The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Twenty-Nine



‘WHAT EXACTLY DO you think you’re playing at, Nurse Doyle?’

Dora squirmed under Sister Blake’s withering gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought it was a joke.’

‘A joke?’ Sister’s voice rose in disbelief. ‘Do I look as if I’m laughing, Doyle? Does poor Mr Wenham look as if he’s laughing?’

‘No, Sister.’ Dora kept her gaze fixed on the white-tiled wall of the sluice. The last half-hour had been a slowly unravelling nightmare.

It had all started when Mr Wenham had asked her for help with his urinal. ‘It’s a bit awkward with my poorly back.’ He winced. ‘If you could just reach down there and arrange it all, so to speak . . .’

But Dora had already caught the twinkling eye of the man in the next bed as she took the bottle behind the screens, and knew this was yet another of their pathetic jokes. Two months after she’d started on the ward, the men still hadn’t stopped tormenting her. Blushing, she’d panicked and thrust the urinal under the covers then shot off through the screens as fast as she could. It wasn’t until she had been summoned to account to Sister Blake for why she had refused to help an immobile patient, that she’d realised it wasn’t a joke.

Cleaning up wasn’t a joke, either. Dora was too mortified to meet Mr Wenham’s eye as she stripped off the soiled bedding. The poor man didn’t know where to put himself.

‘Sorry, Nurse,’ he kept mumbling.

‘This is not the first time this has happened, is it, Doyle? I seem to recall several similar incidents when you’ve left a patient struggling.’

Heat spread up her chest, flooding her neck and face. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’

‘Is there something I should know, Doyle?’

Dora looked up sharply. ‘I – I don’t know what you mean, Sister.’

‘I mean, do you have some kind of problem dealing with men?’

Sister Blake’s keen eyes were fixed on her, as if she could see right into her head. Dora dropped her gaze quickly.

‘N-no, Sister.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ When Sister Blake spoke again, her voice was gentler, more understanding. ‘Look, I was a student myself once. I realise that dealing with male patients can be embarrassing and alarming for a young girl, but it is a very necessary part of nursing.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘I also realise that you seem to have had more than your fair share of teasing from some of the young men on the ward. They seem to regard you as particularly good sport, so I’ve heard?’

Dora allowed herself to look up at Sister Blake. Her brown eyes were full of sympathy.

‘You do realise they only pick on you because they know they can get a reaction? If you can manage to conceal your feelings and laugh it off, the teasing may stop.’ Sister Blake laid a hand on her arm. ‘Try to play them at their own game, Doyle. For your own sake,’ she advised. ‘I would hate to have to put this incident in the ward report.’

Dora thought about her words all the way through dinner. As the other pros excitedly swapped stories of their experiences on the wards, she sat mute with misery. If she didn’t buck up her ideas, she would never be a nurse. But how could she ever overcome her terror of touching a man’s body? If she wasn’t careful, Alf Doyle’s poison was going to seep in and infect her future, just as he’d infected her past.

The sound of laughter from the far end of the table made her look up. She saw Lucy Lane’s face and realised the joke was directed at her.

‘O’Hara’s been telling us about your latest mess in Male Orthopaedics,’ she announced down the length of the table. ‘Really, Doyle, how do you expect to make a nurse if you can’t even give someone a bottle?’

Dora stared at her coldly. She knew they would never be friends, but had hoped after saving Lucy’s bacon during the PTS exam that the other girl might stop taunting her. But no such luck. It was as if she had pushed the whole incident to the back of her mind, pretending it had never happened.

‘We can’t all be top of the class like you, can we?’ replied Dora. ‘You’ll have to give me some tips. I’ve heard you’re a dab hand in the kitchen?’

Lucy’s cheeks coloured, and Dora knew her barb had hit home. Lucy left her alone for the rest of the meal, although Dora had to listen to her bragging to the other girls about how Sister Wren had praised her bed-making skills.

‘Sorry,’ Katie O’Hara caught up with Dora as they left the dining room. ‘I didn’t mean to make fun of you, honest to God. I was only telling the girls what had happened.’

‘It’s all right.’ Dora shrugged. ‘I know what Lane’s like. She never misses a chance to have a go at me.’

‘She’s got a mouth on her, right enough,’ Katie said. ‘Listen, are you coming to sit with us tonight? We all finish at six so we’re going to do a bit of studying in Brennan’s room. Lane won’t be there,’ she reassured Dora hastily. ‘She reckons she doesn’t need to revise as much as us slowcoaches.’

‘She wants to revise some manners,’ Dora said. For all her airs and graces, Lucy Lane knew nothing about being a lady.

‘True enough. So are you coming or not?’

‘Later,’ Dora said. ‘I want to go to the porters’ lodge first.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Katie wiggled her eyebrows. ‘You’ve been paying a few visits there lately. Got your eye on someone, have you?’

‘Hardly. I owe someone a favour, and it’s about time I paid him back.’

‘Aye aye, Mr H. Here comes your mate!’

Edwin Hopkins looked up from tuning his radio, irritated at the interruption. He’d been looking forward to hearing Marjorie Westbury and the BBC Orchestra.

He was even more irritated to see that wretched ginger-haired nurse stomping across the courtyard towards the lodge again. Now he’d miss Marjorie completely.

‘What does she want this time?’ he sighed.

‘Same as she wanted all the other times, I expect.’ Percy Carson grinned. ‘Our Nick.’

‘No prizes for guessing why, I suppose,’ Edwin Hopkins muttered to himself. Nick Riley was a hard enough worker, but he had trouble written all over him.

‘How many times has she been round here? Must be at least once a week. You’d think she’d take the hint by now, wouldn’t you?’ Davey Johnson said.

‘Maybe she’s in trouble?’ Percy suggested.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time a nurse has found herself in bother,’ Davey agreed.

‘No wonder Nick runs a mile, then!’

‘Now, I won’t have that kind of talk in here,’ Edwin Hopkins warned them. He didn’t hold with bad-mouthing young ladies. Even if some of them were no better than they ought to be.

He glanced at the ginger girl. He almost felt sorry for young Nick if she got hold of him. She struck him as a bit of a firecracker.

He met her at the door to the lodge. ‘Before you ask, he’s gone. And you needn’t think about barging your way in to look for him the way you did before, because he’s not here, see?’ Hopkins sidestepped to block Dora’s way as she craned her neck to look over his shoulder.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said bluntly.

‘I’ll have you know, I’ve never told a lie in my life, young lady.’ Edwin Hopkins’ moustache bristled with indignation. ‘If I say he isn’t here, then he isn’t.’

The girl frowned. She didn’t look like Nick’s type, thought Hopkins. He usually went for the pretty ones, the ones who fluffed and primped and giggled. Not ones with sturdy legs, frizzy hair and an expression that looked as if they were wondering who to hit next.

‘Did he get my letters?’ she asked.

Edwin Hopkins nodded. ‘Of course he did. I handed them over right away.’ He didn’t like to tell her Nick had stuffed them straight in his pocket without even looking at them. He didn’t reckon Nick Riley was much of a reader.

The wind whipped the girl’s red curls across her face and she pushed them back, tucking them behind one ear. She stood there, looking around her, at a loss for what to do next.

Edwin felt a lurch of pity for her. For all her front, she was only young. He hoped she wasn’t in trouble, poor girl. If she was, she wouldn’t get much help from Nick Riley.

‘Look, Miss, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll stop coming around here looking for him,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s plain he doesn’t want to see you. And it’s unladylike to go around chasing after a man, especially when he’s not interested.’

The girl stared at him blankly. ‘You think I’m interested in Nick Riley?’

‘Why else would you be coming round here all the time?’

Her mouth firmed. ‘That’s none of your business. Do you know where he might be?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Edwin Hopkins replied huffily, all his fatherly concern gone. ‘What he does in his own time is his concern, not mine – or yours either, come to that.’

‘Have you tried the boxing club on Ratner Row?’ Percy Carson came up behind them. ‘Nick usually goes down there to train on a Tuesday after work.’

Edwin Hopkins shot him a frowning look. Carson always had a bit too much to say for himself.

‘Ratner Row, you say? Thanks very much.’

‘You didn’t want to be telling her that,’ Hopkins scolded as she walked away.

‘Come on, Mr Hopkins, have a heart. Can’t you see the poor girl’s desperate?’

‘That’s as may be, but I don’t hold with young ladies chasing after men.’

‘Looking like her, I don’t s’pose she’s got much option but to chase them!’ Davey put in unkindly.

‘There’s no need for that either.’ Edwin Hopkins shot a quick glance at the girl, hoping she hadn’t heard.

It wasn’t right for a young lady to hear that sort of remark.

The boxing club was in a basement under the King’s Arms pub, a rough old dive near the canal. A narrow door led down from the street.

Dora paused for a moment before going inside. This was the last place she wanted to go, but she had no choice. Nick had been avoiding her for weeks, ever since their argument over the hamsa. She’d tried everything to talk to him, even risked catching his eye while they were on the wards. But he’d just walked by with his face turned away.

Now, two months on, she was determined to track him down and pay him back the money she owed him, no matter what it took.

She stepped carefully down the steep staircase and found herself in a dingy, low-ceilinged room reeking of stale sweat. In the centre of the floor two men were slugging it out in a boxing ring, while all around the room other men were exercising with weights or working on punchbags hung from the ceiling.

She was still peering around, trying to find Nick, when a man came up to her. He was middle-aged, with the broad shoulders and flattened features of a boxer.

‘Excuse me, Miss, but you can’t come in here.’ His voice was gruff. ‘This club is for men only.’

‘But I’m looking for someone—’

‘I don’t care if you’re looking for the Prince of Wales, you can’t come in here. Now, if you don’t mind . . .’

As he started to hustle her out, Dora suddenly spotted Nick over in the corner, head down, driving his fists into one of the heavy punchbags.

‘Nick!’ She dodged past the man and darted towards him.

Nick looked up sharply. ‘Dora?’ His dark hair hung damply in his eyes and he pushed it back with a gloved hand. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you. Same as I have been these past two months.’

The other man appeared behind her. ‘I’ve told her she can’t come in here, Nick, but she won’t listen. Do you want to throw her out or shall I?’

Nick looked from him to Dora and back again. ‘Five minutes, Jimmy? Please?’

The man sighed. ‘Five minutes. But then I’m coming back and I’m putting you over my shoulder.’ He pointed a warning finger at Dora.

The shadow of a smile crossed Nick’s face. ‘He means it, too.’ He turned back to his punchbag. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’

‘I needed to find you. Didn’t you get any of my notes?’

‘I got ’em all right.’ He drove his fists into the punchbag. Sweat gleamed on his powerful muscles, clearly outlined under his thin vest.

‘It would have been nice of you to answer instead of ignoring them.’

‘Wasn’t that answer enough for you?’

‘Maybe you don’t want this, then?’ Dora reached into her pocket and drew out the money she’d been keeping carefully in an envelope. ‘Maybe you’re so loaded you can afford to give your money away?’

She held it out to him. Nick glanced down at it, then took it. ‘You could have left it at the porters’ lodge.’

‘I didn’t want some toerag to nick it, did I?’ She hesitated. ‘Besides, I wanted to apologise. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle at you like that. I was wrong, and I wanted to say sorry.’

Nick stared at her for a moment. It was hard to work out what was going on behind those hooded eyes of his. She thought he might reply, but he just turned around and thudded his fist squarely into the middle of the punchbag. ‘Was that it?’ he said gruffly. Dora nodded. ‘You’d best get off, then, hadn’t you, before Jimmy comes back.’

He turned his back on her and carried on aiming punch after punch into the heavy sandbag, his fists thrusting like pistons. Dora watched him for a moment.

‘Blimey, Max Baer doesn’t stand a chance, does he?’ she said.

Nick stopped dead. ‘What do you know about Max Baer?’

‘Danny said you wanted to go to America and fight him one day.’ She saw his quick frown. ‘It’s all right, he said it was a secret. I’m not going to tell anyone.’

Nick’s eyes met hers, then he turned back to the punchbag. ‘It’s just a stupid dream,’ he muttered.

‘I don’t think it’s stupid.’ Dora watched the muscles of his back working under his sweat-slicked vest. ‘I reckon you could do it.’

‘Oh yeah? Expert on boxing now, are you?’

‘No, but I know determination when I see it. And I don’t reckon it’s stupid to have a dream. Sometimes dreams are all that keep you going. You can’t give up on them, can you?’

His leather-gloved hands closed around the bag, stopping it dead. ‘I’m not ready to give up on anything,’ he said.

‘All right, you two.’ Jimmy came up to them, his meaty arms folded across his chest. ‘Time’s up. If you want to whisper sweet nothings to each other go down the Palais like everyone else.’

Dora glanced at Nick. ‘No, you’re all right,’ she said. ‘I reckon he’s got two left feet anyway.’

Nick gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘You’ll never know, will you?’

I’m not ready to give up either, Dora thought the following morning, as she walked on to the ward. She could already feel several pairs of eyes swivel towards her, anticipating the fun and games they would have.

But this time Dora was ready for them. She’d been thinking about it all night. Nursing was her dream, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way. Especially not the likes of Alf Doyle, or a bunch of bored men who wanted to act like schoolboys.

Their first job was the bedpan and bottle round. As Dora approached Mr Hubbard’s bed, he was already grinning.

‘Sorry, Nurse,’ he said. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble with the bottle. I wonder if I could ask you to help me put it in? You know, my . . .’

Dora smiled sweetly. ‘Of course, Mr Hubbard,’ she said.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’ he said. Dora understood his surprise. Usually she would flee in confusion when he had made the same request, almost knocking over the screens in her haste to get away.

But this time she’d come prepared. Still smiling, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a large pair of rat-tooth forceps.

‘Now,’ she said brightly, snapping the spiked jaws in front of his face. ‘Let’s see if we can help you, shall we?’

‘Ooh, no, no, it’s all right, Nurse. Do you know what? I think I can manage after all,’ he reassured her hastily, his eyes round as he stared in fear at the forceps.

Dora smiled. ‘I thought you might.’

As she walked away, Sister Blake approached her. ‘Doyle, did I just see you threaten a patient with a pair of forceps?’ she asked.

Dora gulped, her moment of triumph vanishing like mist. ‘Y-yes, Sister.’

A slow smile spread across Sister Blake’s face. ‘Excellent work. Perhaps we might make a nurse of you yet,’ she said.