down the passageway, his military bearing evident even in civilian clothes. Seeing his tall, straight stance, his head held high, no one could possibly guess he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Frannie sighed. She’d wished on the Christmas tree star that the world would see sense and stop all the talk of war. Now she longed for another wish so she could bring John Campbell and his son together.
Chapter Thirteen
DORA DOYLE – OR Riley, as she was now – was a no-nonsense East End girl. She had been one of Helen’s best friends while they were training, but she’d left nursing when she married a hospital porter. Now she and Nick lived on the ground floor of a neat little terraced house off Old Ford Road.
It was a modest place, just two rooms and a kitchen, but Dora had turned it into a warm and welcoming home. Helen always enjoyed visiting, and sharing in her friend’s new life and happiness.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come, in this filthy weather.’ Dora helped her visitor off with her coat in the narrow hallway. It was strange to see Dora out of her nurse’s uniform and wrapped in a flowery pinny. But her freckled face and mop of untidy red curls were just the same. ‘Come through to the kitchen. You’ll have to excuse the mess, I’m making the Christmas pudding with Danny. We’ve left it a bit late this year.’
‘It all smells delicious,’ Helen said, as she followed her friend down the passageway into the brightly lit warmth of the kitchen. It was filled with a warm, aromatic fug of baking fruit and spices.
‘That’ll be the batch of mince pies I’ve got in the oven,’ Dora said.
A young man stood at the scrubbed kitchen table, stirring pudding mixture in a big earthenware bowl. When he saw Helen he dropped the wooden spoon and darted into the scullery.
‘Don’t be shy, Danny, it’s only Helen. You know her, don’t you?’ Dora said gently. ‘Come on, mate, come in and say hello. She ain’t going to bite you.’
Helen watched Dora coax her brother-in-law back into the kitchen. He edged towards the kitchen table, still not looking at Helen.
‘That’s it,’ Dora said. ‘You finish off that mixture while I put the kettle on.’ She ruffled the young man’s hair affectionately and picked up the kettle. ‘Cuppa?’ she said.
‘Yes, please.’ Helen watched Danny from the other end of the kitchen table as he moved slowly to pick up his wooden spoon again, his wary gaze still turned away from her. She’d been shocked when she first met him and found out he was Nick Riley’s brother. His pale hair, translucent skin and slack, vacant expression were nothing like Nick’s dark good looks. He was in his early twenties but he had the mind of a child – the result of an accident, Dora had told her.
‘Come on, then. I’m dying to hear all your news,’ Dora said as she bustled around making tea. ‘What’s been happening at the Nightingale?’
‘I’m surprised Nick doesn’t tell you.’
Dora laughed. ‘My husband ain’t exactly the chatty type, in case you hadn’t noticed! Besides, he says the last thing he wants to talk about when he gets home is work. But I like to hear what’s been going on.’
‘Do you miss it?’ Helen asked.
Dora paused for a moment. ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, I’m happy with what I’ve got,’ she added hastily. ‘I wouldn’t swap my life for all the tea in China. But, yes, I miss being on the wards, and having a laugh with the other nurses. We had some good times, didn’t we?’
‘Yes,’ Helen agreed. ‘We did.’
Sometimes she longed for the old days when they’d shared the draughty attic room at the student nurses’ home, giggling and grumbling and crying together. It had all seemed so simple then, when all they had to worry about were their exams, or whether the Home Sister would catch them climbing through a window after lights out.
‘There you are.’ Dora put a cup down in front of her.
‘Aren’t
Frannie sighed. She’d wished on the Christmas tree star that the world would see sense and stop all the talk of war. Now she longed for another wish so she could bring John Campbell and his son together.
Chapter Thirteen
DORA DOYLE – OR Riley, as she was now – was a no-nonsense East End girl. She had been one of Helen’s best friends while they were training, but she’d left nursing when she married a hospital porter. Now she and Nick lived on the ground floor of a neat little terraced house off Old Ford Road.
It was a modest place, just two rooms and a kitchen, but Dora had turned it into a warm and welcoming home. Helen always enjoyed visiting, and sharing in her friend’s new life and happiness.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come, in this filthy weather.’ Dora helped her visitor off with her coat in the narrow hallway. It was strange to see Dora out of her nurse’s uniform and wrapped in a flowery pinny. But her freckled face and mop of untidy red curls were just the same. ‘Come through to the kitchen. You’ll have to excuse the mess, I’m making the Christmas pudding with Danny. We’ve left it a bit late this year.’
‘It all smells delicious,’ Helen said, as she followed her friend down the passageway into the brightly lit warmth of the kitchen. It was filled with a warm, aromatic fug of baking fruit and spices.
‘That’ll be the batch of mince pies I’ve got in the oven,’ Dora said.
A young man stood at the scrubbed kitchen table, stirring pudding mixture in a big earthenware bowl. When he saw Helen he dropped the wooden spoon and darted into the scullery.
‘Don’t be shy, Danny, it’s only Helen. You know her, don’t you?’ Dora said gently. ‘Come on, mate, come in and say hello. She ain’t going to bite you.’
Helen watched Dora coax her brother-in-law back into the kitchen. He edged towards the kitchen table, still not looking at Helen.
‘That’s it,’ Dora said. ‘You finish off that mixture while I put the kettle on.’ She ruffled the young man’s hair affectionately and picked up the kettle. ‘Cuppa?’ she said.
‘Yes, please.’ Helen watched Danny from the other end of the kitchen table as he moved slowly to pick up his wooden spoon again, his wary gaze still turned away from her. She’d been shocked when she first met him and found out he was Nick Riley’s brother. His pale hair, translucent skin and slack, vacant expression were nothing like Nick’s dark good looks. He was in his early twenties but he had the mind of a child – the result of an accident, Dora had told her.
‘Come on, then. I’m dying to hear all your news,’ Dora said as she bustled around making tea. ‘What’s been happening at the Nightingale?’
‘I’m surprised Nick doesn’t tell you.’
Dora laughed. ‘My husband ain’t exactly the chatty type, in case you hadn’t noticed! Besides, he says the last thing he wants to talk about when he gets home is work. But I like to hear what’s been going on.’
‘Do you miss it?’ Helen asked.
Dora paused for a moment. ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, I’m happy with what I’ve got,’ she added hastily. ‘I wouldn’t swap my life for all the tea in China. But, yes, I miss being on the wards, and having a laugh with the other nurses. We had some good times, didn’t we?’
‘Yes,’ Helen agreed. ‘We did.’
Sometimes she longed for the old days when they’d shared the draughty attic room at the student nurses’ home, giggling and grumbling and crying together. It had all seemed so simple then, when all they had to worry about were their exams, or whether the Home Sister would catch them climbing through a window after lights out.
‘There you are.’ Dora put a cup down in front of her.
‘Aren’t
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