‘That’s the measure of the man,’ said Sister Antrobus. ‘He wouldn’t want you to know a moment’s concern. A wonderful man, he is.’
‘He told me you have a very busy day on tomorrow and asked whether I had a replacement for Nurse Baker. I told him, Sister Haycock had allocated Nurse Tanner, and he asked me to request that you keep a very close eye indeed on that young lady. If you think there is anything we should know, make sure you repeat it to either Mr Scriven or myself.’
‘I imagine he was not very happy when she was offered a place in this intake.’ Sister Antrobus emptied her glass. ‘He takes immense pride in ensuring that the kind of nurse we recruit is one that reflects our high standards, and I can tell you, Nurse Tanner falls a long way short.’
‘Yes, I know. He usually decides which girls are accepted and which aren’t, but in her case he was overruled by Dr Gaskell and Sister Haycock. He didn’t like that at all and I am sure, having been a military person yourself, you can appreciate that. I know I can.’
‘Oh, I am very aware of that, Matron,’ said Sister Antrobus. ‘Is Sister Haycock not aware of his rank in the medical corps or of the sacrifice he has made for our country? Maybe she should think on that.’
As she returned from the kitchen with the cheese and biscuits, Matron noticed that Sister Antrobus’s eyes shone brightly and her speech had become slightly slurred. She laid the plate down on the table and picked up the wine bottle, then put one hand on the back of Sister Antrobus’s chair as she leant over her shoulder to refill her glass. She could smell the lacquer on her hair, feel the warmth from the back of her neck. She smelt of woman, of perfume, of things that sent Matron’s senses reeling in delight. As she stood there she allowed her hand to brush gently across Sister Antrobus’s shoulders. She could feel the firmness and width of the bra strap beneath her fingers. The flimsy fabric of the blouse almost allowed her to feel naked skin and she caught her breath sharply. She swayed on her feet slightly and closed her eyes for a second.
Opening them again, she caught her breath and said, ‘I am so pleased that you are enjoying the wine so much. I wasn’t really sure if I was buying the right thing, but the lady in the shop assured me you would like it.’
She left her hand on Sister Antrobus’s shoulder and was sure that the frisson which ran from her like an electric current would alert the other woman. Maybe this was all she had ever needed to do. To touch someone. It was surely not only she who could feel the chemistry between them; Sister Antrobus must feel that almost tangible current too. She felt that she wanted to die from ecstasy when Sister Antrobus placed her own hand over the top of hers and said, ‘Matron, you’re spoiling me, you know. I usually only partake on Christmas Day. I fear I may be becoming a little tiddly.’ She giggled, and Matron felt as though her heart would melt right there and then.
Sister Antrobus dropped her hand to the table, with a slightly louder thud than was normal, and clumsily picked up her refilled glass. She appeared to have difficulty locating exactly where it was.
‘I shall be delighted to report back to you on Nurse Tanner,’ she said in an enthusiastic voice which was rising in volume. ‘I will do it with pleasure. Sister Haycock has to realize authority comes with time served. How dare she go against yourself and the wonderful Mr Scriven? You must both find a way to re-establish your influence on the committee and I am very happy to be of assistance.’
She knew the wine had loosened her tongue. She was also aware that she was behaving out of turn, but now it all made sense. Matron had wined and dined her in her private apartment to ask a favour. But there was no need. She would have done Mr Scriven’s bidding without any encouragement whatsoever.
‘I’m sure Mr Scriven will be delighted to hear that. We can’t have Sister Haycock getting all her own way. Those of us who preferred the old system must use every advantage we have to preserve standards and the good name of St Angelus.’
‘Quite. I couldn’t agree more.’ Sister Antrobus banged her glass on the table. ‘I don’t know about you, Matron, but I am always happy to have a reason to visit Mr Scriven and this gives me a perfect excuse. I can tell you this, Matron, five minutes alone with me in a room and that fine specimen of a man would need to call on all his army training to resist what I have to offer. He’s what I call a real man, and he still has some of his own hair, too. Any chance of putting a good word in for me? Seems to me he could do with the company of a no-nonsense woman who knows what’s what and could bring the smile back to his face.’
Sister Antrobus tipped her head back and emptied her glass. She laughed and her eyes became disturbingly vacant, seconds before her head fell forward with a resounding crash into the middle of the cheese plate. Matron watched as a lump of best Cheshire flew across the table and landed at the grateful Blackie’s feet.
Matron remained seated. She waited while her heart finished breaking and her disappointment settled to the point where she could begin clearing away the dishes without fear of dropping one or stumbling into something. It was difficult to see through the tears pouring down her face. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and then fumbled for the handkerchief she had secured inside the sleeve of her cardigan. She picked up the wine bottle and filled up her hardly touched glass to the top.
‘If you can’t beat them, join them,’ she said to Blackie, and downed the glass in one.
*
Dessie had been standing just inside the park entrance for almost an hour and had decided to give it one more cigarette before he called it a night. Not like Sister Haycock to be fanciful, he thought. But there is definitely no peeping Tom hanging around here.
Looking over to the Lovely Lane nurses’ home, he recognized Dana as she switched on the light in her room and moved over to the window to draw the curtains.
He promised himself a bag of chips on the way home and a bottle of Guinness to go with them. Taking out his packet of matches, he was about to strike one when he heard the sound of a twig snapping on the pavement, on the other side of the bush from where he was standing. A match flared and Dessie saw the face of a man as he lit his cigarette, threw the match to the ground and placing both of his hands in his pockets, his ciggie lodged in his mouth, turned his eyes up to Dana’s window.
Dessie moved cautiously to the edge of the grass where his bike lay on the path and pedalled his way to the police station, as fast as he could.
Chapter twenty-three
Pammy bumped into Branna as she burst in through the doors of the cloakroom on ward two to hang up her cape. ‘Am I late?’ she called.
‘You’re back,’ Branna said. ‘Holy mother. As God is true, you must be a glutton for punishment, you.’
Pammy had forgotten she needed to be on ward two earlier than on other wards and, looking up at the clock, saw that she was late by three minutes. She had run as fast as the wind up the last five minutes of Lovely Lane, ahead of Dana and Beth.
‘I didn’t have a lot of choice, Branna,’ she said, throwing her cape in the direction of the hook. ‘Have you not seen the news about Nurse Baker’s father?’
‘Seen the news?’ asked Branna in disbelief. ‘The whole hospital is wild with the talk so it is, the poor girl. But listen now, you aren’t late, but Sister Antrobus is and I can tell ye this, it’s never happened before, not ever, not once since the day I started here. Nor has she ever had a day off sick.’
She bent down to pick up Pammy’s cape, which had landed on the floor. ‘Now, listen while I tell ye. Dessie has told me to pop in as he has a bit of news for me now, he does, so I’m off out to the lodge. I wouldn’t dash if I were you. Staff Nurse is about to take report, I heard them all say so, and my, won’t she just be loving that.’
Pammy felt both relieved and concerned at the same time. ‘I hope nothing awful has happened to Sister Antrobus.’
‘Well, she may have gone under a bus for all we know,’ said Branna as she carefully manoeuvred her mop and bucket into the corner of the cloakroom. ‘We can bu
t hope, I suppose.’
She blessed herself and, without another word headed up the corridor faster than she ever moved on the ward.
Pammy joined the assembled nurses in the office and took her old place at the window. There was a buzz in the room as the nurses began to realize there was no Sister Antrobus.
‘She will go down as a DNA for today,’ whispered one of the second years.
‘Nurse,’ barked the senior staff nurse, ‘Sister has never failed to attend anything.’
‘Well, pardon me,’ said the nurse. ‘I thought I was just stating the obvious.’
‘Just pay attention, will you,’ the staff nurse snapped. ‘We will hear shortly, I’m sure. There’ll be a perfectly good explanation as to why she is late.’ She secretly hoped that they didn’t hear, that Sister Antrobus didn’t turn up. She was excited at the prospect of a day of stepping in. Of being in charge and testing her skills.
Pammy turned slightly and looked out of the window, where she had a view of the entrance to St Angelus. She watched as the other lucky nurses, who didn’t have to begin fifteen minutes earlier than anyone else, poured in through the gates and milled around chatting. She spotted Beth and Dana, whom she had left only minutes before, walking in together. Beth seemed to be handing Dana a letter, or a sheet of paper, and whatever it was made Dana stop dead in her tracks.
‘Hellooo, Nurse Tanner.’ The voice cut through her daydreaming.
‘Yes, Staff,’ she said, realizing that everyone in the office was staring at her.
‘Did you hear a word I just said?’ Staff Nurse was hoping to be promoted to the rank of sister at the earliest opportunity and now practised her sternest voice.
Pammy looked around the room, confused. She had been deep in thought, watching the other nurses arrive for day shift and thinking how pretty they all looked. Capes loose and swinging, white caps bobbing, pink and white dresses and aprons crackling and her own good friends in their midst. She had completely failed to notice the night staff leave, or the fact that the staff nurse had slipped into Sister’s chair. She was instantly annoyed with herself. Daydreaming had been a problem throughout school. She had been determined that she would not succumb to it when she became a nurse.
Before Pammy had time to answer, the office door swung open and Sister Antrobus stormed in. Pammy thought she heard the sound of chins hitting the floor. The words You look dreadful were on everyone’s lips, but no one dared to utter them.
‘Have you begun?’ she demanded of Staff Nurse, with not so much as a good morning. Her intimidating tone was far from unusual, but a waxen-looking Sister Antrobus, with fixed, bloodshot eyes and a spittle-streaked chin, was very unusual indeed.
Staff Nurse, who had only seconds before made herself very comfortable and whom Sister’s chair suited rather well, began to stammer.
‘Er, I was just about to start, Sister. You weren’t, er, here...’
Sister Antrobus didn’t seem to be listening. She appeared to be breathing deeply while noisily swallowing saliva and staring at the sunken inkwell carved into the desk. Her colour faded from a waxy tallow to a deathly grey before their eyes. They waited for her to continue speaking, to renew her tirade, but nothing happened. The office was silent, tense with anticipation as nurses exchanged fearful glances and wondered what would happen next. It was as though she had lost the will or the ability to continue.
It was the staff nurse who found the courage to break the silence with a slightly sharp ‘Sister, you don’t look at all well. Would you like me to take over for you? Maybe if you had a little lie down in the treatment room for half an hour or so you might feel somewhat improved?’
Pammy was aware that as she spoke Staff Nurse rose a couple of inches in the chair. She may have been feeling brave, but for the remaining nurses it was as though the air had suddenly left the room. Pammy could not quite believe that Staff Nurse had just said what she had. Some of the nurses half closed their eyes, as though to protect them against the explosion which was surely about to follow. Sister Antrobus appeared to be on the verge of recovering as she fixed her eye on the staff nurse and opened her mouth to speak. She placed her hand on the desk to steady herself.
‘Mr Scriven,’ she said and then nothing, as she leant forward and pressed down. She lifted her head with what appeared to be a great effort and began again.
‘Mr Scriven...’ Again, nothing. Everyone waited with bated breath for her to continue. Clasping her hand to her mouth she ran from the office and headed towards the sluice room.
Staff Nurse, who dreamt of one day ousting Sister Antrobus from her post and bagging the prize position on ward two, seized her opportunity.
‘Dearie me. Sister should obviously not have reported in this morning. I have no idea what is going on there, but continue we shall. We have poorly patients waiting.’
For a brief moment the air was filled with the shuffle and crackle of starched aprons as pens and notebooks were extracted from pockets, to a backdrop of violent retching from the sluice room. Then, suddenly, the telephone rang.
Staff Nurse listened carefully to the caller, asking the occasional question – ‘Is she bleeding? How is her blood pressure?’ – and then slowly replaced the receiver. ‘Well, today is just going to get worse,’ she said. ‘There is a young girl in Casualty. A botched abortion. Problem is, she is very pregnant. Twenty-eight weeks’ gestation, Casualty Sister said. Amazingly, she seems quite stable and is on her way down to us. Staff Nurse Bates, I would like you to take this case with the assistance of Nurse Tanner as I shall be busy running the ward. The patient will require special nursing until we know exactly where we are. The doctor on duty is coming down with her until they locate Mr Scriven. I’m sure we will all learn more when he arrives.
‘We have a new domestic arriving on the ward today to work with Branna. I will ask her to help in the sluice and assist with bedpans. None of us like these cases, but if the mother’s life is in danger we must do our best.
‘Staff Nurse Bates, you’ve dealt with cases like this before. Nurse Tanner, you can assist with the bathing and bedpans, as normal, until the patient arrives, and when she does Staff Nurse Bates will let you know. Right, let’s whip through the day report quickly; thankfully bed one will be the only unusual event of the day. Well, I suppose there are two, if we count Sister Antrobus.’
Pammy beamed with pride. She felt as though she had been singled out for special treatment and she loved working with Staff Nurse Bates. They had got on so well together the last time Pammy was on the ward. Sister Antrobus would have kept her on the bedpans all day long and never let her near assisting in a serious medical situation.
‘I suppose as abortion is illegal, we shall have to report it to the police,’ she said to Staff Nurse Bates as they hurried out of the office and into the linen room to grab the sheets for the cubicle bed.
‘Oh, God in heaven, no, Staff Nurse won’t, although if it were Sister Antrobus, she would and does. She can be such a bitch. No sympathy. Treats them like lepers, she does. The doctors usually send them to Maternity, to keep them out of Antrobus’s way. This must be someone who doesn’t realize that the poor girl will have been through enough already. It’s a real dilemma, to be honest. If we protect the girl, or the woman, by not informing the police what has happened, we are also protecting the abortionist. We rarely get to know what the back story is.’
Pammy loaded sheets on to the metal trolley as Staff Nurse Bates spoke. Her initial excitement at being given a patient to special had evaporated, to be replaced by fear of nursing the unknown.
‘We had one in last week,’ Staff Nurse Bates continued. ‘She was about ten weeks’ gestation. Died only a couple of hours after arriving on the ward. She had spent too long at home, terrified of being prosecuted. Tried to make herself better. By the time she got here, there was a pocket of infection in her perineum the size of a tennis ball. Mr Gaskell took her as his case; made an incision and inserted a drain to draw out the infection and g
ive the antibiotics a fighting chance. He threw everything we had at her, but it was no use. The infection was everywhere, already in her blood. She was a widow, had three little ones, and died in her own mother’s arms. Mr Scriven ran a mile. Wouldn’t touch her. Thank God Mr Gaskell had started, at least someone tried to save her. Tragic case.’
‘That must have been awful. The poor kids.’ Pammy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Our Lorraine was born at twenty-eight weeks and runs circles round us all, and she lands the toughest punch.’
Lorraine’s birth was the one big family drama that her mother never mentioned, despite the fact that Lorraine was now a teenager and as fit as a fiddle: her arrival in an air raid shelter on the night of the worst dockland bombing of the war, which had destroyed half of George Street in a direct hit and killed so many people.
Pammy knew it had been hard on her mam in the early days because she herself had helped a great deal. Lorraine required feeding every hour and for her first week she had serious trouble breathing. The army of women who lived in their street had rallied round. Early births and poorly babies were not an unusual occurrence in an area of high poverty.
The women had arrived at the house, uninvited but expected, as soon as the word was out, and were welcomed by Maisie and her elderly mother. The years between had dimmed that time in Pammy’s memory, but she remembered the kettle boiling on the range all day long and all night too. She could recall neighbours arriving with a shovel of coke to keep the range going in one hand and a plate of food in the other. Doors and windows remained locked as the kitchen filled with steam. Lorraine had been almost too weak to suckle and so a midwife came out to the house and helped Maisie express her milk.
‘Mother of God, come into St Angelus, will you?’ the midwife had pleaded. ‘We can look after the baby for you.’ But Maisie wouldn’t budge.
The Angels of Lovely Lane Page 31
