An Angel Sings

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Oi, Doreen, do you still want a diddy tree for your cubby hole?’ Doreen glowered at the unannounced arrival of porter’s boy Jake. ‘Sorry, Dor, I mean, office. Matron ordered one for you, it’s on the back of the van. I’ve just dropped the big one for Casualty at Sister Pokey’s office.’

  ‘Oh, yes please.’ Doreen clapped her hands, forgetting her irritation at having her office described as a cubby hole in front of Tilly. ‘I’ll fetch the decorations from the box in the stationery cupboard. Jake, this is the new admissions clerk, Miss Tilly Townsend.’

  ‘Hello Tilly love, we’ve met already, haven’t we? Blimey, you’re a quick worker, you only came for your interview yesterday. Matron must have loved you. Did you bring a letter from the Pope?’ Jake began to laugh.

  ‘Not quite,’ Tilly replied.

  ‘Jake Berry at your service. If there’s anything you need, or if you get lost, just ask.’ Jake’s smile vanished as a familiar voice spoke behind him.

  ‘Mr Berry, chatting again. Come along, out of the way and get on with the tree deliveries, please.’

  Jake jumped. ‘Sorry, Matron, just getting Doreen’s tree. Nearly done now, one more, for Sister Antrobus on Ward Two and I’m finished.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Townsend, delighted to see you are settling in,’ Matron said. A young man was stood at her side and casually flicked through the patient notes in the tray on Doreen’s hatch.

  Tilly felt like a fraud, but was grateful that at least she looked busy.

  ‘Matron, good morning.’ A small dark-haired woman, in a navy-blue dress belted with a silver buckle now joined them.

  ‘Sister Pokey, Christmas has come early for you. Dr Gaskell is loaning you an extra pair of clinical hands from now until Christmas Eve,’ said Matron as she turned to greet Sister Pokey.

  Sister Pokey clasped her hands together as if in surprise, although she and Matron had already discussed Dr Cohen’s arrival. Sister Pokey had been holding his mother’s hand when she died and, when she had relayed his mother’s last words, had held him in her arms, as he cried.

  ‘Dr Cohen, well now, there’s no need for me to be telling you where the doctors’ clean white coats are hung, is there? What a delight it is to have you on here.’ Andrew had no time to reply before a blue light above Sister’s office began to flash and the phones began to ring. Pammy Tanner ran out of the office and Dana Brogan emerged from the sluice.

  ‘RTA on Church Street, Sister. Blue light job. A pedestrian collision with a shop delivery van. Two casualties on their way in, according to emergency services.’

  ‘Right, action stations, everyone. You,’ Sister Pokey pointed to Tilly, ‘fetch Dr Cohen a white coat, please.’

  ‘Matron.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Matron. ‘Jake needs to put extra chairs out for relatives and then I’ll call path lab and tell them to have blood ready. I’m on my way.’

  There were times, during the morning, when Tilly felt plain scared and out of her depth. Others, when she was in awe as what was normal for Casualty, played out before her.

  ‘Can you make those relatives some tea?’ Doreen asked.‘ And don’t forget the police, they will be here for hours. We look after them.’ Two policemen were trying to make sense of what had happened, while Dr Cohen and Sister Pokey sat either side of a sobbing woman and gave a mother the worst news possible.

  Jake returned with the head porter, Des, pushing an enamel box on wheels.

  ‘It looks like an empty trolley,’ said Doreen. ‘They make it look that way by putting a pillow and a sheet on the top. But the young girl in the cubicle has, sadly, just died. She was hit by the car. They will slip her body inside to take her to the mortuary.’

  As the porters pushed back the screen, a white-faced Dr Cohen emerged from Sister Pokey’s office.

  ‘Oh, dear. I know that look,’ said Doreen. ‘Can you make him a cuppa and take him to Sister’s sitting room? I have to take these notes to Dr Gaskell in Outpatients. He can’t start his clinic without them.’

  Tilly felt confused. A child had just died, feet away from where they stood. This was a catastrophe and Doreen was going on about cups of tea. Andrew Cohen removed the stethoscope from around his neck and rubbed his hands through his hair.

  ‘Poor fella, looks a bit pale.’

  ‘Isn’t Nurse Tanner in with him? I saw her in there,’ said Tilly, feeling panic at being left alone in this fast-moving department.

  ‘Oh, yes, but there will be more through the door soon and she needs to escort the body to the mortuary. It’s a thing Matron does. Every patient should be in the care of a nurse, until the moment when she hands over to head porter Dessie, in the mortuary.’

  *

  Sister Theresa made her way up the stairs and didn’t even bother to knock on Mrs Kelly’s door. ‘Oh, Sister, back again?’ said Mrs Kelly, ‘You’re here so often, you’ll be giving me a bad name.’

  Fear of the church had never left Mrs Kelly and now she jumped to her feet with remarkable ease. Sister Theresa had called around a number of times to see Tilly and the baby in the weeks they had lived there, often carrying a food parcel.

  ‘Don’t you be giving out to me, I’m doing me best, Sister, out of the goodness of my heart. He wouldn’t take his bottle all morning, missing her, I reckon, but he soon got hungry enough and he’s just finished the bleedin’ lot.’

  Sister Theresa frowned. She had been horrified when Tilly had insisted that she find her own place with Sam. Sister Theresa had wanted to place her with a family. There were plenty of them across Liverpool, who would offer her a room in exchange for household duties.

  ‘She is an independent woman, a bit like yourself, Mrs Kelly. She struggles to accept charity. How much is she paying you?’

  Mrs Kelly frowned. She had been caught lying, by a nun, of all people. ‘Five shillings a week, but she’s only given me two and six until Wednesday, not sure what kind of an arrangement that is.’

  ‘It sounds a good and sensible one to me,’ said Sister Theresa, holding out her hand. ‘Here’s another ten-shilling note from me. It’s for Christmas. Do your job well, look after Samuel, keep him clean and well fed and I promise, I’ll bring you an extra two shillings a week.’

  Mrs Kelly’s eyes lit up. ‘My giddy aunt, and they call you sisters of the poor. Got that wrong, eh.’

  She took the ten-shilling note and slipped it down somewhere inside her dress. Hearing little Sam start to grizzle, she picked him up and began to wind him. ‘I’m the eldest of thirteen, you don’t have to worry, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m not heartless, Sister. I just have to survive like everyone else. Besides, he’s a nice little fella. I’ve got a little soft spot for him already. Who’s the father, do you know?’

  Sister Theresa felt as though someone had walked over her grave. ‘I don’t. I have to get on now, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to hear any bad reports, Mrs Kelly, or I shall have to have a word with your own priest.’

  ‘All right, all right, he’ll be well looked after, you don’t have to worry about him. Shut the door on your way out, would you, we like to have a bit of privacy in here.’

  Sister Theresa looked back into the less-than-clean room and, as she closed the door, saw Mrs Kelly smiling down at Sam. Everyone has a heart, she thought, as she went down the stairs.

  *

  Tilly swallowed down her nervousness and took a step forward towards Dr Cohen. ‘Hello, I’ve been told to make you a cup of tea, though, I warn you, it’s not what I’m best at.’ She forced a smile.

  Dr Cohen looked up. Tilly could see his thoughts were somewhere else. He blinked, his eyes met hers.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets.

  His expression was so pained and haunted, his eyes troubled, Tilly felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him. ‘Come on then. It’s my first day, too. Luckily, the kettle is the first thing Doreen showed me.’ She smiled up at him, trying to make someone who was obviously struggling more than sh
e was on a first day, feel better. For the first time in a very long while, Dr Andrew Cohen smiled back, without having to tell himself to do so.

  As Tilly looked for teaspoons, he spoke and almost made her jump, ‘How are you finding it? Have you worked in a hospital before?’

  Tilly handed him his tea. ‘No. I – erm, used to work in an office, but I fancied a change.’

  ‘It’s a funny time to change jobs,’ he said bluntly.

  Tilly felt her mouth go dry.

  ‘I mean, a week before Christmas. I thought I was the only one to draw the short straw and end up on Casualty.’ He had taken a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. ‘Do you want one?’ he asked apologetically, holding the packet out towards her.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Tilly shook her head. She felt confused. She thought being a doctor was a vocation, that he would love being on Casualty, but he sounded as though he resented being there.

  ‘I’m really happy to be here,’ she almost whispered the words. It was true, she was.

  Doreen had told her that she would be paid on the morning of Christmas Eve and she had felt weak with relief. It didn’t matter what she had to do, how many errands she had to run, how many cups of tea she had to make. She had a job and would be paid and with that money, she would find someone respectable to look after Sam.

  A nursery was out of the question, it would be run by the authorities and she must avoid that at all costs.

  Without warning, the wail of a child filled the room. ‘Well, what a time to fall out of a tree, a week before Christmas.’ It was the soft, rural Irish accent of Nurse Brogan. ‘We’d better ask Dr Cohen to take a look at that.’

  Andrew Cohen sighed. ‘Well, at least the break at Christmas is coming for us. Whoever that is outside got theirs early.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and walked out of the door without so much as a thank you.

  ‘Yes, well, thank you for the tea,’ whispered Tilly in a mildly mocking voice, which no one but she could hear.

  Tilly watched his broad shoulders. They were stooped, as though they carried the weight of the world and his voice was heavy, as though every word had been an effort. She immediately felt guilty. It was obvious, Dr Cohen was not a happy man. She had no idea why, with so many problems of her own, she even cared. I’ve got enough on my plate to be worrying about, she thought as she rinsed the cup in the sink. The wails of the child with the broken arm began to quieten as she heard the soft bass of Dr Cohen’s reassuring voice outside. She realised how empty the room felt, now that he had left and she wished that he would turn around and walk back in and she could do something, anything, to help him.

  6

  Tilly had no idea how she survived the first day. By lunchtime, it was clear that everyone knew who she was, even Dr Cohen who although distant, had remembered her name more than once. Despite the speed and confusion of the morning, she was in awe at the air of calm and efficiency as people were brought through the doors, in varying degrees of pain and distress. The instructions, the pace and activity, it was seamless and never ending, but Tilly felt as though she mastered most of what was required of her.

  ‘Oh, blimey O’Reilly, here comes another,’ said Nurse Tanner, as the sound of an ambulance siren reached them.

  Pammy pulled a set of blood-stained sheets from a trolley in a cubicle, stuffed them into a laundry basket and began washing down the trolley, calling, ‘Coming, Sister,’ as Sister Pokey called out her name from the door of the office.

  ‘Miss Townsend, could you carry these case notes down to Ward Two and give them to Sister Antrobus,’ asked Dr Cohen, appearing from behind a set of curtains.

  ‘Not a problem,’ she said as she reached out her hand to take them and then to her amazement, he held onto the notes for slightly longer than was necessary.

  ‘By the way, thank you for earlier, for the tea. I’m sorry if I appeared ungrateful.’ His eyes met and held her own and despite herself, she blushed furiously and felt the heat rising up her neck and flooding her face.

  ‘I, err, honestly, I was told to,’ and turning, her heart beating wildly for no reason that she could understand, she headed off into the main corridor, in search of Ward Two.

  The first person she spotted was Maisie, talking to Elsie. ‘How are you getting along, love?’ Maisie shouted across the main entrance foyer. ‘Have you had your break yet?’

  ‘Break? No. We haven’t stopped.’

  ‘God love them,’ said Maisie. ‘They all work hard on there.’

  ‘How’s Dr Cohen getting on?’ asked Elsie. ‘His mam and dad died in there last year. Terrible crash it was, on the ice. Dr Cohen’s dad was the eye doctor here. Smashing man. Everyone on the Dock Road has had their cataracts done by him, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Poor Dr Cohen, no wonder he looks so sad,’ Tilly said and immediately felt as though she had spoken out of turn.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tilly love,’ said Maisie. ‘There’s no secrets at St Angelus. We all look after each other, don’t we, Elsie?’

  Elsie blessed herself with the sign of the cross. ‘I don’t think that poor man will ever laugh again. Anyway, queen, how are you getting on? Big night in here on Christmas Eve, isn’t it, Maisie?’

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Tilly, curious and grateful not to have to discuss Dr Cohen any further.

  ‘Well, we decorate the main tree here.’ Maisie emptied a tray of dirty cups and saucers into the sink and nodded towards the huge, as-yet-undecorated tree, standing in what looked like half a beer barrel.

  ‘Matron switches the main lights off and hands everyone a glass of sherry. The piano will be pushed in here and then, Sister Emily Haycock, who’s marvellous on the piano, she plays and we sing a few carols. The nurses do it every year, with Night Sister too and then, they walk around the wards and sing carols to the patients by candlelight. Makes me cry every year, it does. So, just come straight here when you finish, and have a sherry and a sing-song with us, before you head home.’

  Tilly felt panic rise. How could she get out of this? What could she say? She could not delay getting back to Sam by a single second. She also felt her heart tighten. Singing, how she would love to sing.

  ‘Oh God, I’d better go, here comes Matron,’ said Elsie. Tilly felt like a rabbit in the headlights as Matron bore down on her. Her elaborate frilled cap was so starched that it barely moved as she walked.

  ‘Miss Townsend. I am on my way to Casualty, as I hear it’s busy. Yet you appear to have time to natter.’

  Tilly felt as though her throat had closed over, as, for the second time that morning, she felt herself blush. ‘I was looking for directions to Ward Two, Matron.’ She didn’t know where she found the confidence to speak and held up the buff case notes, by way of explanation. ‘I have to take these to a Sister Antrobus.’

  Matron’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘Ah, well, down to the end of the corridor and it’s the last ward on the right.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron.’ Tilly walked a few steps and then, without knowing why she did it, broke into a run.

  ‘Miss Townsend,’ Matron’s voice called out. Tilly stopped in her tracks and froze to the spot. ‘No running allowed in this hospital, other than in the case of fire, haemorrhage or cardiac arrest. Do you understand?’

  Tilly had no idea what a cardiac arrest was, but she still called out, ‘Yes, Matron,’ and began to walk swiftly away. So much for keeping out of Matron’s way, she thought to herself, as she turned in through the doors of Ward Two.

  *

  Arthur was on his way down to the docks to check on the time for the Morry sailing and decided to call into Mrs Kelly’s himself. He had seen the nun leave and heard the baby crying, but only for a few seconds. He had noticed the pram in the hallway and toyed with the idea of asking Mrs Kelly, did she want him to take the baby for a walk around the block? He tapped on the door and let himself in, not wanting to wake the baby if he was sleeping.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She looked up from the on
e chair in the room and he saw the baby was asleep in her lap. ‘You’ve paid me already,’ she said, as she stubbed her cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray next to her.

  ‘I’m off down to the docks,’ he said. ‘I came to see if you wanted me to put him in the pram and take him for a walk.’

  Mrs Kelly’s eyes lit up. She didn’t need to be asked twice. ‘You do that, he’s just had his bottle. There’s something I want to do. I need to run a message.’

  Arthur lifted the sleeping Sam from her lap and, feeling his nappy, could tell he was dry. He had been in the merchant navy since he ran away from home at the age of fourteen and now, married, with a son of his own, he missed his boy more that he could ever have imagined.

  ‘Do you think he feels a bit hot?’ he asked Mrs Kelly.

  ‘No,’ she replied, reaching for her coat. ‘I’ve had the fire lit all morning. He’s just not used to being warm. She should get that nun to put money in the leccie and an electric fire for her room. I’ve never stopped her. I’ll be spending all she gives me on coal to keep him warm. Here, put his coat on.’

  Arthur held Sam and with a newly learned deftness, dressed him in his outdoor clothes. Ten minutes later, he was pushing the battered pram down the Dock Road. A fresh bottle slipped under the pram cover, just in case, and he was smiling, as he wondered what his wife would say when her told her.

  *

  Tilly flopped into the chair in Doreen’s office and began to make up a new set of case notes.

  ‘Are those for the lady who is miscarrying?’ asked Doreen.

  Tilly nodded, while she concentrated.

  ‘Poor woman, we get lots of those in. It didn’t bother you, did it?’

  Tilly filled in the phone number from her pad and looked up. ‘Not as much as it’s bothering her, she’s heartbroken. Nurse Brogan is lovely with her and so kind. Dr Cohen has called for the gynaecologist to come out of clinic and see her. Nurse Brogan says she will be admitted to Ward Two and then off to theatre tonight for a D and C.’