‘I know, Nurse.’ Miss Parker looked at Grace with sympathy. She had been sitting at Albie’s bedside for most of the afternoon, talking to him in a gentle whisper as he drifted in and out of consciousness. She’d refused to leave his side.

‘He needs me here, Sister,’ was all she would say whenever Miss Parker suggested she should talk a break.

Now, as she watched the girl weeping silently, Florence Parker knew she should take a firm hand with her. After all, it wasn’t the first time Grace Duffield had witnessed the death of a patient. All nurses accepted it as part of their job.

But somehow she could not bring herself to chastise her. Grace was generally a sensible girl – a little clumsy at times, but not usually given to silliness or sentimental outbursts like some of the other nurses. But she had developed a particular fondness for Corporal Sallis.

They all had, in their own way. Miss Parker had liked him a great deal, even though he could be a handful at times. She would miss his jokes, and his laughter. It wasn’t a sound they often heard among the traumatised men on Wilson ward.

She looked back at Grace who was pale with exhaustion.

‘Come along, Nurse.’ She forced herself to sound brisk. ‘Let’s leave him now, shall we?’

‘What about last offices, Sister?’

Miss Parker shook her head. ‘I’ll find someone else to do it.’

‘But there are no other nurses here …’

‘Then I’ll find someone else,’ Miss Parker cut her off. ‘Go to my sitting room, Nurse. I’ll get a VAD to bring you a cup of tea.’

‘But—’

Miss Parker sent her a severe look. ‘I hope you’re not going to argue with me, Nurse Duffield?’

‘No, Sister.’

Florence Parker watched her making her way unsteadily down the ward. She was an ungainly girl at the best of times, and her limbs were stiff from sitting for so long.

Ten minutes later, Miss Parker herself carried the tea tray into her sitting room. Grace was perched on the edge of the settee, arms wrapped around herself, perfectly still as if she was trying to stop herself from knocking something over.

She jumped to her feet when she saw Miss Parker, ran to take the tray from her and promptly upset a small vase of flowers.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Florence kept saying as Grace fell to her knees, desperately patting the rug with her apron to try and soak up the spilt water. ‘For goodness’ sake, girl, stop fussing! It’s only water, it will soon dry. Come and sit down.’

She set the tray on the low table between them and took her seat in the armchair opposite Grace.

‘I’ll pour, shall I?’ she offered. The last thing she needed was a pot of hot tea spilled in her lap.

‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ Grace said, as she took the cup from her. ‘I know I shouldn’t have made such a fuss. It was just so sudden.’