‘It’s all right, Ruby, they say maybe you can go home tomorrow.’ Rita smoothed the pillowcase made of starched hospital linen. It had come as a tremendous shock to her to find the young woman admitted to the ward, even though it wasn’t the one where she was working herself. The sister in charge had expressed her concern, as Ruby hadn’t said a word since she’d arrived, on the morning after the worst raid for ages. They’d been able to treat her leg, which turned out to be broken as well as cut to ribbons by shattered glass, but the sister was worried that she might have taken a blow to the head, as she seemed unable to speak.
Rita was pretty sure it was shock rather than a physical blow that had silenced Ruby. Sarah had explained what had happened – the encounter with the vicious old neighbour, being denied entry to the shelter, Ruby running in terror along the dock road as the raid blazed all around them. Then Danny, Sarah and Ruby had spent the best part of the night huddled in the porch of the Sailor’s Rest, barely safer than if they’d been out in the street. It was no wonder Ruby’s senses were reeling. She must have been in agony – Sarah’s efforts to clean the wounds had staved off infection, but they hadn’t known about the broken bone. Now Ruby’s leg was in a cast, but as for what her mind had endured, that was a different matter. She was vulnerable and sensitive at the best of times; how would she cope with being called a bastard in public? Rita wasn’t even sure if Ruby knew what it meant, but her heart went out to the frightened young woman, whose pale-blonde hair was spread like a halo over the pristine pillow.
Rita herself had spent the night of the raid on a makeshift bed in the nurses’ welfare area, curled under a table and wrapped in a spare blanket. The casualties had been high and she’d been able to snatch only a few hours’ sleep. She’d worked extra shifts and had hardly been back to Empire Street since it happened. She’d forced herself to focus on her work, to be professional and caring while keeping all emotion at bay, or else she knew she’d simply collapse. It was too much: the sheer numbers of injured people, what had happened to Ruby, and on top of it all the news about Elliott dying. She couldn’t take it in. He was so desperately needed at the hospital, for his calm kindness, his steadiness under pressure, his deep medical knowledge which he’d never vaunted. As for what Kitty must be feeling … no, Rita couldn’t let herself even imagine it.
Now she sat in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and wondered if Ruby would ever come back to them. The young woman’s skin was paler than ever, her smooth face making her seem once again more like a child than somebody of twenty-one years of age. Her eyes were shut. Rita prayed that her mind was undamaged, and that all the improvements of the past few months hadn’t been destroyed by one night of horror. If only Mrs Pinkerton hadn’t chosen that very moment to go to the shelter. If only Dolly had been with them. If only Rita hadn’t been on duty. Yet she couldn’t change what had happened, and now she had to face the grim fact that Ruby might not recover.
Maeve came past, her arms full of folded towels. ‘Any change?’ She stopped behind Rita, her eyes full of concern. ‘Has she woken up yet?’
Rita shook her head. ‘The sister said she’s opened her eyes for a while but still hasn’t said a word. I think she’s sleeping now but it’s hard to tell.’
‘Maybe that’s the best thing for her,’ Maeve said comfortingly. ‘After what she’s been through, it’s the natural way for the body and mind to repair itself. You can’t beat a good sleep.’
‘True.’ Rita tried to remember the last time she’d had such a thing. ‘But it’s been days now. I can’t help worrying. What will become of her? Oh, I could just kill that neighbour with her big old mouth.’
‘Don’t say it,’ Maeve replied. ‘I know what you mean though – fancy coming out with such a thing and then not letting them in the shelter. After all your family do for the street and everyone around it. That’s sheer ingratitude, on top of being monstrously cruel.’
Rita sighed. ‘Mam was beside herself when she found out. She’d got Violet and Georgie settled at the far end of the shelter and didn’t hear a thing, what with all the bombing and ack-ack gunfire. They assumed Sarah and Ruby were safe somewhere else. She went round to Mrs Pinkerton’s and tore her off a strip once she found out about it, but the damage has been done. And Ruby’s suffering the consequences.’ Again she smoothed the pillowcase, wanting to reach out to the girl who’d arrived as a stranger but who was now close to her heart. She couldn’t come to permanent harm. How would she explain it to Michael and Megan? They’d be heartbroken if anything happened to their companion. While the adult world condemned her for being different, the children had taken to her instantly, recognising a kind soul. They would never understand the viciousness of the attack on her, the self-righteous snobbery that lay behind it. Now Ruby, who was blameless in the whole affair, lay still in her hospital bed.
‘Shall I fetch you something?’ Maeve asked, knowing that Rita had been on her feet all day and had barely stopped for a break since she started her shift. ‘How about a nice cuppa? I’ll bring it over, Sister won’t mind.’
Rita realised she was parched. ‘That’s good of you, Maeve, I’d love one.’ She turned to her friend in gratitude.
‘I’ll be right back.’ Maeve hurried off, still balancing the heavy towels. She disappeared round a corner. Rita stared after her absent-mindedly, wondering how long her Irish colleague had been working today, knowing it was an extra effort to bring the cup of tea, but relieved that she’d offered, for Rita wanted only to sit at Ruby’s bedside. Maeve had extraordinary reserves of energy, but even she must be feeling the strain after the week they had all had. It was like the May blitz all over again – every bed full, all medical staff pushed to their limits. It never ceased to amaze Rita how everyone pulled together at such times of crisis to ensure the best possible treatment for the victims of the raids. Only, she reminded herself sadly, Ruby hadn’t needed to be a victim. If it hadn’t been for that interfering gossip of a neighbour, she would have been safe in the shelter.
She was so lost in her thoughts that for a moment she didn’t notice the slight stirring in the bed beside her. Ruby was trying to move. Her hands traced the sheet folded tightly over the blanket. Rita turned to her and gently touched the back of one hand. ‘Hush now, Ruby. Don’t you fret. You’re going to be fine.’
Ruby’s head twisted slowly from side to side and her eyelids fluttered. ‘Rita?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’
‘Ruby! You’re awake!’ Rita brought her head close to that of her friend, afraid she would miss the barely audible voice.
‘Rita, I thought I could hear you.’ Ruby’s eyes opened further. ‘You were talking, I knew it was you.’
‘Of course. I wanted to see how you were. Do you know where you are?’ Rita regarded her closely, trying not to let her own anxiety show in her expression or her words.
‘Hospital. It smells like hospital,’ Ruby said, her voice stronger now. ‘It smells clean.’
‘It is, it’s very clean,’ Rita assured her, knowing that she and Maeve had spent many a long hour working to make certain the whole place was as germ-free as possible. ‘Yes, you are in hospital. It’s the one where I work so I have been coming to see you every day. You hurt your leg. Do you remember?’
Ruby’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘It feels strange, I can’t move it.’
‘It’s in a cast. You broke your leg so they’ve had to set it to keep it straight. It will feel heavy. But don’t worry, you can get around on crutches. I’ll show you how. It will be as good as new when they take the cast off.’ Rita hoped this was right. But Ruby had youth on her side and, thanks to Sarah, there was little risk of infection. The chances were that her leg would heal completely; it was everything else that Rita was worried about. ‘Do you remember how you broke it?’
Ruby shifted her body. ‘There were planes, and bombs. We were in the doorway. Sarah and Danny looked after me.’
‘That’s right,’ Rita said encouragingly. ‘Sarah told me all about it. You were very brave.’
‘No, I was afraid,’ Ruby said suddenly, trying to sit up. ‘There was shouting, but I can’t think what it was about.’
Good, thought Rita. Maybe that’s for the best.
‘You weren’t there,’ Ruby went on. ‘You were at work. I was going to tell you something when you got back.’
‘Well, never mind,’ said Rita. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to think about that now you’re getting better. Your leg is doing so well that the doctors say you can come home tomorrow. How about that?’
Ruby twisted as best she could under the firm hold of the starched sheet. ‘But have I been here long?’
‘A day or two,’ said Rita. She didn’t want to worry Ruby more than necessary.
‘Days,’ muttered Ruby. She looked as if she was struggling with a difficult thought. ‘So … is it next week yet?’
‘No, we’re at the end of the same week,’ Rita said. ‘The raid was on Monday evening and you came in here on Tuesday. Don’t worry, you haven’t been asleep for ages, you haven’t missed much.’ She kept her tone cheerful, though the thought of next week brought her further misery. That was when Jack should have come home on leave, but he’d written to say it was going to be cancelled after all. Her hopes of seeing him were dashed yet again.
Ruby’s face grew determined. ‘Next week is important. It’s the pattern. I was going to tell you but there’s still time.’
‘What pattern?’ Rita asked gently. She didn’t want Ruby straining herself, working out something complicated when she’d only just recovered consciousness. ‘Really, Ruby, all in good time, you need to rest, you’ve had a bad injury and that’s going to make you feel very tired. You don’t need to tell me about it now.’
‘But I do,’ said Ruby stubbornly. ‘It matters. It’s when things go missing. You know, you told me before.’
Rita nodded. In all the activity of the bombing, the vanishing cases of stock had completely slipped her mind. It didn’t seem terribly important when set beside Ruby’s ordeal and the death of Elliott. But obviously Ruby was anxious to explain. ‘Yes, I remember now.’
‘It will be next Wednesday,’ Ruby predicted, totally serious. ‘That’s when it will happen again. If I’m home by then I can help.’
‘If you’re at home on crutches you will do no such thing,’ Rita said forcefully. ‘You leave all that up to me. You are to have complete rest when you get back. You have been through a lot.’ She gave silent thanks that Ruby didn’t seem to recall the details of the row that had caused her to be outside when the explosions happened. ‘If you won’t let me tell you as a friend, then let me do so as a nurse. Total rest, and that’s an order.’ She smiled to take the edge off her words.
‘I want to help,’ Ruby said, her big eyes gazing at Rita. ‘But I trust you. You are good at sorting things out. As long as you know it will be Wednesday.’
‘All right, I’ll be extra-vigilant on Wednesday,’ Rita promised, figuring that Ruby wouldn’t settle unless she agreed. ‘Now you stop worrying and lie down and make yourself comfortable. That’s better. And look, here’s Maeve, come to see if you’ve woken up.’
The Irish nurse beamed in delight as she arrived with two cups of tea. ‘Well, will you look at that. Our patient is better. Will I get you a cup of tea as well, Ruby? Wouldn’t you like that?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘No, thank you very much,’ she said politely. ‘I want to go back to sleep now.’
‘You do that,’ Rita said, relieved that Ruby seemed calmer now she had remembered her piece of vital information. ‘We’ll go and leave you in peace. I’ll see you tomorrow, and with luck you’ll be coming home.’ She bent and planted a small kiss on Ruby’s head, then quietly followed Maeve away from the ward and along to the welfare area. Well, that was one less thing to worry about: Ruby seemed fundamentally unshaken by the events of Monday night. As for the suggestion that something was about to happen on Wednesday, Rita would deal with that when the time came. There was only so much a person could cope with at any one moment – and she had just about reached her limit.
‘Oh, this is nice!’
Sylvia Hemsley looked up at the curves of the building above the ornate main door to the pub where Frank had taken her. She’d never seen anything like it. The windows were mullioned and there were domes right at the top. It was beautiful and impressive both at the same time.
‘Do you like it?’ Frank grinned. He’d guessed she’d be surprised by the place. While the Philharmonic Dining Rooms wasn’t where he would usually choose to come, being too far from Derby House and his billet, he knew it would be somewhere she would appreciate. ‘Well, wait till you see inside.’
He pushed open the heavy door, careful to keep his balance. He’d managed to walk all the way from the bunker to the pub, even though some of it was uphill, and he didn’t want to spoil things now. He was doing his very best to move as normally as possible. Sylvia hadn’t known him before his injury, of course, but neither had she seen him when it had been new and raw, before he’d got the hang of his false leg. She was judging him by how he was now, and this was as good as he was likely to get. So he didn’t want to mess it up.
Sylvia’s cheeks were rosy from the cold but also, he realised, from anticipation. They hadn’t gone for a drink together before, or at least not as a couple, on their own. She’d been amusing company when he’d shown her the waterfront, admiring the Liver Birds as they guarded the city from on high, taking in the expanse of the Mersey as it flowed northwards past the docks and his home. He’d seen her around at work several times since and they’d had tea or cocoa at breaks between shifts, but always with other colleagues around as well. Now he had grasped the nettle and asked her to come for a drink, half expecting her to say no or to make an excuse. But she hadn’t. She had accepted at once, her bright eyes dancing with mischief, apparently glad to be with him and to learn more about him. For the first time in a long while, Frank had felt optimistic.
‘Don’t tell me this is your local,’ she said now, as he led her to a corner with plush seating, from where she could appreciate the elaborate décor of the place.
‘Not exactly,’ admitted Frank, thinking of how different this was to the Sailor’s Rest, or even Bent-nose Jake’s down at Canada Dock. ‘I’m not sure I’d take you there, to be honest. I used to come here before the war, though, if I was out in town.’
‘If you wanted to impress a girl,’ Sylvia guessed, and from his reaction she could tell she’d been right. ‘I can see why. It’s splendid, isn’t it? All … what do you call it?’
‘Art Nouveau,’ Frank told her, hoping he’d said it right and not adding that he’d never heard the term back in those days – when he’d played the field without a care in the world, before he’d lost a leg. ‘What would you like to drink?’
Sylvia slipped off her warm coat with its fake fur collar, which she’d bought second-hand especially for their date. She was glad she’d made the effort. All around people seemed to have done the same, making the best of what wartime Liverpool could offer, splashes of vibrant colour amid the uniforms of the servicemen and -women enjoying time off. Frank was still in his; she was proud of the way he looked in his navy jacket, now bearing the insignia of a sublieutenant. She tried to work out what other women her age were drinking, but it was beyond her, so she played it safe. ‘A lemonade, please.’
Frank nodded and set off for the bar. She watched him, aware of how much effort he was making not to limp or reveal in any way that he used a false leg. If he was doing so for her, he needn’t have worried. Everyone at Derby House knew about it and that he’d been injured in the war, which made him a hero in her book. She’d never been bothered by it. Plenty of people had war wounds and, if she wasn’t mistaken, there would be a whole lot more before it all finished. You couldn’t go around discounting anyone for that reason. She liked Frank for who he was – good company, funny, sharp, always interesting, with opinions on all manner of subjects. He was just the sort of person she’d hoped to meet when she’d signed up. She loved her home and the majesty of the great hills and lakes, but she wanted more.
He returned with the lemonade for her and a pint of bitter for him, which he set steadily on the highly polished table. Really, if you hadn’t known, you couldn’t have spotted the injury, she thought. He was good – and that was after the walk, when he’d gently held her arm and made her feel special and protected. She’d feared it would be too much for him but not a bit of it.
‘Thank you.’ Sylvia grinned up at Frank, enjoying how his eyes sparkled in the lights of the colourful bar.
For a moment Frank’s mind flashed back to his rushed visit to Empire Street; he’d wanted to check for himself that everyone was all right. There were broken windows everywhere, loose or missing tiles on many roofs, and what had remained of old Mrs Ashby’s house was in a sorry state. His mother had regaled him with what had happened at the shelter and the fate of poor Ruby, which had offended his innate sense of justice, but fundamentally they were all in one piece. Then Dolly had told him about Elliott.
He had gone through a swift mixture of emotions at the news. He was hugely saddened to learn that the gifted young doctor had died; he knew as well as anyone that his skills had been desperately in demand and that he would be dearly missed. He knew too from his sister Rita that the man had been widely liked as well as admired. Most of all he could scarcely bring himself to imagine what it must have been like for Kitty to hear about the tragedy. Who would be looking after her now, far away at her training centre in London? Part of him wanted to leap on a train and comfort her. Then again, he had enough self-knowledge to admit that comfort wasn’t all he was thinking of. Kitty was free now. She would be emotionally available once more.
He’d told himself to stop considering any such idea. He would write, as an old friend, with condolences, which would be the most suitable thing to do. She’d made her break from Empire Street, and the very fact that she hadn’t once been back to visit told him where her priorities lay. He was no longer the man she had known; she would inevitably judge him by what he had been like before, everything he had been able to do that his impaired mobility now prevented. She too would be different now – more sophisticated, more educated. He must put aside all romantic thoughts of her, no matter how it cut him to the quick to do so. As he’d struggled through the bomb-ravaged streets between Bootle and the centre of the city, he’d resolved to forget about her. She belonged to his past, not his future. If she had dreamed of a future with her doctor, then she would see her life heading in a very different direction and it would not feature Frank Feeny. He had to be strong and turn his back on his dreams.
Sylvia was untainted by memories of his past. They shared a close bond in the present, through their secret war work, which was demanding, exhausting, and yet deeply fulfilling too. Now she was sitting opposite him in The Phil, her expression bright and keen. Frank smiled back and felt himself relaxing a little at last as he sank into his comfortably padded seat. For a moment he could almost believe the war wasn’t happening. Here he was, in this friendly and beautiful historic pub, with a good-looking young woman who seemed to want to spend her precious time off with him. He sipped his beer with relish. He was going to make the most of this evening. They both deserved it; it had been one hell of a week.
She could be his future, if he dared to think that far. Sylvia, not Kitty. He raised his glass to her and she raised hers in acknowledgement. ‘To happier times,’ he said.