Pattern of Shadows (13 page)

‘What did Tom say about me and Patrick getting married?’ The sterilizing room wasn’t hot but Jean was sweating as she stood at the sink scrubbing the dissection forceps. .

‘Leave those,’ Mary said. ‘Have a rest. I’ll do them in a minute.’

‘No, you’ve got enough to do and I want to get these finished before we go on our break. Go on, tell me what Tom said.’ Jean rinsed the instruments under running cold water.

‘He was pleased for you, said he always knew you were sweet on Patrick.’ Mary pulled the towel off the rail.

‘Was I that obvious?’ Jean laughed, placing the forceps
into the sterilizer.

‘Of course you were,’ Mary grinned, ‘but not to Patrick, so that’s OK.’ She dried her hands.

In fact Tom was worried. Despite her occasional brusqueness, Mary knew he liked her friend who’d always been pleasant with him even after knowing he was a CO.

‘Has she seen his nasty side yet?’ he said.

Mary lowered her voice. ‘Doubt it but I think she’ll be able to handle him. Anyway, it’s a bit late for that now. She’s almost four months.’

‘Do they know at the hospital yet?’

‘No, Jean says she always knew there’d be a perk to being plump.’ Mary gave him a small grin. ‘She’s not really showing yet. She’s hoping she’ll be able to carry on working until after they’re married.’

‘Well, he should be able to keep them anyway with all his contacts.’

Mary pulled a face. ‘You’re right.’ She directed a look at Iori and Gwyneth. ‘Has Iori been in the wars again?’ she whispered. His left eye was closed and there was a large lump on his forehead.

Tom’s face closed. ‘Bastards,’ was all he said.

Mary knew him enough to leave it at that. She went back to talking about Jean and Patrick’s wedding. ‘It’s all planned … courtesy of Jean’s mother.’

‘Do they know at home?’

‘Mam does now. Dad’s too busy with his Home Guard to see beyond the end of his nose.’

‘Has he been behaving?’

‘Yes. He avoids me though.’ She spread her fingers on the scored surface of the table. ‘Suits me down to the ground.’

‘Be careful, Mary. He’ll go mad.’ Mary flinched at his words. ‘Or at the least he’ll have a good rant when he does find out and you can bet, if he can’t get at Patrick, he’ll take it out on Mam or you.’

‘Well it won’t be Ellen, that’s for sure.’ Her voice was grim.

‘How are things between the two of you?’

‘We don’t talk much these days. She’s still holding a grudge because of what Frank and I did that day she got drunk.’

‘What’s happening with you and him?’

‘Frank? I haven’t seen him lately.’ She traced one of the scratches with her nail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him studying her but didn’t look up.

Tom breathed in and leant back in his chair. He ran the palms of his large hands along the edge of the table. ‘I had a letter from Ellen,’ he said.

‘Really? Well, that must be a first.’ Mary felt a twinge of resentment

‘Um, she feels bad about Ted. I wrote and told her there’s nothing she can do now. Did you know she goes to see his mother a lot?’

‘I knew she went sometimes.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well if it makes her feel better …’

Later, walking towards the railway station, Mary wondered if anyone else had notice how close Tom and Iori were sitting, how they looked at each other. She didn’t care – it was good that Tom had someone in that place – but she prayed they would be careful.

Mary was conscious she was frowning; she draped the
towel over the rail.

‘Mary? I said is there anything else to go in?’

‘No.’ Mary checked the work surfaces. ‘No, that’s the lot. We’ll have our break now. They’ll be ready to be dried when we get back.’

‘Great, we’ll be able to catch up on all the gossip. It seems ages since we had a proper natter.’ They hadn’t spent much time together since that night at the Palais.

Mary signalled to the nurse sitting at the ward desk. ‘Five minutes? I’m in the rest room if the doctor wants to start his rounds before I get back.’ The woman nodded.

‘I’ll get the boiler going,’ Jean said. They crossed the corridor to the rest room. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ Jean was still rubbing the base of her spine. ‘I want you to be my witness when we get married.’

‘Me?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want anybody else, would I?’

‘I’d love to.’ Mary hugged her, feeling Jean stiffen. ‘You OK?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You look all hot and bothered.’ She held her at arms’ length. ‘So sit down while I make the tea.’

Jean unfolded the card table propped up against the wall and dragged two chairs up to it. She squeezed past Mary and sat down. ‘I could do with a rest,’ she admitted. ‘I’m tired today.’

‘Well, take it easy.’ Mary opened the cupboard on the wall and searched the shelves. ‘Who’s Patrick asking to be his witness.’

‘One of his union mates, Jack Radcliffe?’

‘Nope, don’t know him,’ Mary said. ‘Mind you; I don’t know many of his friends these days.’

‘He seems all right. I’ve seen him once or twice.’

‘Good.’ Mary brought out two cups. She kept her voice offhand. ‘Will Frank be there?’

‘Not if I’ve anything to do with it.’ Jean scowled. ‘Have you seen him since that night?’

‘No, I’m avoiding him; the extra night shifts have been useful.’ Mary opened a container of dried milk with her name on it and shook it. ‘Do you know, this is nearly empty again,’ she said. ‘I swear someone’s dipping in.’ She rattled the spoon around and broke up a few lumps of the powder in the bottom of the box. ‘His brother, George, collared me the other day though.’ She kept her voice neutral. ‘He told me Frank had some kind of breakdown after Dunkirk.’

‘Did you believe him?’ Jean shifted in her chair.

‘Well, it answers a lot of questions, doesn’t it?’

‘Perhaps.’ Jean spoke in short breaths.

The boiler hissed and spat steam. Mary rinsed the cups in the rush of water from the tap. ‘These cups never seem clean.’ She spoke over the noise. ‘I’m not sure he’d listen to what I have to say anyway. It’s over.’ She startled herself by actually saying the words out loud. The boiler automatically stopped and Mary shut off the tap. In the silence that followed she heard the gasp and whirled round. ‘Jean?’

She was clutching the edge of the table, her eyes closed. ‘Pain … a pain …’ Jean’s skin was sickly yellow. She slumped sideways.

Mary dropped the cups and lunged, catching Jean before she fell. Grabbing the towel she put it under Jean’s head and lowered her to the floor. ‘I’ll get Matron.’

‘No.’ Jean grabbed her hand. ‘No, you can’t, she’ll see
… she’ll know. I’ll get the sack.’ She drew her knees up and rocked, taking deep gulps of air. ‘I’ll be …’

Mary flung the door open. Across the corridor Peter was talking to Matron in her office. ‘Doctor! Matron!’

He was on his feet before Matron looked up.

‘It’s Jean, Nurse Winterbottom. I think she’s losing her baby.’

‘What?’ Matron stood up, holding on to her desk. ‘What are you saying, Sister?’

Mary ignored her. ‘Doctor?’

The doctor bent over Jean and gently lifted her.

Matron’s lips were compressed so tightly there was a white line around them, but after a perfunctory glare the scene she recovered her composure and took over. ‘This way, Doctor Schormann, this one.’ She led the way to an empty side ward.

Peter pushed past her and lay Jean on to the bed. She curled up, sweat beading her top lip with each spasm of pain.

‘I’ll get some clean sheets. You stay with her, Sister, I’ll get cover for your ward.’ Matron hesitated at the door. ‘I will only be a moment, Doctor Schormann.’

It was as though he hadn’t heard her. He talked to Jean. ‘You will be fine, Nurse …?’

He looked up at Mary.

‘Jean,’ Mary said, ‘it’s Jean.’ She held her friend’s hand. ‘She’s about seventeen weeks now.’

‘Thank you.’ He bent over the girl, his hand on her shoulder. ‘Jean, listen to me.’

She jerked her head from side to side. ‘It hurts.’ She began a high keening wail, her pale face now bathed in sweat.

‘I know it does … listen, please … I need to see …
Ich werde sanft sein
… I will be gentle,
ja
?’ He signalled to Mary. ‘Sister, her clothes?’

Mary worked from the other side of the bed, unbuttoning the neck of her uniform. He talked as he washed his hands with Dettol solution. ‘We lift her legs,’ he said. ‘Put the pillows under,
ja
?’ He looked at Mary.
‘Ja
?’

‘Yes.’ Mary pushed the skirt of Jean’s uniform as far as her waist and eased her camiknickers down her legs.

Jean made a small noise of protest.

‘No time for modesty, love,’ Mary said. ‘Like the doctor says, we need to see what’s happening.’ She caught his eye. ‘Ready,’ she said.

He made a slight movement with his head and went to stand at the other side of the bed. ‘OK now, Jean, we will move you. We will be gentle,’ he said again. Mary waited until he threaded his arm under Jean’s knees and elevated them before pushing the pillows under Jean’s thighs. Her fingers touched the back of his hand. She froze, unable to prevent the sharp catch in her breath, and darted a look at him. His eyelids flickered; she knew he’d felt it too.

Then she saw the dark red blood seeped from under Jean’s thighs and on to the white cover and the moment passed.

‘We need to stop the bleeding,’ he said. ‘Jean, take the long breaths, try to relax.’

‘No.’ She arched her back and gave one long scream.

‘Oh my God,’ Mary whispered. The flow of blood increased mixed with large clots of tissue and then a small creamy coloured sac of membrane. ‘Oh my God.’

Matron reappeared carrying an armful of sheets and
towels. ‘Doctor?’

He shook his head.

‘I need to get back on the ward, it’s chaos out there.’ Matron thrust the bundle at Mary and left, closing the door behind her.

Always careful to cover up scandal, Mary thought bitterly. She slid a towel under Jean’s thighs and went to the washbasin to fill a bowl with warm water. She felt Peter’s hand briefly on her shoulder before he turned back to Jean.

‘No!’ Jean cried, tilting her head to look at Mary. ‘No,’ she said softly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mary whispered. She put the bowl down and dropped to her knees by the side of the bed, pressing her cheek against her friend’s.

Jean turned away.

‘I’m sorry, Patrick.’ Jean’s voice was husky, her eyelids swollen. She plucked at the eiderdown.

Mary touched Patrick’s arm. ‘I’ll be downstairs.’

Patrick’s eyes told her nothing. He stroked Jean’s cheek. ‘Hush. It’ll be OK.’

‘We don’t have to get married now. We don’t. I don’t want you to feel you have to.’

‘I don’t want to hear any more of that rubbish. We’ll just alter the date with that Registrar. You’ve just got to get back on your feet.’

Mary hesitated, hearing the anguish in his voice. Reluctant to leave, she waited, willing Jean to say
something. The bedroom window was open, but no fresh air moved the closed curtains. Dust motes floated in the chink of sunlight on the ceiling. A bus passed the end of the street and changed gears noisily. Mary could hear Mrs Winterbottom sweeping the pavement outside the house, banging the brush head hard against the front step. Jean started to cry, loud gasping sobs. Mary closed the door, pinching the bridge of her nose; she was weary. The guilt she felt for the quarrel between them the week before Jean lost the baby had haunted her for the last two days.

When Patrick came downstairs, she and Jean’s mother were sitting in the kitchen with the back door open. His eyes were red. Mary lifted a hand towards him and then, when he ignored her, let it drop. ‘We’re still getting wed,’ he said.

Jean’s mother covered her face with her hands. ‘Thank you, Patrick,’ she said. ‘Oh thank you.’

Mary was in her bedroom when the back door opened. Running down the stairs, her uniform over her arm, she called out, ‘Mam?’

It wasn’t her mother, it was Frank, sitting in her father’s armchair, feet up on the fender in front of the fireplace. Not taking his eyes off her, he finished his cigarette and standing up, threw it onto the bare grate. ‘Thought I’d just drop in,’ he said, ‘seeing as how we’ve not seen much of one another lately; more than made up for it now though.’ He smiled, slowly looking her up and down.

Mary could feel the heat rise from her neck. ‘What are
you doing here, Frank? I’m due at the hospital in an hour.’ She held her dress in front of her.

‘Plenty of time then, more than enough for a … chat.’ Frank crossed the kitchen, pulled her uniform out of her hands and dropped it on one of the chairs round the table. He leant over her, his hand moving from her buttock to her thigh, his fingers tracing the top of her stocking through the thin material of her petticoat.

Mary could smell the beer on him. She pushed both hands against his chest. ‘Stop it Frank.’ Panic made her voice shake. ‘I don’t want …’

He shoved her away. ‘Always you; always what you want.’ He leant against the fireplace, chewing on his thumbnail.

‘I’d like you to get out. Now!’

‘Not yet. Not ’til I know where I stand with you.’

‘I told you. I told your brother. Look, I don’t know how else to say it.’ She picked up her uniform, her hands shaking. ‘We can’t … I can’t … I can’t think about anything else but my job at the moment.’

‘Your job! Nursing bloody Huns?’ Frank hit the mantelpiece with the flat of his hand. Mary moved to the other side of the table. ‘There were no bloody German nurses to look after us in Arras. I was in agony and there was no bloody nurse to mollycoddle me.’ He slapped his palm down again.

‘Stop it, Frank. What I do … the nursing … is important to me. I’m needed and I trained hard for years.’ Mary fastened the buttons down the front of her dress and picked up the clips that had fallen out of her hair onto the floor. Pinning them into place she said, ‘While this war continues I want to do my bit. It’s the only thing I can
think of at the moment.’ She held on to the back of one of the kitchen chair. ‘Surely you understand that?’

‘Understand? The only bloody thing I understand is that you’re just the same as that sodding Conchie brother of yours. It’s about time you decided what side you’re on in this bloody war; ours or the bloody Jerries.’

‘Get out.’

He took a step towards her.

‘Get out.’

‘You’ll not get rid of me that easy.’ He pointed his finger at her. ‘You’ll not.’ He made a strange choking sound before turning from her and almost running across the kitchen. When he slammed the door behind him, it bounced back from the doorframe and hit the wall. The mirror fell from its hook on to the linoleum and smashed.