was, what Cissy felt for him wasn’t even a tiny
fraction
of what
she felt for Reggie, she thought furiously. Reggie was older and much more exciting than stupid old Fred. But Melly couldn’t tell anyone about that because she felt embarrassed and no one
would believe her. Reggie wasn’t even here – he’d been away in the army for so long. Dolly kept saying he might be home for Christmas and every time she thought of it, Melly felt
an electric thrill of excitement.
As she stood there Melly could hear the rise and fall of Dolly’s voice inside number one over the murmur of the television. Frankie Davies, the boy from number four, kept trotting up and
down hitting his own thigh and saying, ‘G’won, Trigger!’ Melly didn’t want to know about Frankie. He was pale and odd, with adenoids. Beyond him, tucked against the far
wall, was the Norton, Wally and Reggie’s pride and joy, under an old tarpaulin. Wally tinkered with it at the weekends and took it out, with threats directed at any of the children in the
yard as to what would happen to them if he caught them meddling with it.
Melly picked at the moss on the wall with her finger. The memory of her brother’s bowed head kept forcing itself into her mind. Tommy wouldn’t look up at her. Tommy, who before had
turned to her for almost everything. She had been his companion, his teacher. Now he didn’t want her. She was glad the light was bad because she didn’t want to cry in front of Frankie
Davies. She swallowed hard, feeling more lost and lonely standing there in the shadows than she had ever felt before.
No one seemed to want her. Mom only took any notice when she had a job for her to do and all she talked about now was Tommy’s new school. She went in once a week to help and it seemed to
have taken over all of her mind. Dad played with Kev and Ricky, never with her. She wanted someone to want her – need her.
A warm feeling spread through her as she thought about the nurse who had come when Ricky was born.
You could make a marvellous little nurse one day.
The idea caught hold in her mind.
That was what she’d do – she’d become a nurse! Then she could look after people and they would need her and think she was special, the way she’d thought Nurse Waller was
special. She’d work in a hospital and she’d be called Nurse Booker and she’d be the best nurse that ever was!
She was full of a burning passion, all in that moment, wanting it now, wanting it to begin. She thought about Lil Gittins. Lil always said what a good girl she was and how Stanley seemed to talk
to her when he didn’t to most people. That’s what she would do. She’d go and see Stanley. She could help him; nurse him or whatever he needed.
Straightening up, she brushed down her grey school dress. Pulling her shoulders back, she said to herself, ‘Nurse Booker went to call at number five.’ She walked in a dignified
manner across the yard, past Cissy and Freddie. She waited for Cissy to call to her, ‘Where’re you off to, Melly?’ But Cissy, propped in a provocative stance against the wall of
the wire factory, didn’t even look round. Melly reached number five and, after taking a breath, rapped on the door.
‘Yes? Who is it?’ She heard Lil’s tense voice from inside. Poor Lil. That was what everyone called her. Poor Lil with her wrecked husband, her lost youth. But Melly could not
remember Lil before the war. In her memory she had always been grey-haired and thin and nervy.
‘It’s . . .’ She wanted to say, ‘Nurse Booker.’ Nurse Booker who strode across battlefields bringing balm and healing to injured men, like Florence Nightingale, who
they had heard a story about at school. The men reached out to her, desperate, with trembling hands as she went past. They never forgot her. ‘It’s me. Melly.’
The door opened. Lil had a pinner on over her dress, hair half hanging down. She looked tense, her hands concealed behind her back. A nasty smell
fraction
of what
she felt for Reggie, she thought furiously. Reggie was older and much more exciting than stupid old Fred. But Melly couldn’t tell anyone about that because she felt embarrassed and no one
would believe her. Reggie wasn’t even here – he’d been away in the army for so long. Dolly kept saying he might be home for Christmas and every time she thought of it, Melly felt
an electric thrill of excitement.
As she stood there Melly could hear the rise and fall of Dolly’s voice inside number one over the murmur of the television. Frankie Davies, the boy from number four, kept trotting up and
down hitting his own thigh and saying, ‘G’won, Trigger!’ Melly didn’t want to know about Frankie. He was pale and odd, with adenoids. Beyond him, tucked against the far
wall, was the Norton, Wally and Reggie’s pride and joy, under an old tarpaulin. Wally tinkered with it at the weekends and took it out, with threats directed at any of the children in the
yard as to what would happen to them if he caught them meddling with it.
Melly picked at the moss on the wall with her finger. The memory of her brother’s bowed head kept forcing itself into her mind. Tommy wouldn’t look up at her. Tommy, who before had
turned to her for almost everything. She had been his companion, his teacher. Now he didn’t want her. She was glad the light was bad because she didn’t want to cry in front of Frankie
Davies. She swallowed hard, feeling more lost and lonely standing there in the shadows than she had ever felt before.
No one seemed to want her. Mom only took any notice when she had a job for her to do and all she talked about now was Tommy’s new school. She went in once a week to help and it seemed to
have taken over all of her mind. Dad played with Kev and Ricky, never with her. She wanted someone to want her – need her.
A warm feeling spread through her as she thought about the nurse who had come when Ricky was born.
You could make a marvellous little nurse one day.
The idea caught hold in her mind.
That was what she’d do – she’d become a nurse! Then she could look after people and they would need her and think she was special, the way she’d thought Nurse Waller was
special. She’d work in a hospital and she’d be called Nurse Booker and she’d be the best nurse that ever was!
She was full of a burning passion, all in that moment, wanting it now, wanting it to begin. She thought about Lil Gittins. Lil always said what a good girl she was and how Stanley seemed to talk
to her when he didn’t to most people. That’s what she would do. She’d go and see Stanley. She could help him; nurse him or whatever he needed.
Straightening up, she brushed down her grey school dress. Pulling her shoulders back, she said to herself, ‘Nurse Booker went to call at number five.’ She walked in a dignified
manner across the yard, past Cissy and Freddie. She waited for Cissy to call to her, ‘Where’re you off to, Melly?’ But Cissy, propped in a provocative stance against the wall of
the wire factory, didn’t even look round. Melly reached number five and, after taking a breath, rapped on the door.
‘Yes? Who is it?’ She heard Lil’s tense voice from inside. Poor Lil. That was what everyone called her. Poor Lil with her wrecked husband, her lost youth. But Melly could not
remember Lil before the war. In her memory she had always been grey-haired and thin and nervy.
‘It’s . . .’ She wanted to say, ‘Nurse Booker.’ Nurse Booker who strode across battlefields bringing balm and healing to injured men, like Florence Nightingale, who
they had heard a story about at school. The men reached out to her, desperate, with trembling hands as she went past. They never forgot her. ‘It’s me. Melly.’
The door opened. Lil had a pinner on over her dress, hair half hanging down. She looked tense, her hands concealed behind her back. A nasty smell
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