The Healing Time

by Lucilla Andrews

Mr Worstley’s convalescent home was in Hull. One Thursday Late Visiting evening, Grey gave me to read the picture postcard she had had from him that morning. Mr Worstley was feeling fitter, enjoying the food, the view of the sea and ‘our lad G’s week-end visits’. He had two complaints; the tea wasn’t strong enough and the nurses weren’t as pretty as in St Martha’s.

  Maggie was off that coming weekend. Grey asked over-casually, ‘Sister told you she’s going away?’

  ‘No.’ I was very curious. ‘She’s told you?’

  ‘Not she! But one of her married brothers was in London on business today. He rang her just after she’d gone off this evening and hadn’t time to ring her flat before catching his plane back. So he asked me to give her a message.’

  ‘And ‒ and ‒ and ‒?’

  ‘His wife’s sister lives in Hull and says will dear Margaret be sure to drop in when she’s up there over this weekend. What do you say to that?’

  I said, ‘Nothing like watching the sea for kicks,’ and we both smiled rather unkindly.

  I suddenly remembered Parsons and my Lonely Hearts Club. Maybe I should sign in myself? When I had the time. The gap left by Joel had remained unclosed, but what with nursing, sleeping, fighting off sleep, home chores, and being a mum, I had not yet had a spare moment in which to investigate the precise cause for that gap, much less when it was going to close. About the only thing I then had time properly to discover was the fact that since one needs time for every aspect of life, that also includes the time in which to feel lonely.

  We had no D.I.L.s that night. I did a quick round whilst the visitors were there, then returned to the desk to be in the expected fixed spot should any visitor want a private chat. When no one came up, I sat down and began sorting the usual notes and request forms.

  ‘You look very busy,’ announced Joel’s voice above my head.

  I looked up. ‘Hello! What’re you doing here?’ I widened my eyes at his waistcoat. ‘Wow! That psychedelic little number beats the lot! Dead pacey, Doctor! I like it!’

  He held open the jacket of his dark suit and squinted down.

  ‘A trifle violent; perhaps but as it’s an advance birthday present from Henry and I’m just about to have a drink with him and won’t blind any unsuspecting patient, I put it on.’

  ‘Birthday? You got a birthday? When?’

  ‘Saturday.’ He was looking at me as if we hadn’t met in years and he needed to take a good look to make sure I really was me. ‘Thirty. There’s a thought!’

  ‘Oh no!’ I sat back, smiling. ‘Now I know I’m getting old. You were twenty-one when we first met.’

  He smiled back. He was looking very well. He had acquired a tan and a new haircut and both suited him. ‘That’s really why I’m here. I had to come back today for my first follow-up and as Liz is off she’s driving us back later. We’ve just decided it’s time we all indulged in a little nostalgia. So would you care to join Liz, Tom Shaw, and myself on Saturday night? I hope you will, as it‘ll be a unique occasion as well as my birthday. Liz and you’ll both have nights off, it’ll be Tom’s free week-end from the Lab, and I’m off sick. May be months before we can all combine again.’

  Saturday was more unique than he knew. The Clintons had not had a night away since they moved up to London, but on Saturday afternoon, David’s only brother’s only daughter was marrying in Manchester. David and Ann were going up by train early that morning and staying overnight for the family’s post-wedding party. Ann had been peeved by the invitation’s not extending to Marcy and myself. David said I should think myself well out of it. ‘Repulsive shower, my relations. My brother’s all right, or I wouldn‘t be going, but the rest make me want to puke. I intend to get very smashed at their expense.’

  I explained this to Joel. ‘I’m sorry,’ I added, ‘as I’d have liked to join your party. But I haven’t yet got any outside baby-sitter lined up, and though I might be able to get one from some agency, I don’t fancy leaving Marcy alone until late with a total stranger.’

  ‘God, no, you can’t do that. Too bad, as we’d have liked you to come along. Never mind. We’ll fix up something else somehow, some other time.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Now I thought on it, I wasn’t sure that was true, but as he was being very nice it was only civil to be civil. ‘Thanks for understanding.’

  His eyebrows shot up as he gave me his old S.M.R., W’s once over. ‘Thanks ‒?’

  Hills was looming in the background. I checked the time, then nodded to her to ring the end-of-visiting bell. ‘I’ve known quite a few people who’ve taken the baby-sitter problem as a cause for umbrage.’ George was uppermost in my mind, but he was only one in a row of names and faces that had drifted in and out of my life in the last five years. Not all the names and faces belonged to men.

  ‘Have you now?’ Suddenly he smiled. ‘You line me up in that bunch, and I’ll take such umbrage as you have yet to experience. We will then have one bloody row to beat all our previous efforts.’ The bell was ringing. ‘Sorry about Saturday’s party, but we’ll work out some alternative.’

  ‘Fine. Many happy returns for Saturday and have a good evening.’

  ‘I hope so. Nice to see you again. ’Night.’

  I watched him walk away. His walk had greatly improved and he had lost his stoop. The S.S.O. was reputed to be currently the best surgeon in Martha’s, surgical pundits included. He had done a very good job on Joel ‒ and so right now, had Joel on me. Perversely, I wished he hadn’t. How much easier had he been his former bloody-minded self.

  The visitors streamed out. I kept up a stream of: ‘Yes, much better ‒ so glad ‒ good night! Yes, looking much more comfortable ‒ good-night ‒ thank you …’ (Why did he have to be so nice? To show we’re chums again and from now on? Why else? God knows we’re both more than old enough to behave like civilised human beings. But civilised enough to want to be chums with another woman’s man?)

  Brendan Cousins was very late for his round and in a hurry. I wasn’t much help. Three times I handed him forms he had already signed. He was very patient and positively paternal in his anxiety. ‘If ever a girl was ready for her holiday, it’s yourself! If this wasn’t your last night, inside of a couple more you’d be in Nightingale!’

  I gaped. ‘My ‒ God! You’re right! I don’t have to come back Monday! Seventeen glorious nights in bed and I’ve let ’em creep up on me! Am I a nut!’

  ‘Just a tired, tired girl. We’ll miss you, but you be sure you take it nice and easy on your holiday.’

  ‘Doctor, I promise to take your advice. Tomorrow I’m going to bed directly Marcy’s in hers.’

  It was a pleasant thought that went the way of so many pleasant thoughts. That next night, for the first time in her life, it was eleven before Marcy got to sleep. Ann appeared in her dressing-gown. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

  I explained. ‘Come and tell me if you think Marcy’s sleeping too heavily.’

  ‘As she was so late getting off, will it be odd if she is?’

  ‘But why was she so late?’

  ‘Pippa! Stop fussing! She broke up yesterday, she’s on holiday and excited.’

  ‘You think that’s all?’ We went into Marcy’s room and I touched her forehead. ‘She’s warmish. Should I take her temp under her arm without waking her?’

  Ann hauled me back to my own room. ‘You trained nurses! I never heard such rubbish! Take a kid’s temp when she’s fast asleep and just because she’s a little warm! Haven’t you noticed it’s a much warmer night? Didn’t she eat all her supper? Yes! I saw her! And haven’t you always told me sleep’s the best medicine? Honestly, duckie, stop looking for horrors that don’t exist and go to bed! She’ll be right as rain in the morning!’

  I had another look at Marcy after she left, turned off our lights, and got into bed leaving the door between Marcy’s and my room open. Marcy slept well. I didn’t. I lay listening to her unusually heavy breathing and occasional mutter and discovered it was f
ar more frightening to listen alone in the dark to one’s own mildly feverish child than to a whole ward of D.I.L.s. In a hospital I knew what to do; here I felt quite absurdly helpless.

  I was wide awake when I heard my cousins leave quietly for their early train. I didn’t call out to them, as I did not want to wake Marcy and did not feel strong enough for another rouser from Ann.

  Marcy woke herself. ‘I feel sick.’ She was very sick. Then, ‘What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry.’

  ‘Let’s take your temp first, sweetie. Under your arm. I’ll hold it.’ Her temperature was just over normal. ‘Fine. What do you feel like eating?’

  ‘Can I have a ginger biscuit and a banana?’

  I was about to get both when I belatedly remembered the training about which Ann had such strong anti-views. ‘Does your tummy hurt, Marcy?’

  She had no aches, pains, swellings, rashes, or spots. Her tonsils were slightly inflamed but I doubted enough to rate her a diagnosis of mild tonsillitis. After the ginger biscuit, banana, and a cup of milk, she went back to sleep. She slept undisturbed until one o’clock. Her temp then was ninety-nine, her throat was no worse, she wanted some milk and to go back to sleep.

  The MacDonald boys had taken Dusty for her morning walk. They came clattering down the stairs at a little before two. ‘Mrs Holtsmoor!’

  I went out to them. ‘Hi, boys. Off to rugger?’

  ‘Just now. How’s wee Marcy?’

  ‘Sleeping like a dream.’

  ‘What do you think’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. She could be starting every infectious fever in the book, except perhaps measles, as she hasn’t a running cold. It could be just end-of-term excitement. It could be a very mild go of this flu that’s around, only with flu I’d expect her to ache.’

  They shook their three shaggy heads. ‘No aches?’

  ‘Not one twinge.’

  ‘Will you call a doctor?’

  We were in the hall and sitting on the stairs. ‘Didn’t your sister tell me your father’s a G.P.?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What would he say if some strange woman rang him on a Saturday afternoon to say her normally very healthy infant had a temp of ninety-nine, slightly reddened but not enlarged tonsils, had been sick once, but otherwise had no other symptoms and was tucked up in bed sleeping it off like a healthy puppy off colour?’

  ‘The sixpenny word!’ They chorused.

  ‘That’s what I figured. And even if the G.P. with whom we’re registered did come round, all he’d say is, keep her warm, quiet, and keep me informed. He might give her some antibiotics, but that I very much doubt, as if she is cooking something, he’d want to see what it was. Antibiotics now’ll only disguise later symptoms and if given unnecessarily could build up a resistance that’ll cause trouble if a time comes when they’re really needed.’

  Angus said, ‘You know your trouble? You know too much?’

  ‘And also, not enough.’

  ‘That’s so.’

  Hamish, or it could have been Dougal, said he was sure it was just excitement. ‘Angus here was a terrible blim when he was a laddie. There wasn’t a sports day or a speech day at school, but Angus was in the san throwing up. And he’d run a high temp with it and we’d be collecting for his wreath, and then next day he was down to normal and no more problems. It’ll be that way with Marcy. You’ll see!’

  ‘Thanks.’ I got off the stairs. ‘Have a good game.’

  ‘We’ll do that, and we’ve got three smashing birds for the dancing after. We’ll be back late, but we’ll come in quietly not to disturb you. If you should want anything, give us a shout. We’ll be right down!’

  ‘Bless you boys. I will.’

  The house was very silent. I went back to see Marcy and found Dusty sitting on the mat by her bed. I said absently. ‘You’re not allowed in bedrooms, Dusty.’ The old Dalmatian gave me a mournful dark brown look and stayed put. She knew I was only talking to keep myself company.

  It was a very long afternoon. Marcy woke from time to time, drank more milk, went back to sleep. I went through every nightmarish possible diagnosis in the Standard Textbook of Medicine used in Martha’s Medical School.

  At three-thirty her temp just touched one hundred. That, at her age, was probably less than ninety-nine for an adult. But supposing instead of calling our G.P., I had a talk with him?

  His answer was literally mechanical. ‘This is an electrical recording. I repeat, this is an electrical recording. Dr Robinson is away for the week-end and in cases of urgency will patients please ring the following number …’ The number was repeated. Then will patients ringing for less than urgent reasons kindly attend Dr Robinson’s first surgery at 9 a.m. on Monday morning or if they require the doctor to call, please give their name, address, and complaint now …’

  ‘Hell!’

  Dusty lumbered into the hall thinking I had called her. There was no one else to talk to, so she heard it all. ‘All I want is to talk to a doctor. There’s S.M.H. round the corner stiff with doctors! But how can I ring that stiff-neck Rowlands? Or even Brendan Cousins? When I know the real problems they’ve really got to deal with! And if I ring this locum ‒ can I honestly say my call’s urgent? If I fuss about nothing now ‒ what’ll happen the time I really need our G.P. for Marcy? “My God,” he’ll say “these bloody trained nurses working themselves into an anxiety state for sweet fanny adams!” No use looking at me like that, Dusty! I know doctors! Good, hard-working men on the whole, but human! Rub ’em up the wrong way and they react like anyone else rubbed up the wrong way!’

  Dusty appreciated I had a problem and licked my knees.

  ‘Thanks, love.’ I stroked her. ‘Of course, the man I want is Joel. Why the devil does he have to be away? Or do you suppose the’ve come up to town yet?’

  I saw daylight. ‘Trevor!’

  I rang the Wing main hall. It was Trevor’s half-day. ‘No, thanks. No message for Mr Jones ‒ no, wait, please. Is Dr Shaw still in?’

  ‘His card’s at out, miss.’

  ‘Oh. I wonder, do you by any chance have Sister Brecklehurst’s home number?’

  The operator got me the number. I rang it. I didn’t get any answer.

  Again I went back to Marcy, and my heart seemed to turn over. In the last few minutes she had become very flushed. She was still sleeping and her pulse was racing. I grabbed my thermometer and nearly dropped it as I shook it down. Then the phone rang, and I did drop it. It snapped in two against my leg.

  I tore back to silence that ring. Whoever it was could get off the line. If I couldn’t get the locum, I was ringing the Office.

  ‘That you, Pip? Joel here.’

  I gasped. ‘It can’t be!’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I’ve just been moving heaven and earth trying to get hold of you!’

  There was a faint silence. ‘Why?’

  I told him about Marcy.

  ‘Uh-huh. What’s her temp now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve just dropped my thermometer.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll bring one.’

  ‘You’ll come round? Joel, how soon?’

  He said. ‘I haven’t got the car, but I don’t imagine it takes more than five minutes from here.’

  ‘You’re in Martha’s?’

  ‘Yes. In Wally Brown’s room. They didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Not their fault. I didn’t ask. I never thought it’d be as simple as that.’ He was silent. ‘Do you know where I live?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be round. If she wakes, don’t give her anything but water until I see her.’ He rang off.

  He made it inside the five minutes. And I nearly flung our front door off its hinges. ‘God bless you, Joel! Come in!’

  He was wearing one of his good suits and the psychedelic waistcoat. It made me vaguely aware there was something I should remember but I was too rattled to place that as his birthday. I took him into our living-room
and watched him unload a stethoscope, opthalmoscope, thermometer, and throat torch from his medical bag, as if I had never seen any of them before.

  He glanced at me. ‘She still asleep? Then she won’t know I’m coming.’

  ‘Should I wake her and tell her?’

  ‘Yes. The advent of a strange doc at one’s bedside can be singularly off-putting, even if one’s more than five years old.’

  ‘Of course I forgot.’ I smiled foolishly. ‘Not that she’ll regard you as a strange doc. Those two shots you gave her turned you into “My Doctor”.’

  He was now watching me clinically and very kindly. ‘Go and wake her, Pip,’ was all he said.

  Marcy had woken. ‘Who are you talking to, Mummy? Oh, Mummy, my neck’s all stiff! It feels so funny!’

  My heart seemed to lurch against my ribs. Polio? Meningitis? How could it be anything less? My voice sounded old as I told her about Joel.

  Marcy was pleased but not surprised. ‘He’d have to come as I’m sick, wouldn’t he, Mummy?’

  I called, ‘Joel! Come in, please!’

  He came in slowly and sat on her bed. ‘Hi, Marcy.’

  She bounded up. ‘Hi, Doctor!’

  ‘Hey, you’re a hot one, dearie.’

  ‘Hot as hot! Boiling!’

  ‘I’ll believe you, Marcy.’ He took her pulse without her realising it, then sat looking at her in silence. She lay down and looked at him contentedly. Then he showed her how his medical gadgets worked. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I want to listen with my listening-thing. Big breath ‒ watch it, lovey, or you’ll explode! That’s fine. Now let’s see your throat.’

  ‘Aaah, like I did for Mummy?’

  ‘Just like you did for Mummy. Great. I could see your toes. So now I’m going to look at the outside of them. Hey ‒ don’t wriggle!’

  Marcy giggled. ‘Then don’t tickle!’

  ‘Fair comment.’ He tucked up the end of her bed. ‘How much does your neck hurt?’

  ‘Not much, if I don’t go flop. Like this!’

  He ruffled her curls and looked at me. ‘Then don’t go flop for a day or two, Marcy. After that, go flop like crazy.’ He caught my eye and smiled.

  ‘No, Pip. Just German measles.’