It was a bit of a shock to see Sally Burndell on the ward. Connie, who was on a split shift, listened with growing alarm as the ward sister read the report.
‘Miss Burndell is a seventeen-year-old female with no history of mental illness. She was admitted from the emergency ward where she was treated for an overdose of barbiturates.’ Sister leaned forward to the junior student nurse sitting next to Connie and added, ‘That means she’s had a stomach wash-out.’ Connie was feeling uncomfortable. Should she tell Sister that Sally was a friend of hers? As the report continued, she decided against it. If Sister knew, she might stop Connie from nursing Sally.
‘Miss Burndell is to be kept in overnight for observation and then the police want to question her,’ Sister added with a sniff.
As the report was finished and they separated to their various duties, the other student nurse touched Sally’s arm. ‘Why do the police want to speak to Miss Burndell?’ she whispered anxiously. ‘Has she done something bad?’
Connie shook her head. ‘Probably not, but attempted suicide is a criminal offence. The patient is at risk of being charged and imprisoned.’
The junior nurse went on her way satisfied, but just saying the words had sent a chill through Connie’s heart. At the earliest opportunity she went behind the curtain screen separating Sally from the rest of the ward. Her friend turned her head away in shame as she entered. Connie rubbed Sally’s arm sympathetically.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sally choked.
‘It’s all right,’ Connie whispered. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help …’
‘My mum is so cross with me,’ Sally wept.
‘She’s had a fright, that’s all,’ said Connie. ‘She’ll come round.’
Sally shook her head. ‘I feel so miserable.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Connie but she quickly realised that this was neither the time nor the place. Explanations would have to wait a while. ‘Look, you get some sleep and we’ll talk again later.’ Sally’s temperature was slightly raised but her heartbeat was normal.
‘Listen,’ said Connie as she entered the results on her chart at the foot of the bed, ‘I don’t know if they’ve told you, but the police want to talk to you.’
Sally nodded.
‘Is there any chance you made a mistake?’ Connie went on. ‘I mean, could you have taken an accidental overdose?’
‘That’s what Mum told me to say,’ said Sally. ‘The silly thing was, it really was a mistake, but because I tried it before, she thinks I’ve done it again.’
‘You tried it before?’ Connie gasped. ‘Oh Sally, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was an idiot,’ said Sally, ‘but …’
The screen clattered back and the ward sister came in with a scowl. ‘That’s enough chattering, nurse,’ she said tartly. ‘I’ll deal with this patient.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ said Connie and smiling encouragingly she left Sister to it. For some time afterwards, Connie found herself shouldering some of the responsibility. Sally hadn’t been her usual self at the beginning of the year but she honestly thought she was all right now. Connie had no idea it was so serious. Why hadn’t Sally told her what was troubling her?
Sister cornered Connie about an hour later on her way back to the sluice room after having shaved Mrs Tucker in preparation for her operation the next day. ‘Miss Burndell tells me you are a friend of hers, Nurse Dixon.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ Connie nodded.
‘Then leave her to the other members of staff,’ said Sister. ‘You know the rules. You should not nurse any relative or friend.’
Sister bustled away leaving Connie feeling even worse. She hoped Sally wouldn’t think she was deliberately avoiding her. Some friend you were anyway, Connie Dixon, she told herself crossly.
Christmas 1946 was moving ever closer. In the Sty, as the patients of Mr McIndoe called their ward at East Grinstead’s Royal Victoria Hospital, they were making a go of putting up the decorations. They were a motley crew, some with injuries which they had sustained during the war and others, like Kenneth, who had been wounded in peacetime. Membership of The Guinea Pig Club which had been formed by thirty-nine injured airmen in 1941 was now closed. Members could only join the club if they had had at least ten operations and it lasted until 1945, so Kenneth had been a latecomer. He had been in the Sty for just over a year and he still faced several more months if not years of further treatment. Fortunately, the Royal Victoria wasn’t as rigid as most hospitals. Kenneth was allowed to wear his own clothes or his service uniforms instead of ‘convalescent blues’ and he was able to leave the hospital whenever he wanted to. The trouble was, he never wanted to, and that was giving cause for concern.
‘You never come to the pub with us, Dickie,’ said Bunny Warren.
‘Why bother when there’s a free barrel on the ward?’ Kenneth joked. He looked away. He knew what his companion was thinking. Bunny had overcome his disabilities but Kenneth still struggled with his own appearance. He’d never get his face back although the Maestro, as they called McIndoe, had made a valiant attempt. He had eyelids now and the eye sockets had been strengthened by bone from his thigh. He had no eyebrows but a couple of operations around the eyes had given him a small ridge on his forehead. Although he had been left with a slightly surprised expression, it was a lot better than before. Now that the area had settled down, the next step was to rebuild his nose and as soon as Christmas was over, Kenneth would be back on the operating table. The state of his hands meant that the RAF had no further use for him which came as a bitter blow during the year. It took all the help he could get from the other chaps to pull him out of the black depression which threatened to engulf him. And even though East Grinstead had gained the reputation of being ‘the town that did not stare’, Kenneth still couldn’t bring himself to venture out.
Bill Garfield had been coming back to the Sty for almost three years. A dashing pilot at twenty-two, he’d crashed in flames but the Maestro had rebuilt his eye socket, both cheekbones and his jaw. If anyone knew how Dickie felt about himself, it was Bill. Hadn’t he gone through just the same? And yet this chap couldn’t seem to lift himself up out of the pit. Dickie’s reluctance to go out was more than simply because he’d lost his looks. It was as if he was carrying some great weight on his shoulders. Bill had probed and hinted but it was hopeless. Dickie kept himself to himself. He never had visitors or letters. Could he have been brought up in an orphanage? Bill fancied himself as a bit of an amateur sleuth and so he and Bunny decided to try and find Dickie’s family.
They got into the office fairly easily. Of course they knew they’d be for the high jump if they got caught, but it was worth the risk for a pal. While Bunny kept watch, Bill riffled the patients’ notes and then bingo, he’d found something.
Sally Burndell was discharged later that day. Her parents came to take her home and Connie made a point of asking if she could visit her. She went in her next off duty, taking a couple of apples with her. Sally was in her bedroom and her mum had lit a fire in the grate. She had dark circles under her eyes and as Connie came into the room, she pulled herself into a sitting position. Connie helped her put a bed jacket around her shoulders and they made small talk until finally Connie had to say something.
‘Why did you do it, Sally?’
‘I told you,’ said Sally. ‘It really was an accident this time.’
‘I didn’t even know about the last time,’ cried Connie.
Sally’s eyes filled immediately. Connie leaned forward and squeezed her hands. ‘Tell me. You can trust me. I can keep a confidence.’
‘In the end, they got me down,’ she said brokenly.
‘What got you down? I don’t understand.’
‘The letters,’ said Sally. She leaned over and, opening a drawer in the dresser beside the bed, she took out a couple of envelopes. ‘Mum burned the others,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t know I’ve still got these.’
Connie opened one already torn envelope. ‘Some go with one man but a whore like you would entertain a football team. What will your boyfriend say?’ The other contained a picture of a delicious looking apple tart cut from a magazine. Someone had scribbled, ‘I’m still watching you, tart’ across the top.
‘This is awful,’ said Connie. ‘Have you told the police?’
Sally shook her head. ‘At first I thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke,’ she said, ‘but now I think whoever sent these has been writing to my college and to Terry. He stopped answering my letters ages ago. I didn’t do anything wrong, Connie.’
‘I know,’ Connie soothed. ‘You must show this to the police.’
‘I can’t,’ said Sally. ‘If I do, they’ll think I intended to kill myself and I’ll end up in prison. I know I was being dramatic but you see I tried to hang myself about a year ago.’
Connie was appalled. ‘Oh, Sally …’
‘I know,’ Sally said dejectedly. ‘I just felt so miserable. I made a complete mess of it anyway. I tried to do it on the clothes pulley but of course as soon as my whole weight was on it, the screws came away from the ceiling. I knocked myself silly and then Mum found me.’
‘Thank God she did,’ Connie gasped.
There was a footfall outside the door. Sally said ‘Shh,’ and quickly shoved the letters under the eiderdown as Mrs Burndell brought them some tea.
‘I’ve just been telling Sally that as soon as she’s better,’ Connie said brightly, ‘we’ll be off to the Assembly Hall dance again.’
‘That’ll be nice, dear,’ said Mrs Burndell. ‘It’ll do her good to get out and about again.’
Kez decided to move her pitch. She had been selling holly wreaths by the market cross in the middle of Chichester. Made from Caen stone, the octagon structure was built four hundred years before at the junction of four roads and in plain sight of the cathedral. It was still doing what it was intended for, namely to provide shelter for poorer people as they sold their wares. Had she bothered to read the inscription above her head, which thanks to Connie’s help she was now well able to do, Kez would have seen that it was put up by Edward Story 1477–1503, who was at one time bishop of Chichester.
Kez and her family had been in the area for about a fortnight. They’d camped near Slinden where she had trudged through the woods to find holly and mistletoe. The holly she’d made into wreaths and the mistletoe into bunches. They had sold like hot cakes and she only had six wreaths left but by now the crowds of Christmas shoppers were beginning to thin out. Simeon wouldn’t be bringing the trailer back to pick her up until six so there was still time to try and sell them.
By now, people were heading back towards the station so Kez gambled that if she sat by the entrance, a few might buy a last minute holly wreath once they were sure they still had plenty of time to catch the train. She had just put the few she had left in her basket, when someone in a tearing hurry bumped into her and everything fell back onto the cobbles. The person who had done it was full of apologies but didn’t stop to help. One wreath went into the road and a passing car ran over it. When she picked it up, it wasn’t too badly damaged so Kez sat on the stone bench inside the cross to repair it.
A man and woman were arguing behind a pillar on the other side of the building. She could see them but it was obvious they didn’t know she was there.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ the man said angrily. He began tapping his cigarette on its case and Kez froze. No, it couldn’t be … could it?
‘Oh, I think it was,’ the woman snapped. ‘Even on our wedding day, you couldn’t take your filthy eyes off her.’ She threw back her head and laughed sardonically. ‘Dear God in heaven, what a fool I’ve been.’
‘Eleanor,’ the man said, trying to placate her. He put the case in his pocket and put out his hand.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried. ‘Admit it. You only wanted me to get your hands on my Rosemary, didn’t you?’
‘How can you even think such a thing?’
‘That’s what you were doing the day I came home early, wasn’t it?’ the woman insisted.
Kez stood to leave. Her stomach churned and she felt sick.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ The man was getting annoyed.
‘They tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen,’ the woman snarled. ‘Well, you won’t get away with this, Stan. I’m going to the police.’
‘No one will believe you,’ he said coldly and behind them Kez was struggling to breathe normally. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking.
She shoved the repaired wreath into her basket and stepped away. There was a bus coming so she was forced to wait until it passed. Kez didn’t intend to look back but her eye was drawn to him. And that’s when she saw what happened next. Stan made what looked like a grab at the woman. A grab and then a push. The woman flung her arms into the air and fell into the road. The next few seconds were horrific. First a squeal of brakes and then a sickening thud. Kez was rooted to the spot, her heart pounding, her mouth dry and gaping. People came running from all directions but from where she stood, Kez could already see that it was far too late.
The bus driver climbed ashen-faced out of his cab. ‘What did she do that for? She jumped right out in front of me. I didn’t stand a chance. Is she all right?’
‘She’s dead,’ said a voice, and the driver staggered backwards holding his head and dislodging his cap to the back of his head. Someone caught him and made him sit down inside the market cross. The poor man was shaking his head and he’d begun to cry. ‘Oh God, Oh God, why did she do it?’ he wept. ‘One minute she was on the pavement and the next she was under me wheels.’
Kez glanced at the man who had been with her. Stan was staring down at the woman’s lifeless body, partially hidden under the wheel of the bus. He held his gloved hand to his mouth. Someone in the crowd turned towards him. ‘Was she with you?’
He nodded. ‘She’s my wife.’
Immediately the crowd turned its attention towards him, each person doing his or her best to comfort a man who had just seen his wife die. Kez could hear the whispers all around her. ‘He’s in shock.’ ‘Someone get a doctor.’ ‘What a dreadful thing to happen.’ ‘And on Christmas Eve too.’
Kez turned away. She had no stomach to sell holly wreaths now. No one would want them anyway. Christmas was spoiled. She’d never be able to get the image of that poor woman out of her mind. She wouldn’t forget the woman’s husband either. Even though she hadn’t seen him since she was a little girl, she’d recognised him at once. He wouldn’t have known her of course. She was all grown up now. A married woman too. She hurried away, only glancing back the once. That’s when she noticed that the gloved hand Stan kept so close to his mouth hid a small smile on his lips.