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‘Lie back and rest. I’m going to clean you up and make you comfortable, and then we’ll have the doctor as soon as it’s light.’
‘I can get up and go myself …’
‘You will stay where you are and do as you’re told.’ Michelle fixed him with her best Staff Nurse look. ‘You owe it to Mum and the boys to get better – and the only way that will happen is bed rest in a sanatorium. I shan’t listen to you, Dad, so you may as well listen to me. This attack was sent as a warning. Do as you’re told, and you’ll live to see the boys leave school – both of them.’
The faintest flicker of a smile passed across his mouth, but he was too weak to do more than press her hand. Michelle’s mother came back with the bowl of water and together they changed his shirt and Michelle washed away the blood, tucking him under a clean sheet.
‘Shall I bring him a cup of tea?’ her mother asked. Michelle hesitated, and then shook her head.
‘Only a few sips of water until the doctor has been. I think he’ll sleep now.’
‘Yes, he looks more peaceful,’ her mother said. ‘I was so frightened, Michelle – I don’t know what we’ll do if—’
‘Hush …’ Michelle led her from the room. ‘It’s too soon to think that way, Mum. This has been coming on for a while now. It probably looks worse than it is … let’s wait until the doctor tells us what he thinks; it might not be as bad as we fear.’
‘Well, Miss Morris,’ the doctor said as he finished examining his patient later that morning. ‘You were quite right to call me. I know you think your father has TB, but I’m not too certain of that. We shall do some tests and they will give us a better idea. In the meantime, keep him warm in bed; give him milky drinks and soft foods – nothing spicy for a while at least. It may be ulcers – they cause pain, but a severe attack like this is rare; we’re not sure what causes ulcers in the first place, but bad eating habits can aggravate them in certain patients.’
He was an attractive man with a pleasant smile and a way of looking at you that was appealing. Michelle had been surprised at how young and enthusiastic he was. The doctor they usually saw was much older and set in his ways; this man was bound to have new ideas and theories of his own. Perhaps they’d all been wrong to jump to conclusions, but TB was prevalent in the poorer districts and she knew both her father and mother feared it. Dr Kent was new to the area; he hadn’t been here long enough to understand how many people suffered from bad conditions and poor diets. Yet she would give him the benefit of the doubt and pray that he was right.
‘Bert likes spicy foods,’ Mrs Morris said as they stood at the top of the stairs after leaving the patient to rest. He’d been given something to help him sleep, as he was restless and kept trying to get out of bed. ‘He had some food last night at the pub. It smelled awful to me, and tasted very hot, but Bert has always liked those kinds of foods.’
‘Yes, and that makes me think it may be ulcers, Mrs Morris, rather than TB. I know he’s had a bad cough for a long time, because your daughter told me so and she’s a good nurse – but the blood he coughed up may have been caused by ulcers rather than tuberculosis.’
Mrs Morris looked at him uncertainly. ‘Is that better or worse news, Doctor?’
‘Better – providing you can keep him off greasy foods. Vinegary things are often as bad – so from here on it’ll be rice pudding, jelly, blancmange and soft mashed potato with mince and gravy or boiled fish rather than the things he likes, Mrs Morris. However, he may have to go into hospital for tests. They will sort him out and, if I’m right, he’ll have a good chance of getting over it.’
While Michelle nipped back into the bedroom to make sure that her father was resting, Mrs Morris went downstairs to see the doctor off. When she returned, her eyes were wet with tears.
‘Thank you for stopping until the doctor came,’ she said. ‘You should get off now, Michelle. You don’t want to be late for work.’
‘It’s all right, Mum, I’m on the early evening shift today. I rang and swopped with Paula; she didn’t mind; it means she can go out with her boyfriend this evening.’
‘Oh, then let’s have a cuppa,’ her mother said and looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you think Dr Kent is right – that your father’s cough is bronchitis and the blood was due to ulcers?’
‘I don’t know, Mum. Dad’s been losing a bit of weight recently and together with the cough I thought it might be TB. Did you know he was having stomach pains?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Well, if it is ulcers he won’t like rice pudding and mashed potatoes for his tea. Your dad loves a fry-up or roast beef, and those’ll be on the forbidden list.’
‘If it is ulcers, he’ll have to be sensible and learn to stay away from the foods that upset him.’
‘Well, I’m glad it happened now; it may bring him to his senses. I’ve been telling him to have that cough seen to but he wouldn’t go to the doctor.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t know this doctor, Michelle. Is he new to the practice?’
‘Yes, I think so. We use old Dr Simpson’s practice for the children at St Saviour’s sometimes, but I haven’t seen Dr Kent before.’ She’d thought him attractive, in a cool, remote sort of way; his hair was dark ash blond and his skin fair and his eyes a sort of greenish brown, or what some people called hazel.
‘Well, he seems nice and efficient, though he doesn’t smile much,’ Mrs Morris said. ‘I must admit I was terrified when your father brought up that blood. If you hadn’t been here, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.’
‘Well, I was here.’ Michelle squeezed her mother’s arm. ‘You’ve got to stop worrying and look after yourself, Mum. I’ve noticed how tired you’ve been lately and I think you do too much.’
‘I’ve been worrying about your father. I dread the winter for him and keep thinking it’s time he found himself a job inside somewhere – but he says there aren’t enough jobs going – and we do need more money. At times we’ve hardly enough for the rent, let alone the coal and our food. I wish your dad could get a steady job, something reliable.’
Michelle looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If there was a different sort of job going – slow steady work – do you think Dad would take it?’
‘Give him a chance! What are you thinking of?’
‘I can’t say too much yet; I need to talk to someone first – but leave it with me …’
‘Can I talk to you, Angela?’ Michelle hovered hesitantly in the doorway of Angela’s office. ‘I wanted to ask something – it’s personal.’
‘Of course, come in,’ Angela said and smiled, indicating that she should sit in the chair opposite.
‘It’s a bit awkward,’ Michelle said, feeling almost afraid to ask, now she was here. ‘My father was ill this morning. I had the doctor in and he thinks he may have ulcers in his stomach – and his cough gets worse every winter … and Mum and me, we thought it was time he did an indoor job. Well, indoors more than out – and I heard that the caretaker here was leaving so he could live near his daughter in the country, and wondered if, when he goes …’
‘You would like your father to be caretaker here?’ Angela looked thoughtful. ‘Our present caretaker is planning to stay on until a few weeks before Christmas. Do you think your father will be sufficiently recovered by then?’
‘Yes, if has treatment for his problem he should be feeling better by then,’ Michelle said, her cheeks warm. It was much harder to ask for a favour than she’d imagined. ‘I was hoping he might be considered.’
‘I can promise you he will be considered if he applies,’ Angela said. ‘I’m only one of several people concerned in appointing a new caretaker, Michelle. It would have to go to the Board. I couldn’t tell you now that he would get the position, but I’m sure that his application would be given every attention.’
‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted – just that he could be given a chance. So many men don’t even get an answer to their applications for work these days.’
‘Yes, I do understand …’ Angela hesitated, and then seemed to make up her mind. She looked in her drawer and took out her notepad. ‘What is your father’s current job, and what work has he done in the past?’
‘He was a crane driver for years, a skilled man,’ Michelle said. ‘He used to load and unload cargoes but then the war started and he was in the army for a while, until they invalided him out in ’43. When he came back he had a weak chest; the doctor said it was bronchitis, but it has been worse recently – and he’s been working as a casual worker on the docks for a long time, doing anything he can really.’
‘Do you think he could put up shelves and mend broken windows – things like that?’ Angela asked. ‘It would involve some outside work I suppose, but our caretaker has to look after the garden and the boiler in the cellar …’
‘I think it would be better than what he does now – and it would be regular.’
‘Well, I’ll see what I can do – but I can’t promise anything. You know I can only give my opinion if asked – so perhaps your father would call in one day and have a chat when he’s feeling well again.’
‘Thank you,’ Michelle said, her eyes pricking with sudden tears. ‘You didn’t mind my asking about the post of caretaker here?’
‘Not at all; I’ve been given the task of finding someone suitable and if your father was willing to try, I dare say he might suit us. You are one of our best nurses, so he comes with a good recommendation … but it would have to go to the Board before it could be confirmed.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you …’
‘Let’s see what happens first. We haven’t actually had any other applicants yet, though I’m sure we shall. And your father might not wish to take up the position; it isn’t a great deal of money for a skilled man.’
‘Mum is more interested in Dad’s health than money,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m sure she would manage, even if she did a part time job to help out herself.’
‘Then ask Mr Morris to come and see me here when he feels up to it,’ Angela said. ‘And now I’d better not keep you; I’m sure you’ll be needed elsewhere.’
‘Yes, I shall,’ Michelle said, glancing at the watch pinned to her uniform. ‘I mustn’t be late. Thank you so much!’
‘I haven’t done anything yet.’
Michelle nodded, but she was feeling excited as she left the office. If her father truly had ulcers and bronchitis, then a caretaker’s job could be exactly what he needed …
FIVE (#u73c8b4c7-7420-526f-9071-074ab27a3f8f)
‘Hello, I’m Mary Ellen, and you’re Samantha, aren’t you?’ The girl in the sick ward bed stared at Mary Ellen warily as she approached. ‘Miss Angela asked me to come and see you. She says we’re going to be sharing a dorm in the new wing soon, and she wanted us to make friends.’ She sat on the edge of the girl’s bed. ‘It’s lovely over there, all fresh and new, and the dorms aren’t too big. There will be four of us. Marion, you, your sister Sarah, and me …’ Mary Ellen glanced across at Sarah in the next bed, who sat staring at them, her eyes wide and her thumb in her mouth. ‘Hello, Sarah. I think you will like it here; it’s much nicer in the dorms. Me and Marion go to school with Billy Baggins, he’s a bit older and good at football and running. Once you’re up and about, you’ll have fun here; we do all sorts of things …’
‘Mary Ellen … have fun,’ Sarah repeated, smiling and nodding.
‘Sarah isn’t well yet,’ Samantha said protectively. ‘She doesn’t talk much but she knows everything we say – so don’t think she’s daft!’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Mary Ellen said, puzzled by Samantha’s hostility. ‘Sarah is very pretty. I wish I had hair her colour.’
‘We’re twins,’ Samantha said, the stiffness easing out of her. ‘I thought I could look out for us both after Pa … but I couldn’t find enough food to eat. I tried to sell what we had left but the man cheated me and would only give me five shillings for all of it …’
‘What man?’ Mary Ellen asked.
‘Alf, from the scrapyard. I know it was worth more, perhaps two or three pounds, but all he paid me was five bob and he threatened to tell the police I’d stolen it if I didn’t leave it with him.’
‘Even two pounds wouldn’t have lasted long,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Don’t you have anyone you could live with?’
Samantha shook her head, but Sarah took her thumb from her mouth and said, ‘Aunt Jane won’t have Sarah. She says Sarah idiot girl – Pa gone away …’
‘Sarah – don’t, love,’ Samantha said, looking at her sadly before turning back to Mary Ellen. ‘I didn’t want to live with Aunt Jane. She’s not kind – and she hates Sarah.’
‘She sounds horrid,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘But you’ll be all right here. It seems strange at first, but Nan is nice and so are the nurses, and Miss Angela. Sister Beatrice is a bit fierce, but she’s not bad really. And we have good things to eat …’
‘Why are you here?’
‘My father died and then my mother got ill. She was unwell for ages, then my sister Rose went off to train as a nurse and we didn’t have any money. Ma wouldn’t tell Rose she was worse and we were so hungry sometimes – and then she got really ill and they put her in hospital, but she died last Christmas. My sister couldn’t look after me – so that’s why I live here; I haven’t got anywhere else until Rose finds us a place to live. She’s always busy and sometimes I think she never will find us a new house.’
‘Pa not come back,’ Sarah said. She reached under her pillow and took out two pieces of what looked like rubbish to Mary Ellen, and then she saw it was a broken clay pipe with a long handle. Sarah held it to her cheek, crooning to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘Pa not love Sarah … Child of Satan …’
‘What did she say?’ Mary Ellen was shocked.
‘Our father called her that for breaking his favourite pipe. Sarah didn’t mean to upset him, she loves Pa, but he doesn’t care about us. He thinks she’s too slow and clumsy, and he beat her until I made him stop.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I threw the pee in my chamber pot over him,’ Samantha said simply.
Mary Ellen stared at her in awe for a moment and then erupted into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, that’s so funny,’ she said. ‘You’re brave, like Marion. When a burglar tried to steal our Christmas food she hit him with her crutch and then Angela came and fought him, and he tripped over and hit his head – and then Sister Beatrice came and stood over him with the rolling pin until Alice came and took over from her. She looked so fierce I laughed and so did Billy, even though the burglar was his brother Arthur!’
Samantha sat forward, suddenly showing signs of interest as Mary Ellen recounted the story of how Billy’s brother had planned to eat their special food and then set fire to the home.
‘What happened to him?’ Samantha asked, a gleam in her eyes.
‘Billy heard he’d been sentenced to ten years in prison. He was a thief and he tried to make Billy help him, but Billy didn’t want to so he came back here and hid. That’s why Arthur was intent on burning us all in our beds, ’cept he can’t now, ’cos he’s locked up in choky.’
‘So you were heroes and saved the day,’ Samantha said. She paused for a moment, then asked, ‘What happens here – is it like prison?’
Mary Ellen shook her head. ‘I asked Billy that when I heard my sister Rose saying I would have to come here when Mum was ill. No, it’s OK, even though it’s not like being in your own home. Sister Beatrice is stern and gets cross if you’re naughty and break the rules, but she’s all right underneath. She has to be strict, see. She’s in charge of us and gets into trouble if we do bad things.’
Samantha looked solemn. ‘It was easy at school when we were younger. I sat next to Sarah and explained the lessons and writing to her, but we got told off for talking – and then they separated us. Sarah was taken to a class for younger children and they didn’t bother to teach her anything, but she can learn – if you tell her enough times she will remember.’
Sarah’s eyes wore a glazed look, as if she were lost in her crooning. She’d stopped listening to them, and was fondling her father’s broken pipe, her cheeks streaked with tears.
‘You should tell Nancy about her. She’s younger but works with the carers. She’ll help Sarah with reading and puzzles once you’re settled in. She reads to the little ones, but Sarah could join them in the mornings rather than go to school with us.’
‘Perhaps … but they might send her to a special school. It’s what Pa was saying last year, but it didn’t happen; there wasn’t a spare place for her. My aunt wanted to put her in a mental institution for daft people and that’s why we ran away. If they try to do that to my Sarah, we’ll run away again.’
‘You ought to tell Miss Angela what you’ve told me,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t let them send her away if you asked her not to.’
‘No, I shan’t tell them,’ Samantha said fiercely. ‘Promise me you won’t tell either, Mary Ellen. Cross your heart and hope to die if you betray us.’
‘I shan’t tell anyone,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I think Sister would let you stay if she could, but it might not be up to her …’ She broke off as the door opened and someone came in. It was Nurse Wendy and Mary Ellen wished she could share the secret with her, but she’d promised she wouldn’t on pain of death and that was a solemn oath.
‘Ah, here you are, Mary Ellen,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m glad you’ve been making friends with Samantha and Sarah, as you are all moving into the new dorm tomorrow. This afternoon, one of us will be helping you and Marion to pack your things. Samantha and Sarah, you’re both perfectly healthy and will go to your dorm straight from here. You’ll find your clothes and things waiting in the dorm, but I’ll bring you your school clothes. You’ll wear a skirt and blouse like Mary Ellen’s …’
‘What happened to our clothes?’ Samantha asked, reverting to her hostile manner.
‘They’ve been washed and you will find them in your locker with the new undies and nightdresses you’ve been given. Everyone has to wear school clothes unless you go out with a relative for a special treat.’
‘We haven’t got any relatives,’ Samantha said.
Mary Ellen frowned over the fib but didn’t contradict her. Her new friends had both an aunt and a father, even though one of them didn’t want Sarah and the other had deserted them – but it was up to Samantha to share her story when she was ready. Mary Ellen wouldn’t tell. Nothing would make her …
‘They were talking easily when I went in,’ Wendy told Angela later that day when they sat together in the staff room, ‘but Samantha clammed up as soon as she saw me. I’m sure Mary Ellen knows a lot more about them than we do, but you know how loyal she is. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of her unless she thought it would save their lives.’
‘We can’t force her to tell us and I shan’t try,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll have to wait until the twins feel they can trust us … Is Sarah still clinging to that dirty old pipe?’
‘Yes. She hid it as soon as she saw me, but I knew what it was. I’ve seen her holding it to her cheek and singing. Tears slip down her cheeks but she doesn’t say anything – merely parrots whatever Samantha says if she has to answer.’
‘She may simply be slow. Sarah is a sweet, loving child and Samantha is protective of her. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘As they’re both girls, there’s no bother about them staying together. Perhaps Sarah will have more to say when she feels comfortable with us.’
‘Well, they may not be here long; you see, they have an aunt who may be willing to take them.’
‘Oh, well perhaps that’s best,’ Wendy agreed. ‘I’d better get back to the ward. I left Jean to give the children their drinks, but she’s due a break soon.’
She met Tilly as she was on her way to the kitchen and greeted her with a friendly smile, but though the girl smiled back, she walked on without speaking. Wendy hadn’t got to know her yet. Sometimes Tilly would join in a conversation, but more often she was quiet and wary of saying much. Wendy thought there was something sad about her …
Wendy had known enough sadness of her own. The only man she’d ever loved had died in the war, as had so many others – and then Wendy’s mother had died of cancer. She’d spent months nursing her and afterwards she’d wanted a change from general nursing, so this job had been a godsend. Wendy loved her job here and, although it couldn’t fill the empty space inside her that the deaths of her loved ones had left, several of the children had already found their way into her heart …
SIX (#ulink_c7566410-80d8-5301-b1a2-2fe729183302)
Angela filed away her reports and stretched her shoulders. She really wished that she was going somewhere nice that evening instead of a charity meeting. Her evening out with Mark had ended so abruptly; they’d hardly had time to have a drink before he was rushing off to see his patient.
‘I wouldn’t go, but Alan Royston is a friend,’ Mark had told her. ‘I told them to call me if there were complications during the operation – it’s always risky, trying to remove a tumour on the brain. No matter how skilled the surgeon, it could go either way.’
‘I understand, Mark,’ Angela had said, swallowing her disappointment. ‘You must go to your friend. If anything should happen you would never forgive yourself.’
