Twisted Strands (32 page)

‘Shot in the guts, he is,’ the older man told her. ‘Gets terrible pain, Nurse.’

Despite the awful sight, Bridie felt a thrill run through her. It was the first time a patient had called her ‘Nurse’. It made her feel important and special.

Now she was really needed.

By nightfall all the patients were settled and the house relatively quiet, though from Room Number Four the sound of the young soldier’s sobbing echoed along the
landing.

‘Sister says would you like to be moved out into another room?’ Bridie whispered to the older man, whose name she learned from the board at the bottom of the bed was Jabez Field.
‘I told her I didn’t think you would, but she said I was to ask you.’

‘No, no. I want to stay with ’im. Been in the trenches together, we ’ave. I ain’t leavin’ him now.’

Bridie smiled. ‘No, I thought not.’

‘What’s your name, then?’ he asked as Bridie handed him a cup of hot milk.

‘Singleton.’

‘Nurse Singleton. I’ll remember that.’

Again, she felt the thrill at the title but said, ‘I’m not a real nurse, only a trainee. You’d better just call me Singleton.’

The man slurped the hot milk, leaving a white line along his upper lip. He shook his head. ‘No. If you’re looking after us, in my eyes you’re a nurse.’

Bridie beamed at him as she picked up the other cup of milk and went across to the other bed. The poor boy was writhing and moaning, his hands trembling.

‘If you can’t hold the cup, I’ll help you to drink it.’

She held the cup to his lips, but even then he could not keep still enough to drink and almost knocked the cup from her hand, spilling some of the liquid.

‘S-sorry,’ he stammered.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Bridie said, mopping up the spill. ‘Let’s try something else.’ She picked up the spoon from the saucer and gently spooned the milk, little
by little, into his mouth. He spluttered a little at first, but then began to swallow and gradually he became a little calmer, though tears were still running down his face.

‘I want me mam,’ he whispered. ‘I want to see me mam again. Just once, before . . .’

Bridie took hold of his hand. ‘You’ll see her very soon. We’ll get you better and—’

‘I ain’t goin’ to get better.’

Bridie opened her mouth to protest, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed a movement and turned to see Field shaking his head sadly and biting hard down on his lower lip. The girl
swallowed. Gently she squeezed the boy’s hand and murmured, ‘I – I’ll see what I can do.’

She settled him against his pillows and pulled the covers up to his chin. The boy was obviously exhausted, but the pain would not let him sleep. She moved to the end of the bed and looked at the
name written on the board there.

Herbert Hyde. Bridie frowned. There was something familiar about the name and yet she just couldn’t think what it was. ‘Herbert Hyde,’ she murmured aloud.

‘We allus called ’im Bertie,’ Field said, his voice husky with emotion.

And then she knew. This was Bertie, Mrs Hyde’s son, who had volunteered aged only sixteen.

Bridie left the room and hurried down the stairs, going straight to the matron’s office. Moments later she was standing in front of the desk, facing Dulcie.

‘What is it, Singleton?’

‘It’s the young soldier in Room Four, Matron. I know him. At least, I know his mother. She works at Auntie Evie’s factory. In the inspection room. He – he’s asking
for her. Says he wants to see her . . .’ She gulped. ‘One last time.’

Dulcie stared at Bridie, then asked sharply. ‘Did he say that?’

Bridie nodded. ‘I tried to tell him he would get better and would soon be going home, but – but he said he knew he wasn’t going to get better.’ She gazed at the matron
with wide, solemn eyes. ‘Isn’t he, Matron?’

Dulcie sighed and glanced down at the papers on her desk, straightened them unnecessarily and then looked up to meet Bridie’s gaze. Her voice was gentle as she said, ‘No, my dear, he
isn’t. His internal wounds are so severe that the surgeons can do nothing. And now he has an infection.’

‘Then – then can we get his mother out here to see him? Auntie Evie would bring her in the motor. I know she would. Please send word to her, Matron.’

Dulcie sighed and, in the privacy of her office, her tone softened. ‘Bridie, my dear, your aunt can’t transport the relatives of all the soldiers we have out here to see
them.’

‘But the Hyde family are special. They work for us. For the Reckitt and Stokes factory, I mean. Mrs Hyde and her daughters. Even Bertie himself worked there for a couple of weeks before he
enlisted. And if he – if he’s . . .’ She stopped as her voice threatened to break. She did not want to shed tears in front of the matron, indeed in front of any of the staff. She
was determined to show them that she could keep her feelings under strict control whilst on duty.

Dulcie was still shaking her head. ‘I don’t like to ask her. It puts me in rather a difficult position.’

‘Then please will you give me permission to ask her?’ Bridie suggested.

‘As long as you make sure Mrs Stokes understands you are asking her in a private capacity and that it is not an official request from me, then yes.’

‘Thank you, Matron.’

At that moment, Fred Martin was driving the motor car through Nottingham’s dark streets, taking Eveleen to her home.

‘I ought to walk home, Fred. It’s not far. We didn’t ought to be wasting petrol.’

‘It’s not a waste. You’re not walking the streets alone at this time of night, Evie,’ Fred said firmly. He was always respectful towards the woman who was now his
employer, but he had known her from the time she had first arrived in the city, homeless and looking for work. ‘Poor beggars,’ he muttered almost beneath his breath as a wounded
soldier, leaning heavily on a crutch, stood beneath a gas lamp. The man cast a baleful glare at the motor and then spat into the gutter. Eveleen knew it was because she was riding by in a fine
vehicle, when he, who had fought for his country, was reduced to begging in the street.

She glanced back at the man out of the rear window. There was something familiar. Even in the half-light she had seen something in the set of his shoulders, the way his head thrust forward, his
bald head shining in the light from the lamp . . .

‘Stop, Fred, stop!’

Almost before the motor car had drawn to a halt, Eveleen had opened the door and was scrambling out. ‘I know who that is. I’m sure I do.’

‘Wait for me, then. Don’t go on yer own—’

But Eveleen was already running down the street towards the man, who had turned and was trying to limp away as fast as he could.

‘Wait! Wait!’ Eveleen called, whilst behind her Fred levered himself out of the motor and hurried after her.

She caught up with the man and touched his arm. ‘Please wait. Let me help you.’

The man turned away, trying to hide his face and mumbling, ‘Leave me be. I don’t want your help.’

Fred reached them, panting hard, as Eveleen said clearly, ‘Maybe you don’t want my help, Bob Porter, but you look as if you need it.’

‘Porter?’ Fred repeated, straining through the dimly lit street to see for himself. ‘Bob Porter?’

The man whirled around suddenly, throwing off Eveleen’s hand and almost losing his own balance. ‘Let me be. Let me rot. It’s what you wanted, ain’t it?’

Eveleen gasped, almost as shocked as if he had struck her. ‘No, Bob, it isn’t. It was your own stubbornness. No-one asked you to leave Reckitt and Stokes and certainly no-one asked
you to enlist.’

‘Well, I did, and now I’ve lost me leg I’ll never work again.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Eveleen said firmly. ‘In the meantime, you’re coming home with me and tomorrow Fred will drive you out to Fairfield House.’

‘Eveleen, I don’t think—’ Fred began, but she interrupted, ‘Take his other arm, Fred, and let’s get him into the car.’

‘I ain’t . . .’ Bob began, but then suddenly he sagged against Fred and would have fallen if Fred hadn’t held him upright. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I
ain’t eaten since yesterday.’

Above his head, Eveleen and Fred exchanged a look in the fitful gaslight, and now Fred Martin argued no more.

‘Let me take him to our place, Eveleen,’ Fred suggested in a low voice after they had helped Bob into the back of the motor car. ‘My Win’ll look after
him and tomorrow I’ll take him to Fairfield House, like you say.’

‘No, he’s coming home with me. Cook and Smithers are still with me.’ She smiled in the darkness and put her hand on Fred’s arm. ‘I’ll be quite safe,’
she whispered and Fred had the grace to chuckle. ‘By the look of the poor beggar, he hasn’t the strength to try owt. Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I am.’

At Eveleen’s home Fred helped Bob into the house, whilst Eveleen hurried to rouse Cook and Smithers. Only minutes later Bob was sitting at the end of the long table in the dining room,
ravenously devouring the dinner that Cook had kept hot for Eveleen’s return from work.

‘He has more need of it than me,’ Eveleen had insisted when the cook demurred. She turned to Fred. ‘You go on home now, Fred. Win will be wondering what’s happened to
you. We can manage. I’m just going to make up a bed in the spare room.’

In a low voice Fred said, ‘He’s been sleeping rough, Eveleen. He’s not fit to . . .’

‘Fred Martin, I never thought to hear such words from you.’ Eveleen wagged her finger in his face. Whilst she kept her tone amused and almost teasing, there was nevertheless a hint
of censure in her voice.

Fred looked ashamed. ‘Oh, I know he’s fought for his country and all, but—’

‘But nothing, Fred.’

‘At least let me stay and help you get him upstairs. Smithers is getting on a bit. I doubt he’ll manage him.’

‘All right.’

‘And I might be able to get him to wash an’ all,’ Fred murmured and Eveleen stifled her laughter, at once seeing right through Fred Martin’s ploy.

Half an hour later there was a lot of noise, splashing and swearing, coming from the bathroom.

‘Mind me bloody stump. That butcher of a doctor at the field hospital just hacked it off. Could’ve saved it, I reckon.’

‘Well, you’ll get it seen to where you’re going tomorrow.’

‘Where am I going?’

The sound of their voices was lowered and Eveleen only caught brief snatches of the conversation as Fred explained about Fairfield House. Then, once more, Bob Porter’s voice was raised in
resentment. ‘Oh, trust ’er to be playing the Lady Bountiful. ’Er and ’er do-gooding.’

‘Let me just tell you summat, mate, afore you go shooting yer mouth off.’ Fred defended them. ‘They’re doing a grand job, ’er and Mr Stokes. They didn’t have
to bother to set up a home for soldiers and he certainly didn’t have to use his own money to do it.’

‘Oh aye, money earned off the backs of silly buggers like us who’ve sweated for him for years.’

She heard another splash and then Fred’s voice. ‘Well, you can stay there till the water freezes, for all I care, if that’s all the gratitude you can show. I wish we’d
left you on the streets. I really do.’

There was silence and Eveleen, who had been unable to resist creeping closer to the door to listen, held her breath. There was a low mumble of words, which she could not make out, before Fred
said, ‘Aye, well, that’s better. Come on, let’s get you out of there. You’ve fair soaked me with all your splashing. By, you’re an awk’ard bugger, Bob Porter.
Still, you allus were.’

Eveleen smiled as she hurried downstairs and by the time she came back up with a cup of hot milk and plate of biscuits, Bob Porter was sitting up in the bed she had made up for him, dressed in
an old nightshirt of Richard’s. His bald head was pink and shining and his face – and presumably the rest of his body too – was scrubbed clean.

Eveleen set the tray at the side of him and stood looking down at him. ‘Is there anything else I can get you, Bob?’

The man shook his head.

‘Then I’ll say goodnight. Come along, Fred. Thank you for all your help, but I’m sure Bob’s tired now.’

As she ushered Fred from the room and was about to close the door, she heard Bob say, ‘Missis.’

She pushed the door wider again. ‘Yes, Bob?’

‘Thanks,’ was all he said, but for Eveleen, who knew how much even that one word had cost Bob Porter, it was more than enough.

When Fred arrived the following morning to take Bob to Fairfield House Eveleen said, ‘I’ve decided to come with you. I’m a bit worried they might not have
room. If they don’t, I’ll have to smile nicely at my mother and Josh again.’

‘Oho, you’re on a loser there. Josh and Bob Porter never did see eye to eye when they worked together.’

‘Things are a little different now,’ Eveleen said quietly. ‘Josh isn’t the sort to harbour grudges, especially when he sees him in this state.’

Fred smiled at her. ‘Neither are you, Evie, are you? Here you are, trying to help the man who almost brought your factory to its knees single-handed.’

She sighed. ‘Trouble was, Fred, even then I could see his side of the argument, although I couldn’t agree with it.’

‘Aye well, that’s as maybe.’ He thought for a moment and then added, ‘I must say this for him, he did always seem to have the interests of the workers at heart. I mean,
what he did wasn’t just for his own ends.’

‘No, it wasn’t. He resigned on a point of principle, didn’t he?’

‘Aye, an’ look where he’s ended up because of it. On the streets, begging for a living.’

‘Not any more. He could still do the job of factory manager with only one leg. So, when he’s well enough, I intend to offer him his old job back.’

‘You do?’

Eveleen nodded but then smiled ruefully. ‘But whether he’ll take it is another matter.’

They laughed together.

As the motor came to a halt outside the front door of Fairfield House, Bridie came running down the steps.

‘Oh, Auntie Evie? Have you brought Mrs Hyde? How did you know? Oh!’ The hope on her face died as she saw the man sitting on the back seat. Then her eyes widened as she recognized
him.

Eveleen was climbing down. ‘I’ve brought Mr Porter here as a patient. That is, if you’ve a bed. If not—’