I held both his hands. ‘She’s gone, Nick. How are things?’
He sighed. ‘God, darling, I don’t know. Everyone keeps telling me I’ve been bloody lucky. I suppose I am. I don’t feel it. I feel bloody awful.’
‘Eye hurting?’
‘No. Haven’t any pain at all. Not even a headache. Is that right?’
‘Perfectly.’ My opinion of Marcus Stock shot higher. ‘Feel sick at all?’
‘No. Should I?’
‘Not if you’ve had a good anaesthetist ‒ which you obviously have.’
‘Then when will it start hurting?’
‘It won’t.’
He could neither understand nor believe that; he had never been in hospital before. ‘What about when the stitches come out?’
‘Stocks won’t let it hurt. Honestly.’
‘That’s what the Dawson woman said. I thought it was all part of the patter.’
‘No. It’s true.’ As he was clearly unconvinced, I changed the subject to tomorrow. ‘You’ll be much less glum without that double bandage. They make everyone glum.’
‘Guess so.’ He sighed again. ‘Do they know their stuff here, Anna? They are talking of giving me a television by Tuesday. Are they nuts?’
‘No. That’s the modern technique.’ I repeated Robert’s words about Muir, and, as that did not cheer him, took Robert’s advice about the cottage being good post-op therapy. I had discussed his ideas with Jill while we cleaned that morning, and shown her his sketches. I said now, ‘She loves your white-and-orange scheme for the kitchen. Don’t wince, but she had wanted it pale blue.’
‘God! Blue for a room facing due north! There’s no colder colour. But she likes my ideas?’ He brightened. ‘Good old Jilly. Have you left her spring-cleaning?’
‘She’s here with me. In Sister Dawson’s office ‒ and here is Sister with Dr. Stock,’ I added as the door opened.
Dr. Stock apologised for disturbing us. Sister Dawson said firmly, ‘Miss Rowe’s time was well up, Doctor.’
Nick tried to persuade her otherwise, but, as I knew the sound of a ward sister with her mind made up, I said goodbye and promised to be in again tomorrow. ‘If I may?’ I looked at Sister Dawson as well as Dr. Stock.
The consultant said he did not see why not and held the door open for me. Nick asked, ‘Couldn’t I just saw hallo to Miss Collins? Please.’
Sister Dawson looked at Dr. Stock. He looked rather startled, then smiled. ‘Just for one minute.’
I went for Jill. She was standing at the office window with her back to the door. She turned very slowly. ‘He wants to see me?’
‘Yes. Stock said he could.’ She had gone pink. ‘Jill, do. He’s so glum. Maybe you can cheer him up.’
‘I’ll try,’ she said, and hurried off.
We were both very quiet on our return journey. Later, in the sitting-room, Jill stopped scrubbing engrained soot off the mock-marble fireplace and sat on her heels. ‘I had thought of shell-pink for this room. Your young man insists white is the only possible colour. I can see now he’s right.’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘Those dark beams will look much better against a white background, and white will make the room bigger.’
I said, ‘He seems to have as big a fixation for white as he has for knocking down walls. Was there time for him to get on to this wall while you were with him?’
‘He did! I said it would have to stay pro tem as Sister Mary couldn’t possibly afford the extra expense. He tried to persuade me it wouldn’t cost all that much if Sister Mary wouldn’t object to his being around to keep an eye on things and the expense down, but I vetoed that one too. If not, as soon as they let him out, he’d be in here swinging a pickaxe himself!’
‘That’s what’s worrying me. How did he take your veto?’
‘Like a lamb.’
‘Jill!’ I put down my string cloth and carton of abrasive powder. ‘You must have handled him wonderfully. What’s your technique?’
‘Not sure.’ She attacked the fireplace again. ‘Probably long experience. I’ve had to handle midder clerks for the past three years. Before that I had two as a Cas senior staff nurse handling Cas dressers. And long before I came to Barny’s, having four younger brothers and no sisters, I got in a lot of practice on them. My brothers always said I was born to be either a hospital sister or a Regimental Sergeant-Major. I’m happy to have made the former.’ She went into the kitchen for clean hot water. On returning she said, ‘I didn’t realise you two were officially engaged, but how very pleasing that you are.’
‘It’s not at all that official’ ‒ and though I knew she disliked personal discussions I had to talk to someone; so I told her Nick’s proposal had been prompted by Marcus Stock last night. ‘Nick didn’t mention it this afternoon.’
‘And that’s upset you? Anna, that’s foolish! He was still pretty heavily sedated when we saw him. I doubt he yet remembers all that happened last night. That’ll come back as he begins to pick up. You must know he’s devoted to you. Even I have heard that, and I don’t hear much gossip as listening to it is something I try to avoid. It always seems to me both impertinent and boring.’ She held out a hand. ‘Let’s have that powder. If it doesn’t shift this soot I am going to use wire wool.’
I took that as a straight hint to keep my private life to myself, and did not intend mentioning Nick again. Then a few minutes later she said he had told her one of the upstairs cupboards had a false back, and must at one time have been an old powder closet. We went up to investigate, and when our taps echoed hollowly she was jubilant. ‘That clever boy! We’ll have that back out ourselves in the morning! Sister Mary won’t mind! Like every woman, she’ll be delighted with the extra cupboard space.’ She looked round the bedroom. ‘I wonder what colour he wants this? Where’s that pad?’
At supper she brought up Nick’s name again, and said what a mercy it was that there should be an eye man of Marcus Stock’s calibre on hand. As Stock was an old Barny’s man whom she had admitted knowing, I asked if she knew about his family background?
‘He had a lot of trouble, I believe, poor man. But it’s over now. More cheese? No? Then let’s clear up.’
I watched her intent, shiny face and untidy hair as she washed up. Her features were not at all bad, and though she looked angular that was mainly because she would wear the wrong clothes. She had the kind of slimness that could have looked dreamy if only her clothes fitted in the right places and had been the right colours, as Nick’s more discerning eye had spotted at sight. Her face had more colour than usual now, and as she went on to talk of Nick’s work on the new Mary she looked more alive and almost good-looking. A sudden, wild idea hit me so unexpectedly that I dropped a plate. I had laughed myself out of that idea before I collected the pieces. I did not remember it until we were leaving the cottage next evening.
Jill again went with me to visit Nick, and this time without protest. She wore her brown linen suit, but as she had for once made up her face the colour seemed much less drab.
As yesterday, she waited in Sister Dawson’s office while I was with Nick. He was much more cheerful. His good eye was free. ‘I like,’ he said, ‘to see a girl when I kiss her.’
He did not mention our being engaged. He said, ‘I’ve got a sort of blackout about Friday, my sweet. Is that because Stock filled me up with dope?’
‘Yes.’ I hesitated to say more as I only then realised that his proposal could have been as much prompted by drugs as Marcus Stock. ‘It’ll come back.’
He said honestly, ‘I’m not sure I’m all that keen on recalling the gory details, love. It must have been a bloody awful evening all round. By the way, did you know Rob Gordon looked in here this morning? Rather decent of him, I thought.’
‘Yes. Very.’
‘And how’s the cottage going? You haven’t let old Jilly slap on the wrong paint?’
‘My dear man, we’ve done nothing but clean! Don’t my hands prove that?’
Before I left he again ask
ed to see Jill. ‘Tell old Mother Dawson I asked Stock myself this morning and he said I could! And when are you coming to see me again?’
‘I’ve a half-day on Thursday. I’ll try and get it changed for an earlier one, but Sister Observation isn’t very keen on changes.’
He smiled. ‘Darling, you ought to know by now that you don’t have to be tactful and avoid Sabby’s name. You may not believe this, but I can’t even remember what she looks like.’
I believed him, as that was how I felt about David.
He stroked my face. ‘I have such a weakness for redheads.’
‘Anything you want me to do for you in town?’
‘Tell Peter Graveny to come and see me. Stock says I can entertain from tomorrow during normal visiting hours. I want lots of visitors. I am addicted to grapes.’
Jill was with him longer than yesterday. Later she told me she had promised to visit him on her next half-day. ‘You don’t mind, Anna?’
‘Of course not! As his parents have returned to Majorca and both his married sisters are abroad, and he’s a stranger to these parts, he’ll have no visitors unless his London friends rally.’
She locked the back door and said she would ask Sister Mary to keep an eye on him when she got back from Hayhurst. ‘I could let Professor Ferguson know. Then Mrs. Ferguson might go over.’
‘Jill, you are bright. You think of everything!’
She blushed. ‘Your young man’s a nice boy. I think he’s going to be a great help to Sister Mary. I’d like to help him if I can, and if it’s all right with you?’
‘Fine with me!’
‘Splendid! Then how about our joining forces here again on our next free week-end to get down to the painting? You can then spend as much time with him as they’ll let you, and, as Sister Mary should be with us, we ought to be able to make real progress.’ She patted the cottage wall affectionately. ‘Little house, I like you. I can’t wait to get back to you.’
She could have meant only what she said, but it was then I remembered the idea that had made me drop that plate. It still seemed crazy, but no longer at all funny. She looked younger, neater, and almost pretty. She had done her face with rare care. She had done a lot for the cottage, but not her face. I found that interesting, and rather sad.
Chapter Eight
SISTER MARY MOVES IN
Helen Addy went on holiday at the end of the following week. I took over her job as Sister’s stand-in, but as the promotion was only temporary I stayed with my own team and patients. Jean Hutton, a relief staff nurse, joined us during that week, and worked three days with Addy before taking over her rooms.
Addy gave me some very useful advice before she left, including the suggestion that I carried three spare handkerchiefs on duty. ‘I have never worked in a ward with so many weeping juniors,’ she said. ‘Observation must now be like Barny’s in the thirties. Mother says when she trained here no ward was complete without a weeping pro behind the sluice door. I wish Wardell would snap out of her mood ‒ or we knew the cause and could do something about it. I hate to leave you holding the baby, but I expect you can cope. One thing’s clear: It’s nothing to do with you. You are now the only person she can be civil to!’
Oddly, that was true. I was still trying to fathom out why.
From Monday, Sabby Wardell had been as unexpectedly nice to me as Robert last Friday night. She had called me into her duty-room to sympathise about Nick’s eye, openly referred to him as an old friend, said she thought it very good of me to have given up an entire week-end to help Sister Mary, and showed no sign of resenting my removing Robert from the dinner table and then letting him stay so long at the cottage. She even apologised for not being able to bring my half-day forward as the ward was too busy.
As the days went by I came to the conclusion that I owed this mainly to Jill’s putting in good words for me in the Sisters’ home, and a little to Robert’s tactful handling of the situation on Friday. I guessed he had told her I was engaged to Nick, which would have stopped her worrying about him and myself as nothing else could have done. As I now knew she was interested in Robert, I understood why she had previously seemed unmoved by my relationship with Nick. She might even have been feeling rather guilty about him, and grateful to me for taking him off her hands. Yet her continued indulgence towards me and general toughness to the other girls did continue to puzzle me, as it struck an uncharacteristic note. It seemed so unfair, and whatever Wardell was like as a ward sister, as Addy who knew her better than myself agreed, she had always previously been scrupulously fair in her dealings with her nurses.
Addy said, ‘I’ve told you, she likes you, and she doesn’t like people easily. It must be that.’
Robert was also puzzling me. Having known and disliked him for years, I was now beginning to wonder if I had ever known him at all. Either he or I had changed utterly, since the more I saw of him these days the less cause I found to dislike him. He seemed to have lost his old desire to scrap with me at sight, and though I did not realise this in a flash, I slowly discovered I no longer braced myself instinctively whenever he appeared.
When we met on duty, if Wardell was around we ignored each other by a sort of unexpressed mutual consent. If she was not there we talked exactly as I talked with the other registrars. When we met in the grounds, instead of pretending we were both invisible as of old, we stopped briefly and talked the latest news of Nick or Observation shop.
Nick’s progress was very good. I rang Astead General nightly for first-hand news, and collected a good deal at second hand from Peter Graveny, who drove down to Astead on Monday, from Jill and from Nick’s secretary, Mrs. Blake, who visited him daily and left a message for me on her return.
Mrs. Bird’s bed in Matilda Ward had become vacant sooner than expected, and, as she was doing very well, she left us on Wednesday. I was off that morning, and got back to Observation as she was being wheeled off in a chair. ‘Nurse Rowe! I am so glad! I did want to say goodbye and thank you.’ She shook my hand briskly. Her face was still too thin, but it now had some colour, and her eyes were bright. ‘I’ll tell you now, my dear, I never expected to leave this ward alive. I shall not forget you. May I ask you two favours? Can you send a message to me in Matilda with your home address? And Mr. Elkroyd’s? If my little book ever gets into print I want you to have a copy, and I think it might amuse his children.’
Mrs. Bird and Tom had never met, but they had struck up a firm friendship through the messages they sent each other via ourselves, and the long chats Mrs. Elkroyd had had with Mrs. Bird’s sons in our flat. When I asked Tom’s permission to give his address and told him the reason he looked very pleased. ‘Oh, aye. She’s welcome to it. Gone, has she? That’s all right then.’
He had no more acute pain since his injections had been put up, and was sleeping and eating better. In consequence his general condition had improved slightly. His X-rays and spinal pressure results showed no improvement. Brown-plus-E was an optimistic man, but he shook his head over each new plate and report, and Mr. Muir made bright conversation in broad Scots in Room Ten. In the corridor and duty-room he talked unaccented English and was openly gloomy. ‘Put a knife in now and it’ll be straight murder.’
Mrs. Elkroyd had had to have the truth. She had taken it with great courage and calm, and agreed that until an operation was possible the facts should be kept from her husband. ‘He’ll not learn them from me, Doctor.’ To save Tom from guessing indirectly, though she longed to stay with him, she was still returning home during the week to look after the children, coming south every week-end. She left the children with her parents.
Tom said, ‘There’s nowt like a gran and a grandad for spoiling kids. My Betty has her hands full sorting that lot out.’
‘A grandparent’s privilege. Wait till you’re a grandad, Tom.’
‘Oh, aye.’ His dark glasses hid his eyes, but his square jaw tightened. ‘That’ll be the day, then.’
He had long stopped asking about his cond
ition, when he would be returning to Henry, or when the endless tests would be finished. He talked about the future when his wife was present, never with us alone. His attitude did not worry me as Mrs. Bird’s had done. There was no resignation about it. Tom Elkroyd accepted his illness because he had to, but it had not yet defeated him; he was a fighter saving his strength until necessary. If he had to die soon he would not die easily.
Now I knew him so well, I understood his language. ‘It could be worse’ meant ‘This hurts as much as I can stand, but I’ll put up with it if it’s going to do any good.’
‘Nicely, ta,’ stood for ‘I am very comfortable and feeling better.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ was his top expression of joy and approval.
On Thursday morning Mr. Muir was delayed by some meeting from arriving on time for his round, and Robert was waiting for his boss in Tom’s room. When I looked in to say Mr. Muir had telephoned and he would be another ten minutes the two men were working out a chess move. A pawn slid from Tom’s grip. Then it happened again. ‘Butterfingers,’ he chided himself.
Robert and I looked at each other over his bent head. I shook mine slightly in answer to Robert’s unspoken, ‘This happened before?’
He said, ‘If my boss is coming soon I’d better do some work or I’ll get the sack. May I have another look, Tom?’
‘Help yourself.’ I drew the curtains. Robert fitted together his ophthalmoscope, and Tom removed his dark glasses. ‘Better than a turn on telly, is it, then?’
‘Much. Until they get colour television.’ Robert altered the focus. ‘Does this light worry you?’
‘Could be worse.’
‘Won’t take long. There.’ Robert switched off the instrument light. ‘How’s the head?’
A House for Sister Mary Page 13
