Sheelagh Kelly - An Unsuitable Mother

But as and whenever this last thought came, Nell drove it away. In any case, she was soon yanked from her ruminations by Joyson’s hammering on the door.

‘Come on, Spotty, I want me dinner!’

Pawing her heart, and shutting her eyes with barely contained patience, Nell shouted, ‘Coming!’ this begetting a hasty and awkward fastening of clothes.

But after rejoining the crew, with Joyson setting the pace and almost dragging her along, she was to acquire a dreadful stitch in her side that had her begging them to leave her behind, so that she might catch up at a more leisurely rate.

‘I know what’s wrong with her,’ speculated Joyson, upon Nell having finally reached the restaurant where she now sat picking at her meal in absent-minded fashion. ‘She thinks she’s getting too fat so she’s started pecking like a sparrow – it’s upset all your metabolism,’ she told the astounded Nell directly.

Having suffered a moment’s fright that her dilemma was about to be announced to all and sundry, Nell’s relief was to emerge in an outpouring of uncharacteristic impatience. ‘Honestly, Joy, are you never satisfied?’ She clattered her fork onto the plate and sat back to roll her eyes. ‘One minute I’m eating too much, the next too little – apparently I’m not even allowed to go to the lavatory when I want – could you please mind your own business!’

There was momentary silence, and a few sideways glances from other diners. But, though surprised by this show of temper from one so normally placid, none of her colleagues chose to ask what had caused it, for Nell’s raw sense of bereavement was a good enough excuse for them. And the subject was hastily changed.

Feeling extremely foolish, Nell abandoned her meal, instead seizing advantage of the lately relaxed ruling that allowed nurses to enjoy a post-luncheon cigarette, lighting up and dragging on it as if there were no tomorrow, then blasting a stream of smoke at the ceiling. Then, trying to appear less agitated, she was to while away the rest of her break, listening half-heartedly to the others discussing the Germans’ latest invasion of yet another country, and damning herself for being such a coward as not to confide.

And yet again she was left to plod on alone towards her fate, alternating the days of hard work with evenings of knitting baby clothes in the secrecy of her room.

Spring brought daffodils to enhance the medieval Bar walls, pink blossom to the trees that lined Nell’s avenue, a fresh coat of paint to the Spottiswoods’ front door and sills, and an increasingly murderous blitz upon London. Having maintained a sporadic correspondence with Bill’s mother via the Preciouses household – though still not having told her nor them about the baby – Nell could only guess how terrible life must be in the capital, and, appreciating the safety of a York barely damaged, she had lately shelved her plan to throw herself on Mrs Kelly’s mercy should her own parents disown her. It was far too dangerous.

So, too, was her recent habit of pilfering from the hospital, and it looked to Nell as if matters had finally come to a head. After a long shift, partly maintaining the casualty evacuation train and undergoing a futile exercise in which she dressed mock injuries on fellow nurses, but much of it helping out with more genuine work at the Infirmary, she had been anticipating a warm meal and a comfortable bed as she made ready to go home. Instead, just as she was due to leave on that damp spring evening, an authoritative voice accosted her in the echoing corridor: ‘One moment, Nurse Spottiswood!’

Nell stopped dead, and quaked in her shoes, fearing that someone must have seen her take the baby’s napkin that she was hiding under her coat, requisitioned during her opportune bout in the nursery. Her heart beat rapidly as she turned to face her superior’s wrath.

But to her confusion, and not a little relief, others from the crew were being summoned as well, Matron Fosdyke announcing to all, ‘I’ve received word that the casualty evacuation trains are required – yes, you’re finally needed at last!’ she said at their looks of expectation. ‘So, if any of you have family who’ll be concerned at your absence, those without a telephone may go home and inform them of your whereabouts, then you must immediately present yourself to Matron Lennox at Leeman Road.’

Simultaneous to that wondrous flush of reprieve, Nell could also have wept from sheer exhaustion at the thought of being robbed of her bed. Though, adhering to duty, she was to act without question, as were her friends. Yet even in the rush to obey, she saw that Beata was eyeing her in a sympathetic manner, and it drew to Nell’s cheeks a crimson tinge, her instantaneous thought being that her pregnancy was finally to be unveiled.

Beata was not so candid as to mention it outright, though. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand if you can’t manage it,’ she simply murmured to her friend. ‘You really shouldn’t push yourself.’

Nell bristled, immediately wishing she had not, but it was too late now, as she yelped, ‘What are you talking about? I’m as fit as everybody else! We’re all in the same boat – why, if there’s anyone that should be resting it’s you!’

In the furious hiatus, she sensed that Beata was about to say more, but just then Sister Barber happened past, took one look at the other’s ankle, which was hugely inflated and spilling over its shoe, and declared in her usual brusque manner, ‘Spottiswood’s right! You needn’t bother coming back, Kilmaster, that leg will be exploded before we reach Doncaster. Get yourself home and put it up – come along, Spottiswood, get yourself weaving and tell your parents, then hurry back!’

Observing that Beata seemed about to plead lenience for her friend, Nell suppressed her with a thunderous glance. Then, issuing a hasty goodbye, and wrapping her coat around her abdomen, already afflicted by a stitch, she lumbered off to catch a bus.

Thankfully, its arrival at the stop coincided with hers, and within ten minutes she was almost home, though the latter part of her journey was delayed by the horde of human traffic that streamed from the carriage works, both on bicycle and on foot.

Home at last, she babbled the news to her mother. Then, still wearing her coat, and under pretext of visiting the lavatory, there was only enough time for Nell to hide the stolen napkin in her room alongside the rest of the layette she had accumulated, before rushing back out again, a hastily compiled sandwich in her hand.

Once she was on the train, though, and on the way down to London, there was at least an opportunity to take the weight off her feet, and, with many jarring hours ahead, the chance to succumb to the hypnotic rackety-rack of the wheels, Sister being charitable enough to allow her nurses a nap.

Nell was to fall into a deeper sleep than most, and this was to leave her disorientated when she woke from it with a start to find that they were emerging from a tunnel to a packed platform. Suddenly she remembered where she was heading. London – maybe she’d see Billy! Maybe he wasn’t – maybe it had all been a mistake – there were tales in the newspapers every day of men being presumed dead, then turning up alive, and not just isolated cases either, was it not possible that Billy could be one of them? That his mother could have been duped? It might not have been him, the witness might have been unreliable. Please, oh, please, let it be …

Forlorn as this hope might seem, with the train squeaking into its destination and the other nurses opening its doors, the still-hypnotised Nell found herself beset with an overwhelming mass of activity, much of it in khaki, and her immediate reaction was to scour every face on the platform. Almost at once she saw him! She called out, couldn’t help herself, took a few steps onto the platform and cried out his name. ‘Bill!’