A Christmas Promise
Annie Groves
An emotional and heart-warming portrayal of the lives of four women living in wartime London.For the girls living at No.13 Article Row, the war years have never been tougher…Tilly is heartbroken when Drew, the love of her life, returns to America and doesn’t come back. Tilly can’t believe that he would break their solemn promise to love each other for ever. Olive. Tilly’s mother, knows the real reason that he has never been in touch but fears the truth will hurt her daughter even more.For Tilly’s friends, Agnes and Sally, the war has also dealt them a cruel hand and, along with the rest of the country, they have had their share of pain. But they say that it is always darkest just before the dawn, so could it be that this war, and the girl’s fortunes, are finally beginning to turn?
Copyright (#u104d1627-3b1e-5e0a-9cb3-2b5f1a997546)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Cover photograph © Colin Thomas (girl); UPPA/Photoshot (background)
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 2013
The Author hereby waives all moral rights in the Work.
Notwithstanding the foregoing, the Publishers undertake to include the Author’s name in all copies of the work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007361557
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007464289
Version: 2017-10-09
Contents
Title Page (#u0bc4c915-70e2-50bc-a752-eb9579275810)
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Keep Reading (#ufb47a8a5-41ed-5bbb-8a9a-87e7ede2c8ef)
Acknowledgements
An Interview with Sheila Riley
About Annie Groves
Also by Annie Groves
About the Publisher
ONE (#u104d1627-3b1e-5e0a-9cb3-2b5f1a997546)
September 1943
‘Forty-eight hours’ embarkation leave.’
Tilly felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her veins. This was it: she had been accepted to do her war work abroad. It was what she had been hoping for since she had volunteered for overseas duties. So much had happened in the last few months that it seemed as if she had been on exercises in Wales for years. Not that she could or would discuss it with anybody, even her mother, but there was a lot going on in Whitehall right now. Her mother would have nightmares if she knew that the War Office was preparing for a second front that would end the conflict, one way or another, once and for all. Nor could she tell her mum about the nature of her foreign duties, which had just been confirmed with a tap on her shoulder by a high-ranking officer. But she had to put that to the back of her mind now.
She was so happy to be going home, especially now, and Rick said he would have leave, too.
‘Your leave starts now,’ said the chief commander. ‘Leave a contact number – but don’t bother about bringing back your bathing costumes. You may not be sent straight away.’
‘How droll,’ Janet said as they left the commander’s office. ‘Sunbathing, indeed! The beaches will be heavily fortified with barbed wire the same as here, no doubt.’
‘I know,’ said Tilly, aware that her leave would be tinged with sadness. She and the other three girls with whom she had trained, Veronica, Pru and Janet, had all volunteered for overseas duty. Every girl who offered to undertake such duties released a man for service elsewhere. The bonus was the excitement of being in some exotic foreign country for the winter instead of being stuck in foggy old London. Tilly and the other girls had been billeted close to Whitehall and her long hours meant that she rarely got home, but now, as the time to leave was drawing close, Tilly wasn’t so sure she had done the right thing, and foggy old London seemed not so bad after all. There was one consolation, however: some of the other ATS girls hadn’t been called up to go overseas for months.
A Few Days Earlier
‘Are you thinking of going back to Liverpool?’ Olive asked Sally as she scraped carrots for the evening meal at the brown, stone sink, before she went out to do her Women’s Voluntary Service work. Sally, her lodger, picked up another carrot and automatically began to do the same.
The two women enjoyed a catch-up in the kitchen when they got a chance, but as they both led busy lives, that hadn’t been often of late. However, Olive could see that Sally, as fidgety as a cat on a hot wall now, had something on her mind.
‘Is something the matter, Sally?’ Olive pressed her, the knife stilled in her hand as she studied the young nurse’s face. Sally looked tired, which was understandable; the whole country was tired – and sick of this war. But Olive could see in Sally’s eyes that it wasn’t just the war and the privations it brought that concerned her especially, nor was it like her to be secretive. Olive had noticed that she had talked a lot about her mother lately, much more than she had done in the past.
‘I’m fine, Olive, truly,’ Sally assured her landlady with a stiff smile, pushing her burnished auburn hair out of her eyes, but, as she dropped the scraped carrot into the bowl of water, her smile slipped and she turned to Olive. ‘You know, I haven’t been back home since I found out about … the death of Alice’s parents …?’
Olive nodded and looked at Sally for a long moment before she said, ‘Do try and see the situation from all sides, Sally.’ Her words sounded unusually abrupt, but then she continued in a milder tone: ‘He was your father, too.’ There was a moment’s silence as the two women took in the enormity of Olive’s words. It had been nearly two and a half years since Sally’s father and her one-time best friend had been killed in the Liverpool blitz back in May 1941, leaving their baby daughter an orphan, but the thought still brought a savage pain coursing through her heart, which Sally was sure would never heal.
‘I remember you wanted to give Alice up for adoption,’ Olive continued in that caring, motherly tone all the girls under her roof had come to know and love. It was true that Sally had wanted nothing to do with her half-sister, seeing her only as a reminder of the bitter, angry resentment she felt for her one-time best friend. ‘And I also know you would have regretted that decision for the rest of your life – you couldn’t give part of yourself away …’
‘Yes, and that is the very reason I don’t want to give her away,’ Sally said, her heart breaking at the thought of little Alice being evacuated to the countryside. Even though the air raids weren’t as bad as they had been in earlier years of the war, they were still a threat. Now, Sally acknowledged, three-year-old Alice was the most precious gift she had ever received.
‘Maybe a visit to Liverpool would clear your head?’ Olive ventured as she turned back to her chores.
‘I feel as if I’ve left it too late, as if I should have laid my ghosts to rest by now, Olive,’ Sally said, though Olive was shaking her head as if not believing a word of it, ‘but more than that …’ She struggled to find the right words.
‘You feel as if you’ve deserted your home city and locked away your memories in a bomb-proof box?’ Olive suggested.
The twenty-six-year-old nurse gave a self-conscious half-laugh. ‘Well, maybe … But it’s more than that – something I can’t explain.’
‘You want to make your peace, perhaps –,’ Olive smiled kindly – ‘and maybe thank somebody up there who is looking down on you and granting you small mercies?’
‘Oh, Olive, you always know the right thing to say.’ Sally’s eyes lit up and she hugged her landlady as she would have done her own mother if she were still alive. ‘And that is why it is so difficult for me to say this to you now …’ Sally marvelled at Olive’s ability to put people’s minds at rest, no matter how sensitive the subject. ‘I have something to tell you.’ Sally’s tone was hesitant, almost cautious. She touched Olive’s arm. ‘Drew is shortly to leave hospital.’
Olive stopped what she was doing and stared into the muddy-coloured water before saying in a low voice, ‘Is he going back home to America?’ Olive liked Drew. He was a lovely young man, who had shown her daughter, Tilly, a lot of attention back in the day when they were very young and life was a little more carefree.
‘I don’t know,’ Sally replied. ‘He said he was going to a wedding but he didn’t say whose wedding it was.’
‘I don’t mind as long as it’s not my daughter’s.’ Olive couldn’t quite carry off the mirthless laugh, and Sally knew she had hit on a raw subject here and must take things slowly.
‘This war has changed everyone – especially Tilly,’ Olive said eventually. ‘She’s no longer the giggly girl who lost her heart to the young Fleet Street journalist. She’s a grown woman with a mind of her own; a young woman who has joined the ATS and will fight for her country, if necessary. She and Rick are courting now!’ Olive’s voice rose a little and Sally suspected she was starting to panic when she said, ‘He thinks the world of her … they are in love …’
‘I’m not disputing that, Olive,’ Sally said in the same tone she used with patients who had just been given overwhelming, terrible news. ‘Are you all right, Olive?’
‘She and Rick could set up home here. In London!’
‘Close enough for you to see her regularly?’ Sally offered, knowing Olive had always been terrified her only daughter would go and live in America. And if the scenes on the newsreels were anything to go by, Americans were still not having as bad a time of the war as the people here in England had to endure. It would be such a temptation to a young, love-struck girl to want the things this country could not offer.
‘Will you go and see Drew before he is discharged from Barts, Olive?’ Sally asked in a low voice, knowing Drew hadn’t wanted to see Tilly while he was in hospital; he couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing him as an invalid.
‘It’s for the best if we leave the past where it lies.’ Olive resumed scrubbing the carrots with renewed vigour.
‘He’s walking now,’ Sally answered in tones usually reserved for church, ‘and although he will never be deemed fit enough to fight for his country, he is doing fantastically well on his walking stick.’ Her manner became more enthusiastic as she continued: ‘The doctors say that when his spine is strong enough he may even be able to discard the stick – isn’t that wonderful after all he has been through?’
Olive wished that Sally would drop the subject of Drew; it was far too painful for her to revisit the memories of her daughter’s traumatic separation, and she still felt a fierce guilt for her own part in that. Just as she had done that day she met up with Drew’s father in a chic London hotel to map out their children’s future, knowing that Tilly would never forgive her if she found out.
Drew’s father had begged her not to tell Tilly his son was in a London hospital. Olive remembered how easily she had complied with his wishes, not wanting Tilly to go through the same heartache that Olive herself had gone through: caring for a husband who had been so badly injured in the First World War that he was an invalid for the rest of his short life.
But the decision to keep Tilly and Drew apart hadn’t been hers to make, Olive knew that now. It should have been Tilly’s choice. Olive believed back then that she had done the right thing. But now she wasn’t so sure.
She had always held her own counsel; being widowed at such a young age and forced to bring up a child alone did that to a woman. She’d had to be strong and make quick decisions, but none had been faster or easier than the one she made that day when Drew’s father asked her not to tell Tilly that the man she loved had been in a life-threatening accident, which had left him in a coma for months, almost paralysed from the waist down. Her decision had been for the best.
For the best … The words kept going around in her head. Olive knew that if the truth ever reached Tilly’s ears … That was the real reason she stared, wide-eyed at the ceiling in the small hours …
‘Olive, are you all right?’ Sally hadn’t realised that the news of Drew leaving hospital would hit her landlady so hard as to drain her face of any colour. Olive stared ahead out of the kitchen window. Then she took a deep breath.
‘Of course I am,’ she said with forced brightness. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She told herself that Tilly was happy with Rick, that she had done the right thing in not telling her only daughter that Drew was here in London. But that didn’t ease the tearing sensation of culpability that ripped into her whenever Drew’s name was mentioned in this house.
‘Well, if you’re sure …’ Sally realised that the news had come as a shock to Olive. ‘… I have to go now.’ Sally knew she should stay to discuss the matter, but she would be late if she didn’t go now. Picking up her navy-blue cloak from the back of the door, she said in a voice loaded with understanding, ‘It’s going to be all right, I’m sure of it.’
‘Alice is still having her breakfast … I’ll drop her off at the child-minder before I go to the church hall,’ Olive said in a far-away tone of voice that told Sally the subject was now closed.
‘Thank you, Olive. I’ll pick her up on the way home.’ Sally was still wondering whether to go or to stay, but realised this was something that Olive had to sort out herself.
Oh, Callum, please don’t do this to me, Sally silently begged as she took the blue envelope from the post-woman at the front door and recognised the neat handwriting of her former sweetheart.
A kind-hearted Scot and uncle of little Alice, Callum had given up his teaching job to serve as an officer in the Royal Navy for the duration of the war. It was in the senior service that Sally’s fiancé, George, had been so tragically killed when his ship was torpedoed back in 1942.
Taking a deep breath, Sally slipped the envelope into the pocket of her outdoor uniform.
‘See you later, Olive. Bye, Alice, be good,’ she called before slamming the front door behind her.
Sally was grateful to Olive for looking after little Alice while she worked at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, where, as the newly appointed Sister Tutor, she trained the new intake of probationer nurses. If it wasn’t for Olive, Sally thought, desperately trying to ignore the rustle of the envelope in her pocket as she cycled to St Barts through the rubble of war-scarred London, she would not be able to continue the work she loved so much.
Her mind drifted back to the days when she was very young and carefree, when her wonderful, beloved mother was still alive, and before she came to London to work at Barts before the start of the war. For that had been the best of times.
However, her mother’s passing was the very reason Sally had left Liverpool – or rather the aftermath: when her one-time best friend, Morag, had shown compassion to her widowed father in a way that Sally thought disgustingly inappropriate. She had come home early one day and caught Morag kissing her father in such an intimate way that it left little room for doubt about their intentions, and Sally knew immediately she could no longer stay in her home city.
Callum, Morag’s brother, had tried to make her see it from his sister’s point of view – well, he would, wouldn’t he? He was bound to take her side. And Sally had keenly felt the betrayal from all of them. They were the people closest to her in the whole world and yet they had stolen the security of her home life as surely as if they had killed her mother.
She left as soon as she could and never went back. Her father and Morag married – and had a daughter without her even knowing. But it was the night Callum brought little Alice to her that really changed Sally’s life for ever.
He looked so handsome in his officer’s navy-blue greatcoat and cap, carrying a tiny Alice in his arms – bringing her to London when Hitler’s bombs had rained down on Liverpool back in May 1941. That was the night Sally discovered that her former home and family had been wiped out, all gone except for the child she didn’t know existed until then.
As she pedalled through the rubble of half-bombed streets, Sally felt that niggle of shame as she recalled wanting nothing to do with her half-sister, whom she so desperately wanted to send to an orphanage, and how Callum had begged her to keep Alice safe until he was able to come back and take care of her. She wanted to forget her outright refusal to comply with Callum’s wishes and how she had let the other residents of number 13 Article Row dote on her baby sister.
But little Alice eventually did to Sally what she did to everybody who met her: she claimed Sally’s heart with such a fierce love that she could not imagine a life without Alice in it.
‘Time is a great healer,’ Sally said, just loud enough to stop the memories flooding into her mind and preventing the worry about what the future held for any of them. Alice was all that Sally lived for now. Since George, a navy surgeon, had been killed, she couldn’t allow herself to get close to a man again – especially Callum.
While she had secretly been more than flattered to receive his friendly letters when George was alive, and had looked forward to Callum’s lively banter more than any engaged woman ought to have done, she could not contemplate reading them now her fiancé had gone.
Sally also realised now that, as unseemly as it sounded, she had looked forward to Callum’s letters far more than she had enjoyed George’s more placid, informative epistles, and that there may be some doubt in her heart that she had ever loved quiet, amiable, steadfast George at all.
The thought caused her skin to tingle and grow cold as she approached the gates of St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Of course she loved George! She had agreed to marry him. She had given herself to him in the knowledge that they would be man and wife. But once again that knowledge brought on a new episode of uncertainty.
Sally suspected that she would have had her head turned by Callum; she may even have betrayed George, had he lived. The thought riddled her with shame and made her feel small. So the least communication between them the better, she felt.
Callum was genuinely interested in Alice, as the only child of his departed sister. He was obviously eager to know how Alice was progressing, and he had made no secret of the fact that receiving Sally’s letters, with news of his niece, was important to him. He would also ask how Sally herself was faring, although thinking about it now, she reasoned that would have been because she was bereaved. Sally had been so angry with George for joining the navy without consulting her, and she had been even angrier when he had got himself blown up and killed!
Now Callum’s blue envelopes only reminded her that she had not been as honest with George as she should have been: she had never even mentioned their regular communication to her fiancé – not once. And although nothing untoward had ever taken place between herself and Callum, she could not rid herself of the gnawing drag of shame each time his letters arrived.
How could she read Callum’s letters now, knowing she had been a fool to be so pleased at his sweet talk when he probably only wanted news of his sister’s child? Sally’s mind was racing as she slowed her bicycle and secured it in the bike shed. She knew she had done the right thing by not ever replying to Callum because now she could concentrate on Alice without being side-tracked by the handsome officer, and make sure Alice enjoyed a secure childhood, with her, in a happy place in Article Row. Sally refused to contemplate the idea of Alice being evacuated as Olive had suggested.
The bombing was now less fierce, and there was even talk that the war might be over by Christmas, so it was possible that she could give her little half-sister the kind of secure childhood Sally had enjoyed before … before … She chided herself for raking up yet another bout of resentment about her father and Morag, and began to hum a little tune that kept uncharacteristically unkind thoughts at bay.
As much as she tried, Sally could not keep her mind from Callum today. She wondered why, all of a sudden, she had missed reading his tales of the sea, which she had enjoyed before George’s tragic demise. Callum had a natural gift for absorbing the world around him and excitedly sharing what he had learned with others. Alice would miss all that because Sally could not let him into their life again.
She could not bear to think of her little sister getting close to Callum, as she had with George, only for him to succumb to a watery grave. She had a duty to give Alice permanence, and there would be none of that if Callum dropped in and out of her life at irregular intervals. What if the worst should happen? She would have to go through all that heartache again. Although, as she now headed up the long, shiny corridor towards Men’s Surgical, Sally wondered who she was most worried for, Alice or herself.
She couldn’t understand why Callum kept sending letters even though she didn’t reply; if she had been in his place she would have given up long ago. Didn’t he understand that she had no intentions of letting Alice get close to him? It had been fine while George was alive, because Callum knew where he stood: he was allowed to visit his sister’s child and that was an end to it. But now that George had gone, she didn’t want him getting any funny ideas …
‘Good morning, Sister.’ The young probationer’s greeting brought Sally out of her reverie.
‘Good morning, Nurse. Busy night?’ Men’s surgical was Sally’s ward, which she was proud to run with extreme efficiency.
‘Just one emergency admission who was taken down for immediate surgery,’ said the night duty sister as the night staff handed over to the day staff, who gathered in Sally’s office for morning prayers
‘That will be all,’ Sally said, picking up the report on her desk, eager to get on with her duties. ‘Off you go and do your very best today.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ the probationer nurses called in unison before heading towards the ward.
However, when she ran her pen down the list of patients Sally’s mouth fell open and her fingers covered her lips to stop the startled exclamation escaping; it wouldn’t do to show the young probationers that, as experienced as Sister Tutor was, she too could be alarmed at a name on the list of patients.
Taking in a slow stream of calming air, Sally shook her head, realising she had to pull herself together and show the professional attitude that she had become renowned for.
‘Callum?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. What on earth was he doing here? Surely, if he had been injured he would be in Haslar, the Royal Naval Hospital in Hampshire. Why had he been brought here? Straightening her dark blue uniform and making sure her white frilled cap was sitting straight, Sally took one last look in the mirror on her office wall and noticed that her cheeks were unusually pink.
‘Pull yourself together, Sister,’ she rebuked her reflection. ‘This is a hospital and you have work to do.’ But her hasty scolding did nothing to calm her racing heart. Taking another deep breath, she made her efficient, straight-backed way right down the middle of Nightingale ward, past the regimented row of pristine iron beds to Callum’s bedside.
‘Hello, Sal.’ Callum’s deep, rich voice sounded croaky. ‘I’ve been waiting to see you.’ He gave a half-smile and his heavy eyelids slowly closed, while Sally noted, as she had so often, that the luxuriantly thick, dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks were wasted on a man. And as he drifted off into an anaesthetised sleep she gazed at his handsome features, which were especially striking at rest. The glowing, golden tan told her that he had been somewhere exotic, and most certainly dangerous, and she tried to ignore the flip of her heart.
‘Dear Callum,’ Sally whispered as she lifted his wrist and took his strong pulse. She hadn’t seen him since he left baby Alice in her care, and even though he looked peaceful enough now she could tell by his sunken cheeks and cracked lips that he had been through a lot.
‘Bring me some lanolin, please, Nurse,’ Sally asked noticing that Callum’s swollen lips looked very sore. She felt a surge of … what? Pity? Regret at the way things turned out? She wasn’t sure. But one thing Sally did know, Callum would receive the best of attention while he was here – the same as every other patient in this hospital.
‘Appendicitis can get you any time,’ she whispered after dabbing the balm on his lips. Before she left his bedside she took one more look at the face of the man she had once loved with all of her heart. But she had been but a girl then. Things had changed a lot since that time. But as Sally turned from Callum’s bed, allowing him time to sleep and to heal, she recognised a familiar emotion … one she hadn’t felt for a long time.
TWO (#u104d1627-3b1e-5e0a-9cb3-2b5f1a997546)
Agnes was glad her shift was over. Having been persuaded that her services were of the utmost importance on the underground – and preventing her from realising her long-held dream of living in the countryside – Agnes had stayed on since Ted’s death, but she wasn’t finding it easy. At the start of every shift her pain seemed renewed, and more so last night, Ted’s birthday. It had been a long night and she was bone weary now.
Almost at the top of the Chancery Lane Underground steps, Agnes struggled to pick her way through the mass of people leaving the shelter for the day when she suddenly heard Ted’s voice calling her name. Not just recalling it – she actually heard it.
Looking up, Agnes saw him standing at the top of the stairwell. He beamed that smile she remembered so well and she felt her heart hammer in her chest. To other people Ted might have been a relatively ordinary-looking young bloke of middling height, but his blue eyes were the kindest she had ever seen. Immediately, she quickened her step towards him – so he could reach out, grab her hand and haul her to where he was standing.
‘Ted? Ted!’ Agnes looked around wildly before the familiar panic shot through her, reminding her that Ted was no longer alive. Nor was he waiting for her at the end of a busy shift. She blinked away acid tears that stung her eyes and brought a choking lump to her throat … Quickly, however, she wiped her eyes with the pad of her hand and made her way home, not only exhausted but delusional too. Every day was like this now, she realised; her grief had got to the point where she could hardly bear it. Ted had been the only love she had ever known and his sudden death had left a void she felt unable to fill. But coming here every day to the Underground railway where she worked in the ticket office was becoming too much to bear now.
The physical ache had not gone away as people said it would. And her life seemed to go from one empty day to another. Even though it had been almost six months since his tragic death, over in Bethnal Green, Agnes still felt it as deeply as if it had happened only yesterday. The horror of that awful tragedy was still as raw as the night she was called into the station master’s office and given the devastating news.
Her overwhelming loss brought back feelings of rejection; like the day Matron told her she was no longer needed at the orphanage when the children were being moved to the country for the duration of this terrible war. She would have loved to have gone with them.
The orphanage wasn’t just a place where she worked – it had been her home and her life from the day she was found in a shopping basket on the doorstep at only a few weeks old, wrapped in a shabby pink blanket.
Agnes recalled being so scared to meet her new landlady, Olive, a widow, who lived with her daughter and two other lodgers. Tilly turned out to be her best friend – the only one she had ever had with whom to share confidences and dreams for the future – but what future was there now since Tilly had joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service – the ATS – and Ted was never coming back? As she approached Olive’s house in Article Row, Agnes knew she had to buck her ideas up. She didn’t want Olive to fret over her any more. But her landlady was a canny woman who missed nothing.
‘Is something bothering you, Agnes?’ Olive asked kindly, pouring tea into two cups. She had just returned from the church hall where she had been sorting clothes into bundles for the Red Cross shop.
‘Since Ted died,’ Agnes said hesitantly, ‘I have felt lonelier than I ever was before.’ Even though Olive and the others had been extra specially kind, sometimes it just wasn’t enough.
‘You’ve been through a lot,’ Olive said as she pulled the chair from under the table and sat down while Agnes poured little more than a teaspoon of milk into her tea.
‘I’ll admit my nerves are shredded, Olive,’ she said, sipping the scalding liquid without flinching, ‘but don’t we all feel like that these days?’ She paused momentarily and Olive allowed her to gather her thoughts. ‘But it’s not because Ted died, if I’m really honest.’
Olive’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She knew that Agnes had idolised her fiancé.
‘That’s just it,’ Agnes said as if the realisation had only just dawned on her. ‘I did love Ted, but the thing that has been bothering me more than anything is that … I can be honest with you, Olive … I secretly dreaded the day we would be man and wife. As I said, I did love him – but I wasn’t in love with him – I valued him like a lost soul loves their rescuer.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ Olive said, her brows puckered, wondering if Agnes had truly lost all reason now.
‘He was the first man who ever spoke to me like a friend; he helped me settle in when I went to work on the underground … He was my guide and I was obliged to him, but you can’t build a life together on gratitude … And his mother!’ Agnes’s eyes widened, and Olive found her expression vaguely comical, but she did not even smile as Agnes continued earnestly.
‘I was constantly aware that any moment London would be attacked from the air and she could be dead, injured or incapacitated, and I know now that I only cared for Ted’s sake.’
‘Well, you weren’t engaged to his mother; you didn’t have to love her, Agnes—’ Olive began, but Agnes continued as if it was the most important thing in the world to get it all off her chest while she had the courage to do so.
‘No, but if Ted had lived and had put a ring on my finger, I know his mother would never have allowed him to leave their flat.’ Agnes was pleating the burgundy chenille tablecloth between fingers and thumb as she spoke. ‘And she would have expected him to tip up his wages to her. We would never have been able to save for a place of our own – even if there were any to spare – and I realise now that Ted would never have gone to live on the farm. His mother would have had a canary if he’d suggested leaving London!’
‘How could she stop a grown man from doing as he pleased?’ asked Olive, even though she was sure she knew the answer.
‘You know as well as I do how wily she is, Olive. Mrs Jackson would make herself ill – or even one of the girls – she would have done anything to keep Ted at home, and he would have felt it was his duty, he was so trusting; his mother could do no wrong.’
Although Olive didn’t say so, she couldn’t see Ted ever marrying Agnes. He wasn’t the marrying kind, as far as Olive could see – he liked the best of both worlds, did Ted: his mother’s home comforts and Agnes’s unfailing admiration. No, he wasn’t the marrying kind at all.
‘I must admit, Agnes, I did wonder, if you had managed to persuade him to go to the farm whether his mother would have soon followed you both.’
‘She never would,’ Agnes replied, certain. ‘She is London born and bred and so is her family.’
‘I’m not so sure, Agnes. When the chips are down, as they say …’
‘Well, we’ll never know now, will we?’ Agnes knew she could talk about anything with Olive. The landlady gave sensible advice without pity, knowing there were plenty of girls who had lost their sweethearts in this war and who found a way to cope. And so must she.
‘I wonder what life would be like in the countryside.’
‘A lot of hard work, I should imagine,’ Olive answered, ‘but a lot of satisfaction too, knowing that you are helping your country to win the war by filling the stomachs of your own people.’
As Agnes’s mind began to wander a balmy September breeze gently wafted through the open window and whispered through her hair. It would be wonderful to get away from the soot-covered bombed-out buildings and inhale the scent of newly cut grass and clean fresh air, she thought, instead of taking in the acrid smell of charred destruction that London had become.
Yet, there was still an element of doubt. Agnes couldn’t imagine leaving Olive, who was more like a mother to her than anyone she had ever known before; the kind of woman Agnes imagined her own mother would have been: kind, considerate and, above all, a rock of common sense.
‘Penny for them?’ Olive asked as she scraped back her chair and picked up the empty cups.
‘I was just thinking that if anybody would give me the best advice it is you,’ Agnes smiled.
‘You only have to pluck up that courage I know you have and to ask, Agnes.’
‘Yes …’ Agnes said, more certain now than ever that Olive was the type of competent woman who deserved to wear the uniform of the Women’s Voluntary Service.
With their motto ‘Never say no’, the WVS ran the mobile canteens in bombed-out areas; delivered water in tankers where the water supply had been damaged; gathered circles of women into the church hall to knit socks for servicemen; collected and distributed clothing and household items to those who had lost everything to bomb damage – as well as helping to organise the housing of evacuees. Olive was the one woman who knew exactly what Agnes was talking about.
So, thought Agnes, why had it been so difficult to tell her landlady that the time had finally come for her to move on? The reason was because, in her heart, Agnes knew she didn’t want to leave Article Row without Olive.
However, Agnes needed to find out about her parents, about the life she should have had. Although she had been treated kindly at the orphanage it wasn’t her home; and even though Olive had made her feel comfortable and part of her own family, neither was number 13. They were places she had been obliged to inhabit because she had nowhere else to go. Although, maybe she would leave it a little longer before telling Olive that she was leaving to go to live on the farm …
If she was honest, Sally knew Callum’s sister, Morag, would once have been the first person she would have gone to when her mind was uneasy. But having been so angry with her over these last few years, she now realised she hadn’t even grieved for the loss of their friendship. And while she had not mourned the passing, there was a void inside Sally that could not be filled. The knowledge, coming out of the blue when she saw Callum again, made her realise that Morag and her father had given her the most precious gift after they were killed: her beautiful half-sister, Alice. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Now was a time to work …
Later that morning, Sally was making sure that the junior nurses were carrying out their obligations to the best of their abilities, and not slacking in their endeavours to keep the patients comfortable. She headed to the sluice room to check that all was in order before doctors’ rounds, where she saw two young trainee nurses from the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, or, as it was more popularly known, the QAs, who replaced the qualified nurses that had once staffed the wards and were now spread around other hospitals or had even been snapped up by the armed forces.
These two, Sally noticed as she stood in the doorway undetected, were dressed in a pale blue uniform to show their position in the hospital hierarchy – or lower-archy, as she and Morag used to complain when they were hard-working probationers. Obviously unaware of her presence, the two probationers worked and chatted while busily emptying the metal bedpans, then placing them into a specially made sterilising machine and securing the drop-down lid before preparing the glass urinals for further use.
Sally smiled as they giggled their way through their duties, and she knew that they would invite a severe dressing-down if caught by any other senior member of staff, Matron especially. All the younger nurses were terrified of Matron, even though she was an absolute angel in Sally’s estimation.
But she couldn’t see the harm in a little bit of banter if they were competently carrying out their duties; she had soon discovered better results were achieved when the young trainees were given an inch, and offered good, down-to-earth advice, rather than having the life terrified out of them, although the latter seemed to work for Matron.
However, Sally knew the probationers worked well for her, and she seldom had to reprimand the juniors. Also, she recognised that if the two probationers realised she was standing in the doorway they would not be very happy at being listened in to, and probably would be all fingers, thumbs and bumbling apologies.
Sally wondered when, exactly, she had become such an object of maturity and even apprehension. She wouldn’t go so far as to terrify the life out of the probationer nurses, like Matron – or demand respect, like the doctors – and she was firm but fair. The young nurses did give her respect and, in turn, she gave it back where it was due.
Her thoughts drifted now to her own training days when she and Morag whispered and gossiped in the sluice room and shared their secret desires of the latest handsome doctor because there was always at least one whom all the nurses fell for; like these eighteen-year-olds trainees were drooling over a doctor now, and wondering who between the two of them would be the first to snare the potential high-flying consultant and live happy ever after.
‘I’ve heard Dr Parsley is going to be the best heart surgeon in England,’ one of the young nurses gasped, her hands covering the place where her heart was probably beating fifteen to the dozen, thought Sally.
‘One of the junior nurses has seen him – he’s as handsome as debonair David Niven, they say. I can’t wait to meet him.’
Oh, she did miss Morag, Sally suddenly thought. She missed being carefree and young, linking arms and swapping stories they could never tell anybody else, of sharing hopes and dreams without fear of being teased for being immature – because even now she still had fleeting moments of doubt in her abilities, and Morag would have been the perfect person with whom she could share those moments. Sally knew now that she would never have a friend like Morag ever again. She missed their heart-to-heart chats but most of all she missed having Morag as the best and kindest friend she had ever known … It would have been nice to share her thoughts, maybe to go out dancing instead of being old before her time. Sally almost laughed out loud; since when did she have time to go dancing these days? All she seemed to do was work, sleep and, more rarely, enjoy the company of her young half-sister, Alice – Morag’s daughter.
If she was being honest now, Sally thought, she was beginning to understand how her father and Morag were drawn to each other. Morag had been so wonderful – the best of good friends, taking over the most intimate nursing of her mother as though she had been her own, when Sally needed to leave her mother’s bedside to give way to her tears.
Morag, with her gentle nature, wonderful sense of humour and, most of all, her compassion; so like her own mother – if Sally were truthful, even if only to herself, there was a part of her that was glad Morag took care of her mother when she was unable to do so, for, there was nobody else she would have trusted to do it.
It was so easy now to see how her father would have been instantly beguiled by her friend, and Sally realised now that she wasn’t betraying her mother’s memory by thinking this way. Her father had found comfort in Morag’s company and that comfort had eventually led to love – for both of them. With hindsight, Sally could see it now. Life was too short and too precious to live with regret.
Her father was not the kind of man who could have his head turned by any young flibbertigibbet who came his way – he truly loved her mother, of that Sally had no doubt – but neither was he the kind of man who was strong enough to live alone or wallow in grief. He celebrated her mother’s life in everything he did. Morag had been his strength when Sally had been so defeated by grief and absolutely useless, emotionally and substantially, to her father. So who better to fill her mother’s shoes and – yes – her bed? Sally knew that, at the time, she would have thought nobody was good enough to take her mother’s place – absolutely nobody.
Yet, thinking of it now, she knew that Morag would never have had any intentions of becoming a substitute for her own mother. The thought of it still brought on a small shudder of distress, but now she had to put the feeling to one side, because she had to move on, for Alice’s sake as well as for her own wellbeing. Harbouring such toxic thoughts as she had done in the past was not healthy. It had been wrong to foster bitterness and a single-minded refusal to see anybody’s point of view, except her own.
‘Ah, Sister, there you are.’
Sally turned suddenly to see a young, floppy-haired doctor approaching, wearing what looked like a brand-new stethoscope and a wide grin, his white coat-tails flying as he walked.
Sally’s freshly starched apron rustled as she turned to see the object of the young nurses’ affection. One of the trainees gaped in the doctor’s direction and said quickly, her face taking on a pink tinge as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t, ‘I’m sorry, Sister, I didn’t see you standing there. Did you want us for something?’
‘No, Nurse,’ Sally said in her usual calm manner. ‘You carry on.’
‘Carry on, Nurse, you are doing a sterling job,’ Dr Parsley said enthusiastically, undermining Sally’s authority, for which she gave him a withering look. This was the young doctor who, according to the probationers, was a bit of a lady’s man and, according to Matron, was a pain in the rear.
‘How lovely to meet you, Sister,’ Dr Parsley said, holding his hand in front of him, which Sally pointedly ignored. ‘And may I say how beautiful you look in that disapproving grimace.’
‘Indeed.’ Sally’s nonplussed demeanour was fully witnessed by the probationers, whom, she suspected, Dr Alex Parsley was trying to impress. ‘This way,’ Sally said, walking into the sluice room. ‘Nurse, show Dr Parsley where he can put his preposterous observations.’ Sally knew that once they took their Hippocratic oath these newly qualified doctors left their common sense at the door.
‘Oh, Sister, would you be a pet and see if there are any rooms to let hereabouts?’
‘Did your last slave die of exhaustion, Dr Parsley?’ Sally asked with an air of disdain as she left the young doctor in the care of the salivating nurses. She had no intention whatsoever of finding the young upstart a room.
Sally knew what she had to do. She had left making the journey far too long, and the time had come to visit her home city. Her mind was made up. The only problem was she wanted to go right now, but she wouldn’t be able to have leave until well after Christmas, maybe even after spring.
‘Ah, Sister, so glad to have caught up with you,’ said one of the older and much more experienced doctors. ‘There is a gentleman in bed five who has been asking for you in his sleep – his name is—’
‘I know who it is, thank you, Doctor.’ Sally could feel the hot colour rise to her throat and cheeks; Callum was calling her name in his sleep.
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