In Storm and In Calm

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘On, this evening, aren’t you?’

  ‘At six. I’m perfectly fit to work,’ I added as he was hesitating.

  He studied me in silence for a few more seconds. ‘Right,’ he said and walked away towards the theatre.

  A Cas. married part-timer had been listening. ‘I think he should’ve given you the evening off after such a shock.’

  I said truthfully I was very glad he hadn’t as I wanted to work and then felt very peeved because she decided I was noble. She was the only nurse I had come across anywhere who did not regard ‘dedication’ as a dirty word. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ I told Sister Olaf when I got back to the ward, ‘just personal choice! I’d much rather work than brood round the Home wondering what they’re finding inside his head.’

  ‘I’d have chosen the same. Friend from back home, is he?’

  ‘Oh, no, Sister. We met on the flight up and I’ve seen him ‒ oh ‒ a couple of times here. He’s a nice man ‒’ I suddenly remembered, ‘he is an old friend ‒ or rather his sister is, of Sister Pringle.’ I explained in more detail. ‘Is she on?’

  ‘She is. Be a right shock to her seeing him wheeled on to her table, but it’ll not put her off her job. Happen it’ll also save Sister Haralda a packet of ringing round for his parents’ address seeing he’s not wed ‒ or do you reckon she’ll have lost touch?’

  ‘I think she had with him, but with his sister, I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘Sister Haralda’ll sort that one. She’s having him from theatre seeing we’ve no empty male bed now they’ve all come in for tomorrow, and Haralda’s a spare side ward. He’ll do best in a side ward for more than a day or so seeing he’s a grown man and not a lad like our Calum, and he seems to have done himself a sight more damage.’

  I shook my head at my thoughts. ‘Just a bash against a windscreen and Calum falls off a cliff.’

  ‘Often the way. I’ve known one lad drop two hundred feet and get up and walk off no worse than shaken. And another, same age, tumble fifteen feet to his death. But this’ll not buy the baby a new dress! Let’s get on with the report!’

  Sister had been off duty a considerable time when Magnus came up for his evening round. It was Alan’s free evening, but he had stayed on until the theatre finished. Dai Evans had nipped up from Haralda to tell me Rod was round from the anaesthetic. ‘And what else can I say but condition satisfactory and as well as can be expected, but seeing that’s true and Helen says he’s your boyfriend I thought you’d like to know.’

  ‘Thanks a lot, Dai,’ was all I had time to say as we were both busy.

  Olaf had settled into the calm between suppers and late visitors when Magnus came slowly up the stairs. ‘I’ve just seen Mr Harding. Marked visible improvement.’

  ‘I’m so glad. Thank you.’

  He gave me a long, thoughtful, look. ‘Yes. Now ‒ Mr Norris first, please. How’s he?’

  ‘Settling well, but not too well.’

  ‘Good.’

  After his round of both wards we went back to the office to deal with the notes and arrangements for the patients on tomorrow’s theatre list. He re-clipped the last prescription sheet to the last bed-ticket and sat back. ‘As well this wasn’t an op day.’

  ‘Yes.’ I saw the new tension in his face and waited for what was coming in his own time.

  ‘You’ll be anxious for details on Mr Harding.’ He reached for the memo pad and drew one of his little diagrams. ‘Crack here ‒ bleeding here ‒ pressure,’ he shaded, ‘here.’ He added some figures.

  I breathed in. ‘Yes. High.’

  ‘Indeed. But before he left the table, down ‒’ he added more figures.

  ‘Thanks. Thanks very much.’

  He crumpled the drawing, dropped it in the wastepaper basket, folded his arms and sat sideways to face me. ‘From Mr Craig’s account, the person who really should be thanked is yourself. That was a remarkably swift and accurate diagnosis. Have you had much neurosurgical experience?’

  ‘Five months in our unit in my fourth year.’

  ‘With Sir Hector Grant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled briefly. ‘Small wonder you knew what to look for. Possibly a few neurosurgeons can equal Hector Grant, but I doubt any know more about heads than he does. Nevertheless ‒’ he was choosing his words with more than his usual care, ‘nevertheless, it can be singularly difficult to form an accurate diagnosis, on anyone with whom one is personally involved.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He had raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean ‒ involved with Rod Harding? Oh, no. I like him and I’m very sorry about this, but ‒’ and I explained as I had to Sister Olaf.

  ‘I knew Jenny Pringle knew his family as a child. In fact, before we started on his head I asked if she’d prefer her deputy to take over. She said that was unnecessary.’ He concentrated on an invisible object he was balancing on the tip of his long, straight nose. ‘I thought you two were old friends.’

  I thought of Dalry. ‘I expect that’s mainly because he and I wait for planes and trains in the same way.’

  The invisible object fell off as he turned to me, sharply. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’ I explained about the movie scripts. ‘After we caught on to each other, we worked out an absolute lulu at Dalry. I think you were the bent sheriff and Rod the bent attorney ‒ we were all bent and it ended with everyone shooting everyone else. The trendies would’ve loved it.’

  ‘Indeed?’ The word now sounded very different. ‘Yes. An amusing way of killing time. Others do crosswords, or read thrillers ‒’

  ‘And you go to sleep on or off your feet?’

  ‘Invariably.’ We exchanged understanding smiles I wasn’t sure I understood. He went on to tell me about Rod’s family. They had been notified and Jenny was privately ringing Rod’s sister, now a Mrs Wills, later tonight. ‘Jenny thinks she will almost certainly come up as proxy next-of-kin, as her father recently slipped a disc and her mother has always detested flying. Weather and bookings permitting she could be here tomorrow. Obviously, it’s too early to make any definite prognosis, but on present showing, a small delay shouldn’t matter as he needs absolute quiet. In a few days he’ll probably welcome the occasional very brief visitor. I ‒ I had thought I should apologize to you about this, as I thought you’d want to see him at once and pro tem it must be only next-of-kin.’

  ‘Oh, that I knew. Still, thanks. Only ‒’

  ‘Yes?’

  I said slowly, ‘There’s something I think I should tell you now he’s your patient. It’s been at the back of my mind since he came in. I didn’t say anything about it earlier, mainly as there wasn’t time, but also as he only let it out when he was confused I wanted to think about it first. I think I should tell you,’ I repeated.

  He was listening intently, patiently. He just nodded and said nothing to hurry me. So I told him all Rod had said about his ex-wife. I added, ‘I wonder if she’s remarried.’ He stayed silent. ‘Sister Pringle may know.’

  ‘Am I right in thinking that you feel, if she has not remarried, she should somehow be traced and told of his accident?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What good will that do him?’

  ‘Well, as he’s still hung up on her ‒’

  ‘But they divorced, so, presumably, she isn’t on him. Or do you imagine the news that he is warded in Haralda will suddenly unleash the hidden love locked in her heart and cause her to fly up for a tearful reconciliation at his bedside to the sound ‒ naturally ‒ of soft violins in Haralda’s corridor?’ His smile was as dry as his tone. ‘You’re not waiting for a plane or train now, Charlotte.’

  ‘No.’ I blushed faintly. ‘I just think it might be a good idea to let her know, if that’s possible.’

  ‘My dear girl, be reasonable! Why should she care? She was divorced by mutual consent, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what he said, but it wasn’t all that mutual on his part. Maybe hers too. People do such daft th
ings when they get married. Then often they rush off after a ghastly row and get divorces neither really want. Thing is, Magnus ‒ he’s a very nice guy. Not exciting, wildly sexy or anything, but nice. And faithful, which ties in with being nice. Sure, yes ‒ selfish, bloody-minded, probably untidy around the house and raised by gran and mum to think the little woman should always be there to make his tea and mend his socks ‒ but quite bright enough to know he can’t have it all ways. And I don’t think he goes for the little woman. I think his “ex” is probably as strong-minded as hell. So probably she’s the faithful sort, too. The strong-minded generally are. It’s the other sort who leap in and out of different beds every other week. Haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Now he was juggling something with his chin.

  I watched his up-tilted profile, wondered absently if he had any Red Indian blood and then rather less absently why it had taken me so long to decide that his face was as fascinating as his voice. All angles, yet not harsh. ‘You may be right, but I’m far from sure we’d be right to try and manipulate their private lives.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late for that? Since by just literally manipulating inside his skull, you’ve almost certainly made it possible for him to enjoy a private life as something more than a vegetable.’

  He turned to me slowly. ‘I hadn’t overlooked that aspect, and were I genuinely convinced your idea would help in his recovery, I’d act on it. But I can see it doing him more harm than good.’

  ‘You mean if his “ex” doesn’t want to know? Then don’t tell him ‒’

  ‘Of course not. But she might come out of pity, or worse ‒ spite. As you must know, an urgent summons to a hospital bedside by no means brings out the best in all relatives. How many times have you heard: “Ach, really, Doctor, it’s not that I’m not deeply distressed but as there’s not a thing I can do and he ‒ she ‒ is in good hands, I can’t see why you’d to drag me all this way from my job ‒ home ‒ holiday.” Or that other more succinct, “No use denying ‒ he’s asked for this for years”.’

  ‘I’ve heard ’em. But much more often, “Thank God you got me here in time”.’

  ‘As we’ve previously agreed, you’re an optimist and I’m not. I’ll have to give this much more thought and ‒ and, if you don’t object, I’d like to discuss it with Jenny Pringle as her views might be useful.’

  ‘I was about to suggest that.’

  ‘Good. Well leave it there, pro tem.’ He got up, replaced his chair against the wall. ‘Don’t move. I’ll see myself out. Before I go ‒ er ‒ I must apologize for assuming you were thinking purely in terms of soft violins.’

  I smiled. ‘That’s all right, though in actual fact I think you’d do a much better job for Rod with a lovely smoochy old Glenn Miller number.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘He’s fond of Glenn Miller?’

  ‘He’s never said so, but I’ll bet that’s his mental background music to the big seduction scene. Goes along with his furled umbrella, uptight city suits and gold watch chain.’

  ‘There’s a definite connection?’

  ‘Oh yes. Common syndrome in Englishmen of his age and social and educational background. They try like mad to be trendies, but it’s all pseud. Fundamentally, they’re as retrogressive as their dear old dads. Result of all that segregation from women in prep and public school. Disastrous. I know. I had it the other way round. Anytime you really want your heart to bleed, ask me about my girls’ boarding-school.’

  ‘Indeed? Interesting. I wish I didn’t have to get on with some work and leave you to yours. I presume you’re on for the weekend as Sister’s off? I thought so. When is it you leave us?’

  ‘Saturday’s steamer. Kirsty Manson returns on it Friday. I finish that evening, she’s on here from Saturday.’

  ‘Very well arranged. Booked a berth?’

  ‘No, but I must as I gather there’s often a rush at weekends. Are you flying back?’

  ‘Probably I’ll take the steamer a week after you. I’ve several days holiday due, and propose spending them with the Blacks. Very good fishing on their island.’

  ‘How nice. And you’ll be free to enjoy it ‒’

  ‘Don’t tempt providence! My brother-in-law has to step back on Thessa first. Och, well ‒ back to it.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘I’ll let you know what transpires on this other matter.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me. ’Night, Staff.’

  ‘Night, Mr Moray.’

  I only heard the formality into which we had both automatically slipped after he had gone. Training, I decided, was a very useful thing.

  The mist came back that night and was still there in the morning. Sister Olaf tut-tutted at the windows between the coming and going of the theatre trolley. ‘This looks like getting stuck in. A plane got in this morning but I doubt one’ll land this afternoon. Let’s hope it clears by Wednesday to let our Ellen Laurensen fly to the mainland for her treatment.’

  ‘You really think it’ll last that long?’

  ‘Lass, I’ve known one a full four weeks.’

  ‘Sister! How did the hospital manage for medical stores?’

  ‘Keep your hair on! We’ve always enough in stock for a month’s siege, and we’ve never run short yet. When we can’t get surgical replacements by air, they come by sea. The mist’ll not delay the steamer much and one thing’s certain, while there’s mist there’s no gales. You’ll get off Saturday ‒ which reminds me ‒ keep your Wednesday evening free from nine to have a snack and meet my hubby and our youngest lad. And another thing ‒ don’t let on I’ve told you ‒ but if you’ve plans for Friday night, forget ’em. The lasses in the Home are throwing you a surprise farewell party.’ The telephone was ringing. ‘Deal with that Staff as I can hear the lift coming back up.’

  Over the weekend the mist thickened and the muffled, hazed green-brown islands lying in the still grey sea took on a strangely unreal, strangely silent quality. I found myself constantly expecting Thessa to vanish and to find myself waking from a dream. Newspapers from the mainland were so old when we got them they didn’t seem worth reading, and the problems of the world became problems on another distant planet far beyond the concern of gentle secret islands hidden behind the mist. Through the inter-hospital grapevine I heard it had delayed Rod’s sister as she was a bad sailor and his condition was improving sufficiently for her to wait on the mainland, without undue anxiety, until the planes could fly in again. Magnus was free on Sunday, and before he left he said nothing more about Rod’s ex-wife. I met Jenny a few times in the cloakroom and around the Home, but though she had now taken to greeting me with ‘Cheerio, just now!’ we didn’t stop to chat. On Sunday as no emergencies came in, she helped out in Haralda. I heard the maroons during the afternoon and at tea Mrs Ferguson told me the lifeboat had gone out to tow in a broken down French ship thirty sea miles out. ‘No injured. Just routine.’

  On Monday morning Sister Olaf returned with the cheerfulness of a person whose worst fears have materialized. ‘What did I say? Right plank of a mist this is!’

  That afternoon Dai Evans and I went out again with George Nicholson on an ambulance call. ‘Making a habit of this, so you are, Nurse,’ said George.

  The patients were two elderly sisters living alone only about five miles out. Neither had thought of calling a doctor when they’d caught bad colds about ten days ago. That morning a woman living in an equally isolated cottage on a neighbouring hill had walked over to inquire if the mist was upsetting their rheumatism and found one in bed with pneumonia and her sister trying to nurse her while suffering from acute bronchitis. ‘Elderly folk,’ said George, ‘will have their bit of independence.’

  Dai thought there should be a law giving everyone over seventy a free telephone and making it illegal for them to live more than fifty yards from neighbours.

  ‘I’m all for the free ’phones, Dai. By the way, how’s Mrs Fraser?’

  ‘Getting some movement ba
ck in the left side. Speech is still difficult, but she knows what’s going on. The old man comes in every evening, sits by her holding her hand. Never talks. She knows he’s there and when he’s due, she watches for him.’

  ‘Aye. So she would,’ said George.

  Dai said, ‘Your friend Rod Harding’s speech is back. No new visual trouble. One lucky boyo.’

  ‘Very.’ I had now explained to everyone in the Home I could get to listen, my exact relationship with Rod. I had expected Helen to hand this on, and as I particularly wanted Dai to have it straight in case Rod’s ex-wife turned up, I explained again. ‘How’s his memory on the accident?’ I added.

  ‘Still some blanks but clearing. He remembers asking you to see the site but not yet reaching it. He’s asked when he can see you. The Med. Super says “a few more days”.’

  ‘Hope that’s before I leave. Think Friday or Saturday morning?’

  ‘Probably. His sister should be here by then.’

  George shook his head at the thick pale air through which we were crawling behind full headlights. ‘The delay’ll be a sad worry for her and his mum and dad.’

  ‘She rings twice a day. I don’t think the family have seen much of him these last few years.’

  George said with no offence this was something he found very strange about the folk from the mainland. ‘Often you hear on those radio request programmes messages sent from a sister living in Dundee to another in Southampton ‒ or a brother in Bristol to one in Hull ‒ saying they’ve not met for three, four, or more years. Very difficult this is for us on Thessa to understand. When we, or others from the other islands, go to the mainland if we’ve family there, we try and visit them all in turn every time before returning home. Very strange it seems to have relations only a train journey away and not to see them for years. Here we are now!’

  ‘George! How do you do it! I can’t see a thing!’

  ‘Just look to your left, Nurse. That shadow’s their croft.’

  The neighbour came back in the ambulance with us. She was very upset they hadn’t told her earlier about their colds. ‘What are neighbours for, dear? I’m only two miles away. I could’ve stepped in, daily. Now don’t you worry about anything ‒ I’ll see all’s to rights and feed your kitty and the ducks. You’ll be home, soon. Haralda Ward, will it be, Doctor? That’s nice. I was in Haralda Ward last year with my gastric stomach. I’ll be up for visiting tomorrow.’ She waited till the sisters were out of the ambulance to ask, ‘They’ll be all right, won’t they, Doctor?’