The Nightingale Nurses Read online

  ‘You tell him, Nurse!’ Mr Tucker chuckled. ‘He wouldn’t be so quick to say that if he knew what war was really like. I served for two years on the Western Front, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t all beer and skittles!’

  Alan Cornish looked affronted. He opened his mouth to argue, but Millie stuck a thermometer in, shutting him up.

  At least Charlie Dawson didn’t want to discuss the war. He greeted her with his usual bright smile when she arrived at his bedside.

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, can’t complain. I woke up with a bit of a headache, but I’m not too bad, considering.’

  ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

  She popped the thermometer into his mouth and went to take his pulse. His wrist felt spongy under her fingers. ‘Your pulse is a little bit faster this morning.’

  ‘That must be you holding my hand!’

  ‘Careful, I’ll tell your girlfriend you’re flirting with me!’

  ‘Helen knows I only have eyes for her.’

  ‘She’s a lucky girl.’

  Charlie eyed Millie sympathetically. ‘No word of your young man yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  She pulled back the bedcover to check Charlie’s legs for signs of oedema. As she rolled up the leg of his pyjamas, she could see at once that his skin was stretched and waxy-looking under the sprinkling of golden hairs. His solid flesh didn’t yield under her finger.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be home soon,’ Charlie said, his mouth still clamped around the thermometer. ‘Nurse . . .?’

  Millie looked up, distracted. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I said, he’ll be home soon.’

  ‘I expect he will.’ She smiled bracingly, took the thermometer out of Charlie’s mouth and checked it. At least that was normal.

  He watched her as she wrote the figures on the chart. ‘What do you reckon, Nurse? Am I on the mend?’

  For once Millie tried to think before she spoke. ‘These things take time, Charlie.’ She hung the chart back on the end of his bed. ‘Now, I’ll see about getting you something for that headache.’

  She turned to go, but he called her back. ‘Nurse?’

  ‘Yes, Charlie?’

  ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it?’

  His trusting smile was like a knife in her heart. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I mean, I’m not getting any worse, am I?’

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the solidity of his flesh under her fingers. ‘I told you, Charlie. These things take time.’

  ‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’ His smile flickered. ‘Sorry, Nurse. I’m just being daft.’

  Millie hurried away, hoping her expression hadn’t given away her real concerns.

  Nick was hauling a sack of rubbish down the stone steps to the basement when he spotted Joe Armstrong with Nurse Willard.

  They were lurking in the shadow of the Porters’ Lodge, out of sight of the wards and in Matron’s office, talking. As Nick watched, Nurse Willard smiled shyly up from under her lashes, then Joe reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.

  Nick stared at the arrogant, handsome profile, and blood sang in his ears. It was all he could do not to march straight over and knock Joe down.

  He forced himself to wait until Nurse Willard was heading back towards the Casualty department. Joe turned away and was walking towards the gates, smiling to himself. But his self-satisfied smirk disappeared when Nick stepped out in front of him.

  ‘I want a word with you.’

  Joe looked down at the rubbish sack and then back up at Nick’s face. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’ he jeered.

  Nick ignored the jibe. ‘What’s going on with you and that nurse?’

  ‘What nurse?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me. I just saw you talking to that blonde from Casualty.’

  ‘You mean Nurse Willard?’ Joe shrugged. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Does Dora know you’re messing about behind her back?’

  A slow sneer crossed Joe’s face. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about messing about! What about you and your missus?’

  Nick took a step towards him. ‘You’d better not hurt Dora,’ he warned.

  ‘Or what? What are you going to do about it?’ Joe sent him a scathing look. ‘You’d better not be threatening a policeman, or you could find yourself in big trouble, pal.’

  ‘I’m not your pal. And I’m not frightened of you, either.’

  ‘You should be.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  Joe squared up to him. ‘See this uniform? It means I’ve got the power to make your life a misery if I want to.’

  ‘Your uniform don’t scare me.’

  ‘More fool you, then.’

  ‘All right, Nick?’ He heard Harry Fishman’s voice behind him. The argument had brought him and a couple of the other porters out of the lodge to investigate. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. I was just having a chat with the constable here.’

  Joe’s lip curled. ‘You’re brave when you’ve got your mates behind you, ain’t you?

  ‘I don’t need any mates to help me deal with the likes of you, believe me.’

  ‘You want to get on your way,’ Harry said, moving to stand beside Nick. ‘Ain’t you got any criminals to catch?’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than hang around here, that’s for sure.’ Joe turned back to Nick. ‘By the way, you’ve got it wrong. I ain’t with Dora any more.’

  Nick stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’ Joe gave him a disgusted look. ‘She ditched me. And I reckon I know why, too.’ He stepped closer to Nick. ‘You’d better watch yourself, pal. Because next time I see you, you might not have your mates around to back you up!’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘HOW’S YOUR BOYFRIEND?’

  The question came out of the blue. Helen wasn’t even sure it was directed at her until she glanced up and caught Amy Hollins looking at her. They had both just come off their respective night shifts and were sitting awkwardly together at an otherwise empty breakfast table.

  ‘It’s Charlie, isn’t it?’ said Amy.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Helen tensed, waiting for the sharp remark to follow. But there was genuine sympathy in Amy Hollins’ face instead.

  ‘I heard he was on Judd. How’s he getting on?’

  ‘He’s – getting better, thanks.’

  ‘That’s good. It must be a real worry for you?’ Again, Helen waited for the sting in the tail, but it didn’t come. Amy gazed back at her, her pretty face full of concern.

  ‘We were both on Male Surgical when you first met him, do you remember? After his accident?’ Helen nodded. ‘He was such a nice chap,’ Amy recalled. ‘Always so friendly and polite. Not like some of the grumpy old so-and-sos you meet in this job.’ She leaned across the table and patted Helen’s hand. ‘Give him my best wishes, won’t you? And if there’s ever anything you need, you only have to ask . . .’

  ‘Thanks.’ Helen stared down at Amy’s hand, covering hers. She wanted to pinch it, just to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep at the table after her busy night shift.

  It wasn’t until she returned to her room in the night nurses’ corridor after breakfast that she realised why Amy had been so sympathetic. Helen saw that she looked a wreck. Ever since Charlie had been admitted she had tried to get by on the minimum of sleep. Nurses on night duty were forbidden to get up before noon at the earliest, and many liked to sleep in later. But Helen found it hard to sleep at all, and would usually be sitting up on her bed, waiting for the clock to strike twelve so she could get up and visit Charlie.

  But days without sleep had left deep purple hollows under her brown eyes, and when she removed her cap her hair fell in lank strands around her face. Her limbs felt heavy with tiredness, and yet she knew as soon as she put her head on the pillow she would be wide awake again.

  She tried to tel
l herself that there was nothing she could do, that she needed to rest so she could be bright enough to face Charlie later. But even if she did drop off from sheer exhaustion, she would jerk awake a few minutes later, convinced she could hear him calling out to her.

  At noon, after five hours of staring dry-eyed at the peeling plasterwork on the ceiling, Helen made her way straight to Male Medical.

  Sister Judd nodded to her when she came in, but made no comment. Even Staff Nurse Strickland made no attempt to stop her any more. They had both accepted that Helen would come whether they liked it or not, and decided to put her to good use instead. While she was there watching over Charlie, it meant the other nurses on the ward had one less task to perform.

  The screens were pulled around his bed. Helen’s heart lurched with fear until she saw Millie emerging, pushing a trolley laden with a bowl, soap, flannels and towels.

  She smiled when she saw Helen. ‘Oh, hello. You’re early.’

  ‘I came as soon as I could.’ She nodded towards the curtains. ‘How is he?’

  ‘I’ve just finished giving him a wash and brush up, so he’s looking very respectable.’

  Helen eyed her friend narrowly. ‘And how is his illness? I noticed he was due to have a blood test this morning. Have the results come back yet?’

  ‘You know you’re not supposed to ask questions like that.’ Millie’s laugh was shrill with tension. ‘And you’re not to go snooping at his chart, either. Sister Judd will be furious if she catches you.’

  ‘Is that you, Helen?’ Charlie’s voice came from the other side of the screen.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Helen turned back to Millie. ‘How is he, really? What did the consultant say? Are they going to try serum treatment?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? No one tells us students anything.’

  ‘Benedict –’

  ‘Is that Strickland calling me? I have to go.’ Millie charged off down the ward, pushing the trolley ahead of her.

  ‘Benedict was in rather a hurry,’ Helen commented, as she slipped through the screens to Charlie.

  ‘She’s probably just busy.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Helen wasn’t so sure. Millie had looked almost guilty as she darted away.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t upset her?’ she teased.

  ‘No more than usual.’ Charlie’s smile was strained. He lay against the pillows, his face flushed against the snowy whiteness of the linen.

  Automatically, Helen reached for the chart on the end of his bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you have to?’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘I have enough people coming in here, staring at that chart. I’m not your patient, Helen.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ She replaced the chart and went to sit beside him. ‘How are you, Charlie?’

  ‘Better than you, I reckon.’ He turned his face to look at her. ‘When was the last time you got some sleep?’

  ‘I’m on night duty. It’s always hard to sleep on nights.’

  ‘I bet you’re not eating, either.’

  She laughed. ‘It’s me who should be worrying about you, remember?’ She searched in her bag. ‘I’ve brought the East London Observer with me, I thought I could read it to you. I know you like the speedway results.’ She pulled out the newspaper. ‘There was racing on in the Harringay last night, so perhaps there’ll be a report in here somewhere . . .’

  ‘I mean it, Helen. You shouldn’t spend so much time with me. You need to keep up with your studies.’

  She laughed, still flicking through the newspaper, looking for the sports pages. ‘Now you sound like my mother!’

  Charlie put out his hand, his fingers closing round hers. It upset her to feel how little strength he had in his grasp. ‘For God’s sake, will you stop doing that and listen to me? I’m trying to tell you—’

  She let the newspaper drop into her lap. She had never heard him speak to her so sharply before, and it made her nervous. ‘What, Charlie?’

  He was silent for a moment. Now he had her attention, he didn’t seem to know what to say next. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and – I don’t want you to come and see me any more.’

  ‘Charlie!’

  ‘I mean it, Helen. I don’t think it’s doing either of us any good, you being here all the time.’ He turned his face away from hers.

  ‘But I want to be here.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want you here!’

  She stared at him, stunned. ‘You don’t mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ His hand slipped away from hers. ‘Your mum’s right. We don’t belong together, we never have. It would be better for both of us if we parted.’

  His face was still turned away from hers, so she couldn’t see his eyes. This wasn’t Charlie speaking, she thought. It couldn’t be. ‘Stop it, Charlie,’ she pleaded. ‘If this is your idea of a joke, then it’s not very funny . . .’

  ‘I’m not joking,’ he said firmly. ‘I want you to go, and don’t come back.’

  Outside the screens she could hear the sounds of ward life going on: the rattle of a trolley being pushed past the curtains, the sound of footsteps, of muted voices, people going about their business, oblivious to the fact that her world was collapsing.

  And yet she still couldn’t believe it. It all seemed too unreal.

  ‘All right,’ she said, fighting to stop the tremor in her voice. ‘I’ll go, if that’s what you want. But first you have to tell me to my face.’

  ‘Helen—’

  ‘I’m serious, Charlie. If you’re going to break my heart then the least you can do is look me in the eye while you do it.’

  He didn’t move. ‘Just go,’ he said wearily. ‘Please.’

  Helen stared at his stubborn profile. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re doing this,’ she said. ‘You can’t lie to me, Charlie Dawson, I know you too well. That’s why you can’t look at me, isn’t it? Because you’re afraid I’ll see the truth.’

  ‘You want the truth?’ Slowly, he rolled his head to face her, and she saw the tears glistening in his eyes. ‘I’m dying, Helen.’

  It was as if she had been plunged head-first into icy water. She gasped, desperately fighting for control. ‘No, you’re not!’

  His mouth lifted at one corner. ‘You know as well as I do, Helen Tremayne. I’m not getting any better, and I don’t think I will.’

  ‘But—’ She stopped short. He was right. She had seen the figures on his chart, seen him struggling more every day, even though she had done her best to block the knowledge out. He wasn’t responding to any treatment, and his limbs had started to swell as his kidneys failed to do their job. She didn’t want to think about what would happen next, although she’d read it in her textbook many times. ‘There’s still hope,’ she whispered. ‘There are so many different treatments the doctors can try. And sometimes infections like yours just get better by themselves—’

  ‘But more often than not they don’t.’ He managed a wry smile. ‘Look, I might not have your education, Helen, but I’m no fool. I know what’s happening to me, and I don’t want you to have to go through that. I don’t want you to watch me die.’

  ‘I told you, you’re not going to die.’

  A single tear rolled down Charlie’s cheek and soaked into the pillow. ‘Please, Helen,’ he begged. ‘Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is. It’s taking everything I’ve got to say this. But I’ve got to do what’s right.’

  ‘How is it right to send me away when all I want to do is be with you?’

  ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘Marry me,’ she blurted out. The words were spoken before she’d had time to think about them. But once she’d said it, she realised it was what she wanted.

  ‘You what?’ Charlie tried to lift his head from the pillow, his eyes wide with astonishment.

  ‘Marry me. It’s the right thing to do, Charlie,’ she urged. ‘I don’t want us to be apart. W
hatever happens, I want us to face it together.’

  His blue gaze fixed on hers for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘We can. I’m not talking about a big church do or anything like that. We could even get a minister to marry us here, at your bedside—’

  ‘I’m not talking about the wedding. I’m not going to marry you so I can leave you a widow.’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ Helen said firmly. ‘And even if it does,’ she added, as he opened his mouth to argue, ‘it’s still what I want. I want to be with you, Charlie. For better or for worse.’

  ‘In sickness and in health?’ he said weakly.

  She nodded. ‘In sickness and in health.’

  He looked at her for a long time. ‘You do realise that even if I manage to survive this illness, your mother will kill me?’

  Helen smiled. ‘Is that a yes?’

  He shook his head wonderingly. ‘I never realised you could be so forceful, Helen Tremayne.’

  ‘I am when I want something.’

  ‘We don’t even have a ring.’

  ‘Wait there.’ She slipped out through the screens and looked around the ward.

  ‘Lost something, Miss?’ The patient in the next bed, Mr Tucker, looked up from his newspaper.

  ‘I won’t know until I find it . . .’ Helen caught sight of the ashtray beside his bed. ‘Do you smoke, by any chance?’

  Mr Tucker grinned guiltily. ‘Only when Sister ain’t looking! Why? Do you want one?’

  ‘No, but I’d like to borrow your cigarette packet, if you don’t mind?’

  He reached into his locker and pulled out a packet of Kensitas. ‘Here you are, love, help yourself. But don’t let Sister catch you or she’ll have your guts for garters!’ He grinned.

  ‘Thanks.’ Helen opened the packet and tore out a strip of the silver paper, then handed it back. Mr Tucker watched her with interest.

  ‘And what are you planning to do with that, then?’

  Helen gave him a mischievous smile. ‘You’ll find out.’

  Charlie turned to look at her as she slipped back inside the screens. ‘You look pleased with yourself.’

  ‘I’ve got my ring, look!’ She twisted the silver paper around her finger and held it up to show him.