The Angels of Lovely Lane Read Online Free PDF Page A

needed to impress, and even someone as humble as she was a worthy audience of one.
    Educated by the nuns at St Chad’s, she had learnt well and was a clever girl. Following the war, there were only the two of them at home and so the need to secure work with regular hours and pay was uppermost in her mind when the job vacancy arose. Both her da and her brother had been lost in action and Martha felt a strong responsibility to start earning for her mam and their home as soon as she could, even though it meant abandoning her dream of attending the new secretarial college in town and becoming a secretary in one of the shipping offices.
    There were moments when she stopped scrubbing and cleaning and knelt with a cloth in her hand, letting the mixture of gloopy pink Aunt Sally and dark green Lysol drip on to the floor. With a sigh, she imagined herself setting off to work in the morning carrying a handbag, smartly dressed wearing kitten heels and a swing coat, on her way to run a smart office down on the waterfront. She felt no resentment. She and Mam were happy and Jake Berry, her childhood sweetheart, also worked at St Angelus, as a junior porter. Not that they were a couple officially. No, Martha would not allow Jake to assume that. Besides, they had only been on two dates since leaving St Chad’s and they had been nothing more than to take a turn around the lake in Sefton Park on a Sunday afternoon after the roast dinner. On the last occasion, Jake had taken Martha’s hand and slipped it through his arm.
    ‘You will be my girl soon, won’t you?’ he had said. ‘You’re seventeen now. We could walk like this every day.’
    Martha’s blushes were saved by the musicians on the bandstand striking up a tune. Instead of replying, she gave Jake a shy smile and his arm a little squeeze. It was enough for Jake, who felt as though he would burst with pride, having by his side the girl he had adored since they were both children playing out on the street in rags and tags and shoes with holes.
    Martha poured the consultants’ tea and listened closely. She knew Mr Mabbutt’s tone well. He hadn’t finished with Mr Scriven, she was sure.
    Mr Scriven fixed a rigid smile on to his face. ‘Yes, Matron told me last week, after the board meeting.’ Martha could tell that he was trying his best to sound casual. ‘I can barely manage the numbers being referred to my clinic as it is. Emergencies are arriving via the receiving ward in their droves. The women in Liverpool are producing more babies than St Angelus can deliver, along with all the associated problems that can present later, as you know.’
    Martha had read as much herself in the Echo , so she knew that wasn’t a lie. Babies were booming in Liverpool. However, after a year of observing Mr Scriven at her leisure, she could also tell this was not a conversation he was enjoying.
    She placed the cup and saucer on his upturned palm, but he neither acknowledged her nor said thank you as he picked up the spoon from the saucer and began to stir.
    Mr Mabbutt appeared to have spotted a weakness and was openly enjoying himself. He was not about to let the wriggling Mr Scriven off the hook.
    ‘Hmm, that’s as maybe. Still, not sure I would like it much. My ward is my ward. Sister and the nursing staff know my ways and how I like things done. No, it wouldn’t do for me, I’m afraid. Besides, we have all these new mad keen doctors now. The chaps who interrupted their training to fight in the war. The board favour them, of course, and they’re flying up the ladder. Dr Gaskell’s own son is one of them. He has an impressive war record, so I hear. God, no. I wouldn’t want one of those hungry types working alongside me, trying to jump on my back and take my ward out from under me.’
    Mr Mabbutt gave a fake shudder and then grinned. Mr Scriven struggled and failed to smile back. Mr Mabbutt had beaten Mr Scriven at golf four weeks on the run. This latest piece of information was yet