Page 3 of The Midnight Bakery
Would that she could. ‘No, I’m fine, let’s carry on.’
Jack nodded and they silently continued. It was at times like these that Beth wondered what life would be like if they were both absolutely honest with each other. Would they ever do half the things that filled each of their days? She knew it sounded awful, but she wasn’t sure their relationship would survive without the myriad number of small white lies they told, or accommodations, as Beth liked to call them. Walking was good for Jack, or rather fresh air was. It was good for her too, and so they came to the common several times a week. Sometimes, it was the last thing she wanted to do, but she did it because she knew that if she didn’t, Jack would hardly ever get out of the house. By the same token, she was pretty sure that Jack stoically agreed to come because he knew how much she cared about him – about, and for him. Refusing that help would be like a kick in the teeth, given all that she did for him. And so, they carried on,accommodating…
As if reading her mind, Jack halted beside her. ‘What would I do without you?’ he said.
Beth held his look. ‘Don’t,’ she said softly, seeing the emotion written there. ‘We both know you’d be okay. And at least you’d be free from being nagged all the time.’
‘I mean it though, Beth. I couldn’t do this without you. But you work too hard, and…’ He didn’t need to say the rest.
It was exactly what Beth was afraid of. Every day, Jack told her to sleep, told her he was worried about her. But to do thethings she did there just weren’t enough hours in the day to sleep as well. And she was so, so tired. It scared her that one day she wouldn’t be okay, that her body wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demands she made of it, and everything would go bang. She had no idea what would happen if it did.
Turning, she dropped to her knees, ignoring the cold of the hard ground beneath her. ‘I love you, Jack Millner,’ she said. Some days she couldn’t tell him hard enough.
Leaning forward as far as he could, Jack slid his good hand around her neck, pulling her closer so his lips touched hers. Some days she knew he worried he didn’t tell her often enough. ‘I love you too,’ he replied. And then he sat back and smiled that smile. ‘But can we please go home? It’s flippin’ freezing…’
3
Frankie
It was twenty to eight in the morning and Frankie was just about to head home, another night shift completed. She was tired, and living above the bakery meant she could be in bed in about three minutes flat if she really wanted, but a pearlescent sunrise drew her away from her front door and out into the streets. Frankie loved the town when it was like this, just waking up from its nightly slumber, stretching and yawning as it limbered up for a new day. She loved how it always seemed cleansed of all that had gone before, each morning a brand-new start, the slate wiped clean, full of promise and as yet unsullied by the day’s events.
On mornings like these she would wander – up through the market square and away from the shops, through the passageways of ancient timber houses before finally turning into the green swathe of the churchyard. Today, she had a fresh loaf of bread in her bag which was meant for her breakfast, but she broke up the crust to share with the flock of starlings that roosted in the old trees. It was a small thing, but the birds’ squabbling antics made her smile as they fought overher offerings. She waited until they had feasted, disappearing as fast as they had arrived, before breaking off another piece of bread for a shy robin who hopped from branch to branch eyeing her hopefully with a cocked head. Then she sat, just for a few minutes, on the sagging bench by the memorial garden and thought about how lucky she was. She might not have much in her world, but she had everything she needed.
Stretching out her legs, she breathed in the chill air, feeling it fill her lungs, cold and clean. The bakery was always boiling at night, and much as she was grateful for the warm fug in winter, by morning she always felt the need for contrast – like when you overheat in bed and slide your legs over to savour the coolness of the sheets on the other side. But the very best thing about mornings like these, and indeed every morning, was that now she had finished work she had the whole day to herself and probably wouldn’t see another soul. Occasionally her boss at the bakery would pop up to see her, but Vivienne’s visits were infrequent. If she wanted anything she usually left Frankie a note, which suited her just fine.
It wasn’t that Frankie didn’t like people; she did, but over the years the ones which she’d had in her life had all drifted out of it. She understood why. She hadn’t needed anyone else and so she’d given them no reason to stay. That wasn’t true, but it was what she’d thought at the time, or rather, what Robert had taught her. Now she knew better, it was too late to do anything about it, and although back then she’d thought losing them didn’t hurt much at all, she’d later discovered that it did, very much so. Now, the thought of getting close to people only to watch them leave again was akin to having sensitive teeth. It made you wary, but the only real pain came if you drank iced water. So, she didn’t drink iced water – simple. She didn’t need any reminders of what she’d lost and so she kept herselfto herself, and she’d got used to being on her own. It was easier than she’d thought, and working the night shift helped.
When Frankie had first started working nights it had taken a while to get used to the new routine. Not so much the sleeping and being awake, but the when and what to eat – that was what had really thrown her. But then she realised there was no need to change things round at all and so, even though she would soon be having breakfast, perfectly normal for the morning, for her it was actually the last meal of her day. Later on, when she got up, she’d have her main meal – dinner – which became, in effect, her actual breakfast, and then during the night, she’d have lunch. It sounded confusing, but it worked. This morning she was going to have boiled egg and soldiers on account of the fresh loaf, and then finish off with her hot chocolate. She swore it helped her drop off to sleep.
Frankie’s flat was only small, but she was lucky to have it at all. Perhaps Vivienne had sensed her desperation when Frankie had asked if she knew anywhere reasonable for rent, but then again, maybe it suited her to have Frankie on hand. Vivienne lived right on the other side of town – if there was ever a problem, Frankie could be there long before she was. And it was cheap, too, but that was more on account of it being little more than a glorified storeroom for the bakery when she moved in. Goodness knows why Vivienne had hung onto half the stuff she had, but as long as Frankie didn’t throw anything out, Vivienne was happy for her to live there. Once Frankie had cleaned out all the years of dust and cobwebs, and moved the junk into the box room, piling it high, it wasn’t too bad at all. It was an old building and, perched up under the eaves as she was, the ceiling slanted this way and that giving it bags of character. With a couple of lamps and a few brightly coloured throws she’d scavengedfrom the local charity shops, her odd collection of furniture was transformed. It was warm and cosy, but most importantly it was hers. Frankie wasn’t much bothered by material things. She had her freedom and that made her rich beyond her wildest dreams.
The door at the top of the stairs opened on to a tiny square space, which wasn’t really a hallway, but was big enough to hang a coat and kick off her shoes. Then, it was straight into the kitchen, where she was greeted by the bunch of daffodils she’d popped into a jug to sit on the wooden counter nearest the door. They were bought cheaply from the local market, something she did every week if she could, the sight of them never failing to lift her spirits. The other thing which helped was her music.
She grew up listening to 1970s and ’80s bands but it was music from a much earlier era that was her go-to whenever she needed a lift. Her first real boyfriend had introduced her to it, and during the years they were together she’d grown to love those songs too. They were such sweet melodies, old-fashioned and romantic and she and Shaun had danced to them for hours. This morning her playlist would have to include ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ – she’d been humming it, she realised, ever since she’d been in the churchyard. Given her surname, Shaun used to tease her that she was his very own nightingale, while she used to dream of being one of the angels who had dined at the Ritz, just like in the lyrics…But she’d given Shaun up for Robert and, as a consequence, hadn’t listened to those songs for years. It was only recently that she’d taken to playing them again, perhaps as a reminder of a past life, one where she’d been happy, or perhaps as a kind of apology, to let Shaun know how wrong she’d been to let him go.
Setting a pan of water to boil, Frankie went to get changed out of her work clothes. Putting her pyjamas on now meant that she could pretty much fall into bed once she had eaten and done her few odd jobs, none of which would take very long. She usedto have a big house, spending hour after hour cleaning, but not any more. Admittedly, her flat wasn’t very big, just a kitchen, bathroom and living room-cum-bedroom, but one of the things which had most surprised her when she left Robert was just how few things she had of her own. Their house had been stuffed with belongings, but when the time came to leave she realised there was virtually nothing she wanted to take. And those things she’d lovingly cared for year after year? She didn’t really like them much at all. So that was another benefit of being on her own – the dusting didn’t take up much of her time now. Plus, of course, she was nowhere near as fussy as Robert was. She’d succumbed to tears on plenty of occasions during those first few weeks, looking around at the bleak and unfamiliar space, but when she’d cried herself out, she’d blown a huge raspberry at him and hadn’t cleaned for a week.
4
Beth
It always took Beth at least an hour to settle into her shift. Once the staff handover was complete, she spent a while revisiting each patient’s notes and charts so that everything she’d just been told embedded itself. She was tired, and anxious she might make a mistake, but that wasn’t why she did it. The patients on this ward were so poorly, it wasn’t just about the physical care she could give. It went way beyond that.
There were no doctors’ rounds at night. No consultants, no physiotherapists, no rehab or palliative care nurses either, so it was much quieter than during the day. For most it was the only chance to sleep without being interrupted, but for many, night-time was when fear crept in, when facing their own mortality became almost too much to bear. And for those patients, Beth was a friendly face and a sympathetic ear. She was hot buttered toast and cups of tea among the whispered confessions of the endless hours until dawn.
Strictly speaking, none of these things were what Beth was paid to do, but she and all her colleagues did them becauseif they didn’t, what was left of humanity? They worked in a profession which had become hobbled by a lack of resources with little money to reverse the situation. As nurses, what they offered had become driven by cost, and ruled by targets they hadn’t a hope of reaching, but a kind word or a gentle touch still meant far more than could ever be quantified. And the day she forgot that would be the day Beth turned her back on her career forever.
She smiled as Lisa came into view. Beth was a senior staff nurse, so as ward sister Lisa was one step up from her and, although fairly new to the hospital, she and Beth had hit it off from day one. Beth appreciated her no-nonsense, common-sense approach, which also came with a priceless sense of humour. Today though, Lisa’s usual sunny smile was absent from her face.
‘You didn’t hear this from me,’ she said as she reached Beth, adding several charts to the pile already on the desk beside them. ‘But the memo is going in pigeonholes in the morning.’ Beth didn’t need to ask which one; talk on the wards had been about little else for weeks.
‘What does it say?’ asked Beth. ‘I know you’re not supposed to tell me, but?—’
‘But I’m going to because I’m an angel. Plus, it’s unfair and we all know it.’ Lisa crossed to a filing cabinet behind them, pulling out a single sheet of paper. ‘Like I said, you didn’t hear this from me, and you haven’t seen this either,’ she added, sliding the memo across the desk. ‘Basically, it’s as we thought. A restructure, which means we’re all going to have to reapply for our jobs.’
Beth scanned the letter in front of her. ‘How many have to go?’ she asked, looking for the detail.
‘Altogether…? Two,’ replied Lisa. ‘And of those remaining, four of us will effectively stay on the same grade, althoughwe’ll be called something completely different.’ She tapped a paragraph at the base of the letter. ‘While sadly three will have newly created roles, on the newly created grade structure which doesn’t fool anyone. You can call us and the grades anything you like, but we can still spot a pay cut when we see one.’
