The Hive

by Claire Rayner

  Ruth roared with laughter.

  ‘She said—she said,’ and Ruth spluttered. ‘She said, “Well, I suppose the poor man’s tired—he’s on night work, and I daresay he’s tired. But you just tell him visitors mustn’t sit on the beds, because I haven’t enough counterpanes to keep on changing them if they get dirty.” Honestly, I could have died laughing. The pupil looked at me, and I looked at her, and poor old Mary hadn’t a clue! I ask you!’

  Sylvia grinned. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Oh, I said I’d get the chart myself! Wouldn’t have missed that for a pension. By the time I got to the room, though, there he was sitting on the chair, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth! I couldn’t resist it—I said to him, all brisk and innocent, you know? “It was such a pity his wife had to have this operation, so soon after having a baby—it was all rather a puzzle, wasn’t it?” and he went scarlet, dirty old whatsit. Not that I blame him, really——’

  ‘What had that got to do with the counterpane?’ Josephine was puzzled.

  Ruth stared at her for a moment, and then laughed again, shaking her head at Swinton in speechless delight, and Swinton, her rather long face lifting, joined in.

  ‘Do you blame me for thinking this group thing will be a giggle, Swinton, after that? Do you?’

  ‘I wish you’d stop laughing like that,’ Josephine said petulantly, handing coffee cups round. ‘Either tell me the joke, or shut up.’

  ‘To put it simply, Jo, love, the husband had taken his chance to enjoy a crafty bunk-up.’

  Josephine still looked puzzled.

  ‘He was claiming his marital rights,’ Ruth added with heavy patience.

  Josephine went scarlet. ‘Really, Arthur, you go too far sometimes. You’re always harping on the same subject.’

  ‘It wasn’t me that went too far that time. It was the husband,’ Ruth said promptly and winked at Swinton.

  ‘Well, if this group discussion is just going to be a session where everyone talks about sex all the time, you can count me out,’ Josephine said with decision. ‘It’s not that I’m moral or anything like that. It just bores me.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ Ruth said. ‘You should try it sometime——’

  Swinton ignored her. ‘It won’t be that, Cramm, not really. I daresay Arthur’ll do her best to make it like that——’

  ‘You bet I will,’ Ruth said.

  ‘But she won’t get far. Manton won’t have it, I shouldn’t think. It’ll just be a lot of chat about what things make you angry with nurses, and what to do about the ones who try to get cheeky, and how to be sweet and charming to the dear little things. The only thing Manton cares about, if you ask me, is the recruitment figures. If she can get the student numbers up to strength, she’ll find her job that much easier, won’t she? And she seems to think this is one way of doing it. She might have something there at that. Look at the way girls go after a few months——’

  ‘It depends where they’re working. Three went from Cas. last month, didn’t they? You can’t blame the poor bitches. I’d run a mile rather than work with East,’ Ruth said.

  Josephine creased her face worriedly. ‘I lost two girls last year—I mean, they left while they were on my ward.’

  ‘Well, there you are,’ Swinton said. ‘Maybe you could do with a little—help.’

  ‘I suppose I could,’ Josephine said, a little awkwardly. ‘I do get into a state about it all, don’t I?’

  Swinton stood up. ‘Sounds to me as though you’re halfway there, Jo. At least you’re thinking along the right lines. I must go. Thanks for the coffee——’

  Ruth stood up too. ‘Doing anything special, Swinton?’ she asked with real curiosity. Swinton never talked at all about what she did off duty.

  ‘Oh, nothing special,’ she said easily. ‘Have fun, Arthur. And don’t forget to make notes, so that you can tell us all at breakfast,’ and she went.

  ‘Sarky bitch,’ Ruth murmured. ‘Ah, well, I must be away. I’ve got a fancy paint job to do on this face of mine. I’m no beauty, and I need the time. But the net result’s the same! See you, Cramm. You get your feelings sorted out for the first discussion, ducky. It’ll be a giggle, one way and another——’

  Ruth’s room was squalid in its untidiness, and not entirely because she couldn’t be bothered to keep it tidy. She genuinely liked it that way. The clothes piled on the armchair instead of being hung neatly in the wardrobe, the messy tubes and pots of make-up on the dressing table, the shoes piled haphazardly under the window made the room feel, to Ruth, like a real home. She would rummage in the mess, muttering to herself as she dressed and made up. Ruth always talked to herself, sometimes silently, often in a soft monotone, finding an obscure comfort in putting her thoughts into words.

  ‘Hello, old bag,’ she murmured into the mirror, wrinkling her forehead to fine lines. ‘Your years are showing—green or red, green or red—and where will it be?’ She began to get out of uniform, dropping the heavy blue dress on the floor, throwing her cap and cuffs on to the top of the wardrobe.

  ‘If a trolley comes first, the train and the Strand Palace. Or if a bus comes, it could be the Regent Palace. Or somewhere different? No, Strand or Regent tonight. Leave it to the bus—if it’s the Strand I’ll be an out-of-towner. If it’s the Regent I’ll be real cockney. Show you the town, Mister? Too cold. Talk about it instead—red. The green’s dirty—Christ, I want a new one—half day Friday—maybe I’ll find someone then who’ll get one—that’d be a giggle. Half day seeing the town, new dress, and then whoops a daisy, you’re for the push—it’s worked before——’

  The evening went well from the beginning. As she left the Nurse’s Home, resplendent in her red suit with the pink lacy blouse under it, Mary Cotton was coming in, and reddened at Ruth’s heavy wink and grin as she announced she was ‘late for her date. Poor man’ll be panting by the time I get there——’

  A petrol bus arrived at the bus stop first, which meant she would go to the Regent Palace Hotel, which she really rather preferred to the Strand Palace. She had had some notable successes at the Regent.

  The bus was full, and she had to climb to the top deck, to sit next to the window near the front. A big man in a heavy overcoat came and sat beside her, and after a few moments, began to make small overtures, pushing his leg against hers, pretending to read a newspaper, accidently pushing his elbow into her breast as he turned a page.

  ‘I beg your pardon——’ his voice was a thick warm one, with a faint overtune of cockney in it. ‘These papers are tricky— hope I didn’t—embarrass you——’

  ‘Not very much——’ she murmured, looking at him sideways from under her lashes, and he offered her a cigarette.

  They talked all the way up to town, and for a while, she wondered if it might be worth taking this one on. He clearly needed only the slightest encouragement to stay with her, but she decided not to. She’d done that once, and the man had been the very devil to handle. Better to go to the hotel and find someone who was staying there. Easier, they were. But she let this one pay her fare, and when they both stood on the lower deck, waiting for the bus to reach the Piccadilly Circus fare stage, she slid off as it slowed down for a corner, waving a sweet goodbye to his chagrined face as she went.

  The hotel lobby was full as she came through the revolving doors, people standing about talking and laughing loudly, and when she heard several northern accents, her mouth lifted in a grin.

  ‘Must be an exhibition on. Lots of ’em on the loose tonight——’ and she went to the ladies’ cloakroom to touch up her make-up and undo her suit jacket so that the sheer pink lace blouse showed well, the line of her brassiere under it clearly visible.

  She chose the small bar, and the table in the corner, under the pink light, was empty. She settled herself comfortably, sitting sideways, one leg over the other so that a reasonable expanse of stocking top could be seen. She ordered a gin and tonic from the bored barman, and paid happ
ily. That was another thing she liked about the hotel. The barmen changed more often. It had been a bit sticky that time at the Strand when the barman had remembered her, and leered a little, had tried to pick her up himself. That was the last thing she wanted, people who might meet her again and know her.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A heavy man, with thin dark hair stretched over a wide balding patch came and hovered by the table after she had been there a few minutes, and said in a thick Yorkshire accent—‘Er—this table full, miss? Or could I’ave a corner of it, like?’

  She smiled charmingly. ‘Certainly. I won’t be here long——’ and she looked pointedly at her watch as he sat down, carefully hitching his trousers at the knees.

  He ordered a whisky, and she could feel his eyes on her as she sat with her head back against the squabs of the upholstered wall, gazing into the middle distance apparently unaware of him. She looked at her watch twice more in the next ten minutes, and then sighed sharply, and began to rummage in her bag. She found four pennies, and then stood up, to go across the bar towards the telephones, carefully dropping her gloves under the table before she went.

  In the telephone booth, she pulled her blouse down more firmly over her breasts, and after a decent interval, went back to the bar, an expression of disappointment on her face.

  He was still sitting there, and she sat down again, and reached for her gloves under the table. As an apparent afterthought she finished her drink, and then slowly began to pull her gloves on, pouting a little with obvious annoyance.

  ‘Not comin’, then, is ’e?’ the man said, watching her. She looked up, eyes wide.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Chap you was waitin’ for. Not comin’?’

  She laughed a little. ‘I’m afraid not. That’s the trouble with doctors, isn’t it? So unreliable——’ she managed a small blush. ‘How did you know? I mean, that the person I was waiting for wasn’t coming?’

  He looked expansive, a man of the world. ‘Well, stands to reason. Handsome lass like you—I’ve been watching you. Hope you don’t mind. But you look at your watch, and then you phone, and you come back looking put out a bit—well, stands to reason.’

  ‘You’re very observant.’

  ‘Well, got to be, my line o’ country. Got a lot of staff under me, you see. I got to learn to know what people are thinkin’ without them tellin’ me. Can’t pull wool over my eyes in a hurry.’

  ‘I can see that. Oh, well, I might as well go back, I suppose——’

  There was a pause as she smoothed her gloves over her fingers, and as he only sat and watched her, she added, ‘That’s it for another week, I suppose. Waste of an evening, really.’

  ‘Well, there’s always tomorrow——’

  ‘Not for me. I only get one free evening a week,’ she pouted a little.

  ‘Do you so? What sort of job ’ave you got then? Only one night off a week—that’s not much cop, is it?’

  ‘You’re right there. But I’m a nurse, you see. All we ever get is one evening off.’

  His eyes lit up, and then narrowed, and he shifted his chair a little nearer. ‘A nurse, are you? Well, well. Marvellous lasses, you are, marvellous. And only one night off a week—that’s ’ard. Lass like you—well, you ought to be out and about a lot, not tied up in a ‘ospital——’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘Someone’s got to do it——’ She sighed, sketching a quick picture of an overworked nobility. ‘I’d better go, I suppose. An early night won’t do me any harm—though it’s a bit dull——’

  ‘Well, now, no need to rush off, is there? If your chap’s not comin’—silly feller——’

  ‘Oh, he couldn’t help it,’ she said quickly. There must be no hint that she had been abandoned wilfully. ‘He’s got an emergency you see. He’s—well, he’s rather miserable about it——’

  ‘I’ll bet ’e is. I’d be right sick if I was ’im. But I was goin’ to say—no need to rush off, is there? I’d be glad of a bit o’ company like, myself. I’m in London for a meetin’, see?’

  He moved his shoulders proudly.

  ‘Management meetin’. My firm ’as one every year for district managers. I got the West Riding in my charge—busy it is, too, I’ll tell you that. But we finished business now—and I was just wonderin’ what to do—I could get an early train back, like, but that’s no game, is it? I mean, I’m down ’ere now. Thought I might go to a late show like, ’ave a bit o’ dinner, might even stop over till tomorrow——’

  He leered slightly. ‘But I was just thinkin’—not much of an evenin’ on your own, is it? I like a bit o’ company, myself. Not one to talk to myself, I’m not——’ he laughed loudly, and she smiled dubiously at him.

  ‘Well, I don’t know——’

  ‘Tell yer what—’ave another drink with me, eh? And we can talk about it——’

  He waved the barman towards them.

  ‘What are you ’avin’ now? Gin is that? Ah, come on, let’s ’ave somethin’ a bit better’n that—’ow about one o’ these cocktails like? Pink Lady, now, or—’ere—there’s this Monkey’s Gland—now that sounds a bit of all right, don’t it?’ He roared with laughter. ‘Put the lead in your pencil, that will—we’ll ’ave two o’ them, lad——’ and the barman looked bored, and went away.

  He hitched his chair even closer to her, and offered her a cigarette. ‘Well, now, ’ow about a gasper, eh?’

  He leaned close to light it, and his knee pressed against hers. She didn’t move away and his leg stayed pressed against hers even after he had put his lighter in his pocket.

  ‘What’s your name, then, love? Got to be friendly, ’aven’t we?’

  ‘Mary,’ she said. ‘Mary Cotton.’ It amused her to use the most unlikely name she could, and Mary’s was one she often used. It added a piquancy to the situation.

  ‘Mary—now, there’s a fine old name——’ he hummed a few bars of the song. ‘Favourite name o’ mine, Mary—they call me Bill—William—Weston, that’s my name,’ and she noticed the faint hesitation before he said it and was amused.

  ‘Probably Higginbottom,’ she thought, ‘and taking no chances on ever being traced after tonight. Dirty old sod——’

  ‘That’s a nice name too——’ she said, and hummed a few bars of ‘He’s just my Bill’ so that he laughed admiringly.

  ‘Ooh, you’re quick, Mary, you are that. I’d forgotten that song. I tell you what, if you like a bit o’ music, what do you say we take in a show like? Fond o’ the theayter and the films, I am. You belong to London, like, so you choose, eh? Would you like that?’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t really—I mean, I don’t know you——’

  ‘Eh, lass, you needn’t fear me! I’m a friendly chap, that’s all—all on me own in London, and wantin’ a bit o’ company, that’s all. It’d be a kindness to me, it would that—and I can promise you there’s nothin’ your own mother’d mind, goin’ to a theayter wi’ me——’

  ‘I haven’t got a mother,’ she said softly. ‘They were—both killed in the Blitz——’

  ‘Eh, I’m sorry to ’ear that, I am really.’ He put one hand over hers. ‘Poor little lass—all on your own in the world——’

  She smiled bravely. ‘I’ve got my job——’

  ‘And a right good job it is!’ he said heartily. ‘It’ll be a real pleasure to me to give you a bit o’ fun—I tell you what—when my dad died, a few years back, the nurses what looked after ’im—they were grand lasses, too, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to show ’em I was grateful. You let me take you out tonight for them, eh? Sort o’—well, payin’ a debt, eh? How does that sound?’

  ‘Well, I am on my own, with Giles working tonight—and it would be a bit miserable going back so early——’

  ‘Then that’s settled, Mary, that’s settled. You drink up, now. I’ll—er—I’ll go and book a room ’ere for meself—won’t feel like getting a train ’ome after we been out, will I? I’ll stay ’ere the night
—nice hotel, it is? Look after you well ’ere do they?’

  ‘I think so—I’ve never stayed here myself, of course—couldn’t afford it, even if I didn’t live in hospital——’

  ‘You ought to try it sometime—nice staying in an ’otel. If they look after you. Anyway, I’ll try it——’

  He took her to see a late film, sitting in the best seats.

  ‘Expense no objection with me, lass,’ he told her expansively. ‘And it’s only once a year I get down ’ere, after all——’

  He bought her chocolates, and held her hand in the darkness and she made no demur. By the time they reached the hotel again, where Bill said they’d ‘ ’ave a right slap-up dinner’ they were on very good terms. He ordered champagne with their steaks, and told her several stories which became more and more smutty as the champagne went down in the bottle, holding her hand over the table between mouthfuls of food, and leering at her more and more obviously.

  She giggled a lot, behaving as though the champagne had made her drunk, and began to tell a few smutty jokes herself, which made him roar his loud laugh again.

  When they got to the coffee stage, and the waiter suggested brandy he ordered doubles for them both, and when he had drunk his, throwing it down as though it had been beer, he leaned over the table and grinned blearily at her.

  ‘You nurses—grand lasses, you are. And you know your way about, too, I’ll be bound. Eh? No flies on you, Mary.’

  She dimpled at him. ‘Bill, if you mean what I think you mean—well, you’re a reel bad lad——’

  This essay at his own accent delighted him.