The Boy with the Latch Key. Cathy Sharp

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      Tilly was pretty too, or she had been when she was younger. She sometimes thought that she was looking older, perhaps because she’d had to struggle to keep a roof over her family’s head all these years. Sometimes she went out with Terry for a drink, but mostly she just went home so that Mags could go off with her friends. Even after her mother died and she’d married, Tilly didn’t get out much. She and Terry had moved into a nice council house in the suburbs, which meant she had to get the train to come to work and that didn’t leave an awful lot out of her wage. Terry said it was a waste of time and wanted her to take a job in the corner shop near their home, but Tilly liked her work and she was staying put until she got pregnant and she had a feeling that might not be too far away. She was going to have to see a doctor very soon if her suspicions were correct …

      Kelly’s situation was different. Her home was filled with love. They weren’t much better off than Tilly’s family had been, because Mr Mason was sometimes on shift work at the Docks and didn’t have a big wage. Yet he loved his sickly wife and all his children, and he made sure that Kelly was rewarded for her hard work now and then – and Kelly was courting. She’d been going with Steve Jarvis for seven years, but both of them had commitments and seemed content with their lives as they were. At least, Kelly never said any different, even if she thought it.

      ‘Well, I’d better get my coat off and start,’ Kelly said cheerfully and Tilly let her go. She was thoughtful as she left St Saviour’s. It was milder that evening and still quite light. For some reason she was restless and the thought of going home to an empty house wasn’t pleasing. She decided that she wouldn’t catch her bus; instead, she would walk home by the river, give herself time to sort out her thoughts. She’d been stuck in a rut for years and she was getting pretty fed up with it …

      ‘How is your mother?’ Wendy asked when Kelly popped into the sick ward with a tray of tea and sandwiches for her. ‘Is she any better?’

      Kelly shook her head sorrowfully. ‘No, if anything she’s a little worse. The doctor came this morning and he told us he thinks she won’t last much longer.’

      ‘It’s such a shame,’ Wendy sympathised. ‘You’ve done everything you can to help her but sometimes there just is nothing more you can do – it was like that for me when my mum died. I still miss her so much even though she died years ago.’

      ‘I don’t know what Dad will do,’ Kelly said and swallowed hard. ‘I haven’t told him yet, though I shall have to, because he has to know …’ She sighed. ‘We thought she would be better when we moved into our new house, and she was for a few years, but since last winter when she had that chest infection she’s just got worse.’

      ‘Oh, Kelly, don’t cry,’ Wendy said as a sob escaped the younger woman. ‘You know if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ve only to ask …’

      ‘Thanks, Wendy, you’re a good friend, but there isn’t anything. If the doctor says there’s nothing, we just have to accept it and make her last months as happy as we can.’

      ‘If you need time off work I’m sure Sister Beatrice would understand. She would take you back when you were ready …’

      ‘Yes, she told me that the other day,’ Kelly said and gave her a watery smile. ‘When I first started here in the kitchen I had more warnings than Billy Baggins, but I worked hard and I’ve made a place for myself here. I might have to stay off towards the end, but at the moment Dad and Cate are managing at night – and my younger brother is wonderful. The older one is off with his mates all the time, but he pays his share at home so I don’t try to force him.’

      ‘Well, I hope Mrs Mason will be better soon,’ Wendy said. She knew the words sounded foolish given that Kelly had just told her that her mother was dying – but what else could she say?

      Wendy poured herself a cup of tea and settled down to look at Paula’s reports for the day. No new cases had been admitted and they just had one case of measles and another had been treated for a tummy upset. Paula had done a check for nits and treated six of their children, who had picked it up at school. It was a constant battle against reinfection. Now and then the children presented with fleabites, caught when visiting their friends in slum properties infested with rats. The rats harboured the fleas and no matter how much the women scrubbed their homes, they couldn’t get rid of them.

      Wendy sometimes thought that the kids sent on to Halfpenny House were the lucky ones. Conditions were better in the country, because there was often better housing and fresher food. Although, Angela had told her they still had a few fleabites to deal with now and then, and apparently it wasn’t all honey down there. Angela said they’d had some trouble with the older boys, who’d been playing truant from school. Because of it they’d taken on a new carer who’d retired from his job as a headmaster and claimed he could soon sort their problems out. In Wendy’s opinion what they needed was to send for Sister Beatrice and let her talk some sense into the lads.

      ‘We’re quiet at the moment, Staff Nurse …’

      Wendy looked up as Sister Beatrice entered the ward. ‘Yes, I can’t remember when we had so few children presenting sick – but then, we used to have many more than we normally have now.’

      ‘Yes, although I believe we may have two brothers coming tomorrow.’ Sister Beatrice glanced at the report. ‘I think we have enough beds for them if they arrive – and I’ve decided that June Miller and her brother will be moved to Halfpenny House next week. James Benton is due to go too and Philip Manse. So we’ll send them all together.’

      ‘Yes, I think it’s better if several go together,’ Wendy agreed. ‘Are you going to send Susan Marsh too? She’s been here three months and seems quite well and happy now.’

      ‘That would mean sending more than one car,’ Sister Beatrice frowned. ‘I’ll see how many new admittances we have in the next week. I like to keep them here until I’m sure they can cope with another change in their lives … If only we had more resources so that we could keep them all here …’

      ‘I think we just don’t have enough staff to look after larger numbers, as we used to.’

      ‘Staff is a part of the problem,’ Sister Beatrice agreed.

      ‘Talking of staff – Kelly was telling me how ill her mother is …’

      ‘Yes, I feel most concerned for her,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘I shall take on a temporary replacement if she feels she needs time off to be with her mother, but I would like her to return when she can.’

      ‘Oh, I think she will. Kelly has worked hard for her place here.’

      ‘Indeed she has. Well, I’m going home. You don’t need me this evening. We can only hope that things stay quiet for a while … though I shouldn’t tempt fate, should I?’

      ‘Oh dear, let’s hope she didn’t hear,’ Wendy said and laughed.

      Whether it was Sister Beatrice tempting fate or just the way things happen, they had a steady influx of children in need over the next ten days. First the two brothers, Ben and Malcolm, who had been picked up wandering the streets and were both suffering from malnutrition and the cold. They were admitted into the sick ward, because Sister Beatrice was horrified by the way their ribs were showing through their emaciated bodies. Neither of them would tell her, but she suspected they’d been on the streets for weeks. Their parents had apparently abandoned them and the boys had been wandering around London trying to find them and to beg for food.

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