Silent Song

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Please, I would.’

  ‘Good. It’s so much easier to sort these little matters out vis-a-vis. Your friend gave you the right advice, only please,’ her eyes danced, ‘don’t tell him I said so. Young doctors don’t like being patted on the back by C.N.O.s. It makes ’em feel vaguely uncomfortable ‒ sort of agin nature. Rather like getting approval from one’s parents when one’s a teenager.’ She came with me into the outer office and asked the senior sister present for Mrs Bell’s exact leaving date. ‘Don’t forget to come and see me in good time to be measured for your sister’s uniform, Staff Nurse Dorland,’ she added, smiling.

  The outer office staff smiled knowingly to prove no-one had fooled them. Heart-warming, I thought.

  At five to one Sister Cardiac swept me into her day office and shut her own door. Miss Evans had done one of her always unannounced rounds throughout Wing 2. ‘My dear,’ said Sister, ‘as I said to Miss Evans, people will always talk and when they talk what they don’t know they’ll invent, but, personally, I’ve seldom heard such a load of rubbish! I have not, I said, worked all this time with my senior staff nurse without learning she is far too professional even to remember our male patients are men, and far too sensible a girl ever to lose her head over any man, or for any man to lose his over her. As the mother of four sons, I said, I assure you, Miss Evans, it isn’t the sensible girls one has to worry about.’

  I appreciated her support, but as there are few more damning epithets than ‘sensible’, perversely, I was nearly as angry as last night though I hid it better. I seethed under the surface all afternoon and was only able to laugh at myself when I got back to my flat, found a postcard from Jilly waiting and remembered she was in France. A good laugh didn’t make me feel any happier about George. I hadn’t seen him all day. He had come in to see Marlene whilst I was at supper. ‘He said Roseburn’s quite pleased and not much else.’ Janet Anstey had suddenly grinned. ‘Something else I must say! God bless you for spurning the fleshpots for the dear old Cardiac Unit. I haven’t enough experience to take over and much as I like the job here I couldn’t stick it five minutes with the wrong boss. Imagine working under a D.N. like Sister Thoracic!’

  A D.N. was a Dedicated Nurse. There was no greater insult one Martha’s nurse could give another than that label.

  ‘Janet, please! I’ve had a traumatic day and was her third year when she was Sister Catherine.’

  ‘The old bitch was my first ward sister.’ She flapped her eyelashes and pursed her lips in mimicry. ‘ “Nurses, we must be tireless in our devotion to duty! We must think only how privileged we are to serve suffering humanity! What if our off-duty gets changed at the last minute ‒ we can never be sure our days off won’t be altered ‒ and no matter how busy the ward I’ll never lift a hand or get out of my chair for anyone but a pundit? The Dedicated Nurse thinks of none of these things!” Old bitch nearly made me chuck nursing then and there. Did you ever see her with her cuffs off? Nor did I, nor anyone I’ve heard of. I’ve often thought it’s not surprising Tom Jones came to us with his hangups having had her his first Unit Sister.’

  ‘Now I think on it, nor it is.’

  No-one else mentioned the rumours to me in Coronary Care that day. Next day no-one had time to remember them. Miss Jordan had another attack in the night and an hour later an old patient was re-admitted to C.1 after his second coronary. I was on early. All our men were there when I arrived, all were unshaven and Tom Jones still had his pyjamas under trousers and a white coat. The six monitors were live, the senior night nurse was behind a screened door and the Course night nurse on the desk was grey with fatigue. ‘Nurse Taylor’s with Mr Dursely in C.1, Staff. She’ll be out to report in a minute.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I did a double-take. ‘Dursely? Nigel?’

  ‘ “Call me Nigel, darlings.” After the last curtain call.’ Joe yawned. ‘Should be dead but he’ll take another.’

  Nigel Dursely was an actor-manager who had had his first part fifty years ago when he was four. Tom said wearily, ‘Barely surfaced when he told me he’d been born in a dressing-room.’

  I had to smile. ‘Good for Nigel! He would! Last time whilst still semi-conscious he was giving us his best profile. The only patient I’ve ever known do that in an oxygen mask.’ Shirley had arrived apologizing for being late. ‘Never mind.’ I drew her away from the desk. ‘Before you get started, nip next door and cadge the largest pot of tea you can raise out of Elsie. If she creates, tell her I’m creating worse and you haven’t dared ask me who it’s for.’

  She widened her large eyes as Andy came wearily from Miss Jordan’s cubicle. ‘Elsie’ll do her nut if she guesses it’s for our men.’

  ‘I’ll do mine if she dares come in here. Put it in the rest-room and she won’t know. Get, Shirley, we’re busy.’

  We weren’t busy, we were hectic. By lunch we had had to move Mr Fraser from C.4 to admit another C.E. I didn’t discover Shirley had successfully twisted Elsie’s formidable arm and the three men had had their tea until Joe thanked me the following day. ‘Shape of things to come, Anne?’

  ‘Something’s got to be done about that iniquitous new rule. I’m just following L.B.’s methods. When you hit one you don’t like and can’t break, bend it.’ I watched Miss Jordan through her door. Mary Richardson was sitting with her. ‘She’s settling, but I wish her colour was better.’

  ‘Hell of an improvement on the night before last. I wasn’t sure we’d get her back.’

  Miss Jordan was a large-boned, striking woman in the mid-forties, with long dark hair now in two plaits tied with blue bows. She was an economist on the board of some large export firm and had only one living relative, a very elderly aunt living in Harrogate, and too arthritic to travel. The aunt had refused to delegate a proxy next-of-kin, so L.B. had quietly bent another rule and allowed the firm’s managing director to do the job, unofficially. He had come every evening for about half an hour before Miss Jordan’s second attack, and was now coming twice daily. ‘I knew something like this would happen,’ he told us. ‘Margaret’s a brilliant woman, but stubborn as they come. Wouldn’t listen or stop working. Week-ends, no proper holidays, all day and up to all hours. Don’t know why she’s never married, but I suspect, no time. Parents were elderly, she was their only child, and after graduating first she supported them and later took on this aunt. Bought her this house, set her up with a good housekeeper, and I’m sure she’s never been thanked. Very good woman. There it is. Don’t hesitate to ring my office or home any time if there’s anything we can do. My wife’ll always know where to find me. Very fond of Margaret. We all are.’

  Miss Jordan was a good patient, but partly as she was so ill, partly as she was very reserved, it was days before any of us got much more than a ‘Better, thank you,’ from her.

  Nigel Dursely was very different. ‘Call me Nigel, darlings,’ he said as before, immediately he had enough breath for speech. Our outside phone was as busy during his first few days as after Mr Renner’s admission, but not so much by the Press as by his friends and huge family.

  ‘Will someone,’ groaned Tom over notes, ‘tell me how many kids the guy has?’

  ‘Nine, in all.’

  ‘What do you mean, all?’

  I needed to calculate. ‘Four of his, three of hers, one of theirs, and one’s adopted.’

  ‘Blimey!’ He needed thought. ‘Why adopt with that lot?’

  ‘The kid’s parents fell on hard times or something, so Nigel took her on. Mrs Nigel says he never remembers who belongs to who but it doesn’t matter as he loves kids. He must be a good father as they all adore him from their phone calls and L.B.’s met them. He says they’re a healthy, happy, and amazingly well-mannered brood. The eldest is twenty, the youngest seven months.’

  Tom gazed thoughtfully at Nigel’s trendily cut grey hair, fleshy sensuous face and brilliant smile at Shirley checking his blood-pressure. ‘I’ve seen him act. I thought him a fearful ham.’

  ‘He is, but he so e
njoys hamming everyone enjoys it with him.’

  He turned to me. ‘Is that what he’s got that gets women?’

  ‘That ‒ and his enormous charm. It’s not insincere though he uses it on everyone, because it’s part of him. So, even if he’s maddening, you can’t help forgiving him ‒ like coming back here. Last time L.B. warned him, “Cut out smoking, cut down the whisky, the parties, act or direct, but don’t do both or you’ll be back.” So what does he do? The lot! And he’ll do the same when he goes out, even though L.B.’ll warn him next time he won’t go out.’

  ‘You call that being a good father? With small kids?’

  I hesitated. ‘He’s given them a lot of love. That’s good.’ He was looking strange. ‘Have I said the wrong thing, Tom?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was just thinking ‒ how does one know one’s in love? The real thing ‒ if it exists?’

  I smiled quickly. ‘One doesn’t have to ask oneself. Finished Miss Jordan’s notes? Can I have ’em?’

  He handed them over, pushed his pen back in his pocket and himself to his feet. ‘Then I can’t be in love with you. I’m not at all sure that I am. I thought I was, but it wore off. Do you mind?’

  I controlled my expression. ‘I think it’s probably just as well as we work together.’

  He agreed gravely that would make life complicated. At that moment George, Dr Francis and another Course nurse were with Marlene. I didn’t look their way as I could see Marlene’s monitor. ‘It would.’

  Marlene’s test results were still improving. On Friday of the next week I was at the desk alone when George came in on his way to supper. ‘Roseburn wants to talk to Trevor here at seven tomorrow evening. Can you fix that without Marlene’s knowing?’

  ‘Sure.’ I smiled at Marlene as she was watching. ‘Trevor’s due any minute for the week-end. Roseburn’s decided?’

  ‘Yes.’ He waved at Marlene then turned his back on the cubicles. ‘If both consent he wants her moved up to us Monday and’ll do her Saturday as he wants a clear day for the job.’

  ‘They’ll consent! Heart-Lung’s their Promised Land.’ I lowered my voice though we were alone. ‘That why the briefing?’

  ‘Yes.’ His neat right hand played the piano on the counter. ‘He’ll see Trevor on his own.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He never passes the buck.’ We were momentarily silent. ‘George. What do you think now?’

  His hand was suddenly still. ‘Even with Roseburn, one hell of a gamble.’

  ‘That’s what Joe says.’

  There was another silence. Then, ‘Can I take this as fixed?’

  ‘I’m as sure as I can be. Do you want me to ring you to confirm, or only if it comes unstuck?’

  ‘The last’ll do. ’Night.’ He waved again to Marlene on his way out. I watched him go. It was our first real conversation since that night at my flat, but just as when we had seen each other around since then, we had behaved as if that event never happened. We’d had enough practice in the past, so that should’ve made the present easier, only it wasn’t working out that way for me. I didn’t know what to do about that and I had given it a lot of thought off duty. In Coronary Care I had been too busy to dwell on it, if not to be vaguely conscious the toothache was coming uncomfortably near pain.

  Trevor turned up next day in his purple velvet. ‘Bert and his bird Linda come up along of me seeing it’s Saturday, haven’t they then? Visiting me best bird, aren’t I?’

  At ten to seven Shirley screened Marlene’s door for her blanket bath. ‘Sorry it’s so late. All go, tonight. Can you give us a good half-hour, Trevor?’

  Joe, George and I waited for twenty dragging minutes outside the closed door of our rest-room. ‘Roseburn giving a blow-by-blow of the op?’ queried Joe.

  ‘Probably.’ George looked at his watch for the sixth time. ‘Bert up, Anne?’

  ‘Waiting in the public canteen with his girlfriend. Linda. They’re taking him out for a beer, later.’

  ‘He’ll need it. Roseburn doesn’t pull his punches.’

  ‘Roseburn,’ said Joe, ‘is incapable even of telling a white lie. I was in my pre-registration year during his last as senior surgical officer. Hardly anyone on the surgical side was on speaking terms with him when he left. A guy who insists on the truth for all occasions makes few friends, but those few ‒ he keeps.’

  The door opened. Mr Roseburn floated out in slow motion. Trevor followed swaggering a little and his face so white his moustache looked black. ‘Right then,’ he said, ‘where do I sign like?’

  On Monday morning Marlene was wheeled away on a stretcher-trolley, beaming.

  ‘One feels,’ said Tom, ‘one’s name is Judas.’

  ‘Just be bloody thankful your name isn’t Roseburn, lad.’ Joe watched the girls clearing and re-setting the empty cubicle. ‘Back to the old drawing-board. Someone, somewhere, is waiting to be the next C.E. in that bed.’

  I said, ‘This handing over and the non-stop goodbyes are getting under my skin.’

  Tom had disappeared. Joe was about to go into Mr Neal. He turned back. ‘When’s your next holiday?’

  ‘Haven’t thought. Why?’

  ‘Start thinking. Routine under the skin is an early symptom of the nasty trembles.’

  I was looking at Marlene’s empty bed. ‘Trembles?’ I echoed absently.

  ‘ “It’s like this, Doc, see. You got to sign me off, see. I eats well, I sleeps well, I drinks well, but when it comes to a job of work I comes over all of a tremble ‒ and the wife says ‒ time you was under the Doctor! You got to have time off, she says, or you’ll be right poorly”.’ He switched back to his normal voice. ‘If you’ve forgotten that old ’un, you need a holiday, my girl! Do that thinking.’ He went into C.3.

  Consciously, I pulled down the mental shutters. Mrs Neal had come out to discuss her husband’s pending move next door. ‘What are the visiting hours in the big ward, dear? Can I sit with him as in here? He’ll have the same doctors? That’s good! But he will miss you nurses! So that pretty little Marlene’s gone for her operation? Didn’t she look thrilled? You’d think she was going to a party! Too young to worry ‒ but then you young people never worry, do you? Only got to look at your smile to see you’ve never had a real worry in your life, dear.’

  Trevor and Dr Lincoln Browne remained our only contacts with Marlene for the rest of that week. Trevor said she was real made up with her new ward and fancied his trendy medic gear. (The special gowns, caps and masks without which relatives were not allowed inside any Heart-Lung ward.) He had the week off on full pay. ‘Like I says, got a good guv’nor, haven’t I then?’

  L.B. said little more than ‘settled nicely’. The Coronary Care staff said even less, and, as we were suddenly slacker, it was one of the longest weeks I could remember. C.5 didn’t help by staying empty. The silent monitor above the door stared down a blank, unwinking eye at the blank space in our corridor. Our one bright spot in the week was the news of a near-mutiny in the Private Wing. ‘Sister Private,’ remarked Sister Cardiac, ‘says her nurses are refusing to nurse Mr Renner. I’m afraid she was rather put out when I told her Coronary Care found him gentle as a lamb.’

  Joe fell about laughing. ‘Sister! How long have you suffered from this sad amnesia?’

  ‘It comes and goes, Doctor. But I was glad to hear he’s doing very well, should be leaving shortly, and that a provisional bed has been booked for Miss Jordan from Tuesday next.’ She looked around. ‘Your depleted little family is doing so well, I’m going to ask you a great favour, Anne. Though it’s your free week-end, would you be our official observer on Saturday? We’re too busy next door for me to leave for so long. And take from one on Friday to compensate.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Sister,’ was the only possible answer, though I suddenly felt cold with fear.

  Shirley overheard and later said she would come with me. ‘I felt I should watch as I’m off, but hadn’t the guts to face it alone and it seemed a bit off to ask Sister to hold
my hand.’

  ‘Do come and hold mine. I loathe watching ops when I know the patient. Not that I liked the theatre when I didn’t. I did my three months in the General Theatre. Unconscious bodies coming and going all day long and ninety-odd per cent with carcinoma. I began to wonder if there was any other disease in the world.’

  ‘I did my three in the Orthopod. Didn’t mind it too much except when they started chipping bone. Yeugh! I can still throw up at the thought. Shall I call for you? What time?’

  ‘Ten to nine. I’ll tell Sister you want a Cardiac seat, but there’ll be a crowd.’

  I didn’t want that half-day, but, as Coronary Care was down to three patients, had no excuse for not taking it. ‘Go,’ said Sister, ‘whilst the going’s good. Who knows what Monday’ll bring?’

  Monday was a lifetime away. Tomorrow could be the last day of Marlene’s life.

  I changed and walked for hours round the nearest public park. It was golden with daffodils edged with tulips neat and scarlet as guardsmen. The new grass was vividly green, and the Japanese cherries were in blossom. It was all perfect as a glorious Technicolor spring set in a movie, and as unreal.

  My body was on the set, but I was back in the windowless, sound-proofed, fresh air-proofed, ultra aseptic pre-op small ward in Heart-Lung, breathing the specially purified air, watching the specially gowned, capped, masked, shod staff coming and going by the dozen. Trevor would be there some of the time and at least George and Dick Francis would be familiar faces behind the masks. She should know a few nurses by now, one or two of the five sisters and Roseburn.

  Some clock chimed five. I looked down at the ducks floating under the bridge. They were starting at nine-thirty, so by this time tomorrow it should be over. Slowly, as I began walking back, I looked up at Benedict’s on the right before I crossed the river. George and I, half a mile from each other for years. Then Spain. I still didn’t know why he had been there. He still hadn’t told me about that plane crash. So many gaps. So many deaths. So many hours tomorrow as team leader, Roseburn would literally hold Marlene’s life in his gloved hands.