I was off my game all shift. I felt shaken and out of sorts and I kept making silly mistakes. I kept thinking about the tears that had rolled down Nelly’s cheek, and the way Jackson had pushed his lips against mine and how I could taste the pickle in the sandwich he’d been eating and smell the stale sweat on his coat.
There was no raid that night. No bombs fell. There were no sudden arrivals of terribly injured patients. Much to my surprise – and slight disgust at myself – I was sorry. It wasn’t that I wanted people to die or be hurt as the bombs rained down, but I knew that if it had been a normal night, I would have been so busy I wouldn’t have had time to brood about Nelly and how to cope with planning for a life without her, or to fret about when I’d next see Jackson.
Instead, I took temperatures and changed dressings and ferried patients down to the operating theatre – keeping a lookout the whole time in case Jackson appeared, of course – and volunteered to do every task Matron needed doing, so my mind was kept busy.
When the day shift arrived and we had done our handover, I went straight back to see Nelly. I was hoping desperately that the book had shown up and that Jackson had done as he had promised and delivered it to Nelly’s ward.
To my relief, he had – or Frank had. The book was on Matron’s desk when I arrived. I felt dizzy for a second with gratitude that I didn’t have to see Jackson again and I gave Matron a huge smile.
‘The book’s here,’ I said.
‘That new porter brought it.’
I made a face and she nodded. ‘He’s a bit strange, isn’t he? Looks at you like he wants to eat you.’
Sour bile rose up in my throat. ‘Can I see Nelly?’ I said in a strained voice. ‘How is she?’
‘Go on in. She’s had a bit of an unsettled night. The night matron said she was quite distressed.’
Bracing myself, I went into Nelly’s room, with the book tucked under my arm. ‘Morning,’ I said.
I could see she was agitated immediately. Her hand tapped on the bedclothes and her eye was wide open.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ I went to her side and held her hand. It felt cold. ‘Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket?’
Nelly moved her head slightly saying no.
‘Can you tell me what’s wrong?’
I took the book and opened it to the page where I’d written the alphabet, holding it up so Nelly could see. Straightaway she started tapping the letters, her hand moving so fast that I couldn’t keep up.
‘Slow down,’ I said. ‘Let me write it.’
I took a pencil from my pocket and as she tapped on the letters, I wrote them down.
“Dying,” she tapped. Again. My breath caught in my throat. It was so horrible seeing the word on the page.
‘Your injuries are very severe,’ I said, sounding more like a professional than a friend. I tried again. ‘Dearest, you’ve been hurt so badly.’
Nelly tapped the page once more. “Scared,” I wrote down.
‘I know.’ I stroked her cheek gently. ‘Me too.’
“How long?” she tapped.
I couldn’t lie. I knew she would know and that would upset her even more. ‘A few weeks.’
A tear fell from her eye and she tapped furiously at the page.
‘Hold on,’ I said, scribbling down the letters. ‘Let me catch up.’
She tapped again. I wrote down: “Kill me.”
‘Nelly …’
Urgently she tapped the page where I’d written her message.
‘Nelly, you don’t mean that.’
She nodded slowly and deliberately. “I do,” she tapped. “It hurts.”
‘I’m a nurse, Nell. We can’t take a life – you know that.’
She tapped again. “Friend.”
‘I am your friend, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you, but I can’t do that.’
Once more she pointed to where I’d written: “Kill me.”
‘No,’ I said.
She turned away from me, dropping her hand from the book and I saw in her eye a look of absolute despair.
‘Nelly?’ I said. She didn’t respond. ‘Nelly, this is a big thing you’re asking of me. If anyone found out …’ I bit my lip. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Nell.’ My throat was thick with tears. ‘I don’t want you to die. And it’s illegal, Nell. I could go to jail. I could hang.’
Slowly Nelly turned her head so she was looking at me. She tapped the page of the book where I’d written “dying” and then where I’d added “it hurts”.
‘I know.’ I looked up at the ceiling. ‘I know. But you’re not a horse with a broken leg, Nell. I can’t just put you out of your misery.’
She took my hand. Her fingers felt cold and bony. She was disappearing before my eyes, already a shadow of the woman she’d once been. Deep in her throat she made a whimpering sound. And then she let go of me and tapped the page once more, spelling out “P … L … E … A … S … E”.
‘I can’t make a decision now. I’ll need to think about it,’ I said. ‘I don’t even know how I would …’ I paused. ‘But I promise I will think about it.’
Nelly gave a tiny nod and turned her face away from me again. It seemed our conversation was over.
*
I picked up the book in shaking hands, and left Nelly’s room. As I went to go out of the ward, Matron stopped me.
‘Can I take the book?’ she asked. ‘I was telling my friend Prue about it – she works on ward 3 but she’s been off because her husband was killed. She said she’d like to have a look. Maybe write something herself.’
Aware of Nelly’s messages tucked away at the back of the book, I knew I should say no, but Matron was holding her hands out, and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no that wouldn’t sound odd. ‘Of course,’ I said in a shaky voice. Nelly’s messages were garbled and scribbled because I’d been writing the letters any which way as she tapped them. I’d just have to hope if anyone came across them they’d think they were doodles. Because if anyone read her request …
I took a deep breath and handed over the book to Matron as a yawn overcame me. Goodness I was tired all of a sudden. I needed to get home and have some sleep before I was due back at the hospital. I wasn’t sure I’d get so much as a wink, though, with Nelly’s request weighing heavily on me.
Sluggishly, I pulled on my coat and hat and, my mind on poor Nell, walked along the corridor and outside into the frosty air.
‘Elsie, you’ve been ages.’
It was Jackson. Of course it was. He was sitting outside the hospital on the wall and when he saw me coming he jumped on to his feet, barring my way. I was so tired, so worn out with it all, that I barely registered the primal tickle of fear at the back of my neck. With what seemed like too much effort, I raised my eyes to his face.
‘Hello.’
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said. ‘You should have told me you’d be late.’
I frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Why should I have told you I’d be late?’
‘Well, it’s polite, isn’t it?’ he said.
I looked at him. My best friend had just asked me to help her die, and here was this sorry excuse for a man, standing in front of me, talking gibberish. Speaking clearly as though he were hard of hearing, I said: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jackson.’
‘Are you tired?’ He looked sympathetic. ‘Long night? You’re the one who’s not making sense.’ He reached out and took my arm, gripping it more tightly than I thought was necessary. His expression changed from caring to cross. ‘It’s polite to tell your fella where you’ll be, and when. It’s good manners. Surely even you understand good manners?’
Now the fear was right there, jolting me out of my tired stupor.
‘Jackson,’ I said carefully. ‘You’re not … We’re not …’ I searched for the right words that would make it clear I wasn’t his girl, and I didn’t want to be his girl, but in a way that wouldn’t upset him. Because, I realised now, I was afraid of him.
‘Not what?’ he said. His voice had an edge that made me feel nauseous.
And then from across the street came the parp of a car horn and a voice called: ‘Elsie! Elsie, over here!’
Like a miracle, there was Mr Gold in his car, with Mrs Gold hanging out of the window waving madly. ‘Elsie!’
‘Goodbye,’ I said to Jackson, not meeting his eye. I yanked my arm out of his grip, feeling it ache where he’d been holding me and then I darted across the road, Mrs Gold opened the door and I half jumped, half fell into the car.
‘We were just passing and happened to see you,’ Mrs Gold said. ‘What luck.’
I put my head back against the seat in relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘Friend of yours?’ Mr Gold asked, watching Jackson out of the window.
‘No,’ I said firmly at the same time as Mrs Gold cried: ‘Good Lord, no.’
Mr Gold lit a cigarette and then pulled away from the kerb. ‘Has he been bothering you, Elsie?’ he asked. He caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Want me to have him arrested?’
‘Albert,’ said Mrs Gold in a warning tone.
There was a tiny pause and then Mr Gold laughed heartily. ‘Only joking,’ he said. He glanced at Mrs Gold who was looking straight ahead. But strangely I got the impression he hadn’t been joking at all.
There was a slightly awkward silence and then Mrs Gold said in a jolly voice: ‘I once pretended to be having women’s troubles to get poor Elsie away from that man.’
Mr Gold chuckled. ‘Poor sod,’ he said. ‘Bloke like that’s bound to be terrified of a woman’s monthly ups and downs.’
Somewhere in the back of my mind, something about what he said rang a bell. Had I forgotten something important? But I was too tired and on edge to think properly.
‘Isn’t it a treat to have the car again?’ Mrs Gold was saying. ‘I feel like royalty being driven around.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I agreed.
‘Mrs Gold and I have been at work, but I need to go on elsewhere, so I’ll just drop you ladies off at home and dash off.’
‘Fine by me,’ Mrs Gold said. ‘Elsie and I can have a cuppa and a chat, can’t we, Elsie?’ She turned round in the front seat and beamed at me. ‘Or do you have to sleep?’
‘I do, but I’m a bit on edge after my shift,’ I fibbed. Actually, I wanted time to think about Nelly. ‘So, a cup of tea would be nice before I hit the sack.’
At home, I went into the Golds’ flat. It was a nice place, but it was oddly impersonal. There were no photographs on display, or little knick-knacks anywhere. Then again, they’d only moved in relatively recently and they worked long hours, so perhaps that wasn’t so surprising.
Mrs Gold filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil, and when she’d made the tea, she brought me a large mug where I sat on her sofa, and looked straight at me.
‘You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders today, Elsie. What’s up? Is it that chap?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But he’s only part of it.’
‘Tell me.’
I looked at her, longing to pour my heart out about what Nelly had asked of me. But something was stopping me. ‘Is Mr Gold a policeman?’
Mrs Gold looked startled. ‘No, why? Oh, because he said he’d have that man arrested? No. He’s not a policeman.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Do you need a policeman?’
I shook my head vigorously, making my tea slop up the side of the mug I held. ‘No.’
‘What’s wrong?’
I took a breath. ‘Remember the letters in the book?’ I said. ‘From the mystery chap. He’s a pilot. His name’s Harry.’
‘You tracked him down.’ Mrs Gold’s eyes were gleaming with pleasure.
‘I did. He’s gone now. Back to base. But we still write to each other.’
‘Yes.’ It was clear Mrs Gold had no idea where I was going with this.
‘In one of his letters, he told me a story about a seagull.’ I smiled, remembering. ‘He grew up near the sea and his mother saw a gull with a broken wing on the beach. She asked Harry to put it out of his misery and he went off with his cricket bat.’
‘Good gracious,’ said Mrs Gold, putting her hand over her mouth.
‘No, he didn’t do it. He couldn’t. He took the seagull home and looked after it.’ I gave a little laugh. ‘He looked after it for three years.’
‘Three years!’ Mrs Gold hooted with laughter. ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘But he knew the seagull could recover, you see?’
‘Yes, I see.’ She frowned. ‘I think I see.’
‘Perhaps if it had been more badly injured, he’d have done things differently. If the gull had been in pain, and had been dying slowly then he might have changed his mind.’
‘Perhaps.’
I put my mug down on the coffee table. ‘People think death is peaceful but it isn’t,’ I said. ‘I’ve sat with patients when they’ve died and it’s not how people think. It’s not like going to sleep. It’s unpleasant and upsetting and frightening. And sometimes it takes days and days.’
Mrs Gold nodded. ‘I’ve seen people die,’ she said carefully. ‘Quicker is better. Merciful.’
I looked at her sharply. ‘Do you think?’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘My father fought in the last war. He said that when men were badly injured and they knew there was no chance they could survive, their own soldiers would sometimes shoot them, rather than let them suffer.’
I was horrified. ‘They did that? They shot their own men?’
‘I believe so. It wasn’t official of course, but they knew it was kinder that way.’
‘When Billy died his commanding officer wrote to me, and one of the things he said was that Billy went quick,’ I told her. ‘They were bombed, you know? As they were evacuated. They were like sitting ducks.’ I took a shuddering breath in. ‘But it was a comfort to know he hadn’t suffered.’
Mrs Gold put her own mug down and took my hands in hers. ‘Has something happened at work, Elsie?’
‘Sort of.’ I looked into her clear blue eyes and wished I could tell her everything, but the knowledge that this awful, terrible thing I was considering wasn’t just merciful but also illegal, stopped me. Instead, I simply said: ‘You’ve helped me so much.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes.’ I stood up. ‘Thank you.’