Free The Nightingale Nurses by Donna Douglas Page B

head. ‘My Nick still wouldn’t like it.’
    ‘He needn’t know.’ Bert flicked his tongue over his lips. ‘We could fill in the forms now and you could pay me back, just a couple of shillings a week out of the housekeeping. What could be easier than that?’
    It sounded easy enough, she thought. They probably wouldn’t even notice a few bob a week.
    ‘Imagine showing off this place to your friends when you’ve done it out nice?’ Bert’s voice was so low, she could feel herself being drawn in, as if she was being hypnotised. ‘You’d be the envy of everyone, wouldn’t you? You could even get yourself one of those washing machines. Just think what a blessing that would be.’
    Ruby stared down at her hands, red and roughened from the harsh green washing soap.
    ‘Tell you what, it’s getting a bit blowy out here,’ Bert Wallis said, turning up his jacket collar. ‘Why don’t we go inside? Then we can have a nice cup of tea and I’ll give you all the details . . .’

Chapter Seven
    THE FIRST THING Dora saw when she arrived for her shift at seven o’clock was a man sleeping on the bench at the back of the waiting room.
    Where had he come from? The porter had only unlocked the doors five minutes earlier. He must have been quick off the mark, she thought. Either that or he’d been crafty enough to get himself locked in overnight.
    She looked around wildly, expecting to see Sister Percival bearing down on them, then remembered she wasn’t due on duty for another hour. Penny Willard hadn’t turned up yet, and Dr McKay was locked away in his consulting room. There was no one in the waiting room except her and the tramp.
    Dora looked down at him snoring softly, stretched out on the bench, covered in a shabby black coat. He was a great bear of a man, with a shaggy head of dark curls. He’d taken off his shoes, and his big toes peeped out of holes in both socks.
    ‘Excuse me?’ She tapped his shoulder. He didn’t stir.
    She tried again. ‘Excuse me . . . Mister?’ He stirred, grunted, rolled over and went back to sleep. He was young for a tramp, no more than in his mid-thirties by the look of him.
    She shook him harder. ‘Oi, you! You can’t sleep here.’
    The man opened one brown eye and looked up at her. ‘Eh?’
    ‘I said, you can’t sleep here. This ain’t a dosshouse, y’know.’
    ‘Oh . . . right. Sorry, Nurse.’ He sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. ‘What time is it?’
    ‘Time you weren’t here.’ Dora picked up his shoes and handed them to him.
    He stared at them in confusion and then back up at her. ‘I’m sorry . . . you want me to leave?’
    ‘That’s the general idea, yes. Unless you’re ill and you want to see a doctor?’ She peered at him. ‘Are you ill?’ she asked.
    He looked dazed. ‘Er . . . no,’ he admitted, looking sheepish. ‘Just tired, that’s all.’
    ‘So you thought you could sleep it off in here?’
    ‘Well, yes . . .’
    ‘Park bench not good enough for you, I suppose?’
    ‘Hardly.’ He paused for a moment, as if he was giving the matter some thought. ‘Look, Nurse, I think you might have got the wrong idea—’
    ‘No, mate, it’s you who’s got the wrong idea, thinking you can sleep off your hangover in here.’
    ‘Hangover? Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘You see, what happened is—’
    ‘That’s enough,’ Dora cut him off. ‘Just sling your hook. You’re making the place look untidy.’
    She watched him as he crammed his feet into his worn-out shoes. She wished she hadn’t snapped at him. He seemed harmless enough, poor sod.
    ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’d let you stay if I could, but I can’t. The Sister here is a right old cow, and she’d have my guts for garters.’ She reached into her pocket and took out a coin. ‘Here’s threepence. That should buy you a cup of tea at the café on the corner. They’ll probably let you shelter there for a bit, if you’re lucky.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘It’s all