‘All right.’
It was quite a simple journey, all on the main road; she couldn’t get lost, and besides, trucks filled with soldiers kept passing her, as if leading her on her way. But it was difficult; and the rain and the wind were driving against her, slowing her down. It was already after three; he would be waiting, waiting: worried, fearful, think she wasn’t coming. How could this have happened, how could she be failing him in this way? There was nothing she could do but keep going. She pedalled on. It was turning to dusk now, and the light, the muted regulation light of the bicycle, hardly reached the road. She began to dread each lorry passing her, huge monsters, sucking her towards them, the power of them making the bike wobble. She tried not to think of anything, to save her emotional as well as her physical energy for Tom, for getting to Tom, for not failing Tom. She would get there because she must; there was no alternative.
An animal, a dog or even a cat, ran across her path; she slammed on her brakes but they didn’t work, the bike slithering wildly on the wet road. She fell off, climbed back on, battling against tears, against panic. Keep going, Laura, keep going, it couldn’t be much further.
She heard the roar of another truck behind her, braced herself for its passing. There was a stone in the road; she swerved to avoid it . . . the truck reached her . . .
In the darkness, in the driving rain, on the unlit bicycle she had no chance.
It was six o’clock when Sister came in and pulled the curtains round Tom’s bed. He did not even turn his head to look at her. He had lain for hours, white faced, still, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all: of his absolute despair, his bewilderment that she could fail him, his terror that something dreadful had happened to her, his rage that something, anything, could have robbed him of the happiness that he had waited for so long and had thought that at last he could reclaim. He had refused food and drink and even to take his medication, which lay on his bedside locker, seeing no point, no future in becoming well, or even surviving.
‘Well, now,’ Sister said, ‘I hear you have refused to take your medicine. That won’t do, Corporal Knelston, it simply won’t do.’
He said nothing.
‘You have to take it, and you have to eat and you have to drink. Otherwise you won’t get well.’
He shrugged.
‘And you need to get well. It’s very important. Corporal Knelston, look at me, please, when I’m talking to you.’
He ignored her.
‘Tom, you heard what I said. Look at me.’
Her authority was irresistible; slowly, almost imperceptibly, Tom turned his head.
And saw – what did he see? Behind the sternness something else: something unaccustomed, a softening, almost – no, couldn’t be, he was hallucinating now, but – almost humour, nearly a smile.
‘Come along,’ she said, moving over to him, ‘sit up, make an effort, that’s better.’ She adjusted his pillows. ‘Now, take these tablets, please, at once. And I’ll give you your injection.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘Corporal Knelston, you need it. And then you must eat your supper. You have to get well.’
‘What for?’ he said, his voice almost insolent. ‘Why should I get well?’
‘You have a job to do.’
‘What job?’ he said. ‘If you mean defending my fucking country, what for, what for, for f—’
‘Corporal Knelston, I will not have language like that on my ward. Apologise immediately.’
‘I’m – sorry,’ said Tom, genuinely shocked at himself. ‘I’m so sorry, Sister.’
‘Don’t do it again. Now roll up your sleeve, please, while I give you your injection. And I’ll tell you what for.’
He rolled up his pyjama sleeve, and then looked at her again; and it was there still, the almost-soft expression, the near-smile.
‘Right,’ she said, as the syringe emptied, and she withdrew it, laid it on its tray and stood back. Then the miracle happened and she did actually smile. ‘I’ll tell you what you have to get well for.’ He stared at her, sitting motionless, frozen in time, fearful, hopeful, bewildered; every moment, every heartbeat, interminable.
‘First, so that you can get yourself into that wheelchair,’ she said and nodded towards Molly, who had pulled back the curtains and was standing beside the chair, her eyes sparkling; she was smiling broadly, and behind her were two of the other nurses, all of them smiling. ‘And then so we can take you to Ward F. There’s a young lady down there, with a broken leg, a broken arm, a fractured pelvis and a mild concussion, and she is going to need a great deal of care and help over the next few weeks. And if you promise to eat your supper when you get back, Nurse Davis here –’ she gestured at Molly – ‘will take you down to see her. I can assure you, from my personal experience, nursing is not something that can be done on an empty stomach. Corporal Knelston, do be careful, you’ll fracture your own leg again.’
Tom looked up at her as he collapsed, breathing heavily, into the wheelchair. His eyes were huge and bright in his flushed face, and his smile, a huge, brilliant smile, was oddly unsteady.
‘Sister,’ he said, ‘oh, Sister, I love you.’
Then it was Sister’s face that was flushed and almost shocked, but she smiled again as she said, ‘I don’t think the young lady would quite want to hear such nonsense. Now go along – and mind, they said you could only have ten minutes with her, she’s very tired.’
And Tom, dizzy suddenly with shock, lack of food, and exhaustion, slumped back into the wheelchair and was borne by Nurse Molly to Ward F where lay his happiness, his future and his love.
Chapter 8
1944
‘There must be something I can do. I’m sick of being treated like a child, stuck away at school, when most girls my age are doing something useful for the war effort, working in factories and stuff like that, joining the forces . . .’
‘The forces! At your age! Don’t be so ridiculous, Alice. Quite apart from being far too young, you’ve no idea what life would be like, the sort of people you’d come up against.’
‘What do you mean? Oh, you think they’re common. For heaven’s sake! Even Princess Elizabeth is in the ATS, so it must be all right. Anyway, I don’t have to do that – I could work in a factory like I said. Please, please, Mummy. Couldn’t you and Daddy just consider letting me leave that stupid place, stuck away in the back of beyond? I hate it, I’ve always hated it.’