Christmas Wishes (8 page)

Joy reached the window first and pushed it open to its fullest extent. ‘Beat you …’ she began triumphantly as her twin tried to elbow her aside, but before she could get another word out the wind had seized the open pane and brought it crashing back straight into her face.

For a moment, Joy knew blinding pain and felt blood trickling down her brow, saw the scarlet of it and felt the chill of the icy wind. Then she fell into the black pit which had opened up before her and knew no more.

For one awful moment, Gillian had no idea what had happened. Her sister slid down from her position at the open window and landed in a tumbled heap on the floor, and Gillian began to scold her whilst leaning perilously out to grab the window latch. It was only as she began to pull it closed that she realised the big pane was there no longer. Casting a startled glance around the room by the light of the nearest street lamp, she saw glass starring the floor, the windowsill and her sister’s inanimate form.

‘Joy?’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right? Did the glass hit you?’ As she spoke, her sister’s head rolled a little, revealing a face covered with blood and spears of glass.

Then, Gillian screamed.

Despite Joy’s earlier comments, Mrs Lubbock was up the stairs and into the bedroom within moments of Gillian’s beginning to bash at the wall between the two houses. Wheezing and clutching her chest she turned on the light, screwing up her eyes against the sudden brightness. ‘Wharrever is the matter?’ she demanded. Gillian jumped to her feet and seized her fiercely, turning her round and beginning to propel her back towards the stairs.

‘The window slammed in Joy’s face; she’s hurt real bad,’ she said wildly. ‘You go to the telephone and ring for an ambulance; I’ll stay with her so she’s not afraid when she wakes up.’

‘Perhaps I oughter tek a look …’ the old woman began uncertainly. ‘The ambulance folk is bound to ask me …’

‘She took the glass full in the face and she’s unconscious,’ Gillian said, aware that not only her voice but her whole body was shaking. ‘Tell ’em there’s blood an’ glass everywhere, tell ’em our daddy’s away to a fire somewhere with the rest of Blue Watch. Tell ’em … oh, tell ’em anything you like, so long as you get help.’

‘Right,’ Mrs Lubbock said. She descended the stairs ponderously and the last Gillian saw of her was her long nightgown disappearing through the front doorway.

Gillian returned to her sister and knelt down beside her once more, without even noticing that she was kneeling on shards of broken glass and adding her own blood to that of her twin. ‘Joy?’ she whispered. ‘When I said I didn’t like being a twin, and I didn’t want to look exactly like you, I didn’t mean it, honest to God I didn’t. I wish to God I’d reached the window first, ’cos I’ve got more sense than to let go of the latch, which is what you must have done …’ She looked at the window and felt the icy wind blowing through the jagged gap, and realised that her sister would not have had the strength to prevent the gale from first taking the window from her grasp and then flinging it back in her face. Despite her much-vaunted brainpower, she herself would probably have done no better.

Gillian sat back on her heels; what should she do, what should she do? She supposed she ought to clear up the glass and noticed, for the first time, that her knees and the palms of her hands were covered in blood.

She and Joy had attended First Aid classes at the village school, but now that she could have done with their advice she could recall nothing about injuries caused by glass. All she could remember was that in some circumstances it was dangerous to move an injured person. She stood up and, after another look at her sister, dragged the patchwork quilt from the nearest bed, which happened to be Joy’s, and tucked it round the inanimate form. She remembered something about hot drinks for shock and gently smoothed a hand across her sister’s cheek, hoping to bring her round, but Joy neither moved nor spoke, and looked so ghastly that Gillian’s fear redoubled. She must get help, she
must
! The old lady would undoubtedly do her best, but she had not come right into the room, could not possibly realise the extent of Joy’s injuries.

The neighbours on the other side of No. 77 were old and would be little help in an emergency, Gillian thought, but further down the road there was sensible Mrs Clarke, and further still Mrs Finnigan, whose eldest daughter was training to be a nurse; she might know what to do. Yet suppose Joy comes round and finds herself alone and tries to come downstairs, or simply gets into bed, pressing the glass even further into the cuts, Gillian asked herself. Oh, I must do something, I can’t just sit here while Joy bleeds to death! I remember reading in a novel once that pressure stops bleeding, but I dare not press on any of Joy’s cuts because of the glass.

Irresolute, she hovered in the doorway and was just turning to descend the stairs, deciding that she would simply go into the street and knock at any house which had a light showing, when she heard the sound of an ambulance approaching, its bell ringing loudly.

Gillian could not have said how she got down the stairs. She simply found herself outside the front door, with the sleet lashing her face and the wind seizing her tangled curls and whipping her white winceyette nightgown up above her knees. Two uniformed men came towards her and she saw Mrs Lubbock’s fat, nightgowned figure approaching at a run from the direction of the telephone box. The foremost man caught hold of her arm and lowered his head until his mouth was on a level with her ear. ‘What happened?’ he asked, pushing her into No. 77 ahead of him. ‘Something about window glass … it’s to be hoped, young woman, that you’ve not called us out because your window’s broke.’

Gillian jerked her thumb in the direction of the stairs and the men began to mount them, Gillian close on their heels. ‘Our dad’s a fireman; he’s answering a shout,’ she said briefly. ‘Me sister heard the bells go down and opened the window to wave to the fellers, only the wind caught it …’

They reached the landing and in the dim light from the small electric bulb, which was all Alex considered necessary in the bedrooms, the two ambulance men took in the scene at a glance. The foremost sucked in his breath, then turned to Gillian. ‘Fetch a brush and dustpan,’ he ordered. ‘Bring them to the door here, then get yourself some warm clothing – got any slippers? Good. Put them on and stay out of our way whilst we take a closer look’ – he gestured to Joy’s motionless form – ‘at your sister.’

Infinitely relieved by their mere presence, Gillian nodded meekly, took her dressing gown from the back of the door and scuffed her feet into her slippers. Then she went downstairs but did not immediately fetch the brush and dustpan the ambulance man had demanded. First, she went into the kitchen and opened the front of the stove, riddling it briskly until the fire, which had been little more than a smouldering lump of coals, burst into flame. Then she put the kettle over the heat and went out of the kitchen, up the hallway and out on to the pavement. As she had guessed, Mrs Lubbock was standing there shivering, white with fright and with tears running down her face. Gillian gulped, then fell into the old woman’s arms.

‘Oh, Gillian, I done what you said, and then I went round to the Finnigans’ and tried to rouse young Daphne, only she’s doin’ nights at the Northern Hospital,’ Mrs Lubbock quavered. ‘The ambulance were awful quick, especially when I telled them she were only thirteen and hurt real bad.’ She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. ‘Oh, I pray to God she ain’t as bad as she looked! Course I couldn’t see much, but there were all that broken glass … Shall I fetch your pa? Oh, no – you said he’d been called out. Wharrabout me brother Toby? He’ll nail plywood over the broken window.’

Gillian thought of Mrs Finnigan, a tall, lively Irish woman, whose language when roused was said to be the envy of an Irish navvy, and of Toby Lubbock, who had kissed the Blarney Stone, according to Daddy, and had, it was said, half a dozen wives in every port. He was ashore right now, but would either of these persons do more than she herself could, which was nothing, except to wait for Daddy? The ambulance men clearly thought that any further action on her part could wait until her sister was safe in a hospital ward.

She turned back into the house, telling Mrs Lubbock rather sharply that the best thing she could do was brew a pot of tea whilst she herself spoke to the ambulance crew. Then she headed for the stairs, reaching them just as the two uniformed men, with Joy slung in a blanket between them, came carefully down the flight. Immediately, all her worries came surging back. The older of the two must have read the fear in her face for he slowed for a moment as he reached the foot of the stairs and smiled reassuringly at her.

‘Ma and Pa out on the razzle-dazzle, it bein’ Christmas? Oh, no – you said your dad’s a fireman …’

‘Her ma’s dead,’ Mrs Lubbock interrupted in a small voice. ‘That’s why I said I’d come over when Mr Lawrence is on nights, if the twins gorrinto any sort o’ trouble. Little did I think …’

‘Sorry, queen,’ the man said. He glanced at Mrs Lubbock, hovering in the kitchen doorway, and addressed her kindly. ‘Why don’t you make yourself and your young friend here a cup o’ tea and stop worrying. The young’ un will be all right once we get her into hospital.’

Mrs Lubbock nodded eagerly, but Gillian shook her head. ‘I’ll go with my sister,’ she said obstinately. ‘If Joy wakes up to find herself alone in a strange bed she might make herself really ill, from fright and that.’

The ambulance man shrugged philosophically. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted as they left the house and lifted Joy carefully into the ambulance. ‘Hop aboard, then … only what’ll your pa think if he comes home to find the house deserted? He’ll likely believe you’ve been kidnapped, and before we know it every scuffer in the city will be out searching for you.’

Gillian had already climbed into the ambulance, but the old lady, who had followed them outside, spoke up. ‘I’ll stay here and tell Mr Lawrence what’s happened,’ she volunteered. ‘Better meself than the youngster here.’

The older man, in the act of closing the ambulance doors, turned to give her an approving nod. ‘That’s the ticket,’ he said breezily. ‘Be sure to tell Mr Lawrence to come straight to the hospital, though.’

‘I will,’ Mrs Lubbock said. Gillian leaned forward.

‘Ta ever so, Mrs L, you’re a real brick,’ she shouted. ‘And ask me dad to bring me some proper clothes, will you? I dare say a dressing gown will pass muster on the wards, but when Joy and me come home it will probably be full daylight, and folk will think I’m a queer kid to go walking the streets in me nightwear!’

Alex arrived in the large reception hall desperately anxious, for Mrs Lubbock had not been able to tell him much, save the name of the hospital to which his daughter had been taken. By the time he had got home it had been nine o’clock in the morning and, mindful of Gillian’s shouted instructions, his neighbour had already gathered a supply of clothing for him to take to his daughters, so it was only a quarter of an hour later that he went through the swing doors and hailed a nurse carrying a large pile of different-coloured files. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he called urgently, though he kept his voice low. ‘Can you tell me where my daughters are? One of them has had an accident, and the other came with her … I’ve got their clothes here; if you can tell me where to find them …’

The nurse stopped and smiled at him. ‘Are you Mr Lawrence? Joy was taken straight to theatre, but I imagine she’ll back on the children’s ward by now. If you’ll hang on a moment, I’ll take you up there.’ She eyed the clothes he was carrying and cleared her throat uneasily before speaking again. ‘I don’t think Joy will be able to leave the hospital today – she’s had an anaesthetic – but the other little girl – Gillian, is it? – will be grateful for something warmer than her dressing gown.’

‘I’ll wait,’ Alex said eagerly. He had no idea where the children’s ward was and dreaded having to tour the hospital searching for his daughters. ‘Was she hurt badly, my little Joy? Is that why Gillian’s still here?’

The nurse, already pushing open with her hip a door marked
Medical Records
, immediately looked wary. She flapped a hand at him and called over her shoulder: ‘I can’t tell you because I don’t know, but you’ll find out more when you can speak to the ward sister.’ She disappeared, letting the door shut behind her, but was back only moments later smiling a bright, professional smile which sat oddly on her pale, tired face.

The children’s ward was called
Emily Jane
. Alex stood in the doorway, scanning the lines of beds stretching before him, and was still standing there when a small figure detached itself from its position at a bedside halfway down the long room and hurled itself into his arms. ‘Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,’ Gillian sobbed. ‘It’s all my fault! She’s hurt ever so bad. They’ve done one operation, but I heard them talking. The tall man with the ginger moustache said they would wait until she was stronger, and then operate again. Oh, Daddy, I’m so frightened!’

Alex gave his daughter a hug and turned her towards the bed she had been sitting by. ‘I’ll just take a quick look at poor little Joy and then find the ward sister and see what she has to say,’ he said. ‘Oh, I’ve brought your clothes. Do you want to dress while I see Joy?’

Gillian was beginning to say that this was a good idea when the ward door swung open and a tall, angular woman in a navy uniform and starched white cap and apron entered like a tornado. She started to berate Alex for daring to enter her ward without first seeking her permission, then stopped short, peering at him before seizing his arm and turning him towards the doors through which she had just entered. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Lawrence, but rules are rules, as I’m sure you would be the first to appreciate. You may see my patient for just five minutes, and then Gillian will show you the way to my office.’

Alex stared, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘Hetty!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, if it isn’t Hetty Bowdler. I didn’t recognise you at first, what with the uniform and all, but you’ve not changed. You always were bossy, even when we were in school. I didn’t know you were a nurse, though.’