The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,17

The girls all began twirling around the room with imaginary partners, laughing and swooning over Eddy Duchin.

But the laughter stopped abruptly when Sister Sutton burst in and turned off the gramophone, scratching the needle carelessly across the record.

‘Lights out at ten,’ she reminded them briskly, as Sparky rushed around their feet, rounding them up. ‘You should be studying, not being frivolous. You have exams to pass, if you want to be nurses.’

‘Who says we want to be nurses any more?’ One of the girls, a slim blonde, made a face at the door as it closed, while another mournfully examined the record for scratches.

‘Look at it. It’s ruined. She did that deliberately.’

One of the older girls caught up with Dora as they made their way up to their rooms.

‘I’m Amy Hollins,’ she introduced herself.

‘Dora Doyle.’

‘I suppose this must all seem very strange to you? I know I was scared at first. But you’ll get used to it.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Just stay on the right side of Sister Sutton, at least until you’ve got to know the ropes a bit better.’

‘Thanks.’ Dora smiled back uncertainly. It was a relief to meet a friendly face at last.

As they headed towards the stairs, Amy said, ‘Who are you sharing with?’

‘Helen Tremayne and a girl called Benedict. I haven’t met her yet, but—’ Her voice trailed off as she saw Amy’s expression change. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘You’re sharing a room with Tremayne?’ Amy Hollins gave a hard laugh. ‘Good luck to you, then. You’ll need it.’

Dora shrugged. ‘She seems all right.’

‘You reckon?’ Amy smirked. ‘Maybe you’ll change your mind when you’ve got to know her better.’ She leaned towards Dora confidingly. ‘A word of advice. Don’t trust her an inch.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’ll be watching you. And every word you tell her will get reported back to her mother. You do know Constance Tremayne is on the Board of Trustees, don’t you?’

‘The Board of what?’

‘Trustees. They’re the ones in charge of the hospital. That’s why Tremayne thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us. She’s always running to her, telling tales about the rest of us. She’ll stab you in the back as soon as look at you. Trust me, I know,’ Amy said. ‘Why do you think none of the other girls speak to her? If I were you, I’d steer clear of her.’

Dora frowned, trying to take in what she was hearing. Helen was a bit quiet and stand-offish, but she didn’t strike Dora as the untrustworthy type.

‘I’ll choose my own mates, thanks very much,’ she said.

Amy Hollins shrugged. ‘Please yourself. I’m only warning you, that’s all,’ she said huffily. ‘But you really don’t want it to get around to the others that you’re a friend of Helen Tremayne’s or they might start thinking you can’t be trusted either.’

Back in the room, Helen was sitting up in bed, writing. She looked quite different in her flower-sprigged nightgown, her hair falling in a dark, silky curtain around her face.

Dora stepped carefully over the tumble of sheets and blankets on the floor. ‘Still no sign of Benedict?’

‘She won’t get in until after lights out. She never does.’

‘Won’t Sister Sutton mind?’

‘Probably. But she’ll have to catch her first.’

She went back to her writing. Dora got changed quickly into her nightgown, shivering in the chill of the room. Back in Griffin Street there would be a fire blazing in her bedroom on a cold night like this.

‘What are you writing?’ she asked.

‘Just a letter.’

‘To your boyfriend?’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

‘A friend, then?’

‘If you must know, I’m writing to my mother. And I want to finish it before lights out, so if you don’t mind?’

‘Sorry.’ Dora watched her scribbling, her hand moving quickly over the page. Amy Hollins’ words came back to her. Was she telling her mother about her new room-mate? Dora wondered.

She slipped into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The mattress was hard and lumpy, and the starched sheets felt cold and stiff against her skin. But it wasn’t just the bed that didn’t feel right. She missed brushing her teeth at the kitchen sink with Josie, whispering and laughing as they got ready for bed, with Bea hanging around, straining her ears to hear their secrets. She missed her mother singing Little Alfie to sleep. She even missed Nanna’s snoring.

The only one she didn’t miss was Alf Doyle. She shivered under the sheets, relieved that for once she didn’t have to sleep with one eye open and a chair wedged up