The Nightingale Girls

CHAPTER Fifty-Eight



‘THE DRINKS ARE on me!’

Alf Doyle looked around the public bar of the Rose & Crown, feeling like the Pearly King of Bethnal Green. He’d had a big win on the horses, he had money in his pocket and everyone in the pub was his friend.

‘You’re a lucky man, all right Alf,’ Len Pike raised his pint to him. ‘First the gee-gees and then that lovely missus to go home to. I’m telling you, if I had a smashing looking woman like that waiting for me at home, I wouldn’t be wasting my time drinking beer with us ugly mugs!’ He grimaced. ‘As it goes, I have to get sozzled before I can go home and face my old woman!’

Alf laughed, but he wasn’t thinking about Rose. Granted, she was still a nice looking woman, and she looked after him a treat. But she had turned forty, there was grey in her hair and she just didn’t do it for him any more.

Not like Josie . . . He smiled and wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue at the thought of her.

He downed his pint, bade goodbye to his friends and stepped out of the pub into the cool evening air. He weaved his way slowly home past the docks, nipping down the shadowy little alley the locals called Cutthroat Lane. The name didn’t bother him. He often staggered home that way, and he’d never had any trouble. He could take care of himself, anyway. He was a big bloke, and not many men were brave enough to tackle him.

He was trying to make up his mind whether to treat himself to some jellied eels when the fist came out of nowhere, knocking him flat on his back. Alf felt the trickle of blood from his nose as he lay winded on the cobbles, gasping for breath. Suddenly he knew he’d been a fool to flash the cash around the pub. Now his luck had run out.

He groped in his pocket for his wallet, pulled it out and tossed it across towards the shadows.

‘Here’s my money,’ he stammered. ‘Take it. Whatever you want.’

‘I don’t want your money.’

A moment later a figure stepped out of the shadows into the greenish lamplight, and Alf found himself squinting up in confusion at the familiar face towering over him.

‘Hello, Alf,’ said Nick Riley. ‘I’d like a little chat, if you’ve got a minute?’

The news that Alf Doyle had done a runner spread around Griffin Street like wildfire. And it wasn’t long before rumours started to fly. Some people reckoned he had a woman on the Isle of Dogs, others claimed he’d done a bunk up north to escape big gambling debts. The only thing they could agree on was that Alf Doyle had been a quiet one, and that the quiet ones were the worst.

Through it all, Rose Doyle maintained a dignified silence. She went on working every day, taking in mending, cleaning her house and looking after her children, always ready with a kind word and a smile for the neighbours, even though she knew they were gossiping behind her back. But in private Dora could see she was devastated.

‘I don’t understand it,’ she would say over and over again. ‘I thought we were so happy? Why would he just walk out like that?’

Sometimes she would convince herself that something dreadful had happened to him. ‘My Alf wouldn’t just up sticks and leave his family. No one’s seen him at work, either. Something’s happened to him, I know it has. He could be lying murdered somewhere. Or else he’s topped himself.’

‘People don’t pack up their bags if they’re planning to do themselves in, Rose,’ Nanna Winnie pointed out. ‘Face it, girl, none of us knew Alf as well as we thought we did.’

Josie and Dora exchanged looks but said nothing. They couldn’t understand it either, although Dora knew her sister was as grateful as she was for his mysterious disappearance.

‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Josie asked her fearfully, just after he vanished.

‘I don’t know, Jose. I wish I did.’

‘Why did he go, I wonder?’

Dora shrugged. ‘Maybe he realised what he’d done and decided he couldn’t live with himself?’ Although that didn’t seem very likely from the way he’d treated her.

‘Well, I hope he’s dead,’ Josie said with feeling. ‘I hope he’s lying at the bottom of the Thames.’

‘Shh, don’t let Mum hear you talk like that,’ Dora warned. She felt desperately sorry for her mother. No matter how badly Alf had treated them, she hated to see Rose Doyle suffer. It was so cruel of Alf just to walk out on her.

She felt even worse when she heard the neighbours gossiping.

‘Well, who’d have thought it?’ Lettie Pike could barely contain her glee. ‘Looks like the Doyles have come down in the world. Poor Rose, how’s she going to cope with no man to keep her?’

‘Same way you manage, I dare say,’ Nanna Winnie had replied sharply. ‘I don’t see your Len putting himself out to keep you. Why else do you have to go out scrubbing hospital floors?’

The only one who showed her mother any sympathy was June Riley. ‘I know what it’s like to have your husband run off,’ she reminded them. ‘My Reg did the very same thing, remember? Went off without a by-your-leave, he did.’

Dora thought about Reg Riley, disappearing off in the night. It was just like Alf, in a way. Except everyone knew Nick was the one who’d driven him out.

It made her wonder if Nick had had anything to do with Alf’s disappearance. But why would he? It wasn’t as if Alf had done anything to Nick. Not like his bullying father.

But all the same, the idea unsettled her.

‘You don’t know where Alf went, do you?’ she asked him one evening as he sat in the back yard, smoking a cigarette.

He stared back at her, his blue eyes unreadable. ‘Why should I?’

‘No reason.’ She was silly for even thinking it, she decided.

Before he could say any more, Ruby came out into the yard, dressed up to the nines as usual in a dress of emerald green and a matching hat fastened to her blonde curls with pearl-tipped pins.

‘There you are,’ she said, her scarlet-painted lips stretching into a broad smile. Dora watched her sashay over to Nick and thread her arm possessively through his. ‘Have you seen the time? We should be going soon.’

He stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. ‘Ready when you are.’

‘Going somewhere nice?’ Dora asked lightly.

‘Nick’s taking me out dancing.’ Ruby couldn’t keep the delighted grin off her face. ‘There’s a new show band on at the Palais.’

Dora looked at him. ‘I didn’t know you liked dancing?’

‘He’s never tried it, have you, Nicky? It’ll be a new experience for you. The first of many, I hope.’ She winked at Dora.

Nick sent her one last look before he followed Ruby out of the back gate. Dora thought she saw a flash of longing in his eyes, but that was probably wishful thinking. She sat down on an upturned bucket and stared up at the sky. Damn you, Alf Doyle, she cursed silently. He might have been out of her life, but he would never be out of her head.

It was a long time since Kathleen had seen Amelia Benedict in her office. The young student had thrown herself into her studies since returning to the Nightingale a month before. And according to the ward reports, her nursing skills were improving too. So it was with great disappointment that she heard the news that Benedict had to tell her.

‘You’re engaged? Does this mean you will be leaving the Nightingale?’

‘Oh, no, Matron. Not at all. Seb – Sebastian, my fiancé – and I have discussed it, and we’re planning a long engagement. We’re not even going to think about getting married until after I’ve finished my training here.’

‘I see.’ Kathleen considered this for a moment. ‘I must say, Benedict, it is a great pity you will not be a nurse here at the Nightingale. We had high hopes for you.’

‘Did you, Matron?’ Benedict seemed genuinely surprised.

‘Of course. But we’ll never know now, will we?’ Kathleen fixed her with a steady look. ‘I do hope that you will not allow your wedding plans to distract you from your studies?’

‘Oh, no, Matron.’

‘We shall see about that,’ Kathleen murmured, when she had dismissed Benedict. ‘I’m rather worried she’ll get caught up with wedding dresses and so forth and forget all about what she is supposed to be doing,’ she confided in Miss Hanley.

‘It might be a good thing if she does,’ the Assistant Matron said irritably. ‘I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous idea! What on earth is the point of wasting all that time and effort training the girl if she is not going to join the profession and use her skills?’

‘I agree,’ Kathleen said. ‘It seems a huge waste, doesn’t it? But Benedict has another two years of training ahead of her. Who knows what will happen in that time? People change their minds, don’t they?’

Just look at Constance Tremayne, she thought. Two weeks ago she would never have imagined her changing her mind about anything. And yet she had. Kathleen still wasn’t sure what had made her decide to allow Helen to remain at the Nightingale, but it was a blessed relief when she had.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen much of Mrs Tremayne since she’d made her decision. And Miss Hanley had started to look slightly pained whenever her name was mentioned. Kathleen wondered if they’d had some kind of falling out. Disagreeable though it might be, she could only hope they had, as it made for a far more peaceful life when they weren’t joined in an unholy alliance against her.

There was a soft tap on the door and the maid came in, carrying a tea tray. Kathleen turned to her assistant. ‘Imagine that, Miss Hanley. We are actually agreed on something.’ She smiled, and picked up the teapot. ‘There may be hope for us yet,’ she said.

Helen was getting changed at the nurses’ home when Millie came rushing in.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly, throwing off her red-lined cloak and reaching up to unpin her cap. ‘Sister Willis was absolutely beastly and refused to let me go off duty. And then I had to come the long way back because Sister Holmes and Sister Wren were talking on the stairs.’ She wrenched out the last pin and shook her fair curls free. ‘There, that’s better.’

Helen smiled as Millie flopped backwards on her bed, arms outstretched. ‘How did your meeting with Matron go?’

‘Not too badly, all things considered. I really wasn’t sure how she’d take it. I half expected her to tell me never to darken Nightingale’s doors again, but she was actually quite sweet about it. Not sure if old Manly Hanley was too thrilled, though.’

‘She’s probably worried you won’t have your mind on your studies now you’re engaged,’ Helen observed, hanging up her uniform carefully.

‘Well, that’s just silly. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to pass my exams. Seb and I agreed, we wouldn’t even think about getting married until I qualified. I wouldn’t have told anyone, but Granny went ahead and put that announcement in The Times. I’m sure she only did it so I wouldn’t back out and change my mind.’

‘You wouldn’t want to change your mind, would you?’

‘Of course not. Why would I?’

Why indeed? Helen thought. Millie’s engagement had been so typically sudden and impulsive, Helen wondered if she’d really thought it through. But she seemed happy, and her fiancé was obviously a nice chap with a sensible head on his shoulders. Perhaps he’d be just what Millie needed to curb her wild impulses?

Unlike her brother. Helen felt a pang, remembering William’s expression when she’d broken the news of Millie’s engagement to him.

‘Well, that’s marvellous. I’m delighted for her.’ He’d smiled bracingly. But Helen had seen the flash of pain in his eyes and knew him too well to be fooled.

Just for a moment she wondered if she’d made a mistake, trying to keep them apart. She’d been so sure his attraction to Millie was just a passing fancy, but his feelings for her seemed to run a lot deeper than that. Had Helen somehow managed to keep him from the love of his life? She truly hoped not. William deserved to find someone who made him as happy as she was with Charlie.

‘Talking of backing out . . . I hope you haven’t changed your mind about this afternoon?’ Millie rolled over on the bed and propped her chin in her hand to look at Helen.

She swallowed hard. ‘Of course not.’

‘Good. Because the appointment is in –’ she checked her watch ‘– half an hour.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’ It was a lie, of course. Helen had been awake half the night, wondering if she was doing the right thing. ‘Is Doyle still coming with us?’

‘I’ve arranged to meet her there.’ Millie rolled off the bed. ‘I’d better get my skates on, hadn’t I?’ she said, unbuttoning her collar. ‘Don’t want to keep Madame Daphne waiting, do we?’

As usual, Millie took ages getting ready, and Dora was already waiting for them when they hurried up the street just after three.

‘I thought you’d changed your mind?’ she grinned.

‘Honestly, why does everyone think I’m going to change my mind?’ Helen huffed.

Dora and Millie looked at each other. ‘You changed your mind last week,’ Millie reminded her.

‘Well, I’m not going to change it now.’ Helen took a deep breath and pushed through the door ahead of them.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen so many shades of pink as there were in Madame Daphne’s hair salon. The air was perfumed with the smell of lavender mingled with peroxide and hair lacquer. Helen had never been inside such a place before. It seemed terribly frivolous. Madame Daphne greeted them effusively. She was a small, round woman in a pink smock that perfectly matched her lipstick. For a woman who claimed to be French, she had the broadest East-End accent Helen had ever heard.

‘I’ve never seen such a lovely head of hair,’ she said admiringly as she brushed Helen’s long dark tresses. ‘It’s nearly down to your waist. And so shiny, too. Seems a pity to cut it all off.’

‘Is it?’ Helen gulped at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe she was right? Maybe this was all a big mistake? It had been Millie’s idea, and look how rash she was . . .

‘Although short hair is all the fashion these days,’ Madame Daphne assured her hastily, seeing Helen’s look of panic. ‘Look at mine.’

Helen looked. Madame Daphne’s halo of stiff, teased curls didn’t reassure her.

‘You can change your mind if you want?’ Millie whispered.

‘No, she can’t,’ Dora put in. ‘I haven’t taken a day off just so I can watch her having the heebie-jeebies. Besides, she knows she wants it cut. She’s been on about it for ages. Cut it off,’ she instructed the hairdresser.

Madame Daphne smiled at Helen in the mirror, scissors poised. ‘Shall I?’

Helen hesitated. Dora was right, she’d been wanting to cut her hair for ages. And Charlie was all for it, too.

‘You’d still be beautiful to me if you had your head shaved and wore a hat made of bananas,’ he’d assured her.

Helen smiled, thinking about him. She could hardly believe that a year ago she’d been so lonely. Now she had a boyfriend who adored her, and friends who cared about her. Even her mother was making more of an effort to understand her. Although Helen wasn’t sure how she would feel about her getting her hair cut. Constance Tremayne had always had very strong opinions about Helen’s appearance, and was bound to be furious that she hadn’t consulted her about it. Helen could almost see her face in the mirror, her expression pinched with disapproval.

‘Short hair is fast, Helen.’

Yes, Mother, she replied in her head. But it’s my hair, and my life.

She met Madame Daphne’s eye as she stood over her, scissors snapping expectantly a few inches from her ear.

‘Do it,’ she said.





Acknowledgements



First of all, a big thank you to my agent Caroline Sheldon and my editor Rosie de Courcy for taking a chance on me and letting me loose on the Nightingale Girls. I hope I’ve justified your faith in me!

I’m also grateful to the Royal College of Nursing Archives and to Graham Thurgood for allowing me to plunder his PhD research at Huddersfield University. And to all the real life nurses who have come forward to tell me their stories. I’d particularly like to thank Lucy Staples, and Alison Heath and her friends for a wonderful afternoon of tea and reminiscences. I look forward to another meeting!

Finally, I’d like to thank my husband Ken and my daughter Harriet for putting up with the despair and tantrums, my friends for not minding when I couldn’t come out to play for months, and the team at Your Local Link magazine in York for knowing when not to ask how the book was coming along.