An Orphan’s War. Molly Green
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Maxine had bitten her lip. ‘Why don’t we wait and see what happens. If there really is going to be a war—’
‘Not “if” but “when”,’ Johnny had said, his grin fading. ‘And if the worst should happen—’
‘Don’t say it!’ Maxine jumped up. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’
‘We have to be realistic.’ Johnny took hold of her hand and gently pulled her back onto the seat again. ‘If it does, then at least you’ll get a pension as a soldier’s widow. And if we start a family – which I’d love more than anything in the world – you’ll be glad of the extra money for the baby.’
She couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to think beyond Johnny becoming a soldier. He was closer to her than her own flesh and blood. Mickey had never taken any interest in her whatsoever, even though there was only thirteen months between them. That was the trouble. Johnny was the brother she’d never had.
For a moment neither had spoken. Then he’d taken her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him.
‘I love you so much, Max,’ Johnny said, his voice thick. ‘Right from when you were a snotty-nosed kid. I’d do anything for you – you know that. And because I’m older you’ve usually left me to make the decisions – so I’m making this one for you. You’ll make me the happiest man in town and the envy of all the lads if you say yes.’ He looked at her, his eyes the colour of the conkers they used to play with. ‘Maybe this will help make up your mind.’ He drew from his pocket a small navy blue velvet box.
And then she knew. Before he’d even flipped open the lid on its little spring with his thumb, she knew she couldn’t turn him down. He was quite the dearest man on Earth. If there was a war and he died she’d never forgive herself for not making him happy by telling him she would be honoured to be his wife.
The emerald had shone back at her, as though to reinforce her thoughts.
She hadn’t the heart to tell him that emeralds were considered to bring bad luck.
‘Do you, Maxine Elizabeth, take John Laurence to be thy wedded husband?’
The words rang in Maxine’s ears and she gave a start, pulling herself out of the past and back to the church where she was getting married. Forcing herself to be calm, she repeated the words of the vicar as though in a dream, her voice low and trembling. She felt the brush of Johnny’s hand, and when he said his vows she realised he wasn’t quite so assured as he made out. Twice he stumbled on the words and sent her a rueful smile, but when it was over he grasped her hand and they stepped to the back of the altar where they signed the register.
She looked down at her signature. Strange how it was still Maxine Grey. But it would be the last time. From now on she would be known as Mrs Maxine Taylor. And on letters even worse – she would be Mrs John Taylor.
Would Maxine Grey be gone forever?
‘Now we’re married you won’t have to work anymore.’
Maxine regarded her new husband with astonishment. Breaking away from the small party the two sets of parents had given them had proved more difficult than she’d imagined, but now they were in a comfortable bedroom in The Royal Hotel, which Johnny had chosen for their first three nights together. He’d already had his call-up papers and would be leaving in four days. Maxine’s mind whirled with events that were racing ahead. He’d never mentioned her giving up work before. She hadn’t even thought to discuss it as she’d never imagined marrying him. During this past month she’d seen very little of her fiancé to talk about such matters, what with making the wedding dress in every spare moment she’d had from the hospital. Now that war had been officially declared she’d naturally assumed she’d carry on and finish her training.
Her mother had wanted her to become a nurse ever since she’d watched her bandaging her dolls one day and talking to them in a wise and encouraging seven-year-old voice.
‘You’re a born nurse,’ her mother always said.
At sixteen Maxine knew she wanted to teach, not nurse, but her father had insisted she stay on at grammar school for at least another year to give her time to make up her mind. When she was eighteen and told her parents she had applied to the teachers’ training college in Cambridge which specialised in teaching young children with no fathers, her mother put her foot down.
‘It’s a more important job to heal the sick,’ her mother told her. ‘Your father and I have set our hearts on you becoming a nurse … and one day, when you’re higher up in the hospital, you’ll catch the eye of a nice doctor – or even a surgeon,’ she laughed. ‘I can’t wait to help you arrange the wedding.’ She giggled like a young girl. ‘You’ll be set for life … and one day we’ll be able to look forward to our first grandchild.’
Maxine couldn’t answer. Her mother gave her a sharp look. ‘I know you’ll always make us proud, my dear, and always do the right thing.’
Maxine felt a shudder of despair. Her mother had already planned every important aspect of her life.
‘We’re going to do everything in our power to see that you’re trained in the best hospital,’ her mother went on. ‘We’ve decided you’re going to The Royal Infirmary, right here in Liverpool, so you can come and see us regularly. You’ll make us so proud.’
Maxine’s heart had plummeted. Her mother’s dream wasn’t her dream. But they’d been so good to her, sending her to grammar school when they could ill afford it. Yes, she’d won a scholarship but it hadn’t paid for many of the books, nor the uniform, and the shoes that had to be Clarks. The trouble was that Mickey had turned out to be the biggest disappointment to her parents, although her mother would never admit it. She doggedly went to visit him in prison every month, her head rigid in front of the gossiping neighbours, who apparently knew before she did that her son was in for multiple burglaries. Now she’s pinning her hopes on me, Maxine thought.
Her first year as a probationer had been a shock. She’d been sick so many times at the sight of blood and frightful injuries, shouted at by many of the senior staff, complained about by some of the patients, but she’d gradually learned how to handle it – well, most of the time, anyway. She’d cried often, wishing she’d stood up to her mother, but the worst was over now, so the other nurses had told her when she’d been tempted to pack it all in. Now she was about to start her second year she was looking forward to continuing her studies and taking her finals, knowing she’d be needed, what with the war on. So why did Johnny think he could wave her nurse’s training to one side? He, of all people, knew what a commitment she’d made.
‘Give up my training, do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘When I’ve worked so hard.’
‘Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to finish it,’ Johnny said, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘But there’s no need to continue when you’ve got your certificate.’
‘Johnny, why does being married have anything to do with my nursing?’
‘Because you’re my wife, and I don’t want you working. What would the lads say? “Can’t support your wife, Johnny-boy?” No, I’m not having that.’
‘I’m not interested in “the lads” and what they think,’ Maxine flashed. She tried to keep the bubble of irritation pressed down. ‘We’re talking about me. My parents nearly killed themselves to pay for my training. Think what a waste that would be. What am I supposed to do all day long? It’d be different if we’d been married longer and I had a child to look after.’
‘We can easily remedy that right away.’ Johnny gave an exaggerated wink, but if anything it made her even more cross. It wasn’t a joking matter and she knew she must stand firm. ‘You could help your mum … especially as your dad isn’t well,’ he continued. ‘That’s where your nursing will come in handy.’
‘Mum wouldn’t want that at all. She prides herself on looking after Dad. I’ll be much more valuable in the hospital