The Glory Girls (3 page)

‘If you’re not in the surgery, Doctor, who is?’ asked one heavily
pregnant
woman with her arm in a sling. Two small children clung to her coat with sticky fingers, emanating a sickly sweet aroma of raspberry
gum-drops
and minty black bullets.

‘Aye,’ said a fellow with a huge red boil on the back of his neck. ‘I hope it’s a proper doctor you’ve got in there and not one o’ them locum types
what don’t know their arse from their elbow.’

‘I think you’ll find that Dr Craig, who happens to be my nephew, is very much a proper doctor, Mr Albertson. All right, Mary. Follow me, my dear.’

As Mary followed the doctor she heard mutters of surprise behind her at the news he had just imparted. She knew that Dr Gordon’s nephew had worked for a while in the infirmary in Newcastle, but she hadn’t heard that he was now in this practice.

The man who had gone before his turn passed them in the narrow corridor, grumbling with heartfelt disdain about newfangled doctors with daft ideas.

‘Something upsetting you, Mr Dobson?’ Dr Gordon called after the patient.

‘Aye, there is. It’s a raw deal when a doctor signs ye off afore ye’re ready,’ Mr Dobson told them. ‘I’d go to another doctor, if there was one.’

‘Come now, Mr Dobson. You know better than that. If Dr Craig thinks you’re ready to go back to work—’

‘I ain’t ready!’

‘Tommy Dobson, you were more than ready last time I saw you, but I gave you an extra week anyway out of the goodness of my heart. However, I hear you’ve been moonlighting, masquerading as a rag-
and-bone
man. If the authorities catch you, my lad, they’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks and you won’t have a job to go back to.’

‘I won’t anyway when they starts drafting fellas like me into the war. What’ll happen to the wife and bairns then, eh?’

With a look of disgust he marched out of the practice and Dr Gordon shook his head after him, his kindly eyes full of sympathy.

‘He’s right, of course. It’s not just the men who go to war who suffer.’ He gave Mary a wan smile, then ushered her into his consulting-room, just as the other door opened and a youngish doctor appeared in a crisp white surgery coat, a stethoscope around his neck and a brooding
expression
in his dark eyes.

‘Ah, there you are, Alex,’ Dr Gordon placed an avuncular hand on his nephew’s shoulder and drew him into the room. ‘You look as though you need a break.’

‘Too damned right I do.’

Mary watched closely as the younger man paced the small square of parquet floor in front of her. He looked disgruntled, his bad mood marring what she suspected could be a rather nice face.

‘Mary?’

Mary blinked at Dr Gordon, realizing that she had drifted off into her
own private world while the two doctors had a short exchange of words.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘My nephew here will take care of your granny’s prescription while I go and prevent mayhem breaking out in the waiting-room.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind.’ She let her gaze flicker over to Dr Craig, who was already installing himself behind the desk and pulling a prescription pad towards him.

‘Blast!’

The sharp explosive curse erupted from Dr Craig as his uncle left the room. Mary looked at him with raised eyebrows, thinking that it had been a mistake to arrive at what was obviously a bad time for everybody.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a problem, but Dr Gordon insisted,’ Mary apologized, and a pair of surprisingly intense eyes met hers. ‘Maybe I can come back later, when you’re not so busy?’

‘I wasn’t swearing at you, Miss…?’

‘West … Mary West.’

‘Yes, of course. Sit down … please.’

Mary sat on the hard wooden chair in front of the cluttered desk and watched him search among the jumble of papers and general miscellany that was characteristic of Dr Gordon, who always seemed able to find what he was looking for. Not so his nephew, she thought.

‘Try the vase on the windowsill,’ she suggested, guessing what it was that he was missing.

‘I beg your pardon?’ His eyes were on her again, his forehead creasing deeply.

She indicated the short fat porcelain vase to his left, which sat in front of a tiny window of four opaque glass panes. ‘Pens and pencils. He usually keeps them in there.’

‘Ah!’ He picked up the vase and peered inside. ‘You’re quite right. Other people’s consulting-rooms … Thank you.’

He continued to stare into the vase and at its contents, but it was
obvious
that he was not actually seeing anything. There was a faraway look about him that suggested he had more pressing things on his mind than a pen or a pencil, or indeed the prescription she was so urgently waiting for.

‘Gran’s name is Henrietta West and Dr Gordon usually gives her—’

‘What?’ He looked startled, then recovered himself quickly. ‘That’s quite all right, Miss West. I’ll get the details from her notes, if I can find the blessed things …’

‘They’re in the small drawers on top of the filing cabinet,’ Mary said, hoping he wouldn’t bite her head off again for helping him out, but she
really couldn’t hang about much longer. ‘The one on the right, at the back – W for West, H for Henrietta.’

He gave her a sharp glance, then got up and went to the drawers
indicated
.

‘I do know my alphabet,’ he said, then the irritation became an apologetic smile. ‘And you are W for West, M for Mary, I believe.’

‘That’s right.’ She smiled back at him and his eyes lost some of their hardness as he looked at her properly for the first time.

‘Here we are,’ he said, pulling out two buff packages, hers slim, the other, belonging to her grandmother, bulging. ‘Is there anything I can do for you while you’re here?’

‘Not a thing, thank you,’ she told him, suddenly feeling shy and gauche because his stare had been one of appraisal and the light that came into his eyes was full of curiosity and interest, though respectful, unlike the workmen she had encountered in the street a short while ago.

‘By the feel of your notes, you are rarely ill,’ he said, checking the details on the outside of the packet before replacing it in the drawer.

‘I suppose I’m lucky.’

‘You are. Very lucky. And young, of course. Obviously fit. And
cheerful
, I’d say.’ He said all this, pronouncing these short, snappy phrases, while he inspected her grandmother’s notes and wrote out the necessary prescription. ‘Is there ever a time when you don’t smile, Mary?’

She blinked at the use of her Christian name, but then he was pretty young himself, not above twenty-eight or thirty, she guessed. Of course, his uncle, Dr Gordon, called her Mary, but then he had known her all her life, had even brought her into the world and given her that life-
awakening
tap on her bottom before handing her over to the midwife.

‘I suppose there must be times when I find things to frown at, but not often,’ she said. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘I would think it’s almost physically impossible for you not to smile,’ he said, handing her the prescription. ‘How lucky for your fiancé.’

She did frown at that remark, for she couldn’t think how he could have known that she was engaged.

‘How did you…?’

His laugh was pleasant and she thought that he too would be better advised to keep a smile on his face, since it transformed him from an apparently discontented person to a rather good-looking young man.

‘I noticed the ring,’ he said and she looked immediately down at Walter’s tiny, diamond-chip engagement-ring, which he had pressed upon her so long ago that she was no longer conscious of wearing it.

‘Oh, that! Yes.’ Was her smile rueful, unenthusiastic? Part of her hoped that it was neither, yet another part of her experienced that sinking
sensation
that comes with disappointment tinged with guilt.

‘Will the happy day be soon?’

‘No … oh, no!’ Goodness, Mary thought, feeling her cheeks burn as he went on scrutinizing her in a most disturbing fashion. ‘I mean … well, there’s nothing planned, really.’

‘I thought perhaps your fiancé might be going off to enlist in the forces. Such a lot of couples rush into marriage in times of war.’ Dr Craig sighed and tapped his pen methodically against the fingers of the other hand. ‘It’s not the wisest of moves. We already have quite a few very young pregnant ladies left to cope on their own.’

‘That’s sad,’ Mary said, eyeing the door and thinking of the time that was passing, but she didn’t want to leave until he dismissed her and sent for the next patient.

‘Don’t let it happen to you, Mary,’ he said, throwing down the pen as if it offended him. ‘Now, where are you going? I have a call to make so maybe I can give you a lift?’

‘Oh, it’s really no distance …’ she began to say, but he held up a hand and waited for her to tell him where she was headed. ‘Well, actually, it would help. I must try and get Gran’s medicine before I go back to work. She’s really struggling with this last bout of bronchitis. The thing is, I’m already late and my boss is a stickler for punctuality.’

‘Well, let’s not get you a black mark.’ He looked briefly about him, picked up a well-worn doctor’s bag and indicated to Mary to precede him out of the door. ‘Shall we go?’

Heads were raised and curious eyes followed them as they made their way out to the street. Mary felt she ought to apologize in some way to the poor folk still sitting waiting to be seen, but she decided that a proud posture, with eyes to the front was more advisable. She had wasted enough time already.

The doctor’s small black Morris looked as if it had seen many miles, though it was clean inside, and was surprisingly comfortable. It smelled of leather and polish rather than the stale cigarette smoke she had to put up with in Walter’s delivery van.

‘You work at Harper’s Drapery Store, don’t you?’

Dr Craig turned the key in the ignition and the engine throbbed into life. He eased the car away from the kerb, waiting for a black-and-gold Rington’s tea van to get clear before turning and heading towards the High Street.

‘You seem to know a lot about me, Dr Craig,’ she said, smiling broadly.
‘You didn’t find those details in my medical notes.’

‘Ah, yes, well …’ He hesitated, slowing down to allow an old lady to cross the road in front of him without looking to left or to right of her. ‘I bought a lace tablecloth in Harper’s for my wife a few weeks ago and I saw you behind one of the counters. You wouldn’t have noticed me. I got in and out as quickly as I could. It’s not a shop that men feel at ease visiting.’

She gave a hiccup of laughter, but she knew what he meant. Men were embarrassed at being seen within a mile of lingerie counters, even if they were as fine as Harper’s.

‘No, I must admit, we don’t get many male customers. Those we do get are usually dragged in screaming by their wives.’

‘Hmm, yes. The manager, however, seemed quite at home there.’

‘That’s Mr Harper.’

‘I’d watch him if I were you. I don’t think I would trust him with
my
wife.’

‘That’s one of the problems of working there,’ Mary said, her smile fading somewhat.

She recalled the number of times she and the other sales assistants at Harper’s had found it necessary to dodge the owner’s wandering hands. No young woman, it seemed, was safe from the surreptitious gropings stolen in dark corners of the stock room or wicked pinches when he thought no one was looking. Not to mention the insidious remarks that were far from gentlemanly and often threatening.

Dr Craig stopped the car outside the chemist’s. Harper’s Drapery Store was only two doors further down, so there was no problem, as long as the chemist’s wasn’t also full of customers.

‘Thank you so much, Dr Craig,’ Mary said, dimpling shyly.

‘Not at all.’ His forehead creased as he glanced at an address scribbled on a scrap of paper. ‘Before you go, you couldn’t put me right for Elsdon Street, could you? A Miss Croft?’

‘Oh, you’re going the wrong way!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘Elsdon Street is right at the top end of Split Crow Road. Is it Miss Frances Croft you’re going to see? I hope she’s not ill.’

‘Yes, it is, as a matter of fact. Do you know her? I’m afraid I can’t discuss details of any of my patients, but I believe she is quite poorly.’

Mary nodded, chewing on her mouth, memories of her childhood flooding back. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, I was a pupil of hers, but that was a long time ago.’

‘She’s a teacher?’

‘Yes … well, no … not exactly. She does private tutoring and I used to
attend her classes with Brigadier Beasley’s daughter. She taught us French and German, but we went to the grammar school for everything else.’

‘Really? I never thought I’d hear of that kind of thing in a small mining town. Felling is full of surprises.’

‘We’re not all peasants, you know, Dr Craig.’ She didn’t mean to make it sound scathing, but Mary was very protective of her home town and didn’t take kindly to people who ran it down as though it was in the back of beyond.

The doctor did a double take and combed long fingers through his hair, clearly disturbed by her response to his careless words.

‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to sound condescending. Actually, I quite like the place … and its people. I just wish my wife would …’ He pulled himself up short. ‘Anyway, I’d better be off.’

‘Goodbye, doctor … and give my respects to Miss Croft.’

‘I will. Goodbye, Mary. Take care.’

Then he was once again turning the car in the road and driving off in the opposite direction, leaving her staring after the smoking exhaust as he climbed back up the High Street.

Fortunately for Mary the chemist shop was nearly empty. The only customer was a rather horsy-faced girl in military uniform, which was a surprise, because most people in uniform were men, either home on leave or just about to embark for parts unknown. This girl looked smart in khaki jacket and skirt, peaked cap, and stout leather brogues.

She didn’t take long with her purchase of Aspro and a bottle of eau de cologne and, as soon as she left, Mary had the attention of the
pharmacist
, Mr Morrell.