The Little Runaways

‘I think it must be Terry Johnson,’ Sister Beatrice said, ‘and that is why I’m glad you’re here this evening. We tried to separate him and his big sister, Nancy, into different dormitories earlier this morning, because they been here a couple of days and are obviously not carrying an infection, but the boy became violent and bit Staff Nurse Carole when she tried to part them. His sister intervened and he quietened, but he is going to need watching. We were forced to give him a mild sedative and leave them both in the isolation ward – but it sounds as though it has worn off.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I think Nurse will need help in there this evening.’

‘I’d better go and see whether he needs anything,’ Angela said, though the first screams had not been repeated.

‘I imagine his sister is calming him down, but they can’t be ignored. Go and talk to them, Angela, see what the matter is if you can. He won’t speak to me, I’m afraid. Usually, I can get children to talk, but not this boy. He just stared vacantly at me, though I’m sure he understood every word I said.’

‘Yes, Sister, I’ll see what I can do,’ Angela promised.

She left the sick bay and went through to the isolation ward. The dormitories were almost full in any case, because since Christmas six new children had been brought to the home and it was just about at bursting point. Angela knew that Sister Beatrice was impatient for the new wing to be ready, but although the builders had promised to be out by the end of this month, it looked as if they might not be finished for weeks yet. Angela would have to do what she could to hurry them up.

Entering the ward quietly, Angela saw a girl of slight build, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, sitting on the edge of one of the beds. She had fine fair hair and was talking softly to the boy in the bed, stroking his much darker hair, her voice gentle and comforting.

‘Was it ’cos the door was locked, Nance?’ he asked, his eyes wide and scared. ‘I can’t remember … was it my fault … did I do something bad …?’

‘No, of course not, love,’ she murmured. ‘Pa was a brute – what he did to us both … He made it happen – it wasn’t your fault—’ Suddenly, she broke off and turned her head to look at Angela, a look of fear in her soft grey eyes. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Angela Morton. I work here, in the office, and sometimes help out with our children. I’ve been asked to see that you and your brother are safe and have all you need …’

‘Thank you,’ the girl said, and the fear in her eyes lessened, though Angela sensed hesitation in her. ‘Terry was having a bad dream – about our ma and pa …’

‘You’re Nancy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, miss,’ she said, her eyes never leaving Angela’s face, almost as if she were trying to assess her, to see if she could be trusted. ‘I’m the eldest, almost fourteen. Terry is only ten; eleven in September. He’s usually as good as gold but …’

‘Yes, of course. We do understand what you’ve been through, Nancy. I hear you were a very brave girl. You should be proud of yourself for saving your brother’s life. It must have been terrifying to go back upstairs when the fire was raging.’

‘I had to, miss. It wasn’t his fault that the fire started – Pa was drunk. He must have knocked over the lamp and not noticed what he’d done. He was always getting drunk, miss, and Ma wasn’t much better. They locked Terry in his room and went out drinking together that night. Terry didn’t have any supper and he was crying but Pa had the key in his jacket pocket, and after they came back drunk, I unlocked the door and gave Terry a drop of tea and a crust of bread and jam … I was still in the kitchen clearing up the mess they’d made when the fire started. I heard Terry scream and went up and dragged him down the stairs. He just stood there staring …’

Nancy’s voice had risen, and she seemed on the verge of hysteria herself. ‘Terry shouted to Ma but their door was locked to keep us out and they either didn’t hear or they were too drunk … I couldn’t get them out, because the door was blazing – it was too late.’ Her voice broke on a sob of despair. ‘Too late …’

Angela could see that the girl was suffering from delayed shock herself. ‘It was a terrible tragedy, Nancy. No one blames you or your brother for what happened. You got your brother out, and you tried to save your parents too.’

Nancy’s gaze veered away, seeming to look into the distance. ‘Yes, miss, that’s what the policeman said. The firemen tried to get in but they couldn’t reach them; the stairs were all afire by then and no one could get to the bedrooms that way. When they got in through the window, they were dead from the smoke. We ran away because we didn’t know what to do – and Terry said Ma was screamin’ but I didn’t hear her. I think it’s just in his head, ’cos he loved Ma. It wasn’t our fault …’

Nancy was so intense. Angela reached for her hand and pressed it reassuringly. ‘I am quite certain it was not, Nancy. As you said, your father probably knocked his oil lamp over and didn’t notice because he was drunk. Fire spreads so quickly in old houses and by the time the fire service came it was too late. I am so sorry for all you and your brother have suffered.’

‘Yes, miss, thank you, miss,’ Nancy said and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I don’t want to lose Terry, miss. He’s all I’ve got now – and it’s always been the two of us …’

‘I’m sure you love him. He will be quite safe with us, I promise you. In time he will stop being so afraid and then he will realise that we are here to help children who have lost their homes. Do you have any other relatives?’

‘No, miss, not that I know of. They mostly died in the Blitz. Me ma once spoke of her cousin in the country, but she never come to see us …’ Tears welled in Nancy’s eyes. ‘Ma didn’t deserve to die. She did what she could for us until she got bad. Pa spent all he earned on drink and she gave us most of her food. I wanted to save her, miss. Truly I did, but the flames were so hot I couldn’t get near the door …’

Angela handed her a clean white handkerchief. ‘Wipe your eyes and blow your nose, Nancy. I am quite sure you did what you could for your mother and your father. It isn’t your fault. They were the adults; it was their job to keep you safe in your own home – no one will blame either of you.’

‘Will that Sister Beatrice let us stay here if Terry keeps screaming and being wild? She was very cross when he fought the nurses who tried to give him a bath. The only person he trusts near him is me.’

‘Why is that, Nancy?’ Angela asked, but the girl just shook her head. Clearly she didn’t want to talk about it, and it was too soon to press for details, although Angela suspected that the bruises on Terry’s body might have been inflicted by his father and not a tramp. No doubt Nancy would tell them the truth when she was ready.

‘I’ve always cared for him.’

‘The nurses have to make sure you don’t have anything infectious when you come – but perhaps Sister will let you stay here in this ward until he is more himself.’

‘Will you ask her if we can stay here together, miss? Sometimes, he wets the bed, and he walks in his sleep. If I’m not there to take him back to bed he might … hurt himself.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Angela said. She thought privately that Terry was a very disturbed child and might benefit from Mark Adderbury’s attention. Mark specialised in helping mistreated children in his spare time from his busy practice. Sister Beatrice relied on the help and advice he gave freely. ‘I’m sure you can stay in here for a while, just until we can sort something out …’

‘Thanks, miss. You’re kind.’ Nancy sniffed into the handkerchief and then offered it back.

‘You keep it for a while; you must have lost everything in the fire. I know St Saviour’s provides new clothes, but is there anything I can get for you that you need?’

‘Terry had a teddy bear he used to take to bed, but it was left behind when we escaped. It might have helped him to sleep …’

‘I can’t give him back the one he lost, but I do have my own very old and much-loved bear, if you think he would like that?’

‘You’d really let us have it?’

‘Yes,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll bring it tomorrow – and I’ve got a few pretty things you might like, Nancy. A case to put hankies in, and a brush and comb for your hair – and some satin ribbon to tie it up. You’ve got nice fair hair and it curls naturally.’

Nancy blushed, the tears glistening on her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Terry had been lying in the bed, just staring up at her, but now his eyes closed and Nancy smiled.

‘I think he will sleep now, miss. Shall we see you tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I shall be in and out this evening, just to make sure you’re both all right. I can get you a mug of cocoa to help you get off to sleep if you like?’

‘No, miss, I’m all right. I’m going to get into bed with Terry so that if he wakes again he won’t start screaming and wake everyone.’

‘Well, make sure you get out before the morning staff come on duty – they might not approve of you sleeping in his bed.’

Nancy looked at her sadly, reflecting more knowledge than ought to be in the eyes of a girl of her age. ‘I know, miss, but our Terry wouldn’t hurt me: he isn’t like Pa …’

‘Nancy.’ Angela caught her breath in shock. ‘Your father didn’t …?’

Nancy’s eyes filled with suffering but she didn’t say anything. Angela couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions that hovered at the back of her mind. If her suspicions were correct, Nancy had been interfered with by her own father and she was less than fourteen years old. What kind of a man would subject his own daughter to something so vile? He had more than likely beaten his son as well. She couldn’t help thinking that neither Nancy nor her brother would mourn him, though both seemed to be upset over their mother.

Angela left the children to sleep, but she couldn’t put the look in Nancy’s eyes out of her mind. Perhaps it was an act of fate that had caused the fire and set them free – and yet Angela had an uncomfortable feeling that there was much more that Nancy could have told her had she wished.

The problem was, what ought she to do about it? She supposed she should report what Nancy had let slip to Sister Beatrice, who would no doubt inform the police – but what was the point of that? Nancy hadn’t really told her anything and it could lead to lots of questions for the girl, and she’d already been through so much. She’d trusted Angela enough to open up a little and it would be a betrayal of that trust to tell. For the moment Angela would keep her suspicions to herself. What harm could that do?

SIX (#ub6fed859-b392-5ea2-a0e2-592e1f5e732d)

Carole looked at herself in the rather mottled mirror on the wall of her room at the Nurses’ Home and patted her natural blonde and very short hair with satisfaction. It was important to keep hair clean and neat for work, and her new fashionable boyish crop suited her. She was pleased with herself for finding this job. After completing her training at the London Hospital, in Whitechapel, she’d wanted a change, somewhere that she could influence her own life.

The Sister in charge of her ward at the teaching hospital had disliked her almost from the start and Carole was fed up with being picked on the whole time. She was an excellent nurse and had passed all her exams easily, and yet Sister Brighton seemed to hate her. That was probably because Dr Jim Henderson had taken an interest in the younger nurse, and everyone knew that Brighton was mad about him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t looked at her and it had turned her sour – at least, that was what all the nurses under her supervision thought.

For a while Carole had believed that Jim Henderson was the right man for her. Yes, she had imagined being a doctor’s wife and all of the perks that it would have brought. But he had been too dedicated to his job for Carole’s liking, neglecting her to work all hours and talking endlessly of going overseas for a few years to work in a mission hospital and taking her with him to do his charitable works. That was the last thing she’d wanted. Besides, she wasn’t in love with him; there had been a man once, but he had died on the beach at Dunkirk … Carole had hardened her heart after that and now she kept her distance. If she did marry it would be because it fitted in with her plans for a good life – and that didn’t include being a missionary’s wife in some godforsaken backwater. Once the romance was over, she’d given in her notice and taken this job. She was glad to see the back of Henderson and Sister Brighton; they were welcome to each other as far as she was concerned.

At least here she didn’t have to share a room any more. One day she’d have her own little flat, but this would do for now – besides, if you had your own place men tended to ask if they could come back for a drink when what they really wanted was something more. Carole wasn’t a complete innocent, and she would have gone to bed with Jim if he’d shown more interest in her sexually … but he was too intent on his good works. Next time, she would choose a man who was more worldly …

St Saviour’s had exactly what she was looking for. The atmosphere was more relaxed than at the hospital, though Sister Beatrice was a bit of an old dragon. She breathed fire and brimstone whenever she considered someone had done something wrong, but Carole knew her standards were excellent and the nun would be unlikely to find fault with her work. If she’d guessed what was in Carole’s mind, well, it was doubtful that she would ever have taken her on.