The Nightingale Nurses (34 page)

Helen tried on the dress. It could have been made for her, it fitted her so perfectly. And with her dark hair styled in soft waves around her face, even she had to admit she looked beautiful.

‘Well?’ Brenda asked. ‘Will it do?’

‘It’s perfect.’ Helen turned to her. ‘I don’t know how to thank you . . .’ She was so choked she could barely say the words.

‘There’s no need.’ Brenda looked down at the floor, embarrassed. ‘It’s the least I could do. I just wish I could be there to see you get married.’

‘Oh!’ Helen felt herself flushing. ‘Well, you’re welcome to come. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you earlier, but I didn’t think you’d want to.’

‘It’s all right.’ Brenda waved away her apology. ‘I’m due back on the ward in a minute. Sister will go mad if I’m late!’ She reached out and grasped Helen’s hand briefly. ‘I hope it goes well for you, I really do.’ She looked away, but not before Helen saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

She stared back at her reflection in the mirror. There were tears in her own eyes, too, blurring the vision of herself in her elegant dress.

‘Now then, don’t you dare start crying!’ Dora stepped in bossily. ‘This is meant to be the happiest day of your life, remember?’

‘Besides, you’ll ruin that make-up and we’ll have to start all over again!’ Amy Hollins added.

‘It
is
the happiest day of my life,’ Helen said. ‘I just can’t believe everyone has been so kind.’

‘That’s because you’re our friend,’ Millie said. She flapped her hand in front of her face to dry her own tears. ‘Now come on, William will be waiting for you outside. And I daresay Sister Sutton will be standing guard, making sure he doesn’t step over the threshold.’

‘As if that ever kept him out!’ Dora added, and they all laughed.

There was no sign of the Home Sister for once, but William still stood outside, looking as nervous as a groom himself in his smart suit.

‘I didn’t like to come in, just in case Sister Sutton was lurking around and—’ He stopped talking abruptly when he saw Helen.

‘Well?’ she said, suddenly shy. ‘Will I do?’

‘I should say.’ William’s mouth trembled, and she could see he was fighting to keep control of his emotions. He proffered his arm. ‘Shall we go?’ he said softly.

As they crossed the courtyard, Helen could feel all eyes on them. Patients and nurses stood watching them from every window. Some patients had even been wheeled out into the courtyard to see them pass. Helen kept her gaze fixed on the cobbles, too self-conscious to look around.

‘I’m not used to being the centre of attention,’ she murmured.

William gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘You deserve it. It’s about time everyone noticed how beautiful you are.’

‘Is that really my brother talking?’ she laughed.

‘Your very proud brother.’

‘And what about my mother? Is she proud too?’ She glanced up at her brother’s profile, and saw his smile slip a fraction. ‘Too proud to be here, I imagine? It’s all right, you don’t have to answer that,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really expect her to come.’

‘It’s her loss,’ William said firmly.

Helen fixed her eyes on the chapel doors. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is. It’s just a shame our side of the church will be rather empty, though,’ she sighed. ‘Still, I daresay Charlie’s family will be able to spread out a bit.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that.’

Helen caught the glance that passed between her brother and her bridesmaids. ‘What?’ she frowned. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

Dora grinned. ‘You’ll see. It’s another surprise.’

Two porters in brown overalls were standing outside the chapel. As she approached, they swung open the doors for her and Helen heard the rousing sound of the ‘Wedding March’ played on the piano.

‘Sister Blake’s idea,’ William whispered. ‘She said you can’t have a wedding without music.’

But Helen wasn’t listening. She was staring around the tiny chapel, which was festooned with flowers.

‘That was Sister Sutton,’ Millie chimed in. ‘She picked them from the garden herself.’

Charlie’s family sat on one side of the chapel, his mother, father, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, all smartly dressed, crowded into the narrow pews. On the other side the pews were filled with uniforms. Nurses, sisters, porters, even the cooks were there. Matron sat at the front, resplendent in her black dress and snowy white bonnet. Beside her sat Miss Hanley the Assistant Matron, the Night Sister Miss Tanner, Sister Sutton and Sister Parker.

‘Anyone who could get the time off has come to wish you well,’ William whispered.

Helen caught Amy Hollins’ eye. She was standing at the back, with a few other girls from her set, all smiling at her.

And there was Charlie, waiting for her at the tiny altar with her father and his best man. He turned, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He was in a wheelchair, but as Helen approached he signalled to his father in the front row, who stepped forward and helped him to his feet.

‘He insisted we dress him up in his best suit,’ Millie whispered. ‘You can’t imagine the trouble it took, but he said he didn’t want to get married in his pyjamas!’

Charlie smiled as Helen stood beside him at the altar. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, reaching for her hand.

‘So do you,’ Helen replied.

Charlie nodded to his father, who helped him back into his wheelchair, and then they turned to her own father, standing before them with his prayer book poised, his face beaming with pride above his starched white surplice.

‘Dearly beloved, we are here to witness the marriage of Helen Constance Tremayne to Charles Edward Dawson . . .’

THE WEDDING HAD
tired Charlie out. By the time Helen had changed from her dress and back into her uniform he was fast asleep.

‘Sister Judd said to give you some privacy,’ Millie said, pulling the screens around the bed. ‘She says you can stay as long as you like, since it’s a special occasion.’

He went on sleeping for the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening while Helen sat at his bedside, holding his hand and admiring him with quiet pride. He even looked handsome when he was asleep, she thought. She tried not to notice the sheen of perspiration that made his pale skin glisten like a pearl. She knew he had been fighting off the progress of his illness, willing himself to get through their wedding day. But now the effort had finally exhausted him.

‘My husband.’ She tried the words out loud. It sounded so strange. But the whole afternoon had been so unreal. She felt as if she was drifting through the most magical dream, buoyed up by goodwill and kindness.

It was past eight o’clock when Charlie finally woke up. He stared about him in confusion and Helen’s heart skipped, wondering if this might be the moment when it all started to go wrong. But then he saw her and smiled.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘About four hours.’

‘That long?’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Did everyone go home?’

‘They’ve gone to the pub to celebrate.’

‘You should have gone with them.’

‘I’d rather stay here with you.’

He held up her hand. Her silver-paper ring was wrapped around her finger next to her new wedding band. ‘You’re not still wearing that, are you?’

‘I like it.’ It meant as much to her as any diamond.

He smiled wryly at her. ‘Not much of a ring, is it? And not much of a honeymoon for you, stuck at my bedside.’

‘Not much of a honeymoon for you, either.’ She smiled. ‘Never mind, we’ll have to have a proper honeymoon when you’re better.’

His smile faded. ‘Helen—’

‘We’ll go to Southend,’ she gabbled on, determined to keep the shadows at bay. ‘And we’ll walk along the pier and the seafront. And you can show me the Planetarium, and the amusement park . . .’

She clung to Charlie’s hand, silently begging him to keep up the fantasy with her. He seemed to understand.

‘And cockling,’ he said sleepily. ‘Don’t forget the cockling.’

‘How could I forget that?’ Helen leaned across him. ‘Charlie? Don’t go to sleep yet, I’ve only got a little while before I have to go on duty.’

But he had already drifted off, his breathing soft and shallow.

She hadn’t meant to cry in front of him, but somehow the emotion of the day overcame her and the tears started to flow.

‘Helen?’ He groped for her hand on top of the bedcover.

‘I thought you were asleep?’

‘I was.’ He half opened his eyes. It seemed to take all his strength. ‘I’m sorry, love, I’m just so tired . . .’

‘That’s all right. You get some rest.’

‘You’re not going to cry, are you? Only tears of happiness on your wedding day, Helen Tremayne.’

She smiled shakily. ‘It’s Helen Dawson now, don’t forget.’

‘So it is.’ His mouth curved. ‘I like the sound of that.’

‘Me too.’

Millie peeped through the screens. ‘It’s twenty to nine. Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go on duty soon?’

‘I’ve still got a few minutes.’ Helen clung to Charlie’s hand, her fingers curling into his. He tried to squeeze back but she could feel the strength ebbing out of his muscles. Slowly the strong young man she had once known was leaving her.

I’ll just have to be strong for both of us, she thought.

With a roar of fury, Joe drove his fist into the sandbag, sinking every ounce of his rage into the punch.

‘Watch it!’ his friend Tom laughed, dodging it as it swung on its chain. ‘Blimey, what’s that poor old bag ever done to you?’

Joe didn’t reply. He sank another furious punch into the sandbag, sending it swinging on its chain again. No matter how hard he hit out, his rage was still there, burning inside him. He could punch and punch until he was exhausted, sweat running down his body, and the rage would still be there, consuming him.

‘You all right, mate?’ Tom’s face was worried.

‘Fine,’ Joe snapped back. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

He landed another punch in the centre of the sandbag, imagining Nick Riley doubling over in front of him.

Joe Armstrong didn’t like to lose at anything. That was what made him such a formidable opponent in the ring. He knew he had a reputation for fighting dirty, but he didn’t care. To him, winning was everything. The ends justified the means.

He bent closer to the sandbag, jabbing at it, left, right, left, right, until all his strength was spent.

‘That’s enough, mate.’ He emerged from his fog of rage to see Tom watching him worriedly.

‘You’re right.’ Joe smiled at his friend, stripping off his gloves. ‘Sling us that towel, would you?’

Tom tossed it to him. ‘Shall we stop off for a pint on the way home?’

‘Why not? I’ve got to have a word with Maurice first, though.’

‘What about?’

‘My next fight.’ He wiped the back of his neck with the towel. ‘I’ll meet you outside, all right?’

Maurice was just finishing putting a young boxer through his paces with a sparring partner in the ring.

‘All right, Joe?’ he greeted him. Maurice Jones’ slight build led many people to misjudge him. He had been the undisputed featherweight champion of Whitechapel for more than twenty years. ‘Saw you training just now. You looked like a bloke with a grudge!’

Joe didn’t smile back. ‘I want to talk to you about my next fight.’

‘Of course, my boy, of course. I was talking to Terry Willis about you only the other day, as a matter of fact. He’s got a bout next Tuesday that might interest you. Against Kid Lewis at the Whitechapel Working Men’s Club?’

‘I want to fight Nick Riley.’

‘Do what?’ Maurice laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joe frowned.

Maurice’s smile dropped a fraction. ‘You’re serious, ain’t you? You and Nick Riley?’

‘’S’right.’ He caught Maurice’s quick frown. ‘What’s the matter? Ain’t I good enough?’

Maurice slipped between the ropes of the ring and jumped down to Joe’s level. ‘Look, lad, I’ll be honest with you. You’re a good fighter, one of the best I’ve got. But you’re not in the same league as Nick Riley. He’s – well, boxers like him don’t come along very often. He’s something special.’

Anger buzzed in Joe’s ears, like a bee trapped inside his head.

You’re not in the same league as Nick Riley. He’s something special.

Everywhere he turned, that was all he seemed to hear.

‘I want to fight him,’ he said stubbornly.
I want to kill him
, a small voice in his head added.

Maurice seemed to understand. He patted him on the shoulder. ‘Look, son. If this is personal between you two, I reckon it’s better if you take him on outside the ring, all right? I know you got a temper on you, and I don’t want you bringing no grudges with you when you fight.’

Joe stared at him for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said.

IT WAS STARTING
to rain as Nick lifted the latch on the back gate of number twenty-six Griffin Street. It was early afternoon but the pall of pewter-grey cloud seemed to press down on the narrow back yard, making it feel like twilight.

‘Danny?’ he called. Usually his brother would be perched on top of the coal bunker waiting for him, but today the yard was empty.

He wiped the mud off his boots – he didn’t know why, since his mum never cleaned – and let himself in through the back door.

‘Dan? Where are you, mate?’

His voice echoed around the darkened, empty kitchen. His heart beat quickened.

‘Danny?’

‘Not so loud, you’ll wake the flippin’ dead!’ June emerged from her bedroom, fastening the sash of her shabby dressing gown. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said flatly.

‘Been on another bender?’ Nick looked at his mother, and a wave of revulsion hit him. June Riley looked half dead. Her eyes were smudged and traces of lipstick were smeared like jam around her mouth. ‘I hope you didn’t leave Danny on his own?’

‘Oh, give it a rest. I’m entitled to a life, ain’t I?’

A man’s voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door, ‘Who is it?’

‘No one, Norm. Go back to sleep.’ June reached for her cigarette packet and tipped one out. ‘What?’ she said, catching Nick’s disapproving gaze. ‘Aren’t I allowed to have friends round either?’