Nurse Errant

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘My dear boy, everything’s fine. Just fine. Sandra’s very well, and you’ve a heavenly little daughter. Honestly.’

  He stared at me, and what little colour he had drained from his face. I caught him as he swayed. ‘Sit down, Peter. There on the stairs.’ I pushed him down. ‘And get your head between your knees ‒ that’s it ‒ right down.’

  A couple of minutes later he gulped the cold tea. ‘It’s all over? A daughter? Did you say a daughter?’ he repeated as if he had never heard the word before and thought it the most wonderful in the English language.

  I was beaming, too. ‘Come and meet her.’

  He rose unsteadily. ‘My God, Nurse. Sandra wants a big family. I don’t know how I’ll go through this again.’

  ‘You’ll manage very well. I’ll probably be around to help, and I’ve never lost a father yet.’ I opened the bedroom door. ‘Come along ‒ Sandra’s waiting.’

  The sun had risen hours ago. When he walked through that door it rose again in Peter Ebony’s face.

  Sandra’s baby inevitably delayed my morning round. When I eventually got home to lunch it was close on tea-time. Ann rang soon after I got in to say her boss had asked her to go to a movie when the shop closed that evening.

  ‘Mrs Allan says she’ll run me home to save waiting for the last train. Expect me when you see me. Nice baby?’

  ‘Absolutely splendid. Like your boss. Have a good time, Annie.’

  ‘Lesley, you do sound in good form. I suppose Mike’s contacted you?’ she added as if that was obviously the reason.

  ‘No. Should he have done?’ I glanced at the blank pad on the hall table. ‘He rang before you left for work?’

  She explained he had come in to change the present he bought yesterday, and mentioning ringing me and finding me out, then rang off because her boss Mrs Allan, wanted the telephone.

  I was in the middle of the sandwiches and coffee I had decided would serve as lunch and tea, when Mike rang.

  ‘I got hold of Illingworth at Hilary’s early this morning. He can admit Mathers to William Brown for observation and investigation in three days’ time. I’ve just come from Mathers and told him. He said you’d been in half an hour before. How went the baby? What make?’

  ‘Girl ‒ both fine, thanks. Mike, I’m glad you’ve got cracking on Mathers.’

  ‘I’m glad Illingworth’ll have him. Look, Lesley, about Mathers ‒ I’d like him to have another quarter as late as possible this evening. I tried to ring you about this earlier, but you had left. I saw your sister in her shop. She told me about the infant.’

  ‘So she mentioned on the phone just now.’ I paused, hoping he might talk more about Ann. Since he remained silent, I went on, ‘Will you let me have a script and that quarter? I don’t keep any, as you know.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. All right if I drop script and dope in between surgeries this evening? I suppose your sister’ll be in?’

  ‘Not this evening. She’s got a date with her boss.’

  ‘Nice for her, but a problem for us,’ he remarked drily. ‘You’ll be on your rounds, and I can’t drop morphia through your letter-box.’

  I decided to clear up the subject of Ann’s date before dealing with the morphia. ‘Ann’s very lucky to have Mrs Allan for a boss. I’m glad they get on so well. Life gets difficult when you don’t get on with the people with whom you work.’

  ‘My dear Lesley, you are so right!’ He sounded as if I had made a brilliant instead of corny observation. ‘Now, how about that dope?’

  ‘Why not leave it with our Mrs Twist at the post-office? She’ll lock it in her safe until I collect it.’

  ‘But of course!’ He was heartier than ever. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  If he had been Peter Ebony’s age I would probably have said, ‘Because you were peeved by Ann’s date, dear.’ As it was his affair if he chose to behave like a refugee from Freud, I murmured something vague about having other things on his mind.

  ‘Incidentally, Lesley, that reminds me ‒ er ‒ it seems I’m now free on Thursdays. I’m booked up this coming Thursday, but ‒ er ‒ perhaps some other Thursday you might care to come out somewhere with ‒ er ‒ me?’

  I had become very fond of him and my respect for his medicine was increasing daily, but I had no desire, or intention, of being dated by him. ‘That’s kind of you, Mike. I’m rather booked up at the moment. Can we talk about it later?’

  ‘We’ll do that,’ he replied with what seemed profound relief, and rang off.

  I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror. ‘And just what,’ I said aloud, ‘was that invitation all about?’

  My reflection had no answer, so I returned to the kitchen, finished my snack, then resterilised and stocked my midder bag. And then the telephone rang again.

  I damned the wretched instrument. ‘Nurse Sanders,’ I announced wearily.

  ‘Angel, tell me something.’ Paddy spoke as if we had been chatting together five minutes ago. ‘Am I right in thinking a solution of soda bic is the very thing for scalds?’

  I stopped feeling weary. ‘Quite right. Why? Who’s scalded? Paddy, do you want me?’

  ‘Now there’s a fine question to ask a man‒’

  ‘Paddy, for the love of Mike, leave sex out of things for once! You know what I mean. Who’s scalded? Your aunt? You?’

  ‘Will you calm down, angel! No need to panic. I’ve just been ham-handed again. I’ve emptied a ruddy kettle over my foot, instead of into the tea-pot.’

  ‘Boiling?’

  ‘Darling, are you thinking I’d make tea with tepid water? Sure, it was boiling. But the man’s coping. My old man swears by soda bic for burns, so I’ve emptied a packet into a basin and am busy paddling. I just thought I’d check in case I’d got it wrong. I’ve been thinking things over. I thought soda bic was the thing for indigestion.’

  ‘It is. And for burns. I’d better have a look at your foot.’

  ‘Angel, I’ve told you not to panic.’

  ‘I’m not panicking. I just can’t treat a scald at long distance. Keep on paddling until I arrive.’

  He was sitting in the kitchen with one foot in a basin when I reached his aunt’s cottage. He hopped up. ‘I feel a heel dragging you over.’

  I put down my case and pulled off my gloves. ‘Just what do you think I’m here for?’ I bent to look at his scalded foot. ‘Sit down, Paddy ‒ this isn’t a social call.’ I spread a clean towel on my knee. ‘Let’s have your foot here.’

  ‘Yes, Nurse. Certainly, Nurse.’ He sat down and tugged his forelock. ‘Anything you say, Nurse, ma’am.’

  ‘Hush.’ I examined the scald. ‘This must have hurt a lot. Just as well you remembered your father’s advice, or the whole thing would have blistered.’

  ‘What do we do with it now?’

  ‘Soak it a little longer, then I’ll make a soda bic poultice and bandage it on. It’s an unorthodox but very good way of getting rid of the last soreness.’

  He watched me as I prepared the poultice on the kitchen table, then knelt by him again. I was used to being watched at work in hospital, and on the district. Patients always watch their nurses. It’s something to do when bored with reading or occupational therapy. It means no more than that. It had never bothered me before. It did then.

  ‘How does that feel?’ I asked when the bandage was on.

  ‘Great, thanks.’ He smiled at me. ‘And I feel like Cinderella. Have you any glass slippers in that case of yours?’

  ‘Not even one, I’m afraid.’ I stood up. ‘Where’s your sock? Did it get soaked? Have you a spare pair handy?’

  He said he had several in his room. ‘No, my love.’ He caught my wrist as I was about to suggest going to fetch a pair. ‘You’ve run round me quite enough for one day.’ His eyes smiled wickedly. ‘You really are a kindly old body. No wonder the village loves you dearly. They’ll miss you when you go.’

  ‘Go?’ I echoed absently. An odd thought was occupying my mind. I k
new now he was a neat-fingered man, yet he could be incredibly clumsy. He had been so that morning on the roof, again with his kettle. Then I realised what he had said. ‘What do you mean ‒ go? I’ve just come.’

  ‘So you’re going to carry on afterwards like Janet Elseworth?’ He held on to me, ‘Won’t you have a full-time job on your hands as a doctor’s wife? Doors to open? Patients’ telephone calls, and so on?’

  I stared at him blankly. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’

  He gave me back my wrist as if it was a paper parcel and folded his arms. ‘You can’t be being coy. You wouldn’t know how to act like a woman, really, would you, angel? So you must be being honest. You don’t know?’

  ‘Know ‒ what?’

  ‘That the whole marsh is ringing out wedding bells for you and Michael Ellis.’

  I backed to the kitchen table. ‘Mike and me?’

  ‘The same.’ He stood up and leant on the back of his chair.

  ‘Paddy! It’s not true! You’re pulling my leg!’

  ‘And why would I do that? What’s it to me if you’re marrying old Michael or any other man? But believe you me, that’s what they’re all saying. I had it from my Aunt Mary ‒ and she’s not a one for idle gossip as a rule. She’s very bucked for you both. Everyone is. You should,’ he drawled, ‘have a grand wedding, darling. And I shall come and dance at it.’

  I shook my head, helplessly. ‘How did this start? I know Mike’s an old pal ‒ but so what?’

  ‘Darling, you may have lived here these many months, but you obviously still do not know your rural England. Sit down, my love. And I’ll explain a thing or two.’

  I was about to do as he said when I remembered his foot. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you ‒ you should be sitting.’

  ‘Lesley Sanders,’ he said softly, ‘you’re a fine ministering angel, and I love you more than life itself, but if you don’t drop that bastard of a lamp and hear me out as you’re longing to, I’ll hold you down in that chair until you do. And don’t think I wouldn’t lay hands on a lady!’

  I said equally softly, ‘Such a thought would never have occurred to me for one moment, Paddy Larraby.’

  ‘You consider I lack the instincts of a little gentleman?’ He grinned. ‘I’m a wolf, maybe?’

  I said no. ‘Wolves can be dangerous.’ I grinned back at him. ‘I’m not yet sure what you are. I’m just sure what you’re not. And now will you explain that thing or two?’

  He drew a chair by mine. ‘You should realise that as you and Michael are both young, attractive, and single, you would have been paired off, even had you hated each other’s guts. There are lots of sentimental hearts in every village, and not idle tongues, just interested tongues. And why not? When everyone lives on the top of everyone else, and, to a greater or lesser extent, is affected by the affairs of everyone else. Take yourself. You’re part of the village life; a very genuine part. Everyone from Sandra Ebony’s baby to Grandpa Hassell will be directly concerned if you opt out into matrimony. Don’t you discuss matters that concern you personally?’ he smiled slightly. ‘Likewise the village, angel. Multiply by seventeen marsh villages concerned in the New Young Doctor, and there’s the whole marsh.’

  I said, ‘I hadn’t realised any of that.’

  ‘You’ve to live here much longer than you have for that.’

  ‘Was it just my knowing Mike from Hilary’s?’

  ‘By God, girl! That was just the kick-off.’ And he went on to say how Mrs Carter had been convinced Mike and I were in love from that first morning. ‘I quote, angel ‒ she saw the look in both your eyes! A very beautiful experience.’

  ‘Paddy,’ I demanded, ‘what did she expect me to do to him?’

  ‘If she knew you as well as I’m beginning to, my love, maybe your sweet smile would have made her wary. It’s making me wary. A man never knows what’s coming next. Another smile, or an attempt to shove his back teeth down his throat.’

  ‘I’ve never done such a thing!’

  ‘Oh, no? You just tell a man he’s not dangerous, and expect him to take it as a compliment. Or did you think it was a compliment?’

  I hesitated briefly. ‘No.’

  He moved his chair away. ‘Let’s move on to Mrs Grimmond. Would you be surprised to hear she’s much intrigued by the number of calls her husband’s locum has found necessary to make at your cottage?’ He began to laugh. ‘I see you would not. And how about the little tale Mrs Bowers is spinning? I suppose there’s no truth in the fact that her husband now has Tuesday instead of Thursday as his day off?’

  I nodded dumbly and remembered Ann. No wonder she had the fixation about Mike and me. She was bound to have heard some of this gossip in her shop, if not direct from our friends in the village.

  I wondered if Mike knew, and if so why he had made matters worse by changing his day off. The notion that he might have done so intentionally occurred to me, only to be instantly dismissed. I might not understand what made men tick, but at twenty-eight I was well able to recognise when I made a man tick, even momentarily. I had never had that effect on Mike, or he on me, in all the time we had known each other.

  Paddy was still talking. ‘It seems there’s not a villager for miles that has not seen you two chatting on some part of the marsh road. They think it a very fine thing and are all rootin’ for you both. I’ve not mentioned it until now, but for this last month I’ve taken it as an accepted fact. So you had no conception at all?’ His eyes rested reflectively on my face. ‘Well, well, well.’

  I found my voice. ‘It never dawned on me. I’m sure it hasn’t on Mike. What ‒?’ I had to stop as the kitchen door opened and Mrs Graves returned from her Women’s Institute meeting.

  She looked very concerned. ‘Nurse, I saw your car outside. Has the dear boy hurt himself?’

  Paddy reassured her before I could answer. ‘The dear boy is fine, my darling Aunt. He just dropped a kettle, and our Nurse Sanders has coped with her usual efficiency. Now what do you say to my putting on another kettle and your persuading Nurse to take tea with us?’

  She gave him a long, searching glance, then patted his arm. ‘A splendid idea, dear boy. I know you are a very busy person, m’dear, but I would so like you to spare us a few minutes for tea.’

  It had to be only a few minutes. The afternoon was fading fast and I had a long round of evening visits ahead. Inevitably, Paddy and I were unable to continue our former conversation over tea, and when I left they both came out in the front garden.

  Mrs Graves waited just inside the front gate, stooping on her sticks to avoid the overhanging hedge, while Paddy came with me to my car.

  ‘You were about to ask me something when Aunt Mary returned. Maybe we can get around to it some other time?’

  I nodded. ‘Thanks for letting in the light.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He looked across the marsh that lay before us on the other side of the narrow road. ‘It’s a dark afternoon for certain.’

  The land was very still; for once there was no hint of a breeze from the sea. The marsh was a soft, deep grey; the sky a paler shade of the same colour; the sheep looked grey, too, as they huddled together by one of the low stone bridges over a dyke. The dyke water was high, more black than brown, and the tall bulrushes rose above the water and pointed stiff fingers at the pale sky. I would have called the afternoon grey rather than dark, I thought casually, watching a great grey heron flapping languidly over our heads.

  He glanced up. ‘Bad weather coming with a gull so far inland.’

  I looked at him. ‘A gull? I thought you were the old hand here. Don’t you recognise a heron when you see one?’

  His expression tightened momentarily, then he smiled. ‘Heron or not, we’re in for bad weather. It’s far too quiet. There’ll be a blanket on this marsh tonight.’

  ‘I hope you’re wrong.’ I got into the car. ‘I’ve got to go over to the coastguard cottages. I shan’t enjoy winding between those dykes in a blanket.’
/>   ‘Going that way this evening? Now there’s a coincidence. I’m walking over to St Crispin’s later.’

  ‘Seven miles? On a scalded foot?’

  ‘Well, now, darling, if you were to offer me a lift …?’

  I smiled. ‘Of course. I should be going over at about half-past seven. That too late?’

  He said it would be just grand, and promised to cut out the back-seat driving. We arranged I should pick him up at that spot, as it was on my way.

  Mrs Graves looked pleased when he called for her approval. ‘I was wondering if you would be going over to see Angela tonight. Mrs Gerrard told me at the meeting she was still at home. How kind of you, Nurse.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘I do hope the drive won’t be too difficult for you.’

  Paddy said languidly, ‘If it’s too thick we’ll just have to call it off.’

  I shook my head. ‘My visit can’t be called off. I’ve driven in London smogs. A marsh mist can’t be worse.’

  In answer he smiled. I waved them good-bye and drove away.

  The mist they had anticipated arrived in the next hour. It was not too bad at first, but as it began to thicken, driving began to be difficult, but, as I had remarked, was no worse than driving in a London smog. At every house I visited I was offered a cup of tea, a chair by the fire, and sympathy for having to drive in what I was generally assured had ‘the makings of one of our real bad ’uns’.

  The concern of my patients and their relatives showed me I was still a city-dweller, fundamentally. I was very grateful to them, but inwardly a little amused. They were all making such a song and dance about a clean white mist on roads that at this hour and season were almost devoid of traffic. I had done my district midwifery training in south-east London. A smog blackout at the Elephant in the evening rush-hour was my private notion of a real bad ’un.

  Mrs Twist was on the point of closing the post-office when I dashed in. ‘Did Dr Ellis leave a parcel or a letter for me, please?’

  Her smile was pleasant and intrigued. ‘That’s right, dear. I have a packet for you in my safe. I’ll get the keys.’ She bustled behind her grille, handed it over. ‘Sign my book, please, dear.’