The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘I didn’t stand you up, and you know that quite well. I couldn’t accept without breaking the last rule in the book and, having broken all the others, thought it wiser to leave that one intact. But I’d adore to come out and have a meal now ‒ if I didn’t think Home Sister would have a stroke if I asked for late leave at this hour of the night.’

  ‘She might ‒ if we weren’t so close to Christmas. Lots of things are permissible at this season. You ask her, love. Do. I’m sure I can get off for an hour or so. We won’t be too late, as I have to be back at eleven for my night-rounds. But my boss is just behind us, so I’ll fix my side up now. Hold it.’ He spun round and walked back to where Jake was walking a few paces behind us.

  Bill wasted no time. ‘Would it be all right if I went out for an hour or so now, sir?’

  Jake, possibly mellowed by the approach of Christmas, acknowledged my presence. ‘Evening, Nurse Standing.’ Then he dealt with Bill. ‘I don’t see why not, Martin, if you’re back by eleven. Fix up a stand-in and let Mr Jefferson know who it’s to be. I’m going out myself for a couple of hours and he’s taking over. Just let him know.’ He nodded to us both and walked on.

  Bill spread his hands expressively and beamed at Jake’s retreating figure. ‘You see, love? Too easy. So you nip over and tackle Home Sister, and I’ll call for you in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘She may say no.’

  ‘She won’t, love. Uncle knows.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Uncle is always right. Fact. So get weaving, Rose. Uncle is also raring to get at that steak.’

  I did not know if he was always right, but he was certainly right about Home Sister. ‘Do you want to go out now, Nurse? Why did you not ask for late leave earlier?’

  ‘I’m afraid I only just knew I wanted to go out, Sister.’

  She opened the Late-leave book. ‘Well, Nurse, it is a little irregular, but you have not asked for late leave for a long time, and, as Christmas is so near, I think we can stretch a point. What time will you be back? Eleven? Good. Have a pleasant outing.’

  When the lift stopped at the first-year floor I stepped out into what looked like a corner of the Chelsea Flower Show. The floor was filled with my set, and all the girls seemed to be clasping bunches of flowers. Angela was holding a mammoth bunch of red roses that struck me as vaguely familiar. ‘What’s going on, girls?’ I asked. ‘Someone come into money? Aren’t those flowers a little expensive for corridor decorations?’

  ‘Josephine ‒’ began Angela, when Josephine’s furious appearance in the door of her room interrupted her.

  ‘Here ‒ Rose!’ Josephine hurled some carnations at me. ‘Want these? If not, chuck ’em away. I don’t want to see them again!’ She growled at us all. ‘That’s the lot! Take ’em anywhere! But out of my sight!’ She ducked back into her room and slammed the door.

  I looked at Angela. ‘What’s got into her? I’ve never seen her in such a rage. And where have all the flowers come from?’

  Angela sniffed her roses. ‘The answer to all your questions, dearie, is Gus, Gus, and Gus again. They broke it off for ever last night, and he started this morning with these roses. Lovely, aren’t they?’

  ‘Beautiful.’ I looked more closely at them. ‘I thought I recognized them. I saw them coming to the lodge this morning. But do you mean to tell me he sent all these to-day? The man must have spent a fortune.’

  ‘Love,’ said Angela tritely, ‘is a beautiful thing, Rose. It’s also very expensive if you happen to be in love with Josephine.’

  ‘Why is she so cross? If someone inundated me with flowers like these I wouldn’t chuck them out of the room.’

  Josephine’s door burst open again. ‘Huh! Wouldn’t you be cross too if you were told you ought to give up nursing, as you obviously aren’t any good at it!’ She gazed at us mournfully. ‘I’m not just cross ‒ I’m flaming! How dare he say that? Even if he is perfectly right!’ She retreated with another slam of her door.

  I did not like seeing her so upset. I tapped on her door. ‘Can I come in? It’s me. Rose.’

  ‘If you must!’

  I went in, shut the door behind me, then put the carnations I was holding on the dressing-table. ‘Honey,’ I said quietly, ‘I know you’re good and mad; but why get so worked up? And what does it matter if he’s right or wrong? Isn’t that a minor detail?’ She looked at me curiously, but said nothing; so I went on, ‘If Gus is in love with you and still wants to marry you, well ‒ why not? You must be in love with him or you wouldn’t be so cross. You’d just be bucked about all these flowers, hang up another scalp, and have a good laugh. So if you are in love with him why hang about in Martin’s?’

  She said, ‘I so detest admitting defeat, Rose. I was so sure that I wanted to nurse, that I could make a go of it, that I didn’t want to marry him. I can’t face admitting that I’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let that worry you. And I am one girl who knows what she’s talking about when it comes to admitting mistakes. So you’ve been wrong ‒ right. Tell him so. Say you’re sorry and marry him. You don’t like it here, do you?’ She shook her head. ‘And you don’t want to end your days as a sister?’

  ‘God forbid!’

  ‘Then, for the love of Mike, Josephine, stop play-acting and come down to earth. Tell Gus ‒ give it to him straight ‒ unconditional surrender. And leave the rest to him. I’ll bet he’ll be bucked as hell.’

  ‘He’ll be that all right,’ she replied with unusual bitterness. ‘You should have heard him last night about this; he was so smug, so pleased with himself. He said ‒ I couldn’t do without him.’

  I looked at her. ‘And can you?’

  She looked about to explode again, then she flopped on to her bed and pushed her hands through her usually tidy hair. ‘No.’

  I said, ‘Then hadn’t I better get those flowers back in again? You really do want them, don’t you?’ She did not protest, so I opened her door. ‘Bring ’em all back, girls!’

  Angela bounced in with her roses as if she was about to declare Josephine’s room open. ‘Gus back on his pedestal? Nice work, Rose. How did you do it? And since when has your middle name been Cupid?’

  ‘Hey! Rose!’ One of the other girls put her head round the door. ‘There’s a man called Martin on the inside phone for you. He says to tell you the steak’s getting cold.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ I pulled off my cap. ‘I forgot I’m supposed to be going out. Kirsty, be an angel and say I’m just changing and will be down in five minutes.’

  I rushed into my own room, pursued by Angela and Josephine. ‘What is all this?’ demanded Angela. ‘Who are you going out with so late at night? And why?’

  Josephine was fast recovering her normal composure, and, with typical attention to detail, added, ‘Have you got late leave?’

  ‘Bill Martin.’ I threw off my uniform and pulled on a dress. ‘Because he asked me. And yes, I’ve seen Home Sister.’

  Angela said she couldn’t keep up with all this romance. ‘Never a dull moment on this floor ‒ and it’s still mid-winter. What you girls will be like in the spring I hate to think!’ She noticed my legs. ‘Rose, you cannot go out on a date with black stockings even if they are made of nylon. You look like little Orphan Annie. Have you got any clean or want to borrow a pair?’

  ‘Heck, I forgot my legs.’ I sat down and peeled off my stockings. ‘Get me a pair ‒ that second drawer. Thanks.’ Josephine brushed my coat for me, and when I put it on continued to brush my shoulders.

  ‘You look sweet, Rose. But’ ‒ she tilted her head to survey me ‒ ‘you need ‒ Wait here a tick.’ She vanished, then returned at once with one of her scarlet carnations. ‘Here.’ She pinned it to my lapel. ‘That just finishes you off.’

  I admired the flower in the glass. ‘Thanks. It does.’

  She touched my arm. ‘And thank you, Rose. Thanks a lot. I rather wish I had talked to you before.’

  ‘Never too late for advice from Aunty Rose,’ I told her smugly. ‘Good-bye,
girls. Enjoy your cocoa.’

  Downstairs Bill was fuming with impatience in our Hall. ‘You’ll be lucky if you get cold fish and greasy chips, love. Where the blazes have you been? I told you to get weaving!’ He held open the front door. ‘I’ll bet you got involved in the old cocoa routine.’

  I apologized humbly. ‘I really am sorry. I walked into a domestic crisis above stairs and couldn’t get away.’

  He hailed a passing taxi. ‘Crisis over?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Everything in the garden now lovely.’

  As he got into the taxi he nodded at my carnation. ‘I see you’ve brought some of the garden with you, and very nice it looks, too. Where did it come from? You know I’m always filled with curiosity and have no shame ‒ so tell all. Who’s the ardent admirer?’

  I smiled. ‘No admirer of mine, alas. I’ve never met him.’

  He crossed his legs. ‘But he sends you flowers? Better and better. I hope he’s pining with unrequited love?’

  ‘Not for me, he isn’t. His name’s Gus, and he’s engaged to one of my set.’

  He said he could not admire Gus’s name, but he did admire his taste in flowers. ‘Carnations are my favourites.’

  ‘Mine, too. Particularly red ones.’ I glanced out of the taxi window. ‘Bill, where are we going? And why are we going in state? I thought you said the steak was close by?’

  ‘It’s that, all right. We’ll be there in a second. But, as you’ve been on your two feet all day and so have I, I reckoned we rated the ride. Wasn’t Uncle right?’

  ‘Dead right. Thanks.’

  The taxi stopped outside a small restaurant in one of the little streets leading down to the river. ‘It looks a dive, but isn’t,’ explained Bill, as he ushered me in.

  The restaurant was warm and very clean. The small tables were covered with red-and-white check cloths. Bill chose a table by the wall, ordered two mixed grills, and coffee. ‘This is a favourite Martin’s haunt. Been here before?’

  ‘No. It looks very pleasant.’

  ‘It’s that all right. Bert ‒ he’s the large character with the ears behind the counter ‒ was once in Henry. He’s a fervent supporter of Martin’s. Soon as he suspects the presence of a stethoscope in a breast pocket he starts cutting up his best chunks of steak. He’s a splendid cook, and sharp as a scalpel, but he never does us.’ He waved at the man as he spoke. ‘Evening, Bert! How’s trade?’

  Bert pushed up the flap of the counter and squeezed his body through the gap. ‘Mustn’t grumble; mustn’t grumble. And how’s trade in the hospital, Mr Martin? I hear as they’ve made you a doctor now?’

  Bill said he was already grey at the temples. ‘Can’t you see the change, Bert? My carefree days are over. I’m a sober citizen now.’

  Bert said he thought that was all very nice, too. ‘Seems as I should have congratulated you, Mr Martin? Only I should say Dr Martin.’ He turned to me. ‘Grill suit you, Miss?’

  ‘Just right, thank you.’

  Bill explained this was my first visit. ‘I told Miss Standing you’d do us proud, Bert.’

  Bert tugged at one of his enormous ears. ‘You a nurse, miss?’

  ‘Yes. Just half-way through my first year.’

  He considered my face reflectively. ‘Thought as I hadn’t seen you before, miss. But I hope as now you’ve come here you’ll come again. Ever you’re on your own like, and wanting a good hot meal, just you drop in here. Of a morning or of an evening. I’ll see you get it; and I’ll look after you. There won’t be nobody as’ll bother you if you likes to sit at a table by yourself and just drink a cup of coffee and have a quiet read. You young nursing ladies can do with a quiet sit down every now and then, I know. I mind’ ‒ it was a wonder his ear did not come off the way he was maltreating it ‒ ‘as how those young ladies was running round that Henry ward when I was in. Never off their feet, they weren’t, and always a smile and a bright word. Lovely lot of young ladies they had in that Henry ward, and I tell them just what I tell you, miss. If you want a quiet sit down and a cuppa or a meal any time you just come along to Bert and he’ll take care of you.’

  I thanked him warmly. He gave me a broad smile, smoothed his white apron over his substantial middle, and strolled back to his counter.

  Bill leaned forward. ‘He means that, Rose. And heaven help any character who tried to give you the green light in here. Bert was once a professional fighter. Told you he was a good type.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘You may not be aware of it, love, but you’ve just been accepted as a member in the most exclusive club in Martin’s.’ He raised his cup. ‘Here’s to you.’ He glanced over my shoulder at something behind me, then smiled into my eyes. ‘And here’s to your carnation too. Down the hatch.’ He lowered his cup and nodded at someone I could not see ‒ another student or houseman, I supposed. Then he leaned forward again, propped his elbows on the table, fixed his chin in his hands, and gazed at me. ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘this is really very nice. Why haven’t we done this before, Rose?’

  His tone and whole attitude had suddenly changed, and both surprised me. I certainly did not know him very well, for all that I knew him better than I knew any other man in the hospital and recognized his type; I had never heard him speak like that or look at me like that before. I did not answer immediately, as I was tired, and I half wondered if I was imagining all this. Then he said, ‘Rose, love, I asked you a question. Why ‒ haven’t ‒ we ‒ done ‒ this ‒ before? I wish we had.’ He moved one hand and flicked at my carnation. ‘And I wish I had thought of giving you that flower. You look so like a flower yourself to-night. You look just like a rose.’

  I thought, Blimey! What’s come over the man!

  I answered literally, ‘We haven’t done this before because you never asked me before.’

  He looked down at the table. I noticed his eyelashes for the first time. They were very long and very thick. ‘Would you have come’ ‒ he raised his eyes and looked into mine ‒ ‘if I had asked you?’

  I hesitated, then again gave him a literal answer. ‘I expect so. Our food’s pretty good, but I’m always hungry. And this is the best mixed grill I’ve had in years.’

  ‘Rose, dear,’ he looked hurt, ‘don’t joke. I’m serious.’

  He sounded serious. I considered him thoughtfully. If he was serious, then I really was out of my depth. I had told Angela the truth when I said I was used to being dated by young men who wanted to talk to me about their love-life. No one I had ever wanted to say these sort of things to me had ever said them; they just asked me to be an extra sister to them. I knew exactly how to deal with them; I had been dealing with brothers all my life; but I did not know how to deal with this. And somehow, although Bill seemed sincere, I just did not believe that he was. I once again had that instinctive reaction that this was some kind of a line. I might have had that reaction because of another bit of fraternal advice I had had from Hector: ‘Beware the smooth chaps with lines, Rose. A chap only uses a line when he’s playing around. When he’s serious he’s so dead keen not to put his foot in it that he does that all the way along. And another thing, Rose, when a chap looks you straight in the face, clasps his hand to his heart, and sighs deeply, before you return his sweet nothings take a good look round and see why he’s so anxious to keep your attention fixed on his face. There’s generally something behind you he doesn’t want you to see.’

  Recollecting this, I said with a horribly arch simper, ‘But I am serious, Bill; this grill is superb,’ and, to amuse myself by testing Hector’s theories, I glanced back over my shoulder. When I saw who was sitting at the table directly behind our own I nearly dropped my coffee-cup. I put it down unsteadily and some of the coffee spilled over on to the red-and-white tablecloth.

  Bill mopped this with his napkin. ‘Wouldn’t you two be on speaking terms, love?’ he murmured. ‘Or are you unaware that you’ve just cut our S.S.O. stone dead?’

  I met his eyes. ‘Oh, him? Why, we always cut each other dead off duty. It’s
the done thing. You must know that, Bill. First-years don’t exist.’

  ‘They don’t?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I know of one first-year who exists, so very much, for a certain character of an H.S.’ He sat back. ‘And don’t pretend I haven’t said that, love, as you did before. You know quite well what I’ve said ‒ and why.’

  I said quite honestly, ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Rose’ ‒ he moved again, and this time took one of my hands in both of his ‒ ‘be your age. Please, this is important. I’m trying to tell you’ ‒ he sighed ‒ ‘just how important it is ‒ to me. Try, try, to understand.’

  He spoke so genuinely that I was more than half convinced that both Hector and I were wrong, when I noticed that between the long, searching gazes into my eyes he was glancing over my shoulder, then back at my face, as if he was checking on his audience reaction. I could not conceive why he should do this; but when he did it for the third time I was quite certain that for some unknown reason it was amusing Bill to play to the gallery. If there had been anyone else but Jake behind us it might have amused me too. But I had seen the coolly amused manner in which Jake had been watching us, and I did not care to provide any further light relief to his mixed grill.

  I flapped my eyelashes at Bill. They were nothing like as long or thick as his, but I hoped my flapping would be fairly effective. ‘I’m afraid I’m terribly bad at understanding anything, Bill,’ I said plaintively. ‘My brothers are always narking at me about that. Hector ‒ he’s the eldest ‒ says I have the sensitivity of a stuffed doll. I haven’t told you about Hector, have I?’ I beamed at him. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, because you remind me so much of him ‒ in fact, I always think of you as rather like a brother.’

  He looked at me for a long time. His grip on my hand relaxed a little. ‘You ‒ er ‒ regard me as a brother, eh, Rose?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ I assured him brightly, ‘just like a brother. I can’t help it. You are so like Hector to look at.’ Which was a lie if ever I told one, as Hector was as fair as I was.