Something was broken inside her, Grace knew, with the certainty brought by pain and fear. Something had snapped and would never be repaired.
She had been brought up to believe that she would be a wife and mother. Her own mother had been hazy on the details of the second condition, but Grace knew that it was something that happened when you got old enough. Married at nineteen or twenty, first son or daughter a year after the wedding. The bit in between was a mystery. It had something to do with love, but Grace didn’t think that could be the whole story. She knew plenty of married people, her cousin Mary for one, who didn’t seem to have very much of the stuff but still produced children with predictable regularity. Mary had a grim little bowl of hair that looked as if her husband cut it for her with blunt scissors, and a slash of fuchsia pink lipstick which came off on her protruding front teeth as she spoke. There didn’t seem to be anything like love in their household. Lots of mess. Lots of noise. Endless nappies on the washing line and big circles around Mary’s eyes that got darker every year.
Grace had so dreaded being put with the women and their babies that she’d quite forgotten that it would involve nursing. She had been resolute in her refusal to think about the midwifery or children’s wards, a shutter coming smartly down in her mind whenever she contemplated words like ‘post-partum’ or ‘infant nutrition’. The lessons on midwifery (which everyone cheerfully referred to as ‘midders’) had passed for her in a haze but, to be fair, most of Grace’s lessons did. All lectures and study time occurred during their precious off-duty time and it was hard to stay awake, let alone take in the information.
Grace stared at the printed list, the tiny black letters dancing over the paper, and willed them into a different order. Some other arrangement which would result in her going to the men’s side of the hospital or to surgery or even to infectious diseases. Anywhere else.
‘Bad luck,’ Barnes said, looking over her shoulder. ‘The sister on children’s is a horror.’
Grace’s spirits drooped lower still. ‘What kind?’ Some sisters were mad keen on cleanliness, most of them shouted, but the very worst crept around, hoping to catch you doing something you shouldn’t like eating or sitting down.
‘Creeper,’ Barnes said, giving a theatrical shudder.
The children’s ward was in the recently built new wing. The walls were shiny with fresh paint and the floor had new linoleum that some bright spark had laid in a pattern. The main floor colour was speckled grey, but there was a thick line of black which ran six feet in, around the bottom edge of the beds. Sister Harris shook her head when she saw Grace. ‘Juniors get sloppier by the week. Fix your cap, Nurse.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ Grace tried to keep her eyes cast down respectfully, but this seemed to engage Sister Harris further. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking.’
Grace lifted her chin and stared at the spot where the sister’s cap met her forehead.
‘You can start by polishing the floor. And mind nobody steps on the black. It leaves footprints.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
There was a side room attached to the ward intended for pre-delivery women but which, due to a recent local epidemic, held a number of polio cases. It also had the dreaded black lino, but Grace was mindless with gratitude that she hadn’t been sent to the nursery with the crying babies. On her hands and knees, she rubbed at the black linoleum and tried to bring it to a shine. Sister Harris had already rejected one portion, telling her it was still scuffed where a child had had the audacity to step on it.
Grace wanted to ask how they were all expected to avoid the black line, given that it ran around the ward and had to be crossed to reach a patient’s bedside. Not to mention how sick and injured children were meant to remember to hop over it when they were out of bed.
‘They shouldn’t be out of bed. A child who is well enough to be out of bed is well enough to go home.’
‘Hello?’ A boy’s voice, high and wavering.
‘I’m just doing the floor,’ Grace called up. ‘Don’t be alarmed.’
She stood up, rubbing the small of her back with one hand, and looked properly at the boy. He had infantile paralysis and one arm was immobilised in plaster, bracketed to hold it up in the air. It was supposed to aid healing for a reason that escaped Grace. Sometimes she had the sneaking suspicion that the doctors were making things up as they went along.
‘Would you mind handing me my train?’ The boy, Billy, pointed at his bedclothes. ‘It got away from me.’
Grace located the small metal engine. It had once been red, but the paint was mostly flaked away. Billy held it up to his eyes, rubbed his thumb over it and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘You have lovely manners,’ Grace said. Hospital had been an eye-opener in terms of people’s language. Of the way even small children could speak.
‘Mam says I’m going to need them,’ Billy said. ‘Because I won’t have legs. Won’t be able to walk, I mean.’
‘It’s too soon to say that.’
Billy’s expression changed and Grace wondered if she’d said the wrong thing, when he whispered, ‘She’s coming.’
Grace ducked back down to the floor just as Sister Harris swept past.
Once the sister was safely at the opposite end of the ward and fully engaged in giving another junior a thorough dressing down, Grace rose from the floor. She adjusted Billy’s pillows. ‘Comfy?’
‘Thank you,’ he said. He held up his train. ‘Do you want a go?’
‘Please.’ Grace took the train and ran it carefully over the lumps made by his legs. She felt awkward. Out of practice. Not just at playing make-believe but at being a person.
‘When’s visiting?’ Billy reclaimed his train and spoke to it, not looking at Grace.
‘Three o’clock. Not long to go.’ She opened her mouth to ask if his parents were coming and then shut it again. What if they weren’t?
‘Mam might be in today. She’s hoping to finish early, she said.’
‘That’s good. Cross fingers.’
Billy crossed his, expression serious. Held them up for Grace to inspect. She crossed hers and held them up, too.
‘So this is where you’ve been hiding.’ Dr Palmer’s voice acted like a bucket of freezing water being emptied over Grace. She managed to stop herself from physically jumping into the air, but she had a horrible feeling that her flinch had been obvious.
He pulled the screens closed and walked uncomfortably close, backing Grace towards the wall. ‘I was just seeing to Billy,’ she said, hoping to draw his attention to the child in the bed.
Palmer seemed oblivious to anybody else but her. He put one hand on the wall next to her, casually, as if he were just leaning there for a moment, but something about it frightened Grace.
‘On the skive, I’ll bet. I know what you young nurses are like.’
Grace couldn’t reply, felt sick with nerves. His hand darted forward, like a fish and adjusted her cap. ‘Sloppy,’ he said. His tone was gentle. Playful, almost.
Grace was paralysed. Her forehead burned where his fingers had brushed it.
‘Quiet, though. That’s good.’ Dr Palmer was smiling as if making a joke but Grace knew it wasn’t a real one.
‘Dr Palmer.’ The screen moved aside and Sister Harris appeared.
Grace felt her stomach fall to her feet even though she hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Despite her terror of the ward sister, though, she felt relieved. Saved.
She didn’t dare look at the boy in the bed, didn’t think she could stand to see the expression on his young face. Would it be frightened or disgusted?
‘Don’t let Nurse Kemp detain you,’ Sister said to the doctor. ‘There are three patients waiting for linseed wraps and if her past performance is anything to go by she’ll need extra time to redo them at least once. Isn’t that right, Nurse?’
‘Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister.’
‘After that, you’d better go to the dinner hall, although Lord knows I can’t spare even a
useless lump like you.’
‘Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister.’ As Grace stumbled out of the sluice and into the ward, she had the feeling that she’d escaped from something, although she wasn’t sure exactly what. One thing seemed clear: she would have to be more careful. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the ward that she realised she still had Billy’s toy train clutched in her hand and would have to return it to him later. The metal edges of the engine had dug into her palm leaving deep red grooves.
MINA
After bringing me the mobile, Parveen visited a few more times and always managed to make it seem casual, as if we really were friends.
‘Just visiting my phone,’ she said. ‘Checking you’re not mistreating him.’
‘It’s a boy?’ I struggled to sit up and Parveen tucked a pillow behind my back while continuing her treatise on gadget gender. ‘All mobiles are male. iPods are female. Not sure about tablets.’
I liked seeing her. She was an envoy from the outside world. I loved hearing about life in the department – sometimes Parveen would mention a person or event and I’d find the memory waiting for me. It made me feel hopeful for the future. Like I’d be able to slot back into my old life.
There would be changes, though. Friendship for one. Parveen talked about restaurants and bars we were going to visit once I was well; we planned days on the beach and yoga classes. I thought she was still just being kind and that these things would never actually happen. Either that, or my old reclusive personality would reassert itself. But it was nice talking about these things. I was daydreaming, trying on a new life for size.
The one subject that was awkward was Mark. I didn’t like to talk about him because I still felt conflicted and confused, but as soon as I realised that Parveen didn’t really approve of our relationship I felt closer to Mark out of loyalty.
She had brought tea and chocolate brownies from the Costa on the ground floor. I lifted the plastic lid and sipped the piping hot liquid, relishing tea that was both properly strong and properly hot. Even my fingers getting scorched through the cardboard sleeve felt amazing. I could hardly believe that one day these things would be normal again. That I would be making myself tea in my own kitchen. My new kitchen, I corrected myself.
‘I can’t wait to get out of here.’
‘Do you know when?’
‘They’re being annoyingly vague about it,’ I said. ‘Not long, though. I hope.’
‘Let me know. I can give you a lift.’ I was floored, again, by the novelty of friendship. ‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘Mark will do it.’
Parveen was blowing on the surface of her tea and didn’t meet my eyes when she spoke. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, he said he can take time off whenever. He’s been brilliant, actually. Nothing is too much trouble.’
‘That’s good,’ Parveen said in a tone that said the opposite. ‘I just wondered whether it was what you wanted.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ She took a sip of tea.
‘He’s bought us a house.’ I hadn’t planned on telling her, but it seemed important. Suddenly I wanted to prove to her that he was a good partner. A good choice.
‘He did what?’
‘Got a house. For us.’
‘Oh my God.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s huge. When did he even—’
‘It was a bargain. He had to snap it up.’
‘So, he bought it without you,’ Parveen said and I hated the way it sounded. ‘But you haven’t even seen it.’
‘I’ve seen pictures.’ I didn’t know why I was defending him, only that I felt embarrassed and wished I hadn’t revealed anything. This, I remembered, was why I wasn’t any good at relationships. They made you feel stupid and exposed. Things which seemed completely fine in the confines of your own mind sounded weird and wrong out in the open.
‘And you’re going to move in with him? Straight away?’
‘He bought a house,’ I said, irritated that I was repeating myself. It made me sound weak. ‘It would be rude not to give it a try.’
‘Yeah, that’s a good reason for co-habitation.’ Parveen looked away. ‘Sorry. It’s your life, of course. Just, that, you have other options. You have a flat. You don’t have to move in with Mark.’
I didn’t know how to explain to Parveen that I just wanted to get out of this ward, that I couldn’t really think much further than that. ‘I’m going to need help at first, it makes sense to live with someone.’
‘What about family? Could your mum or dad or someone help out?’
I felt a knife twist in my stomach at the thought of Pat and Dylan. Parveen must’ve seen a trace of it in my expression as she added, hurriedly: ‘I could pop in. Look out for you. You wouldn’t be left totally on your own. And you’ll be back at work soon. You’re making a really good recovery.’
‘Am I?’ I was pleased, like it was an exam I was doing well in, not some stroke of luck. Then my oddly attired hallucination appeared at the end of the bed. She was wiping her hands on her white apron, as if to dry them, but she smiled at Parveen and for an irrational moment I thought about introducing them.
Parveen was still talking about Mark. Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t noticed the non-existent nurse, who was watching our conversation. ‘It just seems quite sudden . . . You and Mark, I mean.’
‘We’ve been together for ages, though, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t seem “together, together” before.’
‘How would you know?’ It was hard to concentrate with the ghost-nurse there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was really listening. ‘It was a secret. We’re very private people.’
Parveen held her hands up. ‘Sorry. None of my business.’
‘Look,’ I started, trying to circumvent the urge to run away, to shut the conversation down. Perhaps it would help to say it out loud. ‘I know that things weren’t perfect with me and Mark before and you’re right, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing or how I feel about him or anything, but he’s so invested in us, it seems cruel not to give it a go.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
The nurse was frowning now, she looked upset. So did Parveen. I was no good at this stuff, but I tried to reassure them both. ‘I need to get myself sorted before I can really work out how I feel. Nothing’s set in stone.’
‘Absolutely,’ Parveen said, determinedly upbeat. ‘You need to concentrate on getting better.’
I had put a forkful of brownie into my mouth so I just nodded.
‘And you’ll still have your flat, won’t you?’
After Parveen had gone I tried calling Geraint again. I was messing around with the settings on the phone and didn’t notice Mark come into the ward.
‘Where did you get that?’ He looked at the mobile as if it offended him.
‘Parveen gave it to me.’ For some reason I omitted to say that I’d asked her to buy it.
‘Parveen?’ Mark had been leaning in to kiss me but he paused. ‘What was she doing here?’
‘Visiting me,’ I said. I felt annoyed. And a little upset. Was I really so awful that it was surprising colleagues would visit me? It wasn’t exactly out of their way, after all.
‘Sorry,’ Mark said. He finished his ‘hello’ manoeuvre, kissing me on the lips in a definite, proprietorial way. ‘It’s just . . . you don’t like her. And she doesn’t like you. I never thought of you as two-faced.’
‘Memory loss,’ I said, stung. ‘I didn’t know I didn’t like her. I knew we weren’t close—’
‘You said she was a gossip. Always talking about other people’s business.’
‘Did I?’ The hollow feeling was back. I was standing on shifting sand and there was nothing to hold on to.
Mark shrugged and, although I thought there was something false about the move, I couldn’t work out why. I was becoming paranoid.
I was letting Parveen’s reservations about him bother me and that wasn’t fair. He was my boy
friend. My partner. I had to trust him; it was as simple as that. What else could I do? He was all I had.
GRACE
Grace had never had a best friend. She used to wish she had a sister, as that would be a ready-made confidante. Someone who had to be on your side because you shared the same blood. Better yet, she wished for a twin. Another girl, just like her. In Grace’s imagination they would make up a secret language that only they could understand, share everything, be best friends for life. In the deepest part of herself, she also believed that if she’d had a sister she would’ve been safe.
‘Oh, go on. Be a darling.’ Evie hadn’t stopped asking for three days and, Grace had to admit, the attention was rather pleasant. There was something intoxicating about being wanted, even as a spare body on a double date with an airman, who wouldn’t meet Evie unless his pal was set up, too. She could ask anybody, Grace told herself, and she’s chosen me. Still, she couldn’t say ‘yes’. What had started as an automatic reaction (she had vowed to be a good girl and who knew what trouble Evie would get them both into?) had turned into something more like a test of her nerve. The longer it went on, the more tempted Grace became, and the more she said no, the more likely it became that Evie would get fed up and ask somebody else. Grace both welcomed and dreaded this prospect in such perfectly equal quantities that she couldn’t force herself to make any kind of new decision. ‘Please,’ Evie said at breakfast. Opening her eyes very wide and dipping her chin to gaze up at Grace.
‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Grace said.
‘Couldn’t possibly do what?’ Barnes asked, her bovine features wide with confusion, as usual.
‘Pass the butter,’ Grace said smoothly. ‘My wrists are too sore from scrubbing the lino last night.’
Evie grinned at her, eyes shining, and Grace felt that unfamiliar feeling in her stomach. Happiness, she supposed.
In the Light of What We See Page 13
