No Need to Say Goodbye. Бетти Нилс

I must pay him…’

      ‘You shall settle up later; don’t complicate things at present. He’s a handy lad; give him some painting to do.’

      The doctor nodded briefly, and had taken himself off before she could argue the matter, and five minutes later a tall, skinny youth presented himself at the door. He grinned shyly.

      ‘Tim, miss, come to give you a hand.’

      Louise was no longer tired; a great part of the day was before her, Mr Baxter was putting up shelves with the speed of light, Mr Poolley was in the dining-room now, with his ruler and notebook, and here was willing help. She beamed at Tim. ‘Can you paint?’ she asked happily.

      Even with a coffee break, the four of them had got through a prodigious amount of work by one o’clock: the shelves were up, the cupboards were in position, the Aga worked and she had decided on the carpeting with Ted Poolley. It would make a big hole in the small capital, but she could economise on everything else, and he would get it laid before they moved in. The three went to their lunches, and she went into the garden and sat on a rickety garden seat and shared her sandwiches with Dusty, who was lolling happily in the unkept grass.

      Mr Baxter had finished by mid-afternoon; Louise gave him a cheque and thanked him nicely. ‘Do anything for a pretty young lady like you, miss,’ mumbled Mr Baxter. ‘Just you send along if you need any jobs done.’

      ‘Oh, I will,’ declared Louise, and beamed widely at him; life at Much Hadham was going to be a dream after Bick Street.

      She made tea for Tim and Ted Poolley, and opened the packet of biscuits she had had the forethought to bring with her. The sitting-room was very nearly finished, and since Ted had promised the carpets would be laid within the week she would be able to stay at home and make the curtains. She saw them off home presently, tidied everything away, did what she could to tidy her own person and locked up. Ted had the second key, and she wouldn’t be coming again until her last free day. She stood by the stout front door and surveyed her house with pride. Mr Baxter had seen to the windows, making them secure, and when they all came in a couple of days’ time, they would clean windows. She sighed with content and turned round in time to see the doctor’s Jaguar slide to a halt by the gate.

      Dr van der Linden got out, ushered Dusty on to the back seat, stowed Louise’s bits and pieces in the boot and invited her to make herself comfortable beside him.

      Louise, full of the false energy consequent on a sleepless night as well as a busy one, followed by a hard day’s work, was bright-eyed and chatty. He allowed her to run on, merely murmuring placidly when she paused for breath, and when they reached Bick Street, despite the appearance of Zoë with an invitation to stay for tea, he refused, although he qualified his refusal with the suggestion that, once the family had settled in their new home, Zoë might like to have tea with him. ‘After all, I shall be a near neighbour,’ he told her, smiling down at the small, pretty creature.

      Louise saw the smile; she wasn’t at all surprised at the effect Zoë was having on the doctor. She was delightfully pretty, with a charming, unselfconscious air. Louise, in the mental no man’s land of one needing her sleep, had the pair of them in love at second sight, engaged and married even while she was bidding Dr van der Linden a polite goodbye at her door; still in the throes of romance, she watched Zoë accompany him across the narrow pavement to his car. Provided he wasn’t married already, and she must discover that as quickly as possible, he would do very nicely for her sister—he was a lot older, of course, but that didn’t matter…

      She dumped her boxes and bags in the kitchen, greeted Mike and Christine, handed over Dusty to the former for his walk, and sat down at the kitchen table. Christine was sitting there, doing her homework, but she paused to look at her elder sister.

      ‘You’re tired,’ she declared. ‘The kettle is boiling; I’ll make tea—there is some cake… Then you go upstairs and lie down, Louise; Zoë and I will get the supper and call you when it’s ready. We can talk then.’

      Louise drank her tea and, urged by Christine, took herself off to her room. It overlooked the street and, glancing out of the window, she saw that the doctor was still talking to Zoë. Seeing them, she nodded with sleepy satisfaction and, kicking off her shoes, subsided on to the bed, to sleep within seconds.

      Over supper, much refreshed, she described her day and discussed the weighty problem of curtains. Since Zoë was free in the morning, they agreed to go together and buy all the material they needed. ‘And on Saturday,’ said Louise, ‘we’ll all go to Ivy Cottage and do the last odd jobs. I hope someone will buy those odds and ends of furniture before we move.’ She ticked off everything which had to be done before they left Bick Street, and half-way through yawned prodigiously.

      ‘You go to bed this instant,’ said Zoë firmly. ‘You’re asleep on your feet. We’ll make a list and you can check it in the morning.’

      A good night’s sleep worked wonders; Louise and Zoë, their list made to everyone’s satisfaction, made their way to the High Street and spent an hour choosing material for the curtains. The windows of Ivy Cottage were small and the shop specialised in remnants; they returned home well pleased with themselves, laden with all they needed. It remained only to get the curtains made. In the cupboard under the stairs was a very old sewing machine; Louise hauled it out, set it to rights and, with Zoë to help her, got started.

      They were all up early the next morning, and with Dusty and a number of bags, and a picnic lunch, they were at Ivy Cottage betimes.

      Mr Poolley had been working hard. The lino on the kitchen floor was laid, the dining-room was carpeted and there was a sound of hammering from somewhere upstairs. With such an encouraging start to the day they set to work with a will and, by the time they left, the little house was beginning to look like home. Louise went on duty that evening feeling pleased and excited; in four days’ time she would leave, and once they had settled into their new home she would go after a job.

      Her euphoria waned a little as the night wore on. The medical wards were unusually busy; they were always full, but now they were spilling over, with extra beds up and a number of new patients who needed extra care. By the time she was due to go off duty she was tired and peevish, wanting her bed above all things.

      It was nice to find breakfast ready and waiting when she got to Bick Street; her sisters and brother clustered round as she ate it, and only when she had finished did Zoë say, ‘We knew you wouldn’t mind, Louise—Dr van der Linden met me when I was out with Dusty yesterday evening—at least, he was driving home, I suppose, and came down this street… He stopped and asked if we wanted a lift tomorrow and I said yes.’ She paused to look at Louise’s face. ‘You don’t mind? It seemed such a splendid chance; we could start on the garden and he said we could have lunch at his house and take Dusty, so you’d have a nice long day to yourself. He’ll bring us back this evening.’

      Louise squashed a feeling of self-pity welling up in a threatening manner; it was kind of the doctor, and moreover it rather pointed to the fact that he had his eye on Zoë. Besides, if they went there for lunch they would soon know if he was married, in which case, the quicker he took his eyes off her, the better. In the meanwhile there was safety in numbers.

      She said with an instant willingness that she didn’t quite feel, ‘What a splendid notion, my dears. Do remember to take Dusty’s food with you and his bowl; he’ll be quite happy in the garden. Christine, if you finished your curtains yesterday evening, will you take them with you and hang them? There is a spade in the little garden shed at the end of the garden, but perhaps Dr van der Linden wouldn’t mind you taking the garden fork—you could leave it there. Take a bottle of milk—you might want tea.’ She saw their relief as she yawned and declared, ‘Must say, a long sleep will be nice…’

      ‘Then you don’t mind—truly not?’ asked Mike.

      ‘Not one bit. I’ve had a rotten night—all go—and I can think of nothing nicer than a bath and bed. Take a key with you just in case I’m gone before you get back.’ Something made her add, ‘I told Night Sister on the