The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,139

too small to be a bedroom window. With any luck it’s a store room or something.’ Helen looked around and found an old flower pot. ‘Whatever it is, I’m going to have to risk it. I can’t stay out here all night.’

She placed the upturned pot outside the window, climbed up and scrambled through the narrow gap.

‘Be careful.’ Charlie’s last words drifted up to her as she disappeared head first through the tiny window.

She ripped her stockings, but at least she didn’t break her neck as she landed on a hard tiled floor. She scrambled to her feet, wishing there was a moon as she groped around in the pitch darkness, trying to find the door. The room seemed to be very small, and as she turned around she blundered into something big and cold and hard. She felt around. It felt like . . . a bathtub. She turned around, took another step and banged into a toilet.

A bathroom. She put her hand out and found the doorknob, wincing as it creaked when she turned it. But the creaking was soon drowned out by the sound of scampering feet and frantic yapping.

Helen flattened herself against the wall, hardly daring to breathe as claws scratched frantically at the other side of the door. A moment later she heard shuffling footsteps and Sister Sutton’s voice, blurred with sleep, calling out, ‘What is it, Sparky? Who’s there?’ The footsteps shuffled closer. Helen closed her eyes and prayed with all her might. Just as they reached the door, she heard Sister Sutton’s voice on the other side.

‘Come on, back to bed, you silly dog. Listen to you, yapping at nothing.’

The footsteps started to move away. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ Helen mouthed into the darkness. But as she turned, she knocked into a shelf and a jar of bath salts crashed to the ground, filling the room with the cloying scent of lily of the valley.

The door opened, the light went on, and Helen found herself staring into the face of Sister Sutton, shiny with face cream and circled with a halo of rollers. The Home Sister let out a scream, and so did Helen a moment later as Sparky sank his teeth into her ankle.

Chapter Forty-Five

‘GO AWAY,’ ALF grunted. ‘I don’t want you touching me.’

Dora smiled, enjoying every moment. ‘Don’t be silly, Alf,’ she said briskly. ‘I need to smarten you up.’

She followed his wary gaze to the trolley, laden with face cloths, towels, soap – and a razor blade.

‘I – I want someone else to do it,’ he stammered. ‘I don’t want you near me.’

‘Doyle?’ Dora turned as Staff Nurse Lund stuck her head through the curtains surrounding the bed. ‘Why haven’t you finished washing the patients? The consultant will be here soon.’

‘Mr Doyle doesn’t want me to wash him, Staff.’

Staff Nurse Lund wrinkled her nose fastidiously. ‘Really, Mr Doyle, that won’t do at all,’ she said. ‘It’s only a quick wash and brush up. You want to look your best for Mr Dwyer, don’t you?’ Without waiting for his reply, she turned back to Dora and said, ‘Carry on, please, Nurse. And be sure you don’t take any more nonsense.’

‘No, Staff.’ Dora waited until she’d gone, then looked back at Alf. ‘You heard her,’ she said, picking up a flannel.

Alf yelped as she slapped the cold, clammy cloth around his face. ‘That water’s stone cold. And do you have to be so bloody rough?’ he snapped, jerking his head away. ‘I’ll tell that Sister if you’re not careful.’

‘Go on, then.’ Dora took a step towards the curtains. ‘I’ll call her for you, shall I?’

‘Don’t bother,’ Alf grunted. ‘The old bitch is just as bad as the rest of you.’

His bravado didn’t fool her for a moment. He’d been wary of her ever since she’d made her threat.

Seeing him now made Dora wonder how she’d ever been so afraid of him. His ashen, haggard face, roughened by stubble, looked ten years older. He was no longer the monster who had made her afraid of every moving shadow in the night. He was just a trembling, pathetic coward who couldn’t even look her in the eye.

His gaze sharpened when she picked up the razor blade.

‘What’s the matter, Alf?’ Dora grinned. ‘You look a bit nervous.’

‘Never mind me,’ he muttered through a chin smothered with soap. ‘You just concentrate on what you’re doing with that thing.’

‘You’re right, I could do someone an injury, couldn’t I?’ She let the shiny blade flash in front of his