Nurse Errant

by Lucilla Andrews

I checked the contents in front of her from force of habit. I did not seriously think Mike had made any mistake, but anyone can make mistakes. It was as well to be sure, while still in easy reach of a telephone and him. On the district, there were no convenient well-stocked drug cupboards, no staff of resident doctors available to correct an incorrectly worded prescription.

  Everything was in order. I pushed the script and drug back into the linen envelope. ‘Good. Thanks, Mrs Twist.’

  She was watching me dreamily. ‘I see you’re as anxious to get that as your young doctor was for you to have it.’

  ‘It’s fairly important, Mrs Twist. I’ve a ten-mile drive ahead before I can deliver it to our patient.’

  Her face fell visibly as she shed a few dreams. ‘It’s only for a patient? Oh, I thought ‒’ She paused and brightened. ‘I thought the poor doctor looked worried. No wonder, dear. He’s got to think of you going all that way and back on your own on this dreadful night. It must be a sad fret for him.’

  I grasped that opportunity to do a little disillusioning. ‘He won’t have time to worry about me, my dear. He’s probably out in it himself.’

  Instead of improving matters, I made them worse. The old lady clucked away about it all being a sad worry for me having to keep bright and smiling when I must be fretting real cruel about him. ‘I know how upset I used to get when my Tom had to be out in all weathers with the telegrams. That was before so many people had telephones, dear. Used to come in soaking wet at times, he did. It was that upsetting.’

  I said I was sure it was, and gave up. I still had five calls to make in our village before collecting Paddy, and time was getting on.

  Those calls took longer than I expected. It was nearly eight when I reached Mrs Graves’s cottage. The mist was much thicker, but there were occasional clear patches, and her cottage was in one of them.

  A shadow moved from the shadow of the hedge. I apologised for keeping him waiting. ‘I hope you aren’t very cold?’

  He said he had turned to ice hours ago, but was the forgiving type, and folded himself into the front seat. ‘It’s very good of you to give me this ride, angel. I hope you’ve no objection to my winding my legs round my ears?’

  I looked at his cramped position and smiled. ‘I really am sorry this is such a tight fit for you.’

  He said the fault was his for overgrowing. ‘And now we’ve got through the necessary small talk, can we return to where we left off this afternoon? Have you,’ he drawled, ‘decided what to do about your little problem?’

  I concentrated on the road ahead. ‘I don’t see there’s much I can do.’

  He shifted his position to watch my profile. ‘If you’ll forgive the bromide, darling, one can always do something about every problem. The difficulty lies in finding the right thing.’ He paused, as if he expected an answer, and when I remained silent, added, ‘I suppose it is a problem?’

  ‘You don’t imagine I like all this gossip?’

  ‘Lesley Sanders, as I told you this afternoon, since you’re a young, single, and very attractive woman, you’ll have to accept the fact that if you live in a village you’ll be gossiped about. Not maliciously; just because you’re news. And you’ll go on being news, until you settle down with a husband and start raising little Lesleys. But that’s not the angle I was getting at. I meant ‒ and slap me down if I’m talking out of turn ‒ would the gossip be just a few steps ahead of the truth?’

  ‘Good Lord, no! Mike and I are ‒’

  ‘If you’re going to give me the “just-good-friends” line, spare me, please!’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded. ‘When it’s the truth.’

  He was silent for a time. ‘I believe you,’ he said eventually. ‘Thousands wouldn’t. I do. You’re no actress. And Michael’s not in love with you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then there’s no problem. All you have to do is get together, have a good laugh, relax, and let the gossip die for eventual lack of nourishment. Isn’t that true?’

  That put me in a spot. I was not going to discuss Ann with him, or mention my hunch about Mike being much taken by her. Paddy was no old, trusted friend, and he talked far too much.

  ‘I expect we’ll do that.’

  ‘Then why did it take so long to say so?’ he asked shrewdly. ‘There’s a rub somewhere. Would there be a third party involved?’

  His insight shook me. ‘Er ‒ I’m not sure.’

  ‘Don’t give me that, darling. Yes, you are. Let’s have it. Third party male ‒ or female?’

  ‘Not male ‒ obviously.’

  He laughed. ‘Angel, you should not be so devastatingly honest. It unnerves a man.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Never mind, darling. I love you the way you are.’ He slapped his heart. ‘That knowledge will, naturally, make your evening. No doubt you can hear what my heart is saying?’

  I smiled slightly. ‘I can’t hear it. I know what it’s saying. Lubb-dupp, lubb-dupp. That’s what all hearts say.’

  He laughed again. ‘Angel,’ he said when he could talk, ‘if I was the marrying kind, so help me, I’d marry you myself. There’s never been any woman in my life remotely like you.’

  I could believe that. I was not so sure now about the other remarks. It was a wretched night, he had scalded a foot, and was a lazy man. Yet he had been quite prepared to walk fourteen miles to see Angela Gerrard.

  Chapter Five

  THE MIST CLOSES IN

  The mist suddenly seemed to be closing in on us. I slowed the car to walking pace.

  He peered through the windscreen. ‘We’ve reached no concrete solution to the problems of your love-life.’

  ‘Haven’t got a love-life.’

  ‘Then you should have. I know you’re doing a fine job, but do you really want to keep on doing it for the next thirty years? If old Michael’s out I’ll have to find another man for you. You’re a grand, healthy young woman, darling,’ he rattled on, ‘but if you don’t get cracking, you’ll be leaving the baby angle a trifle late.’

  I braked hard and turned on him. ‘Midwifery is my line. So let me tell you I’ve at least seventeen years left in which to produce, with impunity. And I’ll tell you something else,’ I added grimly, ‘when you’ve seen as many unwanted pregnancies, miserable homes, and busted-up human lives as I have ‒ all of which have been caused by people being in too much of a hurry to get to bed ‒ you get wary of marriage, as well as sex. I may be lonely in my old age. There are a devil of a lot of things that are worse than loneliness, and I’ve seen a good many of them.’

  He rearranged his legs as if they were cramped. ‘I’ve underestimated you. It never struck me you had given this so much thought.’

  ‘As you’ve just said ‒ I’m a healthy young woman. It’s only the unhealthy who don’t.’ I started the engine. ‘Let’s get on. Before we do ‒ was that the road sign about the bends for four miles we just passed?’

  ‘On my side? If it was I missed it. Hang on I’ll get out and investigate.’

  I sat back and closed my eyes when he was gone. The mist was nothing like smog at the Elephant, but it was still hard on the eyes. I was also tired by my early mornings and Paddy’s brand of verbal fencing.

  ‘Weary?’ He had returned without my realising it.

  ‘A bit.’ I sat up. ‘That the sign?’

  ‘It was. We are now on the Winding Lane.’ (The local name for that particular stretch of the marsh road.) He patted my gloved hand. ‘Poor angel. I’d offer to drive for you, but the law and your insurance company would take umbrage if I did. I’ve no licence. No’ ‒ he grinned at my unspoken question ‒ ‘they did not take it away from me. It’s lapsed because I’ve not bothered to renew it.’

  ‘Paddy. Is there no limit to your laziness?’

  ‘None whatever,’ he retorted cheerfully, ‘and see how well it suits me. I just sit back and do noth‒ Hey there!’ He wrenched the steering-wheel hard to the left. ‘Over my way, girl, unless you want t
o pitch us into that dyke. Left, and hard left, again!’

  ‘Oh, Lord! Sorry ‒ thanks.’ I sighed. ‘Many, many thanks. I thought that row of rushes was a curve.’ I glanced at him in the second left turn. ‘How can you see so well? I’m down to about six yards.’

  ‘Time was when this road and I were well acquainted. I’ll not say I walked it hand-in-hand. I’ve driven it many a time. I could do it in my sleep, if need be.’

  His voice had altered. I glanced at him in the third left turn. There was a new expression on his face. He looked downright sad.

  ‘Why did you really give up driving? Accident? Or would you rather I didn’t ask?’

  He roused himself. ‘No, no. No accident, either. Maybe it was because I’d a hunch I was an accident on the way to happen ‒ or maybe I just couldn’t be bothered.’ He leant forward. ‘Careful, angel ‒ another hard right before you straighten, then ‒’ He broke off. ‘Sorry. I’ve just realised I’m at the back-seat driving again. I’ll keep my big mouth shut from now on.’

  ‘I’d much rather you didn’t. I thought I knew this road. I don’t tonight. You do. Give me as many warnings as you can.’

  ‘You really are an unnatural female. Anyone else would have told me to get out and walk by now. But if a running commentary is what you want’ ‒ he touched my hand on the wheel ‒ ‘you shall have it.’

  I did. He genuinely knew every inch of that road, and his advice made driving very much easier for me. He sat with his face against the glass screen, watching the road as he spoke, yet I had the odd, but definite, impression he was using memory more than sight. I decided I was merely being over-imaginative, and tried to store what he said in my mind to use in reverse on my return journey. The thought of that journey was beginning to bother me. The mist was nothing like a smog; nothing like anything I had previously experienced. If it got no worse, with luck I would manage. Without luck, I might be in for a long, cold night in the car.

  It showed no sign of lifting when we drew near to the sea. The foghorn in the lighthouse was droning constantly. We were almost at the lighthouse before the first gleam of yellow light pierced the white cloud around us.

  ‘Nice going.’ He shifted his position. ‘God help any poor bastards at sea tonight. Let’s hope they stay clear of our sands ‒ and the sands stay clear of them.’

  ‘Do the sands shift all the time?’

  ‘More or less. That’s why the light’s on land. They couldn’t build it farther out.’ He glanced at me. ‘There’s been no wreck since you came, has there?’

  I shook my head. ‘Do they happen often?’

  ‘Roughly one a winter. Maybe more, poor bastards. It was tough last year. Tom Ebony and Bert Hassell were lost when the lifeboat went over. Good men, both.’

  ‘From our village?’ I shivered involuntarily. ‘Paddy, how terrible.’

  ‘Originally from our village. Tom was young Peter’s uncle; Bert, Grandpa’s youngest son. They lived in those cottages beyond the lighthouse. Both fishermen.’ He opened the window and stuck his head out to listen. ‘I’d say we’re just coming to the turning off to St Crispin’s. Could you drop me anywhere now?’

  I stopped the car. ‘How far do you have to go? I don’t know St Crispin’s, it’s just beyond my boundary. And can you manage with that foot?’

  ‘Sure, thanks. It’s only a mile. My foot’s cured. How about you? Know the way from here?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. A lovely straight road over the range, with no dykes,’ I added feelingly.

  ‘Great.’ He got out and held the door open. ‘On the way back, don’t forget the marsh road is the second right turn after the lighthouse. The first is my road to St Crispin’s. Watch out when you turn across this road, then hug the left edge all the way to our village.’

  ‘I will.’ Our village seemed a very long way off. I did not want him to guess my thoughts, so I said lightly, ‘If I get stuck I can always carry on on my two feet.’

  He leant into the car. ‘If you get back to the village ‒ maybe. For God’s sake don’t attempt walking on the marsh road.’

  I smiled. ‘Paddy, I’m not a one for long walks at the end of a day’s work.’

  ‘Darling, I’m not joking. Ever been stuck in a mist?’

  ‘No. But I am used to London smogs.’

  ‘My good girl! There’s no comparison. The thickest pea-souper is a piece of cake compared to a mist on the marsh. There are no handy cops, bus-drivers, taxi-men, or what have you to bellow out and put you right here. Not even a street-lamp to hang on to. If you get lost ‒ you’ll know what loneliness really is. And here it’s damned dangerous.’ His voice was as grave as Mike’s when talking to a patient. ‘If you simply can’t get on get the car as close as you can to the near edge, switch on every light you have full on, and stay put.’ He rapped the seat. ‘In here.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ His gravity surprised me. ‘Thanks for the tips and all your help.’ I paused, wondering how to mention his return since he had said nothing about it. ‘Will you manage your return all right?’

  He said he would either get Dick Gerrard to drive him back, or borrow his pyjamas and spend the night at the rectory. ‘I’ve often done that before. Dick’s a decent man. You must meet him, angel, I’ve a notion you’d like him.’ He closed the door. ‘Heaven will reward you for bringing me over, even if I don’t. Take care of yourself and when in doubt do now’t.’

  Mrs Siddons welcomed me with upraised hands. ‘Fancy your coming all this way to our Ken on such a wicked night, Nurse!’ She scuttled off to put on a kettle. ‘You shall have a good hot drink directly you’ve seen our Ken.’

  Ken was pathetically grateful. ‘I didn’t see how you could get here, Nurse. I just thought I’d have to put up with me pain tonight.’

  The prospect of a sleepless night was not the only thing worrying him. ‘I never been in hospital, Nurse. What’ll they do to me?’

  I sat talking to him about hospitals, operations, his work and friends until he grew drowsy. ‘I’ll sleep real well, Nurse. Mind you watch out on your way home.’

  Downstairs, Mrs Siddons was presiding over the inevitable tea-tray. ‘Can I fetch you a bite to eat, dear? Nothing like a bite to keep out the cold. Cruel damp and chill it is now outside.’

  I thanked her and refused. ‘I’d like to get off before it gets worse.’ I paused as the moan of the horn vibrated through the little house. ‘If that’s likely?’

  ‘Aye, it is.’ The coastguard nodded lugubriously. ‘This is a bad ’un. You go while you can, an’ take it slow. If the worst come to the worst you stop and sit in your car,’ he added, echoing Paddy. ‘Don’t you walk nowhere on your own on the marsh, you being a stranger here and not knowing your footing. There’ll be over six foot of water in them dykes, and rushes and mud. If you was to slip in you wouldn’t get out. And on a night like this, there’d be none to hear or see you.’

  Mrs Siddons was much distressed by her husband’s bluntness. ‘You didn’t ought to frighten the poor Nurse, Bert.’ She turned to me. ‘Wouldn’t you like to stay the night? We can let you have a room.’

  I thanked her and said I thought I ought to try to get home as it was not very late. ‘May I use your telephone to let my sister and the relief nurse know where I am, in case I am seriously delayed?’

  Ann had just got home. ‘Sure you’ll be all right, Lesley?’

  Janet promised to take any urgent calls if I got stuck. ‘I’ll ask the exchange to put them through to me. Don’t worry, my dear. It’s not too thick round us. I’ll cope. Good luck.’

  The visibility had fallen to under five yards in places on the road over the rifle-range. Between these patches conditions were no worse than previously.

  The road was straight; I knew it well and grew quite bucked at the progress I made. I kept a constant lookout for right turns, or any change in the continuity of the opposite edge of the road; apart from a couple of very bad patches, I was able to follow it well. An additional help was the foghorn; the
sound guided me to the lighthouse. When it grew deafening I stopped the car to make sure of my bearings. I knew I must be right by the light. Not that I could see it. The mist was far too thick for anything but the sound to break through.

  I calculated that the turning to St Crispin’s lay about thirty yards away; that made the turn to the marsh road roughly seventy from where I was.

  I drove on sanguinely, then suddenly struck a white wall of mist that rendered even my foglamp useless.

  I sighed aloud, ‘My God.’ And stopped.

  Then I decided there was no need to stop. I knew I was on the right road. If I crept on, literally by inches, I would very probably leave the wall behind me and strike a clear patch.

  I did creep on, but struck no clear patch. But as it seemed reasonably easy to judge when I had driven the thirty yards that should have brought me to the turning to St Crispin’s, I stopped again, switched off the engine, but left all my lights blazing as Paddy had advised, and got out of the car to check the opposite, and now quite invisible, edge of road, on foot.

  I had not forgotten the other advice he and Mr Siddons had drummed into me. I no longer disbelieved their horror stories, or thought this preferable to the Elephant, but knew they had been talking about the marsh road. The dyke-free range was quite different; and unless I made sure of the right turn, I might well end up at St Crispin’s.

  Out of the car, the mist momentarily appalled me. My face was drenched with soft, cold tears. I shivered violently and clung to the door-handle as if it was an anchor. I gave myself a splendid pep-talk. This would not do if I wanted to get home. I must move.

  The pep-talk worked. I crossed the road gingerly, found the edge, and followed it forward with the help of my torch.

  It was all so simple I wondered what I had been fussing about, and then why those two men had fussed. There was no question of my wandering into a dyke. It was just a case of walking on a road, and staying on that road. I grew positively smug until I revised I had walked some distance and should surely have reached the St Crispin’s road.

  I hesitated, shivered with cold, walked on more quickly. It must be only a few steps on. I took those steps. The edge of the road remained unbroken and seemingly endless.