Molly Green - An Orphan in the Snow

The others followed, all calling out, ‘Can we, can we?’

‘You’re not too old?’

‘No,’ they all chorused.

‘Well, all right, so long as you behave,’ June said, smiling. The children had settled down instantly. ‘And if I’m not ill or too busy, I’ll read you a story every night.’

‘Will you really, Miss?’ Peter’s eyes had shone with delight. ‘That’d be grand.’

Now Iris broke into her thoughts with talk of the dance.

‘I’m working,’ June told her, annoyed with herself for wondering not for the first time if Flight Lieutenant Andrews would be there, and trying to pretend her heart didn’t give a tiny leap each time. ‘And I don’t want to ask Matron any favours when I’ve only been here such a short time.’ June leaned towards the nurse. ‘Iris, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘How long have you been at Dr Barnardo’s?’

‘Oh, dear, I thought you were going to ask me a really tricky question.’ Iris leaned back in her chair and laughed. ‘Let’s see. It must be coming up two years.’

‘Do you like it here?’

‘It’s as good as anywhere,’ Iris said. ‘Better if we had a nicer matron – a proper one who actually works. The Fierce One’s a harridan and lazy with it. That’s why she’s got you here. She can push all the jobs she doesn’t like on to you. She’s been here forever and thinks she owns the place. And she’s got no kids of her own – not that I have’ – Iris threw June a grin – ‘but she doesn’t have the first clue that the kids need affection and individual attention, and it’s just as important as their food and a roof.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and plucked one out. ‘You’re changing the subject, Junie, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m going to have some fun. And you’re coming with me.’

‘Message from Matron,’ Kathleen said, flopping down in the chair next to June. ‘She wants to see you in her office – NOW!’ she barked in Matron’s strident voice. Barbara, who was crocheting a bedspread, chortled.

June’s heart dropped. Iris had warned her that Matron didn’t usually call you into her office unless it was something serious. Her usual habit was to waylay you in front of as many people as possible to criticise you – her way of feeling superior, she supposed. But if she wanted to give you a real dressing-down, that’s when she sent for you.

June went straight to Matron’s office and knocked.

‘Enter.’

June turned the handle and opened the door to Matron’s office. The room was so full of smoke she could hardly make out the figure sitting behind the desk. Matron had an accounts book open and was reading the figures, but June had the distinct feeling the woman didn’t understand them from the way she was flicking the pages back and forth. June cleared her throat in a pointed way. Matron looked up.

‘Oh, there you are, Miss Lavender. You can be seated.’

June sat with her hands quietly folded in her lap, determined not to be intimidated by the woman. She drew in a deep breath, wondering what was coming.

‘Hilda Jackson has put in a complaint about you which I take very seriously indeed.’

Lizzie .

‘You interfered with one of her special charges, Lizzie Rae Dixon.’

June opened her mouth.

‘No, Miss Lavender. I would prefer not to hear any excuses. Hilda has explained exactly what happened. The child needs special attention and Hilda has been assigned to give it to her. She did not take kindly to your interference and I will not tolerate such behaviour. You are not to go up to the nursery again, do you hear me?’

‘Matron, I didn’t interfere, as you call it. I just—’

‘Silence!’ Matron slapped her hand hard on her desk. ‘I will also not tolerate such rudeness. I shall be keeping a close eye on you, so watch your step in future, Miss.’ She snapped the accounts book closed. ‘You are dismissed.’

June bit her lip in fury to stop herself making a retort. How dare Matron speak to her as though she were a naughty child. If she’d only let her tell her side of the story. How Hilda did the complete opposite of giving the little girl attention and love which the child was crying out for. Leaving her completely on her own while she went down to the dining room and ate her own dinner, and then bringing a plate back for Lizzie. The child could get up to anything in those twenty minutes. No, Hilda was not the right person to be put in charge of her. But how on earth was she ever going to convince Matron? But whatever Matron threatened, June was determined she was going to try to talk to Lizzie again. To break through that wall of silence.

The only place Lizzie would go outside the nursery was into the kitchen with Cook. That was the best place to talk to her, June thought, because at least Bertie had shown the child kindness. But she couldn’t risk Matron’s temper if she went to see Lizzie in work time. No, she’d leave it until her next day off. Then she could do what she liked. Go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea with Bertie if the cook wasn’t too busy and maybe Lizzie would be there. Even so, it wouldn’t be easy. The child was suspicious of everyone, it seemed, with the possible exception of Cook.

June fell into bed, exhausted by the children. It was as though they sapped all feeling, all strength, until her head spun. But at least she now knew their names. The worst of it was she already had favourites. She’d been determined not to. It wasn’t fair on the others. But who could resist little Betsy with her skin the colour of treacle and her dark-brown eyes which she used in a comic fashion when she wanted to make you laugh? June couldn’t help smiling at the vision. And Harvey with his mocking grin and legs that showed recent scars, which could only have come from someone beating him. He bragged he could play any tune you asked for on the mouth organ, and so far he’d never wavered. Then there was quiet little Janet, a shy plump child with an extraordinary vocabulary for an eight-year-old. She’d sit for hours making tiny books and writing and drawing in them.

The children took her mind off painful memories. But June always came back to Lizzie.

Once or twice June had been tempted to remind Iris about the dance, but decided her friend would immediately tease her that she was looking for a man. She momentarily closed her eyes. A certain face whose image refused to go away. A strong face with the bluest eyes that crinkled when he laughed. The cleft in his chin like Cary Grant’s. The shiny hair, the colour of a tawny lion. You see, it’s happening right this minute, she berated herself, trying to push his image away. She was being ridiculous. Their encounters would have meant nothing more to him than a brief exchange of pleasantries. Actually, that first time on the train was more of a battle. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory, and Iris, who was collecting the dirty supper dishes, caught the smile and grinned back.

‘Penny for them.’

June went pink.

‘Ah, I thought so,’ Iris said, nodding sagely. ‘It’s the RAF chap. Well, the only way you’re going to see him again is if we go to the dance on Saturday. The girls in the kitchen aren’t going as it’s an officers’ do and they don’t feel comfortable with them, even though they admit they look gorgeous in their uniform. But they prefer the soldiers.’ She gave June a sharp look. ‘What’s the matter? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable with a load of posh officers.’

‘Posh?’ Iris threw back her head and roared. ‘You should hear some of them. Granted, they might talk hoity-toity but believe me, we’re just as good as them any day of the week.’