Far From Home (33 page)

The girl would leave the house at five-thirty every evening and return at dawn the next morning, washed out, and so weary she could barely climb the stairs to her room. No one could carry on like that for long, and Peggy feared she was heading for a nervous breakdown if something wasn’t done quickly.

She’d had a long discussion with Danuta, and they’d agreed Polly must be carefully watched over the next few weeks; but Peggy had privately come to the conclusion that it might be a good idea for her to go and have a confidential word with that Matron Billings. Perhaps she could persuade Polly to cut down her hours and start taking care of herself?

As the clock struck five, Peggy determinedly put all her worries aside and prepared to leave. She picked up the two nightdresses and the skirt which would do for Danuta once they’d been washed and ironed, and began to fold them into her basket. The weather was changing rapidly, the breath of autumn lacing the chill wind and rain that blew in from the sea, and Peggy didn’t like to think of the girl getting cold at night in her threadbare liberty bodices and knickers which threatened to fall apart with every wash.

She was busy tucking the clothes away in her basket when the door opened and a gust of wind brought in a flurry of autumn leaves and her sister Doris. Peggy quickly grabbed her coat, wondering if she could avoid her sister by going out the back way. But as Doris’s imperious gaze settled upon her, Peggy knew there could be no escape.

She watched her sister’s stately navigation around the many tables and clothes rails, and was forced to acknowledge that Doris never let the side down by looking less than immaculately turned out. Today she was wearing a tweed suit with a mink collar, silk blouse and felt hat, her feet shod, as usual, in expensive high-heeled shoes which matched her brown leather handbag and gloves. Her make-up looked freshly applied, and it appeared she’d just come from the hairdresser.

Peggy couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn make-up, or had a shampoo and set, and was all too aware of what a fright she must look in her faded cotton dress, wrap-round pinny, headscarf and hand-knitted cardigan.

‘Hello, Doris,’ she said, as she slipped on her coat and stuffed the second nightdress into her basket. ‘What’s brought you down here?’

Doris peeled off her gloves to reveal soft white hands and manicured nails. ‘I don’t know how you can bear working in here with all these ghastly people,’ she said with a delicate dab of her lace-edged handkerchief against her nose as she eyed the rampaging children and down-at-heel adults. ‘The smell of unwashed clothing is quite appalling.’

‘You don’t notice it after a while,’ Peggy replied flatly, ‘and the people we help aren’t ghastly, they’re down on their luck and deserve sympathy, not derision.’

Doris gave a delicate shudder and held her handkerchief to her nose as if to combat any stray germs that might be flying about. Then her gaze fell on Peggy’s basket. ‘What are those doing in there?’

‘They’re for Danuta.’ Peggy gripped the basket, afraid it might be snatched away.

‘They were donated for the homeless of Cliffehaven,’ said Doris, ‘not some foreign refugee who doesn’t even belong here. Return them immediately.’

‘Danuta has as much right to them as anyone else,’ retorted Peggy. ‘She came from Poland with only the clothes on her back, and she can’t go through winter without warm nightdresses and skirts.’ Peggy took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. ‘And all the while she’s living in my home she belongs here as much as you do.’

‘Then she must use her clothing coupons like everyone else. Put them back, Margaret.’

Peggy bridled. Her sister was the only person who called her Margaret, and she only did it because she knew Peggy hated it. ‘I will do no such thing,’ she replied, and put the basket under the table and out of Doris’s reach. ‘Why are you here, Doris? This is hardly your usual neck of the woods.’

‘Needs must in these troubled times. Being on the WVS committee means I have a duty to ensure that everything is running smoothly.’

Peggy followed her gaze as Doris looked round the large hall crammed with laden tables of clothing, kitchen equipment, shoes, toys and just about everything else, and wondered if her sister had the first idea of how much good was being done here – or if she really cared.

A team of women were helping others to find what they needed, and through the open doors of the even larger room next door could be glimpsed line upon line of camp beds where those who’d been bombed out could get meals and a bed until they were rehoused. There was a long queue of weary, defeated-looking people waiting outside the office to be seen by the housing and welfare administrators, and Peggy knew that the four women who ran those departments often felt as if they were under siege, for they had few resources, and it seemed the queues never got any shorter.

Doris adjusted her mink collar as her dark gaze returned to Peggy. ‘One of my responsibilities is to ensure that no one is helping themselves to our donations in order to save on clothing coupons. I have to say, Margaret, that I’m shocked by your lack of moral fibre.’

Peggy flushed with anger. ‘Lack of moral fibre?’ she gasped. ‘How
dare
you insinuate such a thing?’

‘I dare because I’m in charge of this particular centre, and I do not expect my sister to flout the rules.’

‘Lady Charlmondley’s in charge, not you, and I have her permission,’ said Peggy flatly. ‘If you don’t like it, then I suggest you take it up with her.’

Peggy got some small satisfaction from the way Doris suddenly didn’t look quite so sure of herself. Lady Charlmondley – pronounced Chumley – was not only the Chairman of this local WVS, but a leading light in the heady echelons of what passed as Cliffehaven’s high society. Doris had been angling to become a part of this inner circle for years – and now she was firmly ensconced on several of the doughty Lady’s committees, she made full use of this tenuous contact to lord it over her less-favoured friends and relations.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Doris replied stiffly. ‘Lady Aurelia is extremely busy organising the fund-raising ball at the Manor.’ She raised a severely plucked eyebrow. ‘Did I tell you she has asked me to help her this year?’

‘Several times,’ muttered Peggy, who was underwhelmed.

‘It’s quite a feather in my cap, even if I say so myself.’ Doris was becoming animated. ‘Edward and I have been invited to sit at the top table, you know, and it is going to be the highlight of Cliffehaven’s social calendar.’

Peggy nodded, but her mind was on other things. ‘How much are the tickets?’ she asked, not really that interested.

‘We aren’t having anything so common as tickets,’ retorted Doris. ‘It is by invitation only. That way,’ she said, lowering her voice confidentially, ‘we can keep out the hoi polloi, and ensure the whole evening goes without a hitch.’

Peggy had always possessed a wicked streak when it came to Doris, and she couldn’t resist tweaking her tail. ‘I don’t know if I have anything suitable to wear to such an event,’ she said with a straight face, ‘but I’m sure I could get Sally to make me something from those old curtains I had in the back bedroom – and Jim does have the tuxedo he wears when he’s front of house at the Odeon on their gala nights. It’s a little worn in places, but I’m sure it’ll brush up lovely.’

Doris couldn’t hide her horror. ‘My dear, I couldn’t possibly put you to all that trouble,’ she said hastily. ‘I realised, of course, how difficult things are for you at the moment, which is why I thought it kinder not to embarrass you by adding you to the guest list.’

‘Why should I be embarrassed?’ Peggy was only just managing not to laugh.

‘Well, dear,’ Doris replied, glancing either side to make sure they weren’t being overheard, ‘there will be auctions, and one will be expected to donate rather a lot for the cause.’ She cleared her throat, unable to look Peggy in the eye for once. ‘I’m sure
you’d
be fine, but this is a very select gathering, and Jim isn’t really cut out to mix with the gentry, is he? After all,’ she added, ‘he
is
Irish, and you know how noisy
they
can get when the alcohol is flowing.’

Peggy burst out laughing. She simply couldn’t hold it in any more. ‘You really are the most frightful snob, Doris,’ she managed finally. ‘Jim and I wouldn’t want to go to your pretentious function even if you paid us. We’re quite happy to do our bit in our own way, without making a song and dance about it.’

Doris was furious and her glittering gaze trawled over Peggy with disdain. ‘Some of us take pride in bettering ourselves, Margaret,’ she said coolly, ‘but I can see that you are a lost cause. Not only have you married beneath you, but you seem to have lowered your standards in personal grooming as well. You look like a washerwoman in that frightful get-up.’

Peggy was still giggling as she shrugged. ‘My clothes are practical for the job I do here,’ she replied. ‘You’d be surprised how dirty we get sorting through all these every day.’ She held Doris’s baleful glare, angry now at her sister’s rudeness. ‘At least I’m not all fur collar and no knickers like some,’ she added with asperity.

There were high spots of colour on Doris’s face that had nothing to do with her careful application of rouge. ‘Don’t be vulgar,’ she snapped.

‘Then don’t come swanning in here like a duchess and start throwing your weight about.’ Peggy fastened the buttons on her overcoat before retrieving the basket from under the laden table. ‘You seem to forget,’ she said crossly, ‘that I’ve known you since you had a snotty nose and half-mast knickers, so your airs and graces don’t wash with me.’ She glared at Doris. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else you wish to discuss, Doris, then I’m off home to get Jim’s tea.’

‘It’s supper, Margaret,’ hissed Doris. ‘Tea is something you drink at four o’clock.’

Peggy grinned at her. ‘We have tea at all times of the day in my home,’ she said calmly, ‘but especially after we’ve eaten our tea. Bye.’ She left the hall feeling quite light-headed. Doris’s visit had cheered her up no end.

It was just past dawn on Friday morning when Polly felt the metal bowl slip through her soapy fingers. She watched it fall, as if in slow motion, unable to stop it plummeting to the floor.

With a loud clang, it hit the foot of the iron bedstead, spilling warm water, a flannel and a bar of soap all over the freshly scrubbed linoleum. She stared at the spreading pool of suds, helpless and unable to think what to do about it.

‘Staff Nurse Brown, clean that up at once.’ Sister Collins bustled through the curtains Polly had pulled round the bed. ‘I’m sorry about that, Mrs Green,’ she said to the elderly patient. ‘I’ll get one of the other nurses to finish your bed-bath, and then you can have a nice little nap until breakfast.’

‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ muttered Polly, dangerously close to bursting into tears.

‘That’s your third accident on this shift, Staff Nurse,’ muttered Sister Collins, ‘and it simply isn’t good enough. Now pull yourself together and clean up this mess before someone slips and breaks a leg.’

Polly picked up the bowl, flannel and soap, and hurried into the sluice to fetch a mop and bucket. She was dead on her feet. The night had been constantly disturbed by air raids, which meant that her shift had lengthened to twelve hours, and, as it had gone on and on, she’d become more clumsy and more tearful.

‘Are you all right, Polly?’ Nurse Frost had followed her in to prepare another bowl of water for Mrs Green’s interrupted bed-bath.

She nodded even though she was far from being all right, and gave the other girl a weary smile before hurrying back to the ward. Once the floor was dry and clean, she returned everything to the sluice room, took a deep breath, and went back to face Sister.

‘It’s time you went home,’ said Sister Collins. ‘We can manage here until the other nurses come in.’

‘I don’t mind staying,’ said Polly. ‘And after all the raids last night, they could be a while yet.’

Sister Collins was middle-aged, with a sunny disposition and gentle manner, but this morning she was clearly as tired as everyone else and not prepared to argue. ‘I don’t want you to stay,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve not really been concentrating all night, and I don’t want to have to worry about you as well as my patients.’

‘It’s been a long, busy shift,’ Polly protested. ‘I’ll be fine after I’ve had a nap, I promise.’

‘Staff Nurse Brown, would you come to my office, please?’

Polly turned to find Matron looming. Her mouth dried and her heart banged against her ribs. ‘What’s the matter?’ she breathed. ‘It’s not Adam, is it?’

Matron’s expression was implacable. ‘In my office, Staff Nurse.’

Polly found that a strong hand was propelling her out of the ward, past the porters pushing breakfast trolleys, and nurses hurrying on or off duty, and through the usual orderly chaos of an early hospital morning to the relative sanctuary of Matron’s austere office.

Matron closed the door and indicated that Polly should sit in the chair that had been placed on the other side of her desk.

Polly’s heart was hammering so loudly she wondered that the other woman couldn’t hear it. Perched on the edge of the chair, she looked at her fearfully. ‘Is it Adam?’

‘His health is of some concern, yes,’ said Matron with surprising gentleness, ‘but Mr Fortescue assures me that the medication he is now on will cure the infection within the next couple of days. There is absolutely no reason for you to be overly worried, Staff Nurse. This is merely a minor setback within the healing process, and your husband is still expected to make a full recovery.’