‘I think the dirty trollop’s having kittens,’ announced Ma.
Nell burst into tears.
There were exclamations of pity from the elderly couple, Georgie being the first to comfort, dealing gentle pats to the stooped figure that was racked with sobs. ‘Aw, don’t worry, dearie! There’s probably some good excuse for Bill not coming.’
‘But he would have written!’ Nell’s face shot up to accuse him with red and tear-filled eyes. ‘Something’s happened to him, I know it!’
‘It doesn’t mean he’s dead!’ brayed Mrs Precious with slight scorn. ‘He could have been sent abroad without warning – you know what the army’s like.’
‘He’d still have managed to get a letter through,’ sobbed Nell, fumbling for her handkerchief. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ For she knew now, just as surely as her darling Billy was dead, that she was carrying his child.
Another week went by, and then another, taking Nell into December. Even now, the fear having churned her stomach into a pit of acid, she persisted in hanging on, visiting the Preciouses almost every night, and posting her letters to Billy. For, until confirmation of his death was put in writing, there remained the shred of hope that it had all been a mistake. All of it.
Being informed almost immediately that Bill was missing, Beata had been the source of comfort that Nell’s parents could never be, for they remained unaware – though of course they could see that their daughter was troubled by some matter. Hence, thinking it perhaps to be something at work, they were happy for her to accept her fellow nurse’s frequent invitations to the pictures, without guessing what these trips were meant to ease. Seated there in the darkened cinema, though, Nell felt anything but eased, barely concentrating on the opening film, let alone the tips on cookery and the shorts from the Ministry of Information – until the one that forewarned the audience about careless talk: ‘Keep mum!’
Oh, yes, she really came awake then, and took to picking over her dilemma in such great detail that when a cheer went up over the downing of another Hun, she almost jumped out of her skin.
Then, finding herself under amused inspection from Beata, she returned a half-hearted little smile, and momentarily attended the newsreel. But soon her mind was to wander again.
The interval brought community singing. Irritated beyond belief, Nell lit a cigarette and, whilst others sang, took puff after nervous puff of it, until the theatre eventually reverted to darkness. As if the uncomfortable seat was not bad enough, its rough moquette prickling the underneath of her legs, her bladder chose that moment to signal it required emptying again. Having purposefully gone before she came in, Nell damned her system for its current inefficiency, and tried to hold off for as long as she could.
But, constantly wriggling in discomfort, she was eventually to receive a tap on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, love, but have you got worms?’ came an impatient demand from the man behind, whose view she had perpetually blocked.
Tutting with embarrassment, Nell apologised and turned back to the drama that had managed to capture her interest at last. But straight away an air-raid warning came onto the screen to interrupt a crucial moment, the slide instructing everyone who required to leave to do so in an orderly fashion.
‘Get on with it!’ hollered the man behind, the whole audience groaning in unison, and most people remaining in their seats.
Desperate for the lavatory by now, Nell rose quickly and made her way to the end of the row, whispering to Beata, ‘Don’t miss the picture, I’ll be back when I’ve spent a penny.’
Once in the cubicle, she took the opportunity to undo the top hooks and eyes of her corset, gasping as she lowered herself onto the seat, then sitting back to savour these few moments of relief. Soon, though, the sound of someone else waiting outside the door had her hurrying to do up her corset and emerge.
But as she did so, who should she almost collide with but Sister Barber.
Both looked stunned, before Nell turned shamefully aside to wash her hands, and Sister hovered to observe: ‘I heard nothing to the effect that you’d be here tonight. Nurse Spottiswood – you’re meant to keep the authorities informed!’
Nell could think of no excuse, other than to stammer, ‘I’m sorry, Sister, it was a last last-minute arrangement …’
‘One that could get you dismissed!’
Nell was immediately gripped by terror: how could she support a child with no job? Her parents were going to be angry enough as it was – perhaps even kick her out – she would need every penny to maintain herself. She turned with dripping hands from the sink, about to beg for mercy, when just at that point Beata came to look for her.
‘Oh, and this is your partner in crime!’ came Sister’s withering proclamation, giving Nell leave to dry her hands. ‘I thought better of you, Kilmaster. Do neither of you grasp how important it is that we know your every whereabouts? It’s imperative that we’re able to muster the entire crew at a moment’s notice, we can’t hang around whilst the messenger visits every pub and picture house in York in the hope of finding you there! Are you masquerading as nurses?’
‘No! I’m truly serious about this, Sister,’ objected Nell, both she and Beata apologetic. But Sister remained waspish and obviously not satisfied. ‘I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow morning.’ And she jerked her head for them to go.
‘Oh God, I can’t get the sack – not on top of everything else!’ uttered a frantic Nell to Beata as they hurried for the exit. She was close to tears again, and could not understand how the other remained so calm.
‘She won’t get us fired,’ assured her friend in that gently confident way of hers. ‘She was just letting off steam.’
Nell felt like shaking her older friend for such complacency. ‘Maybe not you, but she’s always had it in for me!’
Beata tried to coax her, as both made the decision to abandon their night out and turn for home. ‘I can promise you, you won’t get the sack. Listen to your Aunty Beat.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I can see you’re going to spend the night fretting if I don’t tell you …’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I know Sister’s little secret,’ disclosed Beata with a sly grin. ‘She lives near me. Her husband runs a pub.’
Nell was utterly flummoxed.
‘Nurses’re not supposed to have a pub address,’ explained Beata. ‘Sister gave Matron a false one, I overheard her.’
Nell heaved a vast sigh of relief, but in that same turn she clicked her tongue. ‘You could have given me this ammunition before, instead of letting her boss me around all these weeks!’
‘You needed bossing around,’ retorted Beata, only half-joking. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t my place to let on about Sister, we’re all entitled to our secrets.’ Then, astonished that Nell’s eyes bulged with unexpected tears, she was swift to say, ‘I wasn’t thinking, love … keep your chin up, you’re bound to hear from him soon. That’s who you’re really worried about, isn’t it?’
Dabbing at her eyes and blowing into her handkerchief, Nell moved her head up and down, thinking but not saying, Oh, Killie, if only you knew the half of it. But then, did she know? Had she guessed? Darting teary eyes over her friend’s face, Nell tried to read what was there, wondering whether to throw herself on the