Queenie Read online

  ‘So I bob another curtsey and say, “You bet, Your Majesty,” and I open the gold door and climb into the carriage beside her.

  ‘“We’ve room for one more,” says the Queen.’

  ‘Me! Oh, take me!’ said Rita.

  ‘I wish I could take you, but the Queen says it has to be a relative to look after me.’

  ‘Are you taking your mum?’ asked Martin.

  ‘No fear! I’m taking my nan. There she is, running in her best coat and hat. She tries to do a curtsey too, but it’s a bit wobbly. The Queen doesn’t mind a bit though. She says, “How do you do, Mrs Kettle. I’ve been longing to meet you. Kindly hop up into my carriage.”

  ‘So Nan gets in beside me, and the Queen says, “Right, let’s go to my Coronation!” and off we go!’

  ‘I HEAR YOU tell very good stories, Elsie,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

  I looked up at her anxiously. Now I was for it.

  ‘Nurse Patterson and Nurse Curtis couldn’t hear me, could they?’ I said.

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘So who told you?’

  ‘Oh, just a little bird.’

  I frowned at her. I hated it when grown-ups played that ‘little bird’ trick. I thought it was beneath Nurse Gabriel. I knew Martin and Gillian and Rita and Michael hadn’t told on me, because they were within earshot. Babette and Maureen might have blabbed, but they both seemed fast asleep by the time Nurse Gabriel came on duty, worn out playing with their toy stove and bunny. That just left . . .

  ‘It was Angus,’ I said. ‘He snitched on me.’

  ‘He didn’t snitch – what a terrible word, Elsie! He just couldn’t help telling me what a wonderful storyteller you are. He thinks the world of you,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

  I lay there fidgeting, trying to take it in. I had thought I’d be in trouble for making up stories. Even kind Miss Roberts at school shook her head when I went rambling on, and said reprovingly, ‘Oh Elsie, you’re such a storyteller.’ I knew it drove Mum nuts. Even Nan sucked her teeth at me sometimes, her eyebrows raised, and went, ‘Yatter yatter yatter – how about saving your breath to blow on your porridge?’

  ‘So you’re not cross with me?’

  ‘I’m very, very pleased with you, you silly girl. You’ve cheered everyone up – and you’ve made my little friend Angus very happy. You’re the best medicine he could possibly have. He’s been very down since he had his treatment. We’ve all been worried about him.’

  ‘But I’ve made him better?’

  ‘Yes, you have. You’ve cheered him up enormously.’

  ‘I’ve written a letter to my nan,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it to my mum when she next comes. I’m keeping it under my pillow so that no one else can read it.’

  ‘Well, I can post it if she doesn’t come next weekend – but no one else will read it – it’s yours and your nan’s. It’s private,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

  She was being so kind that I felt my lips trembling and my eyes filling with baby tears.

  Nurse Gabriel misunderstood. ‘Oh dear, it’s so difficult for all of you, when you can’t be private at all in hospital.’ She seemed really distressed herself. ‘I nursed in Potter before here – that’s for the babies, and somehow it doesn’t seem quite so bad for them. Often they’re not old enough to wash or dress themselves or be potty-trained, so it’s not such a shock. But it’s so hard for you older ones being trussed up in bed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘And – and I’ll have to stay here weeks and weeks, won’t I?’

  ‘Perhaps months and months,’ said Nurse Gabriel gently. ‘But then you will be better.’

  ‘And Nan will get better too?’

  She hesitated. ‘I really hope so.’

  ‘I do love my nanny,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

  ‘It isn’t really her fault . . .’

  ‘What’s that, Elsie?’

  ‘She didn’t mean to give me TB. Mum says it’s all her fault and she’ll never forgive her for giving it to me, but Nan couldn’t help it, could she?’ I said.

  ‘Oh Elsie, your nan didn’t give you TB, darling. You have tuberculosis of the knee. If your nan’s in the sanatorium, she must have TB of the lungs. That’s entirely different. You don’t catch TB of the bone from a person. Yours is bovine TB. You got it from a cow. You must have drunk infected milk at some time.’

  ‘Are you telling a story now, Nurse Gabriel?’

  ‘No, I promise you.’

  ‘But it seems so weird. I got ill straight after Nan.’

  ‘You probably had it quite a long time before it was diagnosed. How long were you limping?’

  ‘I don’t know. Can’t remember.’

  ‘It was such a good job you went to get checked out by your doctor though. If it had gone undiagnosed, it would have eaten its way right through the bone and you’d have been in a terrible state.’

  This new knowledge seethed in my head all through the long week. It washed over me when Nurse Patterson subjected me to her sloppy bed baths. It scraped me during my toileting. It stung me when I was given my horribly painful injections. It threatened to choke me when I ate my breakfast and lunch and supper. It distracted me during Nurse Patterson’s story time and overwhelmed me when I tried to tell my own story afterwards. It wasn’t my poor dear nan’s fault that I had TB. She hadn’t given me her germs. As soon as I could, I got out my letter and scribbled in big capitals on the back: IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, NAN, HONEST. Then I put it safely under my pillow again.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Mum when she came on Saturday. She wasn’t there at two o’clock with all the mothers and fathers, and I began to be horribly scared that she wasn’t coming.

  ‘All on your ownio again?’ said Martin’s father.

  I ducked my head, not wanting to give an answer.

  ‘Poor little scrap,’ his wife whispered. ‘What kind of a mother is she?’

  I pretended to be absorbed in my Girl comic. I’d read it again and again but I had nothing else. I tried to join Belle on the stage doing a pas de deux, but my feet were leaden. Then I heard clip-clop, clip-clop, the heart-warming sound of high heels – and there was Mum, picking her way along the veranda, wearing tight white slacks and an apricot jumper with her best white high heels.

  ‘Gordon Bennett, here comes Diana Dors!’ said Martin’s dad.

  ‘Oh Mum, you’re here after all,’ I said, fighting back tears.

  ‘Well, of course I’m here! Haven’t you got a nice smile for Mummy when I’ve come all the way to see you?’

  I tried very hard but my lips wobbled. ‘You were late – I thought you weren’t coming,’ I mumbled.

  ‘For God’s sake, I can’t drive the blooming bus and make it come any quicker, can I? It’s all right for the other parents – they can all roll up in cars.’ Mum sniffed and sat down on the side of the bed, crossing her legs. She saw that her stocking seam was twisted and wriggled it round, emphasizing her shapely calf as she clasped the slippery nylon. Martin’s dad was practically drooling.

  ‘Mum! Mum, wait till I tell you,’ I said, tugging at her sleeve.

  ‘Careful, Elsie, I don’t want your grubby little mitts all over my jersey! Do you like it? I got it in Dorothy Perkins, five and six. I had my first wages on Friday. Six pounds, ten shillings – not bad, eh, when I’m just sitting at a desk going, Yes, Mr Perkins, No, Mr Perkins, Three bags full, Mr Perkins. I think I’ve been a bit of a mug toiling away in the chorus all these years. I’ve never earned more than a fiver a week there.’

  ‘Mum, listen! It’s not Nan’s fault. I didn’t get my TB from her,’ I blurted.

  ‘You what? Don’t be daft, Elsie – who else could have given it you?’

  ‘I was talking to Nurse Gabriel.’

  ‘What a name! Has she got wings and one of them gold plates stuck to her head then?’ Martin’s dad heard and chuckled appreciatively. Mum looked up at him slyly through her blonde waves and waggled her foot at him. I hat