Chapter 24

The Crux Of The Matter

A rchie stared at his bandaged hand, which was elevated on a pillow at his side. The pain was intensifying, building up like a wave, and a restlessness crept into his bones as he longed to get up and do something, anything, except lie there. He had to occupy his mind, but the path ahead plagued him with thoughts he’d rather not deal with, and the darkness closed in, planting seeds of doubt. Rainsford had assured him the surgery had been a success and had ordered him to rest.

He pursed his lips as he pictured the stack of medical files and letters he’d be returning to, not to mention the problems. There were always challenges and things going wrong and equipment and supplies they needed and had to fight to procure. Then there were the complaints. He winced as a sudden sharp pain jolted through his hand, and he prayed that he wasn’t finished. His pulse hammered in his throat, and he sucked in a breath. The view from the other side wasn’t very good at all. As bleakness consumed him, he had no doubt his boys experienced that and more besides.

Just then, a nurse dashed into the room, dragging a portable telephone on a trolley behind her. ‘Mr McIndoe, there’s a call for you from a Sister Mullins at East Grinstead. She says it’s urgent.’

Archie felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. What was so wrong they were telephoning him here? He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello, Jill?’

‘Archie, I just wanted to let you know. The town’s been hit. Bombs fell on the Whitehall just after five tonight. It’s absolute carnage, and as you can imagine, it was packed. There were quite a few children in there.’

Archie could hardly believe it and rather hoped he’d misheard as a host of thoughts sailed through his mind. ‘What about the boys?’

‘They’re all accounted for. The hospital wasn’t hit.’

‘Thank goodness for that. Well, keep me posted. On second thoughts, I’ll come down. I can’t do much stuck up here.’ He balled his good hand into a fist. It had to happen when he wasn’t there. Damn Jerry.

‘Archie, no. You have to rest. It’s all under control. We’ve brought in extra staff and all the medical teams are here to deal with the casualties.’

‘How many so far?’ He sensed from her tone and her words that the situation was grave.

‘We’re not sure. First reports state about fifty dead and more than a hundred injured.’

Those numbers were bound to rise as they sifted through the rubble. ‘What the devil happened, Jill?’

‘A single German bomber flew over the town and saw an opportunity to ditch his bombs. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he came back around and fired at people on the streets.’

Archie slammed his fist down on the bed. ‘The devils. What a time to be stuck here.’

‘There’s nothing you can do.’

Archie paused. ‘Well, thanks for letting me know, Jill.’ He replaced the receiver. The blood surged through his entire body, and his heart pounded. His hand ached and throbbed as he lifted it from the pillow. He had to do something. Damn this war. He was in his pyjamas in a hospital bed with a hand he couldn’t use—a surgeon’s hand. Feeling useless was one thing but feeling sorry for yourself was something else. He needed to act, to do something because anything was better than being stuck there.

Using his left hand to support himself, he sat upright and swung his legs out of bed. He reached for his clothes. In wartime, you pulled together, regardless of the circumstances.

When the night nurse spotted Archie fully dressed, carrying his bag along the corridor, her face fell, eyes wide with surprise. ‘Mr McIndoe, it’s the middle of the night!’

He halted in his tracks and cast a smile in spite of the hammering pain rolling and crashing through his hand. ‘I’ll telephone Rainsford in the morning and explain.’

‘But Mr McIndoe, you were given strict instructions.’

‘East Grinstead has been bombed, and it’s rather a grave situation. My hospital is overrun with dead and wounded and I must return.’ The poor girl took a step back, as her mouth gaped. He began to walk away, then turned to add, ‘Thank you for everything, nurse. I’ll be sure to tell Rainsford that you did your best to stop me from absconding. Goodbye.’ He forced a smile.

His hand throbbed and burned, and in truth, he didn’t feel like going anywhere. He held the bandaged appendage across his chest in an attempt to keep it elevated, but he could only do so much. Driving might prove a little tricky, of course, but he was going to do it anyway.

Rainsford’s words rang in his ears as he defied all medical advice. That hand was worse than I’d realised. The Dupuytren’s tissue that causes the contraction was far more extensive and progressive. I’d say I’ve operated in the nick of time. Any later and that hand of yours would have been rendered useless.

He’d frowned, almost as if scolding a naughty child, and a frown didn’t sit well with Rainsford’s naturally friendly face, but Archie deserved it. He certainly had been stubborn, and he should have done something about it much sooner. After all the advice he regularly dished out...well, he ought to have known better. Archie realised he’d had a close call. Too close, although there was no time to worry about it now.

The drive back proved to be a challenge, especially during the blackout, and changing gear was a difficult business, so when Archie arrived back in the wee small hours, relief washed over him. Ward III was quiet, and the night nurse said the boys were all accounted for. Her eyes flicked over Archie’s arm, and she raised her hand to her chest.

‘Oh, Mr McIndoe. You’ve hurt your hand.’

‘Oh, no, it’s just a minor procedure I’ve had done. It’s nothing, really.’ He didn’t wish to cause a scene, and he didn’t want to answer any awkward questions.

Taking pity on him, she insisted on fitting a sling, which brought some relief from the pain. It was then she told him about Mac and Stella. His heart began to race, and he marched off to see them. He’d encouraged the girl to come back and help out, and basically do whatever it took to change Mac’s mind. He was partially responsible for Stella’s presence here. The girl could have lost her life.

Adrenaline rushed through his body as he passed various walking wounded and more seriously injured people along the way. Nurses hurried this way and that, while porters swept by pushing patients on trolleys, and people from the town wept openly in corridors or stared into space as they waited for news. He was useless in the midst of a crisis. He pursed his lips, thrust his good hand into his pocket, and sighed. War had finally come to their door.

Once he reached the ward and asked about Stella, a nurse took him aside. ‘One of your boys is with her, Mr McIndoe. He won’t budge, and Matron’s not happy about it at all. We’ve had to put screens around the bed.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘There are other female patients to consider.’

Archie sighed. ‘Leave it to me, nurse.’ He pulled the screen aside and slipped through. ‘Hello, Mac,’ he said in a hushed voice. He cast a glance at Stella, who was sleeping. He noted the dressing wrapped around her head. ‘Can I have a word outside?’

Mac rose and followed him out of the ward and into the corridor. ‘Hey, doc. What’s happened to you?’

‘Oh, the sling? It’s nothing. I’ve just had surgery on my hand for something that’s been brewing a while.’ He glanced at Mac. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes red and bloodshot. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in this. I gather you brought Stella in?’

‘Yeah. When the bombs hit, I knew she was on her way to the station. I had to find her.’ He dragged a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.

‘Yes, well I’m glad you did, and I’m relieved she’s all right apart from a concussion and some bumps and bruises. They’ll probably keep her here for a few days. Now, as much as I hate to say this, I’m afraid the nurses need you to leave. Why don’t you come back to the ward and get some rest? She’s not going anywhere, and you can come back first thing tomorrow.’

‘I don’t know, doc.’ Mac slipped his hand into his pocket and heaved out a sigh.

‘She’s in good hands, and you need some rest, otherwise you’ll not be much use to her in the morning. Come on.’

Mac turned to gaze back at the ward. ‘Well, I guess she’ll sleep now.’

‘You know, she’s a remarkable, strong young woman, and she cares about you a great deal. That’s rare and precious to find, and you might want to keep hold of her, assuming you love her of course.’

Mac grinned. ‘I do, and I will. You could say I took that leap of faith you were talking about.’ His face fell. ‘My entire world was almost blown apart tonight. I could have lost her, and if that had happened, I’d never have forgiven myself.’

‘I can understand that.’ Archie studied him for a moment. The boy had already endured his fair share of grief. ‘You know, we can’t save everyone, Mac. Life’s a strange old business, and things often happen beyond our control. In war, it’s even worse, but then you know that. The natural reaction is to feel responsible sometimes, yet the truth is, we aren’t.’

He gazed at Mac and anguish flashed in the boy’s eyes, no doubt a pain burning for more than Stella. ‘We all have to move on and keep moving forward. Perhaps this is your time for a new chapter, with Stella.’

Mac looked away, a distant look in his eyes. ‘I know you’re right, it’s just so difficult sometimes.’ He sighed. ‘I made a mess of everything, but after everything you said at Dutton the other day, well, I think we’ve made it up now.’

‘Good, I’m glad to hear it.’ Archie slapped Mac on the back.

‘Hey, don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to, pushing us together. You’re quite the matchmaker.’

‘I’m a man of many talents, yes indeed. Right now, it looks as if I’m joining your ranks. With my arm in this sling, I’m fit for nothing at all.’

‘Well, you’ve helped me, doc, and I’m mighty glad to see you, and I think you’ll find your presence has been missed. Besides, you’ll be okay. You just need to give it time.’ Mac grinned.

‘Is that so?’

‘Well, that’s what you’re always saying.’ Mac looked down at his feet. ‘Gee, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t told me to go after her. I could have lost her, but then at least she wouldn’t be here, like this.’

‘You can’t think like that. Sadly, war has a way of rooting us out. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at her. I simply gave you the push you needed. You’re well suited.’

‘Well, I guess you’re right, just as you were right about my hands. You said I’d get there, and I have.’ Mac gestured to Archie’s hand. ‘Looks like it’s the same for you. You’ll be back doing surgery before you know it.’

‘Yes, no doubt. I’d better make the most of my recuperation period while I can.’ Archie chuckled, though darkness had etched out a hollow inside him, and he couldn’t help wondering if Mac was right. He glanced into Mac’s eyes and saw a flash of steel there. After tonight, he’d be more determined than ever to get back in the air and give Germany hell.

After walking back to the ward with Mac, Archie decided to wander through the hospital. It was in full swing as nursing staff and doctors bustled around. Every single operating theatre was in use. The deluge of admissions showed signs of slowing down, according to one doctor, although Archie learned there was a burgeoning queue for surgery. If only he’d dealt with his own medical emergency much sooner, he’d be helping out here tonight. He clenched his jaw.

The entire hospital staff had risen to the challenge admirably, and Archie could only stand and watch, a mere bystander—a middle-aged man in a grey chalk suit, fit to burst with pride at the smooth operation and yet overshadowed by a growing darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. The scene before him hinted at an alternative future, a different path, and it was one which left a bitter taste. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, his course was set, and no matter what it took, he had to stand firm. Plastic surgery was his life and people depended on him, and he wasn’t about to let anyone down, least of all himself. A knot grew and tightened in his gut.

How stupid and frivolous he’d been with his own prized asset. He’d been treading a tightrope for months. Now he had to swallow his own advice, words he regularly dished out to his boys, words that rang like bells in his head. Time was a healer, and patience was a necessary virtue.

***

Archie stood surveying the scene in London Road. The Whitehall Cinema showed some damage at the front, but the foyer was a scene of utter devastation. Gold plush lay amidst twisted metal girders and masonry, still smouldering and dusty in the early morning light.

Patches of dark, dried blood spotted, streaked, and smeared the rubble, road, and pavements reddish-brown, no doubt where the devils had cut them down with their blasted machine guns. He pictured the scene yesterday, and his stomach tightened.

ARP Wardens picked through the ruins along with police and Canadian troops, who had been drafted in to help from a nearby base, their grimy faces streaked with fatigue and sadness. Two fire trucks stood in the road and firemen aimed hoses at the building next to the Whitehall Cinema, dousing the smouldering rubble within. The fire had raged all through the night, one of the onlookers explained. Dirty grey-black trails sailed upward into a sterile blue sky, and acrid smoke drifted in the air.

Archie glanced at one of the wardens who stood amidst the rubble. His face was dubbed with black streaks, as were his hands, and his shoulders drooped.

‘Any more survivors?’

The man took out a handkerchief and wiped some of the dust and black from his face. ‘Not looking likely, I’m afraid. Brought the last beggar out in the early hours. Just digging through the rubble for the rest, but I don’t give it much hope.’ He shook his head.

Hope was such a strong word, and without it, there was nothing. Locals stood in the road alongside shopkeepers, a scene of white faces and hollow, dark eyes staring intently as if willing the rescuers to find more survivors. They all clung to hope, the final lifeline for anyone who remained buried beneath the carnage. Archie took one last look around and huffed out a breath. Perhaps the time for a miracle had passed. The Reverend from St. Swithun’s Church swept past, chin held high, sombre faced, dressed in his black cassock, his hands clutching the Holy Bible, pressed to his heart.