TODAY, WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME GUEST AUTHOR, KATHRYN BARNETT, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTER 1 OF HER NOVEL, 'THE CALL OF THE NIGHTINGALE' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- May 6
- 8 min read
THE CALL OF THE NIGHTINGALE
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Spring 1955, The Meeting
Clickety-clack-ding-ding went the dozens of typewriters one Friday morning as I made my way into Elliot and Partners, a solicitor’s firm at the Bank in central London. The noise was an awkward symphony of crashing keys and off-tone bells. Moving along the avenue of desks, I kept my arms glued to my sides. I stared at the floor avoiding amongst other things, the crowd of people, but also the glare of electric lights dangling from metal pillars around the room.
A barely audible clock ticked over the cacophony of machines and murmuring of voices. Name corrections and house numbers gathered in the atmosphere above my head. My heels forced me forward, the leather now loose from over-wearing. My yellow ribbon, a keepsake of my childhood, tickled my neck.
Locating my chair and collapsing into my seat, I grabbed at my papers. I exhaled sharply, too much to do and never enough time. A monochromatic tick-tock sound reverberated in my ears.
‘I’m telling you Jack Wright’s is the best dance hall for Saturday night,’ said one of the two girls who sat opposite me. She wore a pink and white cardigan over a green blouse. Her hair unlike mine was brown with a wispy fringe that accentuated her angular face. After sparing me the briefest of glances, she turned to the girl next to her.
‘And Dean Rogers is definitely going to be there. Suzy, you must come! Don’t worry, I’ll ask some of the other girls to join us. Sally, are you up for an evening out?’ The girl rose from her seat to lean over to me and my colleague. An intoxicating whiff of lavender and acetone drifted up my nostrils from her hair lacquer.
‘Yes, count me in,’ said Sally. Her brown eyes shone at the thought of going out with the girls.
‘What about you, Alice?’
My head jerked from side to side. It was a ridiculous notion, as if I could go out and leave my mum. My eyes blurred imagining for a moment that I did. The zesty sharp lime cut through my lager as it reached my lips. Then, the boom of the microphone and band leader, Joe, with his oily black brilliantine hair, curls flopping over long eyelashes as he lifted the corner of his cleft lip. The croon of the first line, ‘It must be you,’ floated soothingly into my ears.
‘Girls! What’s all this chatter about?’ bellowed Miss Reid, our eagle-eyed office manager from her position at the front of the room.
I shuddered and scattered my papers to the floor.
‘Oh,’ said Sally. ‘Are you okay?’ She reached over to retrieve them. ‘How about coming dancing with us tomorrow night?’
Tap-tap emanated around me, drowning out my thoughts. I sighed heavily. My mind drifted and I saw the district nurse’s stiff white cap blocking my view of my mum. She bent over her bed to administer a brown syringe full of morphine. Stepping away from her patient, I glanced at my mum’s yellow-tinged skin and blue eyes clouded by cancer.
‘I can’t.’ Tears laced my throat. ‘It’s my mum. I can’t leave her on her own.’
Sally’s spectacles bobbed on her nose as she alternated between typing and chatting with me.
‘I understand Alice, really I do.’ Her voice was tender.
I nodded slowly. Sally was the only one at work who knew about my mum’s cancer.
‘It’s a pity you can’t come with us.’ She gestured to the other girls in the typing pool. Concentrating on their work, they had quickly forgotten us. ‘Is there no chance of finding someone to sit with your mum? You deserve a break.’
Spotting Miss Reid approaching our desk, I pulled out my sheet of paper to replace it with a fresh one. I tapped away with gusto, determined not to fall behind with my work on top of my other troubles. Already that week I had been marked as being late after being waylaid at home waiting for the doctor to arrive.
Miss Reid’s ample bosom rose and fell. Her gaze rested on me as her voice rang out in the noisy air.
‘Miss Stevens.’ Her scarlet lips curled around my name. ‘Would you please follow me to my office? I need to have a word with you in private.’ Her outstretched arm directed me towards her office at the end of the corridor.
Sally touched my hand briefly as I stood.
She mouthed, ‘Don’t worry.’
My heart thumped. What could I have done wrong? I crept timidly behind Miss Reid, sensing twenty pairs of eyes following us.
She shut the door and gestured towards the wooden chair opposite her desk.
On her tabletop sat a brown Corona typewriter and black rotary telephone. The oak filing cabinets behind her contained all of our employment records. The venetian blinds offered a partial view of London’s taupe skyline.
I waited. I ran my tongue over my dry lips, avoiding her gaze at all costs lest she write something negative in my file.
‘How is everything going in the typing pool? We haven’t had much of a chance for a chat in a while now, have we?’
‘Very well, I think. I’m enjoying my work.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ She eased herself into her black leather chair. There was a slight pause before she spoke again.
‘I have called you in today because your help has been requested by our newest staff member.’
‘Really?’ Her proposition forced me to lock eyes with her. I had been working at the company since leaving school at fifteen starting as post girl first, before moving up to the typing pool. I had been working there for less than a year, with only a basic secretarial certificate to show to my name.
‘Is that something which would interest you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ I stammered.
‘If you’re happy, I could release you from the typing pool this evening. An office has been set aside for Mr Azadi. Don’t worry, I’ll show you where that is. He’s been told to expect you at nine o’clock sharp on Monday morning. But it goes without saying that you will need to make the right impression with him. This is a big step up for you, Miss Stevens. There can be no slacking or gossiping about him with the other girls, do I make myself clear?’
‘I won’t let you down Miss Reid, I promise.’ I nodded happily.
A smile pulled at my lips. I would celebrate the promotion with a packet of Rolos. Chocolate was not something I often enjoyed because of the cost. But the pleasure of the caramel melting in my mouth was something I couldn’t resist.
*****
On the bus that evening, I shuffled on my seat, alternating between gazing out of the window and glancing at the other passengers. The ladies balanced pastel pillbox hats between their heavily lacquered hair, while the gentlemen wore black and grey fedoras. Their heads bobbed in time to the shudder of the bus’ wheels.
My hands refused to fold neatly in my lap. My heart raced and my stomach fluttered thinking of my meeting with Mr Azadi. I could think of nothing else but him and Miss Reid, the two of them and a strange office that I’d never been inside before. As a distraction, I glanced out of the window while we stopped at the traffic lights.
On the pavement was a market stall selling bunched pink carnations.
‘A petal for each stitch,’ my mum used to say, touching my shoulder tenderly. A bunch of the blushed flowers was her treat on a Friday afternoon, when she still had her dress shop, before the cancer forced her to close the business.
I blinked away a tear.
The bus moved on. The jarring sound of the horn nearly made me jump out of my seat. Disorientated, I spotted a black Rover snaking its way through the gap between the electric poles and pavement.
The car pulled into the kerb and a young woman climbed out of the passenger seat. She tripped along the pavement in a camel coat and matching hat, clutching a stylish black handbag. I watched her dash into a Lyon’s Corner House. Who was she going to meet there, a girlfriend or her fellow? A nervous giggle broke from my lips. I was probably unusual for my age, but I hadn’t given much thought to romance. I much preferred a new book to a date. My mum relied on me to take care of her between my hours at the solicitors. What sort of young man would be willing to take on the responsibility of us both?
At my stop, I pulled the bell cord and nearly ran off the bus. I made for my street. Bullet holes left over from the war were visible on the front walls of each house. Boiling starch from the local laundry wafted in the air. I tapped on the cobblestones and entered the middle tenement house.
I strode through the hallway and came face to face with Mrs Bowen, our landlady. Her floral housecoat flapped against my ankle as she rubbed wax polish into segments of the main staircase where the carpet was worn and thin.
‘Hello, Mrs Bowen, busy at work I see.’ Wearily, I offered her a smile.
‘Good evening to you, Miss Stevens. How was your day? Are they keeping you busy at the solicitors?’
‘Oh, yes.’ My voice filled with pride. I held back on the details of my meeting with Miss Reid, fearing that if I told her about my promotion, she would charge us more for our room.
‘I popped in to see your mother earlier. God bless her soul. I left her some tomato soup for dinner.’ She turned her shrewd brown eyes on me.
‘Thank you, we really appreciate it.’ But her kindness meant nothing if her rent left less money for Mum and me to live on.
Turning away from her swiftly, I hurried upstairs to my room bypassing the grease and water-stained white stove in the alcove near our bedroom door. The remnants of last night’s stew sat abandoned on the gas ringer.
Mum was half-asleep in her iron bedstead. She had a brown blanket tucked around her body. A single greying pillowcase hugged her head.
‘Hello Mum.’ Kissing her on the forehead, her skin felt warm on my lips. The red ribbon of her long-sleeve nightgown tickled at my wrist.
‘Alice,’ she croaked. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I quickly strode across the room to yank up the sash window for a breath of fresh air. ‘And I have some news to share with you.’
The remnants of soup sloshed against her chipped white bowl as I moved it from the bed and placed it on the beige carpet stained with tea and dots of beetroot.
Kicking off my heels, I eased myself into the narrow bed alongside her, pulling the felt blanket over us both. Leaning my head on her shoulder, she wrapped her arms, puffy from her nightgown, around me. Taking her hand in mine, her knobbly knuckles rubbed against my fingers.
‘I’ve been promoted to secretary to the mysterious Mr Azadi,’ I announced.
‘You’re a clever girl, Alice.’ She whispered into my ear as I ran my thumb over her rough skin. I wanted to imprint the touch of her hands in my memory. So I would remember what her skin felt like when the worst came and she was no longer in this world. I trembled, not sure how I would survive with her gone.
‘Things are going to change around here. This is just the start. I know it,’ I said, as a rare smile broke across my face. I didn’t need to go dancing with those girls. I was positive something better was waiting around the corner for me.
**********
**********
AUTHOR BIO
Kathryn Barnett lives in Hampshire, England. She has been writing stories since she was a teenager. Recently, she has completed several works of historical fiction, concentrating on the 20 th century. She has worked in many fields, including childcare, and has a degree in homeopathy from Middlesex University, knowledge of which she has combined into her stories. She enjoys writing about family relationships the messier the better!
Kathryn gains inspiration for her writing from long walks by the sea, and lazy mornings’ people watching in her local coffee shop. It is her dream to be able to reach new readers and touch their hearts with her stories.
**********
COMING SOON: On Sunday, 10th May, we are thrilled to welcome author, Lucinda Race, who is sharing Chapter 1 of her novel, 'Just Desserts and Murder'.
Comments