ‘Just call it a thank-you from everyone in Griffin Street.’

They kept coming throughout the afternoon. Every neighbour seemed to have something to donate, whether it was a spare chair or some old bedlinen. Rose thanked each visitor stiffly, but Dora could see her emotions were all over the place, moving swiftly between gratitude and agony that she had been reduced to accepting charity.

The last to arrive was Nick Riley. Nanna gave a cry of joy when she saw what he’d brought with him.

‘My old rocking chair!’ She watched him set it down in its usual place close to the fire. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘A mate of mine at the hospital told me where they sell off all the stuff they repossess, so I went and bought it back.’ He stood there, looking embarrassed by his own act of generosity.

Nanna Winnie’s hard little eyes brimmed with tears. She sank down in it with a sigh. But being Nanna, she couldn’t let the moment pass without a gripe.

‘This cushion’s a bit damp,’ she complained, wriggling her ample backside around.

‘Give it here, we’ll dry it out in front of the fire.’ Rose lifted her eyes heavenwards.

‘Thank you,’ Dora whispered as she showed Nick out of the back door. ‘She’d never admit it, but she’s been lost without that chair.’

‘Don’t thank me, it wasn’t my idea.’ He nodded across the yard, to where Ruby stood on the other side of the fence. ‘She organised it all. Roped in the neighbours and everything.’

‘All I did was knock on a few doors and remind them all what your mum had done for them,’ Ruby shrugged, her eyes cast down modestly.

‘Thanks, Ruby.’

‘’S all right.’ She lifted her gaze to meet Dora’s. ‘We’re mates, ain’t we? And mates don’t do the dirty on each other. They stick together, no matter what. Don’t they?’

Dora frowned at the meaningful look in her friend’s blue eyes. She had the feeling that Ruby was trying to tell her something.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘No matter what.’

They closed the door on the last of their visitors, then sat down among their new collection of possessions and looked at each other.

‘Well.’ Nanna was the first to speak for them. ‘This is a bit of a turn-up for the books, isn’t it? I must say, I didn’t expect this when I put my teeth in this morning!’

‘What do you think, Mum?’ Dora asked.

Rose gazed around her. ‘Everyone has been very kind,’ she said. But from the bleak look in her eyes Dora guessed she was still trying to come to terms with it all.

‘You don’t look well, Rosie,’ Nanna observed. ‘You ought to go and have a little lie down. I reckon all this has been a bit too much for you.’

‘I reckon you’re right.’ Rose got to her feet. ‘I think I will have five minutes’ kip.’

‘Good idea. I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea, shall I?’ Dora said bracingly.

‘Thanks, love.’ Rose gave her a wan smile.

Nanna shook her head. ‘Poor girl, this has all hit her hard,’ she said, when Rose had gone upstairs.

‘I don’t see why,’ Bea protested. ‘We’ve got lots of lovely new stuff now.’

‘Shut up, Bea!’ they all chorused.

Dora was in the scullery making tea when there was another knock on the back door.

‘Blimey, not again!’ she heard Nanna cry. ‘Answer it, Josie. It might be June Riley with a grand piano!’

Dora smiled to herself as she warmed the pot. But her smile vanished when she heard a man’s voice saying, ‘Is this where Alf Doyle lives?’

She froze, nearly dropping the teapot from her hands. She knew that voice. It belonged to Joe Armstrong.

‘Why do you want to know?’ she heard Nanna ask.

‘Never mind that. Does he live here or not?’

He’s dead, she thought. That was the only reason a policeman would turn up on their doorstep. They must have dragged Alf’s body out of the river.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she emerged from the scullery. ‘Joe?’ she said.