Annie Groves - Christmas for the District Nurses

‘Right you are,’ Brendan said, sounding as if he was relieved not to have to make such a call. ‘What about the others?’

‘They need to come to hospital,’ said Belinda decisively. ‘At least one of them’s in shock and I suspect the other has a risk of concussion.’

‘Hope there’s a bed free,’ he muttered.

Belinda stood, her knees in tatters. ‘There will be. They’ll have to make room for these. We’re a whisker away from losing this small boy.’

In the back of the ambulance, keeping the stretcher with its precious load as steady as possible, she barely had time to notice the young couple walking along the Downs. It was only after they had arrived at breakneck speed at the nearest hospital and ensured that all three boys were safely admitted that it occurred to her who she had seen. Belinda had done her best to extract addresses from the boys, with George able to explain that Larry lived around the corner but not what street or house number, and promised the harassed admissions clerk that she would telephone her with the full details. ‘One of my colleagues has worked with the family,’ she explained. Then she had sunk onto a chair near the clerk’s desk as Geraldine offered to find a quick cup of tea to revive them before driving back.

Now that she had a moment to herself the image came back to her. It had been Peggy – well, no surprise there, as she lived nearby and would sometimes go for a walk on the Downs, as they all did, strolling along what was left of the grass and avoiding the trenches and the new allotments. It was the young man with her who was so unexpected. He had been in American army uniform. He had dark skin. It was the soldier from the dance hall, all those months ago. They had looked to be very close indeed. Now what was all that about?

‘You’ve got another one of those letters,’ said Mrs Cannon as Peggy came downstairs in her light cotton dress and sandals. Now that summer was properly here, the temperature had risen, though the hallway of the small terraced house was still shady and cool. The older woman stood at the parlour door, half-hidden in the shadows, and held out an envelope to her daughter-in-law.

‘Thanks.’ Peggy took it and tucked it into her patch pocket. She had given up hiding the arrival of the letters, as it only made things worse. Besides, she didn’t want to skulk about and pretend nothing had happened.

She had been seen, of course. Belinda had teased her, which she didn’t mind; after all, Belinda had met James, if briefly, and had seen how genuine he was. It was the reaction of the neighbours that had caught her unawares.

It had been downright vicious. Mrs Bellings across the road had lost no time in making her feelings known. ‘It’s a disgrace,’ she’d spat, catching Peggy as she came home from her shift not long after Easter. ‘You flaunting yourself like that, with that man. A GI, of all things. Don’t think I don’t know what they’re like. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Peggy had found herself speechless for a moment and then had recovered. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ she had retorted sharply, letting herself into the house and slamming the front door in her indignant neighbour’s face. She had leant against the coolness of the hallway wall, catching her breath. Spiteful old woman, she thought. She’s just jealous.

However it had not been a one-off incident. Plenty of people were beginning to object to the presence of the American servicemen. More and more were preparing to sail across the Atlantic, and the British were often at a loss as to what to make of them. ‘Overpaid, oversexed and over here’ was the general complaint. Women who associated with them ran the risk of being scorned, or being considered mercenary and just in it for the nylons, or worse. Peggy had compounded the problem because James was black.

To give her credit, Mrs Cannon had not been one of them. She had asked Peggy if it was true and Peggy had told her what had happened: she had met James and liked him but not really thought anything of it when she didn’t hear from him; he’d called for her out of the blue; they’d gone for a walk and got along like a house on fire. Now he had been posted to another army camp, she wasn’t sure where, but they had agreed to write. That was all there was to it.

What Peggy hadn’t admitted to her mother-in-law was that she had been able to talk to James about Pete, and how understanding he had been. There had been no awkwardness. ‘I won’t say I know how you feel because I don’t,’ he had said. ‘But I had a brother who died. It was an accident. Weren’t nobody’s fault – he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A truck came crashing onto the sidewalk and he was gone. We was close. For a while I didn’t care what happened to me, nothing felt real.’

‘That’s exactly what it’s like,’ she’d said, dizzy with relief that he hadn’t stepped away at the thought of her having being married, or been embarrassed at her sorrow, or thought she was an easy target because she was likely to be vulnerable. If anything he stepped even closer to her, and for a moment she sensed he would protect her and how much she had missed that feeling.

It had not been a long walk. He had had to get back to base and wasn’t sure what time it would take. He had promised to write and not lose her address again. They had not so much as kissed when they’d said their goodbyes.

Yet Peggy had been sure that something important had taken place that afternoon. She had kissed quite a few men in her time and not one had meant anything, apart from Pete. She felt something shift, and the way she looked at the world seemed different somehow.

She could not explain that to Mrs Cannon. She played it down, not wanting to be disloyal to Pete or to offend his mother who had shown her nothing but kindness. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble. However, it looked as if trouble might come her way anyhow. She had overstepped the mark. She had overheard one of Mrs Bellings’s cronies comment that if she absolutely had to walk out with a man, what was wrong with a good British one?

Peggy had been out at the market with Mrs Cannon when she heard that. Mrs Cannon had taken her aside. ‘Don’t mind her, duck. Never had no sense, that one. You had the best young British man there was, and that did you a fat lot of good in the end, didn’t it? I don’t begrudge you a bit of fun, dear; it’s been nearly two years, after all.’ Despite her cheery words the older woman had bitten her lip, still nowhere close to accepting the death of her only child.

Now Peggy picked up her cardigan, much mended at the elbows, and turned for the door. ‘I’ll go to the market after work and see what bargains I can find,’ she promised, trying to brighten her mother-in-law’s expression. She sensed that every letter from James was a nail in the older woman’s heart, but Mrs Cannon would never rebuke her for receiving them.

‘You do that, dear. I’ll make us a nice potato pie for later. Now you go on, you don’t want to be late.’

Peggy nodded and left, holding her head high as she strode along the dusty pavement. The rows of terraced houses were almost identical, all the worse for wear, all still with windows taped in case the raids started up again. Mrs Bellings could twitch her curtains all she liked. The more she objected, the more determined Peggy became.