A House for Sister Mary

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Nicely, ta.’ Tom narrowed his eyes against the dim light. ‘Happen you’ve been giving me stronger injections.’

  ‘They’re quite good,’ was all Robert said. He helped me turn Tom’s pillow and straighten the sheets, then handed him his glass of lemonade, and Tom took it as if that was what he had been expecting.

  I found it interesting to watch them together. It often gave me a queer ‘I have been here before’ sensation. I placed it now as Robert passed that glass. I remembered David, years ago in the canteen one evening, when he had been worried about an exam, and Robert had come over from another table, put a cup of tea in front of David, and walked off without saying a word. I had asked, ‘How did he know you wanted that?’ and David said, ‘He knows me.’ At the time I had resented Robert’s insight. It had made me feel an intruder. I did not feel that now. I did not know why not.

  Robert came out into the corridor with me. I asked about that pawn. ‘The new stuff?’ He nodded. ‘So it could be a good sign? He could soon be operable?’

  He removed his glasses to polish them, and blinked as short-sighted people do on those occasions. His lashes were very long, thick, and dark as his hair. I had never noticed them before, or that without his glasses he looked much younger and oddly vulnerable. ‘Possibly. Dead risky.’

  ‘I know that. But he’s such a tough. A mental as well as a physical tough. I think he’ll make it.’

  ‘I hope to God you are right.’ He put back his glasses to add a note to the bed-ticket.

  ‘But you don’t think I am?’

  He said slowly, ‘My instincts are with you, but I can’t get round the facts. They are stacked against him. Muir won’t touch him yet ‒ if ever.’

  ‘If this stuff is having that side-effect how long will it last?’

  ‘It should reach maximum in, say, two weeks.’

  ‘Then it’ll be now or never?’

  ‘Yes. By then he’ll have had the full course. He can’t have more without a long break. Too long for him. Brown-plus-E’ll probably decide in the next ten days. The decision’ll be his, for, though Muir may assist, it’ll be Brown-plus-E who goes into his skull.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes. It will. Robert, if you were going in, what would you do?’

  He took his time. ‘Risk it.’

  ‘You would? You’d back your instincts against your judgement? Like me?’

  His smile was self-derisive. ‘And since when has lunacy been a female prerogative?’ The lift had stopped. ‘Here’s the boss.’

  After nursing for years I was normally very good at switching off my job when out of the hospital, and switching off my private life when on duty. I had been relieved to discover, this last week, that I was still able to forget Nick wholly in Observation. In the train that afternoon, for once that old mental habit failed me. Tom and my conversation with Robert were so uppermost in my thoughts that by the time I reached Astead General, smelt the old familiar hospital smell on the stairs and in the corridors leading to the eye ward, and was shown into Nick’s room by Sister Dawson I was quite startled to see the wrong man sitting up in bed. I recovered myself at once, but, for once with Nick, I did not feel weak at the knees. I remembered that later.

  He had a black patch over his eye. He looked rested and well. ‘How do you like me as a pirate, darling?’

  ‘Very dashing. How do you feel?’

  ‘Great! You were right. It doesn’t hurt at all. Old Marcus Stock comes in every day and says h’mm, h’mm! The nurses say that means I’m cured. I’m in love with at least three. No objections?’

  ‘So long as it’s only three, how could I?’

  ‘Haven’t I always said you were the most understanding of women? What’s your news?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid, as I’ve been buried in Observation. I saw Peter after he saw you, and Jill rang me, but I haven’t seen her all week. I haven’t even seen Harriet. She’s on a two-to-ten Cas shift and sleeps all morning.’

  ‘But not all night! Peter says she’s living it up with one of his housemen. Stan Someone.’

  ‘Stan Peabody? He her latest? Tell me more!’ I begged. ‘There’s nothing like coming to one hospital for gossip of another.’

  Nick said there was now nothing he could not tell me about Astead General, and though he was not all that up on Barny’s grapevine he was putting his mind to it. ‘This place is agog today with a fine rumour ‒ which Sister Dawson mustn’t hear so keep it dark. You know old Marcus? Get this! The girls say he’s very thick with some fashion model.’

  ‘Marcus Stock? At his age?’

  ‘The poor old man’s only forty, darling. The dangerous age! I can hardly wait!’

  ‘Is she really a model? A real model? What’s her name?’

  ‘They wouldn’t tell me. I’ll get it out of them. Now, what else can I tell you? Ah, yes! You know old Jilly was down? With some colour cards? I’ve told her she can buy the paint, but she’s not to use it until I can get a look at it. She’s coming down again next Tuesday, and after dropping in here she’s going on to Wylden to go into a huddle with your Sister Mary.’

  ‘Will Sister Mary be back by then?’

  ‘She’s moving in on Sunday after packing dear Edith off to spend a few weeks with a married niece in Eastbourne. And on Monday’ ‒ he smiled smugly ‒ ‘she is coming to see me.’

  ‘Nick,’ I said, ‘is there anything you don’t know?’

  ‘One thing, my love.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, guessing the answer and suddenly turning nervous.

  ‘What has happened to my car? No one seems to know.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t Robert explain? It’s at the Wylden garage. That all?’

  ‘I think so.’ He turned his face to look straight at me with his good eye. His expression was untroubled and only mildly curious. ‘Is there anything else I’ve forgotten?’

  ‘No.’ My voice had answered before I had time to think whether that was the answer I wanted to give. ‘Are they letting you up now?’

  ‘One hour in the morning, one in the evening. I take little walks with my nurses. And they are already talking about my pushing-out date.’

  ‘That’s splendid! When? And where are they sending you?’

  ‘I’m not letting them send me anywhere! Can you see me settling for a convalescent home? I thought of going back to Italy, as Stock’s against my working, and I know what’ll happen if I go back to my flat in town. But he’s not keen on Italy, and, like a mug, I told Jilly. Know her bright idea? She wants to ask your Sister Mary to take me in as a P.G.! Crazy, no?’

  ‘Not crazy! Perfect, if Sister Mary’ll have you.’

  ‘Hey! What about me? Don’t I have any say in the matter?’

  I smiled. ‘What did you say to Jill?’

  ‘Darling,’ he spread his hands, ‘I did try. Old Jilly wasn’t having any! She gave me such a stern “my dear boy, we must be sensible” pep-talk that I did not dare argue. May not be too bad. I like Wylden, and it’ll be amusing to fix up that cottage,’ he added, as if he needed to explain things to himself as well as to me.

  The ward orderly came in with his tea, and wanted his advice on a new dress she intended buying for her daughter’s school’s Open Day. ‘Isn’t he a one, miss? I never heard a young gentleman talk like he does about clothes! Ever so artistic, he is!’

  The ladies with the library trolley put their heads round the door. Though finding Nick was still forbidden to read, they came in at his invitation to be introduced to me. He did not introduce me as his fiancée.

  ‘Another nurse from St. Barnabas’ Hospital, Miss Rowe? Your hospital seems quite to have adopted Mr. Dexter!’

  ‘Mr. Dexter has not only adopted us, he’s building us a fine new hospital.’

  ‘Really? You clever young man!’ they clucked.

  Nick was grinning when they left us. ‘Popular, darling, that’s me. I am beginning to like it here. Everyone spoils me. But everyone! Jealous?’

  ‘Green-
eyed.’

  He blew me a kiss. ‘When are you coming to see me again?’

  I had intended staying some time longer, but guessed from that he was growing tired. Being visited in hospital was fun for a short time, but I had seen too many patients left exhausted by their nearest and dearest to feel anything but sympathy with his desire to be alone.

  Sister Dawson called me into her office for a little chat on my way out. She said Dr. Stock was very satisfied with Nick, and she said he was a most amusing patient. ‘Naturally he found life a little difficult at first,’ she added, which also told me she had found him ‘difficult’. That did not surprise me, nor did his not yet having a total recall of that Friday evening. In the train going back I amused myself picturing the scene between us when he eventually remembered we were engaged. ‘Why the devil didn’t you tell me, darling?’ he would demand. ‘Afraid I might have second thoughts?’

  Was that it, I wondered. Or was I having second thoughts?

  That last thought left me disturbed and guilty. I could not get it off my mind until I got back to Observation next day, when the pressure of work again pushed Nick into the background of my thoughts.

  Without Addy my job was even more responsible than previously. Sabby Wardell’s natural aloofness had always made the girls wary of bothering her with minor problems. Now she was so constantly ‘tetchy’ that appeals to her were only made as a last resort. The habitual Observation cry, ‘Where’s Nurse Addy?’ turned into ‘Where’s Nurse Rowe?’ Officially I was only in nursing charge of my own team; unofficially I was now nursemaid to Trimmer’s and Hutton’s. I did not dislike that, but, as it meant I was making decisions for other people all day long on duty, I had no energy left at the end of the day for making any decisions about my private life. Nick seemed happy to let our affair drift for the present, so I just drifted with him. It was the same with the cottage. I fell in with Jill’s plans when I could, slapped on paint approved by Nick with her and Sister Mary, when she at last moved in, visited Nick in Astead General, and very thankfully left all Nick’s convalescent arrangements in Jill’s capable hands.

  Sister Mary was enchanted by the prospect of having Nick as a P.G., and Jill, one lunch time, went scarlet over this. ‘Dr. Stock gave me a lift back yesterday. He had to come up for some pundit’s lunch. He’s all for it.’

  ‘You went down just for the morning? That was good of you, Jill.’

  Her colour went from scarlet to puce. ‘I had a long morning free. I thought I might as well.’ It could have been imagination, but she seemed to be avoiding my eyes. ‘Forgive me, Anna, I’m due back in Elizabeth.’

  I was going back to Observation, and we were walking the same way. I let her streak on ahead and watched her back thoughtfully. It looked as if she had finally discovered why she found Astead so attractive. I should have liked to rush after her and tell her I quite understood and did not blame her at all, but, as I was the last person from whom she could have borne to hear that, I slowed my steps until she was right away.

  She was out of sight before I remembered it was Friday and her free week-end. It would have been mine had Addy’s holiday not caused me now to be out of step with Jill. Sister Observation was off this week-end, and I was having my days off during next week to compensate. So Jill had gone down yesterday morning, even though she was due in Wylden this evening for the whole week-end. Oh, dear, I thought rather wearily, poor old Jilly. What a mess! Then I wondered if Nick knew. I guessed he did. Jilly was no actress, and Nick, though often crazy, was no fool. I wondered if that was why he liked her so much, and then, inevitably, whether he only liked her or if history was going to repeat itself. I held out my bare left hand as I climbed the block stairs. At least this time I had no ring to hand back. That struck me as amusing in a wry sort of way, and I was still smiling when I reached our landing and found Nurse Vint, my team-leader, waiting for me.

  ‘Nurse, “our Linda’s” here. She says she’s been given the afternoon off from work to make up for all the overtime she’s been doing, and wants to sit with Frank to give his mother a free afternoon for once.’

  Frank Sands in Room Five was still unconscious. Linda was his girl friend. She and Mrs. Sands had not liked each other until Frank’s accident, but they were now great friends. At Brown-plus-E’s suggestion, ever since Frank’s admission his parents and Linda had taken turns to sit with him, or be close at hand in our flat. Mr. Browne said, ‘In my opinion, if your boy can see a familiar face amongst all our strange ones when he comes round it may prove more beneficial.’ Mr. Browne habitually talked about ‘when’ and not ‘if’ when discussing his patients, which was one of the many reasons why I liked nursing his cases, and was so constantly anxious about Tom Elkroyd. Our cranial consultant was a brave as well as an excellent surgeon. The two qualities did not invariably go together. If an operation was the only hope, and there was the smallest chance it would succeed, Brown-plus-E never hesitated to disregard his statistics and take that chance. The fact that he was still holding back told me as much about Tom’s prognosis as his keeping the Sands and Linda at their long vigil showed he genuinely believed there was some hope, however slight, that Frank would eventually recover.

  The Sands and Linda lived within easy walking distance of Barny’s, which helped them a little. They needed all the help they could get. Frank had been in a coma seventy-three days.

  I said now, ‘A break would do Mrs. Sands good: she’s missing all this wonderful summer. Why didn’t you send Linda straight in?’ Vint’s expression changed. ‘She hasn’t a cold?’

  ‘She swears not, but she sounds a little thick. I asked her to wait in the rest-room until you got back from lunch.’

  ‘Sister gone already?’

  Vint looked at the floor. ‘No. She’s waiting for you. I thought Linda wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes, and as Frank’s in our team …’

  ‘Quite. I had better tell Sister I’m back, then I’ll come along to see Linda with you.’

  Sister left a few minutes later. Vint was hanging around in the linen-room. We went along to the relatives’ flat together.

  Linda was nineteen and very pretty, with masses of eye make-up. She hotly denied having a cold or feeling unwell. ‘Me voice only sounds queer because me glands is up. Me mum says I’ve always been a one for glands. Tell you what ‒ let me have two masks.’

  I looked down her throat and felt her neck. ‘Sorry, dear.’ I explained the rules she already knew. ‘Your glands aren’t up for nothing. You must have some sort of germ, and it doesn’t matter how mild I’m afraid, I can’t let you near Frank or the patients’ end of this ward. I really am sorry, Linda. Mrs. Sands’ll understand. You go and get some sunshine yourself.’

  After she had gone we sprayed the whole flat with our special disinfectant air-spray, chucked away the gowns and masks we had been wearing, scrubbed up as if for the theatre, then re-dressed ourselves in clean gowns and masks. Vint apologised for putting me to the trouble. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my waiting for you, Sister Rowe, but thank Heaven I did. Sister would have taken me apart for letting Linda out of the lift.’

  I copied Addy’s placidity. ‘Sister has to take a strong line on imported bugs.’

  ‘No one would mind if it was only on bugs! But Sister’s bit ‒ I mean takes a strong line on everything these days! Why has she got like this? She never used to be.’

  Again I fell back on Addy. ‘She must be overtired. She works so hard.’

  ‘Then why will she never take her proper off-duty?’ demanded Vint reasonably. ‘Why does she insist on staying on when you are in charge? And not only you. She was doing that to Nurse Addy before her holiday. Can’t she bear handing over? Or does she feel she must work, as she’s worried about something and work keeps it off her mind?’

  ‘I don’t know. You could be right, Vint.’ I should have liked to give that more thought, but Linda had delayed us, the work was piling up, and the enigma of Wardell’s behaviour had to slide.

&nbs
p; I went first to see Mrs. Sands. She made a homely, bulky little figure in her too-long gown. She was too fat to fit comfortably into a shorter gown, and generally wore one that would have fitted Robert Gordon or Henry Todd, our two tallest residents.

  She nodded amiably over her knitting. ‘Our Linda don’t have to worry, duck. I’ll do nicely till his dad comes up after his tea.’ She lowered the knitting to look at her son. ‘Looks a little brighter today, don’t he, duck?’ she added, as she did every single day.

  I slid my arm through the armlet valve of the oxygen tent to take Frank’s pulse. The beat was the same as this morning, as yesterday, and all the other yesterdays.

  He was a short slight young man with sharp features and narrow shoulders. Now his head bandages were off and his brown hair was growing again, it was growing curly. He looked younger than twenty-three, and his artificially lowered temperature made him the colour of a wax doll. He lived in that tent. He was fed by a constant drip. At first he had breathed through a tracheotomy tube, as his natural airway had been damaged as well as his head. Since the removal of the tube he had breathed naturally, but a spare iron lung was waiting in the surgical stockroom across the corridor. It did not take long to put in a fresh tracheotomy tube, but in Barny’s that had to be done by a doctor, and Barny’s was a big place, whereas fixing a patient into a lung was part of our nurses’ training. It was not a part I enjoyed. Iron lungs are life-savers, but they look to me so like coffins.

  We changed Frank’s position constantly. He might be more like a log than a man, and when he came round his head injuries might prove to have done such permanent damage to his central nervous system as to leave him mentally crippled for life. A lay person might be justified in wondering if we were right to work so hard at saving his life. That question did not occur to the juniors in my team, simply because they had as yet little experience of the possible after-effects of these long comas. It was something Vint, the residents, and myself often discussed among ourselves, and then had to shelve along with all those other unanswerable questions that crop up daily in any hospital ward. It was our job to save life and not make judgements, so we saved Frank from hypostatic pneumonia, from urinary infections, from starvation, and from bed-sores. There was not a quarter-inch of redness on his whole skin surface. Had there been, my team would have been sent to Matron, and I should have lost my Observation job. A bedsore in Barny’s ranked, as a nursing crime, with making a major drug mistake.