An Orphan’s War. Molly Green
she was a possession rather than a woman with her own brain, and the Johnny she’d known and adored was fading. It was as though being married had cost them their precious friendship. Somehow it made it even more imperative that she take decisions for her own career. And that might mean transferring to London.
‘Take care of yourself, Max,’ Johnny shouted from the open window of the train as it began to roll out of the station the next morning.
‘You, too,’ she called, swallowing the lump in her throat. In spite of their disagreement, she knew she’d worry herself sick about him until she heard from him.
She half ran to catch the tram to take her back to the hospital. Her shift would start in an hour so she needed to hurry.
As the tram trundled along, Maxine peered out of the window, which for once was reasonably clean. Liverpool looked exactly the same as it always did. People rushing to work, shopping, the familiar landmarks of the adjoining historic buildings – the Derby Museum, the Walker Art Gallery and the impressive Central Library – no signs at all that the country was at war.
Her attention was suddenly caught by a tall RAF officer with a couple of books under his arm, running from the library towards her tram. There was something about him. A sense of urgency and the determined expression on his face as he drew nearer. She couldn’t help watching him, wondering if he’d manage to catch the tram before it pulled away. Just as he was about to board, the doors shut in his face and Maxine noticed his expression turned to raw annoyance. Before she could look away he gazed directly up at her through the window, his dark eyes holding hers for several long seconds. Her stomach fluttered. She had the strangest feeling that he knew her.
She felt disappointed for him that he hadn’t quite made it; she refused to acknowledge that she was a trifle disappointed for herself.
‘Mum?’
‘Is that you, dear?’
Her mother always asked the same question every evening, as if it was possible she was someone else calling her ‘Mum’.
Maxine opened the kitchen door where her mother was making supper.
‘Ah, there you are. I’m nearly ready.’ She tipped her cheek for her daughter’s kiss. ‘Go and call your father … Oh, there’s a letter for you.’
Maxine hung up her coat in the hall and picked up the envelope that was propped on the chiffonier behind an empty jug. She glanced at the large sprawling writing. Pearl. Hmm. Her cousin didn’t usually write unless she wanted something. She’d look at it later. For now she’d decided to talk to her parents. Tell them her idea. They needed time to digest this kind of plan.
Supper was quiet, as usual. Her father liked to eat in peace and it was rare for the three of them to have a conversation, let alone a serious discussion, unless Mickey was home. Then he’d talk non-stop and her mother would smile indulgently. Thank goodness Mickey wouldn’t be coming home yet. He’d have plenty to say about her announcement, throwing it in the worst possible light and alarming her mother. Maxine sighed. She would have to wait until she’d helped her mother clear the table and wash up. By then her father would be settled in his favourite armchair, smoking his pipe and listening to the wireless.
‘Are you quite well, Maxine?’ Her mother’s voice sounded anxious. ‘You haven’t finished your supper … it’s your favourite.’
She sent her mother an apologetic smile.
‘I think I’m a bit tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.’ She put another small forkful in her mouth but it stuck in her throat. She swallowed twice to dislodge it and laid her fork down. ‘It’s just that I want to tell you both something, though it’s not absolutely definite yet.’
Her mother looked across the table, her face suddenly wreathed in smiles. ‘Oh, my dear. How wonderful.’ She turned to Maxine’s father. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Stan? Our little girl.’
Her father looked bemused. ‘Let her finish, Edna. She’s—’
‘I’m sure it’s definite,’ Maxine’s mother broke in. ‘And I’ve been hoping you wouldn’t keep us waiting too long.’ She sent her daughter a tender look. ‘That’s why you’ve lost your appetite.’
Whatever was her mother on about? But then the penny dropped. She thought her daughter was going to have a baby.
‘You’ll be giving up work now, won’t you?’ her mother went on. ‘I know what it’s like. You’ll need me to look after you.’
‘Mum, I’m not expecting, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Her mother’s face visibly fell. ‘Well, of course that’s what I thought you meant. What else could it be?’
‘Let her tell us herself, Edna. Try not to keep interrupting.’ Her father’s tone was calm.
‘I’ve been thinking about going to St Thomas’ hospital in London … it has an excellent reputation … and now Johnny’s joined up, I fancy a change,’ she finished lamely.
There. She’d said it. Two pairs of wary eyes swivelled towards her.
‘You’re leaving us?’ Her mother’s voice rose as she reached in her apron pocket for her handkerchief. She blew loudly into the piece of white cloth. ‘We thought you were so happy at the Royal Infirmary.’ She emphasised the word. ‘That’s what you wanted.’
No, Mum – it was what you wanted, Maxine thought. I wanted to teach youngsters.
‘I’ve loved every minute there,’ she said instead. ‘But I think I’ll be more useful in London. That’s where the Germans will aim. For the docks.’
‘Liverpool will catch plenty as well, there’s no doubt of that.’ Her father swayed on the two back legs of his chair. ‘It’s a very important port strategically … our route to America, where we’ll be getting our supplies. A perfect target, I would think.’
‘It doesn’t alter what I’d like to do,’ Maxine said quietly. ‘You know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’d like this to be my decision.’
Her father nodded. ‘Of course we wouldn’t stand in your way – you’re a married woman.’ He put his knife and fork neatly together on the plate and glanced across to his wife. ‘Very tasty, dear.’
‘I suppose you have told Johnny,’ her mother said, intuitive for once.
‘I’ve mentioned it.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘That’s between him and me,’ Maxine said, gently but firmly.
Her mother looked at her, astonished. But all she said was, ‘When do you plan to go?’ She rose to collect the dirty plates as though she couldn’t wait to get out of the room – didn’t want to hear Maxine’s answer.
‘I told you, Mum,’ Maxine said in exasperation, ‘I haven’t planned that far ahead. I don’t even know if there’s a vacancy. I imagine they’re short of nurses, but I wouldn’t leave here until they offered me a job – presumably I’d have to have an interview first.’
‘Hmm.’ Her mother’s lips pulled tight. ‘Let’s hope they don’t allow married women.’
Maxine made her excuse and left the table as soon as she could and went up to her room. Her unmade bed seemed to reprimand her, but she’d been in such a hurry this morning and hadn’t had time to make it. As she bent to pull the blankets up and plump the pillow, she felt Pearl’s letter sticking out of her skirt pocket. Ripping it open with her fingers, defying her father’s instructions to always use a proper paperknife and make a neat job of it, she pulled out the single sheet.
18th May, 1940
Dear Max,