by Jane Yeadon
‘I dunno but actually, and if I know her, the last thing she’ll want is us fussing over her. This must be one of the few occasions Cynthia doesn’t need an audience.’ I peered into the dark but saw nothing until nose blowing tones trumpeted from behind a bush marked her position. ‘I think we should leave her for the moment, track down Evel Knievel and see if there’re any bits left. I wouldn’t mind hearing tears coming from that direction. At least we’d know she’s alive. Come on, let’s hurry. We can come back and check on Cynthia once we’ve found Margaret.’
In worrying mode, we started to jog along the seemingly endless stretch to Grosvenor Road. ‘At least we’re on the right track, see. Look,’ Marie said, pointing to a swathe cut through a flower bed, ‘I never noticed them before.’
‘Well let’s hope nobody else sees them either or they’ll be on the hunt for a phantom pruner and,’ I was beginning to struggle, ‘maybe we shouldn’t mention Cynthia to Margaret when and if we find her. Where on earth do you think she is?’
And still there was no sightings. I looked back but there was neither sight nor sound. Cynthia had disappeared completely. Presumably she’d got back into the hospital by the District entrance. I hoped she was all right. The idea of her being anything other than in charge, even if it was just of herself, was unimaginable. And where was Dr Welch in her hour of need?
We’d reached Grosvenor Road and, scanning it, at last saw with a surge of relief, Margaret with the bike – both apparently in one piece.
‘Praise be! But she’s talking to a bobby,’ whispered Marie, clutching my shoulder. ‘I hope she hasn’t been arrested.’
‘From the way they’re talking I don’t think that’s what he’s got in mind. He seems to be showing her how the bike lights work. Come on, let’s say hello and find out.’
Despite the odds, Margaret appeared hale and hearty and in remarkably good spirits.
‘Hello there, girls. Did you think you’d lost me?’ If it had been anybody but Margaret I’d have sworn she sounded roguish.
‘Would these be the two you were telling me about?’ The policeman was big and cheerful with the easy manner of somebody practised in crowd control. ‘Yez have chosen a quair time to be out on a cycling mission surely?’ He put his hand on the handlebars as if we might grab the bike and escape. ‘I’m thinking this young lady,’ he nodded at Margaret, ‘has been in dangerous company.’
‘As on the bike?’ I said, liking him for the fun in his voice, the absence of a notebook, the way he’d obviously helped Margaret but wasn’t making a meal of it and the fact that he was bigger than her.
‘That too.’
‘Brian’s been telling me I should’ve had my lights on,’ Margaret explained, ‘and I’ve been telling him I’m just a learner. I nearly ran him down you know.’
‘We police don’t often get a chance to stop women on runaway bikes but maybe you should think about getting some more practice.’ Brian was all but pulling on his braces. ‘If you like, I could help. I’ve had a fair bit of experience and I’d hate some poor woman in labour waiting for her midwife to call and her never arriving on account of her transport letting her down.’
Marie seemed to have been struck dumb by Brian’s magisterial presence but now she managed, ‘Is that not a great offer, Margaret, and maybe the sergeant here can take you and the bike back, even help you have another wee shot? Jane and I won’t mind. It would let us take the long way round to the Home.’ A gust of wind with a suggestion of hail whipped her hair, tilting her halo. ‘Sure and it’s a fine night for a breath of fresh air.’
Margaret was enthusiastic. ‘Good idea.’ She waved a dismissive gauntlet. ‘I’m so excited. I can’t believe I’ve learnt so quickly. Now I just want to get better and,’ her nostrils flared, ‘I’m sure I can trust Brian not to let me go.’
The policeman placed a territorial hand on the bike seat. ‘And I won’t be doing that. Dedicated midwives are thin on the ground. I should know. My late mother was one. She’d have been delighted to think I was helping you to become one. So just you hop on the saddle, Margaret. And it’s hi-ho, Silver and cheerio, girls.’
We could have said, ‘Mind how you go’, but they were already gone, Brian striding alongside Margaret who might have been wobbling but in all other respects was in complete control.
‘Wait till she starts telling him about theatre,’ I said.
‘But at least she’s happy and safe,’ sighed Marie, tucking her arm into mine. ‘I wish we could say the same for Cynthia. When we get back I’m wondering if we’ll see her. See if she’s all right. I’ll be praying for her if not.’
‘Marie, do you ever think about yourself?’
She looked puzzled. ‘Of course I do. All the time. How else could I be of service to others and,’ she paused as if holding the winning card, ‘it’s what helps me get out of bed in the morning.’
In the end, and despite heavy lurking outside Cynthia’s bedroom, we’d to wait until morning when a bleary-eyed Seonaid, granting us an audience in her bedroom, gave us some answers.
20
A LECTURE FROM CYNTHIA
‘We’re just checking you’d a good time,’ Marie said, stepping cautiously into the room where Seonaid’s hairpiece nestled like a small rodent on top of her dress, which had been flung on the floor.
‘They look as if they’d a good time and must have danced all night,’ I offered, picking up battle-scarred shoes placed neatly by her bed and tapping the soles together. ‘Morning, campers!’
Seonaid sat up in her bed and held a hand over her eye. ‘Would you stop that racket and take that rat-tat-tat out of my ear? I can’t believe you’re waking me on a day off. Me head’s bursting now.’
I gave up on the subtle approach. ‘And so’s ours – with curiosity. How did last night go? You must’ve been late. I never heard you coming in.’
‘Nor I,’ agreed Marie. ‘You must’ve been having a great time. I was thinking about you all night and still I never heard you.’
‘It was OK,’ Seonaid shrugged. ‘I’ve been at worse.’
‘Is that a love bite on your neck?’ I asked, making Seonaid get up and rush over to the mirror. ‘Caught you! If there hadn’t been a chance of one you’d never have gone to check.’
She had the grace to laugh. ‘I suppose Raymond did his best to give me a good time and the tickets were expensive.’ A belated sigh of conscience seemed to engulf her before she went on, ‘And the food was great, even if we were sitting below Cynthia’s lot.’
I said, ‘Now! Cynthia? Marie and I heard her last night when we were out with Margaret. She was roaming outside, round the bushes and sounded really upset. She was home even before we were. We saw the light in her room but didn’t want to disturb her, and she’s out this morning. Miss MacCready said she’d seen her heading off very early on. D’you know what happened?’
Seonaid lay back on her bed, putting her head on the pillows as if it were a treasured possession and sighed. ‘That oulde yoke Welch acted as if he wasn’t with her. It was a shame. He just went off and danced with other girls. You’d have thought he was on his own. Cynthia did as best she could, but eventually being left in a corner got too much for her and she left.’ Seonaid shook her head. ‘I didn’t know if she’d have liked me to do anything but I thought it might hurt her pride if I did. I asked Raymond to have a word with her supposed partner but he was already having several with that obstetrician, Jimmy, who took exception to him asking Lisa to dance. How did you know about Cynthia?’
I told her about our own adventures. She seemed to think they were as exciting as the Ball and, as full of curiosity about Margaret as we’d been about Cynthia, wondered if she’d got home alright.
I said, ‘Yes. I was up early but not as early as her. She was in the dining room having breakfast and looking like the cat who’s eaten the cream. She couldn’t wait to tell me she’s meeting Brian later on.’ I jogged Seonaid’s arm. ‘Believe it or not, she’s got a date!’
‘Well, so have I,’ said Seonaid, yawning, ‘and it’s with my bed. I might not sleep worrying about her, so go and see if you can find Cynthia.’
‘Why do we get all the good jobs?’ I asked, unsure if a missing Cynthia was cause for alarm. ‘She’ll probably bite our heads off if we do run into her.’
‘I’ve to go to Mass first but that won’t take long. If you like, you could even come with me. I’m sure you’d like it.’ Marie’s eyes shone. A conversion might just be within her grasp.
‘No thanks. You go to church and I’ll go and see if I can run into her but she could be anywhere. Maybe I should try the graveyard. I sometimes go there for a think, myself.’
‘You never!’ Marie was startled. ‘Holy Mother, but you’re full of surprises. Are you not frightened of ghosts? There’s bound to be loads there.’
‘I haven’t met any as yet. It’s usually nice and quiet, but if I do, I’ll take one home to you even if you’ve got your own Holy One waiting for you. Come on, you’ll miss Mass if you don’t go now.’ I ushered Marie out the door, then, pausing before following, asked, ‘Um – Seonaid – was Oliver there?’
She opened one eye, ‘No. Bridie, his ex-girlfriend was. Partnering one of the other students in their crowd.’ She snuggled down before adding, ‘Raymond says she and Oliver have settled on being just good friends. Interested?’
‘No. Curious.’ I said as firmly as I shut the door.
Pursuing the matter of Cynthia, I asked Miss MacCready if she’d seen her.
‘No – but I wasn’t looking for her.’ She gave a dismissive jangle of her bracelet. ‘Sure she’s a big girl. Should be able to fend for herself, but what about you? Where in all the wide world are you off to?’
It sounded as if she might have been choked off by Cynthia, who must be returning to form. I gave up worrying about her.
‘It looks like a nice day. I think I’ll go for a wee walk to get some fresh air.’ I was aware that if I as much as mentioned a cemetery, the receptionist, in her kindly way, would engage delaying tactics until she contacted The Samaritans.
I liked the Falls Road graveyard. It had the same melancholy charm as the one off Aberdeen’s Union Street where the sound of traffic was hushed by ancient walls, and benches on well-ordered paths offered resting places for the undead.
It was a perfect spot to cast aside the determinedly cheerful front prescribed for the caring profession. There were sad epitaphs on the graves which bore witness to those who hadn’t survived any kind of medicine. If it wasn’t for the sound of a gravedigger leisurely working to the sound of ‘Music While You Work’ I reckoned I could get a good gloom going here.
I found a spot as far away from the tinny tranny’s sound as possible and sat opposite a stone angel curiously resembling Queen Victoria. This one stretched forward, hand extended, as if thumbing a lift from her bus shelter-like arbour. There was ivy everywhere but it was particularly rampant over a nearby group of unmarked graves. They recorded the lot of paupers and children, fallen victims to the infectious diseases now eliminated by modern medicine.
I’d a lump in my throat as I considered a gravestone marking the death of eight children. There were many others who’d died and they hadn’t even their burial places marked. As if in mourning, the bare trees heaved and groaned, their dead leaves collected into darklysodden heaps. The Black Mountain, chief of the surrounding hills, looked down, bleak and uncaring. Any moment now there was going to be a cloudburst. Cautiously, I looked around hoping the gravedigger wouldn’t think consoling a girl in tears was part of his job.
This was a strange land where religious beliefs competed, bringing tension, judgement and, as far as I could see, unhappiness. My old training school was held in poor regard and here the Midwifery training was full of sweat, tears and a labour not confined to the patients to whom our responsibilities stretched unendingly. It only needed the addition of an unasked-for kiss in a sluice – a sluice! Then a dash of homesickness, and any minute now I’d get a good bawl going.
I got my hanky out in preparation, drew breath and was just about to let go, when a couple in black approached. Flowers in hand they looked full of grief and as if they were coming to tend the fresh grave opposite.
Plainly it wasn’t the time for self-pity. I rose and, donning a suitably reverent expression, moved quickly away, eyes humbly to the ground. Minutes later I banged straight into a happier couple – Margaret and Brian.
A graveyard seemed an unlikely setting but they both seemed as cheerful as if they were on a relaxed day’s outing. Even Margaret’s lipstick was bang on target.
Brian, particularly informal in an open shirt, tweed jacket and flannels said, ‘We do meet in strange places. We’re just visiting my mother’s grave before Margaret and I have a cycle test drive. I’m hoping we’ll have a wee tour.’ His smile was easy as he put his arm round Margaret’s waist. ‘She’s a quick learner.’
Margaret blushed. ‘And what would you be doing here, Jane?’
I didn’t think they would understand that the Scots psyche could be recharged by gloom so I vaguely hinted at an interest in local history. It could be useful for the background research we were bound to need at some point in our training.
Margaret stuck out her chin as she re-secured her headsquare so tightly it looked as if she wanted to shut out sound. ‘You’re too conscientious,’ she said, linking her arm firmly through Brian’s. ‘It’s a day off, for heaven’s sake. Anyway, you sound as if you’ve a cold coming on. Why don’t you head back to the Home and have a hot drink and an aspirin? You want to be well for working in the nursery and not snivelling all over the babies, don’t you?’
She should have been more concerned about my bunion. A day later, my inheritance from winkle-picker days was throbbing in the compulsory overshoes needed for working in the Special Care Nursery. In a unit where humidity would be useful for preparing for life in the tropics, my throbbing foot was making its own thermal contribution. It was as well for me we did most of our work sitting down.
Although it was gratifying getting a small movement from a tiny limb in answer to a gentle stroke, other than feeding, fretting over and checking conversationally-limited babies, there wasn’t much else to do. The resident staff were so experienced they appeared to work on automatic pilot so that tube and bottle feeding were carried out with the smooth efficiency of a bottling factory. What with the stifling atmosphere and my bunion shooting hot needles of pain, I even began to look forward to the weekly lecture slot.
‘Are you limping?’ asked Seonaid, taking an arm as we headed into the lecture hall. ‘You’re like an oulde woman there. You’d best sit at the front and save a bit of travel time.’
‘I don’t want to do that. I’ll be right under Prof. McQuaid’s eye,’ I complained, but Seonaid and her micro-second sympathy had gone.
Margaret had moved with her. The change of her circumstances had put paid to the glorious fields of study and endeavour she had so actively promoted when we’d first arrived. All she could talk about now was a policeman’s lot, the joys of exercise and life in the saddle.
‘Ah! Jane!’ Cynthia plumped down beside me. ‘I see Margaret’s taking a back seat. Well, at least you’ll make a change from her endless talk about that policeman chap she’s taken up with. Honestly, she’s becoming such a drag.’
‘Not as boring as the Prof., I bet. Look, here he comes with Miss Harvey. She looks a bit fussed. I suppose she’s on edge after the spat with him about our class and the witnessing deliveries saga.’
Plainly Cynthia wanted to be reminded of this as little as of the Medic’s Ball, after which she had reappeared somewhat crushed and a lot quieter. I hadn’t the heart to ask her about it, especially as she was spinning a silly ‘walking into a door’ yarn explaining Dr Welch’s black eye.
Apparently, Dr O’Reilly, tiring of the house doctor’s fixation with his partner, Lisa, had administered a rough justice. I thought it magnificent if unprofessional.
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br /> It was unimaginable that the Professor was ever in a similar situation or was even a dancer. Certainly not wearing that green Donegal tweed suit, today’s sartorial outfit. He’d have melted on the spot.
He bounced into the lecture hall in the manner of someone accustomed to respectful attention and, throwing his raincoat over a chair, checked his sparse grey hair still lay dutifully across his shiny dome. He looked upon his audience with the disfavour of someone who’d stepped on something nasty.
‘Yes, yes, I know this class,’ he said, interrupting Miss Harvey’s surprisingly timid introduction. ‘Strangers to the truth. Well, let’s see if they can cope with real facts. Where’s the head and pelvis?’
It wasn’t much of an audience warm-up and it wasn’t going to get any better. As the Professor began his lecture, machine-gun rattling out the facts from a small trap of a mouth, he whisked the doll’s head to and fro through the pelvis so fast it became a blur and my mind wandered off. I wondered if it was true he was an examiner for our First Part Midwifery exam. If he was, then, judging by the stultifying atmosphere of his lecture, I didn’t much fancy our success rates.
Still he droned on. I was too frightened to yawn but Cynthia didn’t have that problem. Apparently the Medical Ball experience hadn’t left her entirely chastened as she folded her arms, sighed, fidgeted, examined her fingernails and stretched her legs as if to stop blood clots forming. Under her wearied gaze our lecturer was beginning to falter. I too had begun to squirm, but that was with pain. I’d really need to do something about this foot.
Suddenly the Professor narrowed his eyes, went an unbecoming pink then shouted, ‘Right!’ He was looking straight at Cynthia. In an exasperated gesture he lobbed both doll’s head and pelvis at her. ‘I don’t think any of you have been listening to a word I’ve been saying. You, girl, repeat what I’ve just been saying.’
