Queenie (36 page)

They held me firmly, a hand under each armpit, but when they tried to make me walk, I was terrified.

‘I can’t do it. I’ve forgotten how!’ I shouted, my legs flip-flopping uselessly.

‘Come on, Elsie,
try
– just one step!’ they urged.

‘No. No, I can’t!’ I said, tottering – but then an image of Nan holding out her arms to me long ago popped into my head. I was just a baby then, shuffling around on my bottom, but when Nan called to me, I pushed myself upwards and staggered towards her.

‘That’s my little darling!’ I heard her say.

So I tried and tried, first one foot, then the other.

‘That’s it, Elsie! Well done, sweetheart! That’s the way,’ the nurses said, but I wasn’t listening to them. I only heard Nan inside my head, urging me onwards. My good leg tottered forward half a step, and then my bad leg followed.

‘Hurray! Good for you, Elsie! You’re walking!’ they cried.

I managed two tiny steps more before I was in Nan’s arms. I wouldn’t open my eyes for ages because I so wanted to believe she was really there.

Miss Westlake worked on my legs every day, and Mr Dobbin came and fitted me for a calliper with a pair of shoes.

‘New shoes!’ I said. ‘Oh please, can they be shiny black patent, Mr Dobbin? Or maybe red with a button? Or white with an ankle strap?’

Mr Dobbin chuckled as if I were joking. The joke was on me. The new walking calliper was a hideous contraption with a leather ring round my bony hip and two sets of straps and buckles at my knee. The shoes weren’t proper shoes at all, let alone black patent or red or fancy white. They were brown boots – huge sturdy brown boots that rubbed my ankles raw and clomped noisily as I staggered up and down the ward. They made the boy’s shoes I’d worn long ago before I got ill look positively dainty.

‘I hate them! I won’t wear them! They’re too ugly!’ I protested to Mr Dobbin.

‘Stop that nonsense, missy. I’m not here to turn you into a little fashion plate. I’m here to help you start walking properly,’ he said.

Nevertheless, he took the boots away and lined the edges with soft silky stuff, and he threaded them with new laces – bright red ones. ‘There! I’ve prettified them as best I can, you fussy little madam,’ he said, grinning.

This time I minded my manners and gave him a grateful hug.

Nurse Gabriel bought me new red hair ribbons to match my laces – and a new frock too, because I was much too tall for the old blouse and skirt I’d worn to the hospital when I first came. It was a pink and blue checked pinafore dress, with two little white puff-sleeved blouses to wear with it, one on and one in the wash. My pink angora bolero fitted over the blouse beautifully and I could wear pink ribbons or red ribbons, whichever I fancied. Sometimes I wore a pink ribbon and a red ribbon together to make people smile and pull my plaits.

I drew a picture of myself in my new outfit and sent it to Nan. I wrote to her every single day and collected all the letters and drawings up to be posted off in a big envelope once a week. I always wrote
G. B. S
. in swirly initials on the back of the envelope, meaning
Get Better Soon!

NAN WROTE THAT
she was doing her very best to get better as soon as possible – but it wasn’t quite quickly enough. I was soon walking around almost normally, ready to go home. I tried pretending to limp, but it’s quite hard to fool nurses. I made myself incredibly useful on the ward and veranda instead. I pushed the beds backwards and forwards, I trundled the meals trolley about, I did the wash round, and I took over the story after supper.

‘You’re our special little baby-nurse,’ they said, and
sometimes
, for a laugh, they dressed me up in one of their uniforms, pinning a proper nurse’s cap to my hair and letting the blue frock trail on the ground.

Sister Baker saw me every day, but she simply smiled at me. ‘Adjust your uniform, Nurse Kettle, you’re looking a little scruffy,’ she said, and walked me down the ward.

I thought I might really be allowed to stay here in the hospital until dear Nan was ready to go home, but one day Sir David came onto the ward with a visiting consultant – and they stared at me in astonishment.

Sir David called Sister Baker over. ‘What is that child doing on Blyton Ward?’ he asked, pointing at me dramatically.

‘That’s Elsie Kettle, Sir David,’ said Sister Baker, looking terribly flustered. ‘Take that nurse’s cap off, Elsie!’

‘I’m fully aware that she’s Elsie. I’m also aware that the child has made a full recovery and should have gone home some weeks ago,’ said Sir David.

‘Yes, Sir David, I know, but you see, there are difficulties about where she is to
go
,’ said Sister Baker. ‘I’m afraid she can’t go home to her grandma just yet.’

‘I appreciate that. I do know the circumstances. But we cannot keep her here, no matter how much we might wish to. Elsie is taking up a bed she no longer
needs
. There are many truly sick children needing her place. Really, Sister Baker, I’d have thought you’d behave like a proper nursing professional rather than a philanthropic ninny,’ Sir David said reprovingly.

Poor Sister Baker went painfully red and hung her head. I couldn’t bear it.

‘Sister Baker is
ever
so professional, Sir David. She just felt sorry for me because my nan’s not better yet and I don’t want to be shoved into one of them rotten children’s homes,’ I said. ‘
Please
can’t I stay here at the hospital? I’m ever so useful, truly I am. And I won’t take up anyone’s bed. As long as I have a blanket and a pillow I can sleep on the floor.’

‘Don’t be silly, child,’ said Sir David. ‘Hospitals are for the sick – and we have cured you.’ He turned to Sister Baker. ‘You know what you must do, Sister.’

‘Yes, Sir David,’ she said. ‘I will make arrangements for Elsie to leave tomorrow.’

I started howling. I went down on my newly healed knee and begged Sir David to keep me for just a few more weeks. He backed away from me hurriedly, talking to his colleague, doing his best to ignore me completely.

Sister Baker walked with them down the ward, but the moment they were gone she ran back to me. She didn’t try to lift me up. She knelt down beside me, her starched apron crackling, and put both her arms
round
me. ‘There now, Elsie,’ she said, rocking me.

‘Oh Sister Baker!’ I wailed. ‘I
can’t
go to that children’s home, I just
can’t
. I’ll run away!’

‘No you won’t – you’ll simply have to put up with it, just for a little while, and then if your grandma has made a full recovery, there will truly be a chance you can live with her.’

‘
If
?’ I wailed. ‘Only a
chance
?’

‘I can’t promise you that it will happen, dear, though I wish I could. But I
do
know that if you try to run away and behave in a wilful manner, the authorities will never let you live with an elderly lady in frail health.’

I clung to Sister Baker. ‘Then I will be good,’ I said. ‘As good as gold. I will be like one of those saints and martyrs and walk round with a holy expression even if the other kids are horrible to me.’

I tried to look holy, raising my chin and fluttering my eyelashes. I wanted to impress Sister Baker, but I made her snort with laughter.

‘Do you know what, Elsie Kettle? You’re a real card! I shall miss you enormously when you’re gone.’

‘And I shall miss you too, Sister Baker. And I shall especially miss Nurse Gabriel,’ I said, and I started to cry again. ‘I won’t even be able to say goodbye to her!’

‘I’ll telephone the main hospital to see if she’s on
duty
now. Perhaps she can slip across to see you some time today,’ said Sister Baker.

Dear Nurse Gabriel appeared at supper time.

‘Oh Nurse Gabriel, did Sister Baker tell you?’ I said.

‘Yes she did. Oh Elsie, I’m so sorry you’re going! But I’ll come and visit you in the children’s home whenever I have a day off.’

‘I’m not sure you’re allowed visitors.’

‘Just let them try and stop me!’

‘And will you still post my letters to Nan?’

‘Of course I will. And before you know it your nan will be better, and then you can go and live with her at last,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

‘You really think I will? You’re not just kidding me along? Sister Baker didn’t seem really sure,’ I said.

‘Sister Baker has to be cautious and use her head. I’m using my heart.’ Nurse Gabriel tapped her chest. ‘Mine’s going
thump thump thump
, saying Elsie and her nan will live happily ever after.’

I tapped my own chest. ‘Yes, I can feel my heart too! It’s going
thump thump thump
just like yours. It’s saying Nan truly is going to get better – and listen, it’s saying something else. It’s saying Nurse Gabriel will always be my friend too!’

‘Of course I will, Elsie,’ said Nurse Gabriel. She was laughing, but she had tears in her eyes too.

We had the biggest hug ever – and then she had to run back to the main hospital. I helped the other nurses wash everyone and then told one last story.

‘I’m leaving the hospital tomorrow, but you don’t have to worry about me. Maybe you heard Sister Baker saying stuff about a children’s home, but that’s not actually true now. I’ll tell you where I’m
really
going until my nan gets better, though you must all solemnly swear you won’t tell anyone, OK? You know I met the Queen when she came to the hospital? Well, she phoned up the other day, asking how I was. “She’s a real card, that Elsie,” that’s what she said, and Sister Baker said I was having to go to a children’s home until my nan gets better – which she
will
, I know she will. And the Queen said, “No, no, I’m not having Elsie shoved into one of those horrid homes. She can come and stay with me. I’ve got at least fifty bedrooms going begging. Elsie can take her pick. She can keep herself busy polishing all my crowns and taking my corgis for walks up and down the corridors, and she can play with Prince Charles and Princess Anne in their special Wendy house.” So that’s where I’m going. Aren’t I
lucky?
And whenever we decide to have a day out at Windsor Castle, we’ll go in the Queen’s special golden coach, and while the Queen’s doing all her public duties
I’ll
get to feed the horses and ride each one all round the castle and back again.
So
don’t you feel sorry for me. I’ll be having a wonderful time with my friend the Queen, OK?’

I managed to keep this up till bedtime. I went on whispering the story in the dark, but after a few minutes I could tell by all the steady breathing that everyone else was asleep. I suddenly felt terribly alone, but with wonderful timing I heard a soft patter of paws along the ward.

‘Here, Queenie, come here, darling!’ I called.

I’d saved her my supper bread so that she could delicately lick the butter off. She leaped up, purring noisily.

‘Thank you, dearie. I’m very partial to a lick of butter,’ she said, snuggling against me.

‘Oh Queenie, I wish I had a whole pack of butter, and you could lick it all. Though perhaps you shouldn’t – if you don’t mind my saying, you’re getting quite stout.’ I stroked her big tummy while she squirmed happily on her back, not at all bothered by her increasing girth. ‘It’s a good job Nurse Johnson isn’t on the ward any more. She’d put you in a weeny pair of Stephanie Beauman knickers,’ I said.

‘You can mock, treasure, but I am greatly admired for my curves in the feline world,’ said Queenie. ‘All the other hospital cats adore me!’

‘I know, I know, you’re the Queen of all the cats – and I’m going to miss you so much. You don’t want to
run
away with me, do you? Maybe you could come to the children’s home with me? I’d give you treats every day and cuddle you every night,’ I said.

‘Bless you, dear – but my home is here, not with a lot of unruly children who might try to grab my tail or chase me. At least the children here are tethered to their beds.’

‘Well, some nights will you come and find me – in my dreams? And take me riding on your back up to the moon and stars?’

‘Such a fanciful girl!’ said Queenie. ‘Well, I’ll do my best, dear. I’ll miss you too. None of the other children are as generous with my little treats as you, Elsie.’

We cuddled up together most of that long night. Queenie slept soundly, her ears twitching as she dreamed of tasty little mouse and vole and shrew snacks. I hardly slept at all, clutching her tight.

I had one dream about Nan: she was lying in her bed in the sanatorium, very white and frail, clutching her little spitting pot.

‘Oh Nan, I thought you were getting better!’ I wailed.

‘I’m trying, Elsie – but I’m so tired,’ she gasped, closing her eyes.

‘No, wake up, Nan, please. Get better for me. We’re going to live together, you and me. We have to live happily ever after, like the storybooks,’ I said, and I
seized
Nan’s crooked little hands and squeezed them tight. I woke up still feeling her hands with their knobbly knuckles and ridged little nails.

I held hands with Nan all that long scary day. A lady children’s officer came to collect me from the hospital. I said goodbye to everyone – Queenie, all the children, the nurses, Sister Baker, Miss Isles and Miss Westlake, even Mr Dobbin. I didn’t say goodbye to Sir David because he was sending me away.