The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Fifty



‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART.’

Helen stared in joyful surprise at the parcel Charlie placed into her hands. It was carefully wrapped and tied with pink ribbon.

‘You didn’t have to get me anything. I really didn’t expect it.’

‘What kind of a bloke doesn’t buy his girl a present on her birthday?’ He nodded towards it. ‘Go on, then. Open it. I want to see if you like it.’

Helen’s fingers trembled as she untied the silky bow. It wasn’t even her birthday until the following day, but it was already the best she had ever had. Charlie had arranged for her to have tea with his family, and his mum had prepared a wonderful spread for her, including a big birthday cake she had iced herself. Everyone had joined in a heartfelt but tuneless chorus of ‘Happy Birthday To You’, then Charlie’s younger brothers and sister had crowded round to help her blow out the candles. This was followed by a mad rush as everyone dived in to get the biggest slice.

‘Hold it, you lot, there’s plenty for everyone!’ Mrs Denton laughed, brandishing the cake slice to keep them at bay. ‘Anyway, our Helen gets the first piece, as she’s the birthday girl.’

Helen beamed. Our Helen. It was the first time anyone had ever called her that.

‘I s’pose you’ll be having a big party with your family, too?’ Mrs Denton had said. Helen had smiled, and made some neutral reply. But she had never had a birthday party in her life. Her mother disapproved of rowdy celebrations. She didn’t approve of birthdays in general, feeling it was wrong for anyone to be singled out for special attention. Of course Helen had cards and presents, but Constance always managed to take the edge off her joy by making her give up a favourite toy to the local children’s home.

‘You must remember those less fortunate than yourself,’ she always said. Although Helen hadn’t been able to think of anyone less fortunate than her as she’d tearfully parted company with her favourite teddy or most cherished book.

After the tea party, Charlie had taken her aside into the hall to give her his present. ‘I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone else in case you didn’t like it,’ he confessed shyly.

Now Helen carefully unfastened the bow and peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal a beautiful jewellery box in polished golden wood. Inside it was lined with red velvet, with small compartments for all her trinkets.

‘I made it myself at my uncle’s works,’ Charlie said proudly. ‘I know it’s not much, but I thought you might like it?’

‘Oh, Charlie, it’s the nicest present I’ve ever had!’ It didn’t even matter that she had no jewellery to put in it. Just the thought that he’d taken the time and the trouble to make something especially for her was enough. Helen threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Charlie, I love it. And I love you, too.’

He put his hands up to grasp her wrists, pulling away from her. His blue eyes searched hers. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Yes, it’s perfect.’

‘Not the box. Did you mean what you just said – about loving me?’

She hadn’t realised the words had escaped her. She’d been too shy to say them out loud before, even though they sang in her heart constantly.

She nodded. ‘Say it again,’ Charlie said.

Helen felt a warm blush rising in her face. ‘I can’t.’

‘Go on, say it. Please.’

She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘I love you, Charlie Denton,’ she whispered.

He walked her back to the hospital, right up to the gates. He would have walked her to the door of the nurses’ home if she hadn’t stopped him. ‘I’m not sure I want to let you go,’ he said, his arm tightening around her waist. ‘I’m frightened I’ll never see you again.’

‘Don’t be silly! We’re going to the pictures next Friday, remember?’

‘But that’s a whole week away! How am I going to manage until then?’

‘You’ll manage,’ she laughed. ‘Now go. I’ve got to get changed and be back on duty by five.’

‘On one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you say you love me again.’

‘I can’t!’ Helen looked around, embarrassed. ‘Not here.’

‘Say it again, or I’ll stand right here until you do.’

He looked so obstinate, standing there leaning on his stick, that Helen laughed. ‘All right, then.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I love you, Charlie Denton. Is that enough for you?’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘I would have preferred you to shout it from the rooftops, but that will do for now, I s’pose.’ He bent forward, and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I’ll see you next Friday.’

He walked away, limping on his stick. Helen went in through the hospital gates and was crossing the courtyard when she heard his voice, loud and clear as a bell, ringing out over the hospital wall.

‘I love you, Nurse Helen Tremayne!’

It seemed to ring out for ever like an echo around the tranquil courtyard. All around her people looked up to see where the sound was coming from. Helen stood rooted to the spot, her whole body flaming with heat, certain everyone must be looking at her. But embarrassed as she felt, she also couldn’t stop smiling.

And then she turned around and saw her mother waiting for her outside the black front door of the nurses’ home and the smile froze on her face.

A wave of fear crashed over Helen, making her gulp for air. She wanted to run, but her feet were already moving, dragging her towards her mother as if pulled by an invisible thread.

Constance Tremayne stood on the steps, as still as a statue, both hands clutching the strap of her sensible handbag.

‘Go inside,’ she ordered through tight, unmoving lips.

The nurses’ home was closed to families or friends, but as usual the rules did not apply to Constance Tremayne as she led the way into the empty sitting room. The July sun shone through the bay window, throwing a broad patch of light on to the worn, sagging settees. A solitary teacup from the previous night sat in a sticky ring on the table.

Constance stood at the window, back turned to her daughter, staring out across the courtyard. Helen had got used to reading her mother’s moods. From the set of her stiff spine to her tightly clenched hands, it was obvious she was furious.

Helen fixed her gaze on the teacup, braced herself, and waited.

‘Who is he?’ Constance asked finally.

‘His name is Charlie.’ Her voice came out as a whisper.

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Nearly three months.’

Her mother turned around to face her. ‘You have been lying to me for that long? I had no idea you could be so deceitful.’

‘I haven’t lied to you, I just . . .’

‘Be quiet, Helen.’

‘But Mother . . .’

‘I will tell you when you can speak.’ Constance gazed out of the window again. ‘I suppose he is the reason you were caught coming back late?’

Helen’s heart sank. It was too much to hope that her mother would not have found out about that. She knew everything.

‘Well? What have you to say for yourself?’

She stared down at the box in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’

Helen felt the chill of her mother’s wintry gaze on her. ‘I’m afraid sorry is not enough, Helen. I wonder if you realise how deeply disappointed I am in you?’ She came to stand before her. ‘You have let yourself and your family down. I brought you up to be a decent girl, to have high moral standards. I did not bring you up to stay out all hours and behave like a common tart!’

‘I’m not a tart!’ Helen protested. ‘I just have a boyfriend, that’s all. Lots of girls have boyfriends.’

‘Not you! You’re better than that. I will not have your name tainted with scandal, do you hear me? I will not have people whispering about you behind your back, saying you’re no better than you ought to be. I don’t think you quite understand, Helen, I have an excellent name in this hospital. I won’t have you tainting it with your sordid little liaisons!’

‘It’s not a sordid liaison,’ she protested. ‘Charlie’s a nice boy. I’ve even met his family. I’m sure if you got to know him . . .’

‘I have no intention of getting to know him, because you won’t be seeing him again,’ Constance declared flatly.

‘But Mother—’

She held up a hand for silence. ‘That’s enough, Helen. I don’t wish to talk about it any more. I’ve made my decision and that’s the end of it.’

Helen stared at her, shocked. Constance was already gathering up her handbag, as if the matter were settled.

‘Y-you can’t say that,’ she stammered. ‘I love Charlie.’

‘Love! For heaven’s sake, Helen, do you know how utterly ridiculous you sound? Why, you’re like one of those simpering fools in Peg’s Paper!’ Her mother gave her a pitying look. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re far too young and naive, you don’t know the first thing about it.’

Helen watched her adjust her gloves, fastening the buttons at her wrists, fastidious as ever.

‘So I’m never going to be allowed to have a boyfriend, is that it?’ she asked quietly.

‘Of course you can have a boyfriend, Helen. Don’t be so melodramatic.’ Constance paused to consider the matter. ‘When you’re older, and you’ve finished your training, then I’m sure a suitable young man will come along.’

‘And I suppose you’ll tell me where and when to find him?’ The words were out before she could stop herself.

Her mother stared at her. ‘Don’t be impertinent, Helen.’

‘I’m not being impertinent. I just don’t understand why I can’t have a boyfriend. William has lots of girlfriends, and you don’t say anything to him.’

She saw her mother’s expression soften. ‘William is different. He is a young man, and he doesn’t need my guidance so much.’

Really? Helen thought. For a moment she was tempted to tell her mother the real reason for Peggy Gibson’s breakdown. But she couldn’t betray William and she didn’t think her mother would believe her anyway. Constance Tremayne doted on her son.

‘You are a young, impressionable girl and you must be protected for your own good,’ she went on briskly. ‘Which is why I have decided to remove you from this hospital.’

‘What?’ Helen stared at her in dismay. ‘But why?’

‘Because I am no longer satisfied that it is a suitable place for you to continue your training.’ Constance absently ran one gloved finger along the window ledge and inspected it for dust.

‘But I don’t want to go. I like it here. I’ve made friends.’

‘And I’m sure you’ll make friends elsewhere.’ She snapped her handbag shut. ‘Now, I must be going. I shall expect you for tea tomorrow, since it is your birthday.’

‘You can’t do this.’

Her mother was almost at the door before Helen managed to get the words out. Constance stopped and stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Helen couldn’t look at her. She fixed her eyes on the jewellery box in her hands instead. It made her think of Charlie, which gave her courage she’d never had before. ‘You can’t run my life for me like this. You’ve always decided everything for me, but not any more. You can’t take me away from here, and you can’t tell me who I can and can’t fall in love with.’

‘Of course I can, Helen. I am your mother. I have your best interests at heart.’

‘No, you don’t. All you’ve ever wanted to do is turn me into a copy of yourself. But I’m not you, and I’m sick of doing everything you say. I want to be allowed to think for myself—’

The slap was hard and sudden, catching her off balance. Helen staggered sideways and the box fell from her hands.

‘You see?’ Her mother’s tight-lipped face swam before her eyes. ‘The very fact that you’re answering me back shows me how out of control you are. The sooner we remove you from this place, the better.’

She left. Helen heard the front door bang shut and sank to her knees. Her beautiful jewellery box lay in pieces on the rug, its lid broken off. Seeing it there, broken in two, hurt more than any blow her mother could have given her.

She picked up the pieces and tried to fit them back together, but she couldn’t see through a hot blur of tears. Finally she gave up as misery overtook her and she started to sob. She heard the sound of the front door again, and knew she should pick herself up and stop crying, but she couldn’t. She didn’t care if one of the other students saw her, or if Sister Sutton came in. She didn’t care about anything any more.

Footsteps passed the sitting room, and then stopped.

‘Tremayne?’ Dora’s voice came from the doorway. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Helen tried to explain, but she couldn’t speak for crying.

‘Come on, it’s all right. We’ll sort it out.’ She heard the crackle of starched fabric as Dora knelt beside her. ‘Come on, love. Don’t get upset. Bit of glue and it’ll be as right as rain.’

As Dora put her arms around her shaking shoulders, Helen wished she could explain it would take more than a bit of glue to mend her broken heart.