A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Of course not,’ William agreed, solemn-faced.

  As Helen finished cleaning up, she said, ‘So is your girlfriend very angry with you?’

  ‘Utterly furious. It makes life rather difficult, actually, since now none of the staff on Wren is talking to me.’

  ‘Serves you right. I can’t feel sorry for you, William, because you bring these things on yourself. When are you going to learn that romance between doctors and nurses is a recipe for disaster?’

  ‘So there’s no chance for you and Dr McKay, then?’ he teased.

  Helen shot him a warning look. ‘Don’t even mention that man’s name to me.’

  ‘You two still not getting on?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Helen sighed. In fact, things were even more frosty since their confrontation. He had stopped trying to humiliate her in front of the nurses, but now he barely spoke to her at all. It made the atmosphere inside the Casualty department almost as icy as the weather outside. ‘I’ve tried everything, William. I’ve done everything I possibly can, but no matter how hard I try, nothing I do is right.’

  William frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like the David McKay I know. I’ve always found him to be a thoroughly decent chap. Do you want me to have a word with him?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ve got to fight my own battles.’

  On Thursday afternoon, just over a week before Christmas Eve, Richard Webster surprised everyone by waking up.

  Jess told Effie about it when she came off duty that night.

  ‘Everyone was amazed,’ she said. ‘They’d all given up on him after he’d been unconscious for so long. You should have seen Sister Holmes’s face, anyone would have thought she’d witnessed a Christmas miracle. She practically ran to fetch the doctor, which of course is unheard of.’

  ‘How is he now?’ Effie asked.

  ‘Well, there’s still some spinal damage and they don’t know if he’s going to make a full recovery, but at least it’s looking brighter than it was yesterday. I thought you’d want to know, so you can pass on the good news to your friend?’

  ‘Adam Campbell isn’t my friend,’ Effie said emphatically. If anything, he treated her worse than any of the other nurses. But unlike the others, Effie felt sorry for him. She wasn’t sure why, but she sensed that somehow under that gruff, surly exterior he was very sad.

  He seemed to go out of his way to push away anyone close to him. Like the way he treated his father, for instance. When poor Mr Campbell had turned up on the previous visiting day to see his son, Adam had barely looked at him, let alone spoken. Effie wondered if he’d been as offhand with his girlfriend. Perhaps that was why the mysterious Adeline hadn’t come to see him?

  As they got ready to go on duty the following morning, Effie asked Jess if she could go with her to Holmes to see Richard Webster for herself.

  ‘Certainly not!’ Jess replied, shocked. ‘Sister Holmes would have a fit. She’d never allow a student to wander in and out of her ward.’

  ‘She doesn’t come on duty until eight, I’ll be long gone by then,’ Effie said. ‘I have to be on duty myself by seven, so I’ll just pop in for a minute. Please? I want to make sure before I give Mr Campbell the news. I don’t want to raise his hopes.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I can stop you, can I?’ Jess said grudgingly. ‘But only a quick look, mind. And if the Night Sister catches you, I’ll deny I even know you.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Effie grinned.

  The surgical ward was in chaos, with extra beds lined up down the centre of it. The weary-looking night staff buzzed back and forth, serving breakfasts.

  ‘We had an appendix and two perfs in yesterday,’ Jess said. ‘Sister isn’t best pleased. We’re supposed to be getting patients home before Christmas, but as fast as we send them away, we keep getting more in.’

  ‘Which one is Mr Webster?’ Effie asked, gazing around.

  ‘They put him in a side room. Number three. Don’t be long, will you?’ Jess hissed. ‘If Staff sees you, pretend you’re one of the night students.’

  The door to Room Three stood open. Richard Webster lay still in the bed, staring ahead of him. A tired-looking young woman in a red velvet coat sat at his bedside, holding his hand.

  Effie had only intended to take a quick peek. But as she started to tiptoe away, the young woman looked up and spotted her.

  ‘Nurse?’ she called out. ‘Did you want to check on Richard?’

  Effie put on her most professional smile and walked into the room. ‘I just wanted to make sure he was awake,’ she said truthfully. She picked up his chart and pretended to read it, her eyes skimming over the figures.

  ‘Yes, he is. Isn’t it wonderful?’ The young woman smiled, eyes shining. She was very pretty, with the kind of sleek bobbed blonde hair that Effie had always dreamed of having. ‘The doctor says it’s nothing short of a miracle. But I always knew he’d wake up. I prayed for him every day, you see. I never gave up hoping.’

  ‘It’s wonderful news, to be sure.’ Effie glanced at the diamond sparkling on the woman’s left hand. ‘I hear you’re engaged?’

  ‘Yes, we’re going to get married in the spring. I was beginning to think it might not happen, but now . . .’

  Effie smiled back, but deep down she knew it would still be a miracle if Richard Webster were well enough to make his vows.

  But the young woman was so radiant with happiness, Effie didn’t want to bring her down to earth. Besides, a Christmas miracle had already brought him out of his deep sleep; why shouldn’t there be another one?

  Effie returned to Blake ward in high spirits. As on Holmes ward, the night staff were clearing away the breakfast dishes while the day nurses prepared to take over.

  Her sister Bridget descended on Effie the moment she came through the double doors. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she demanded. ‘Why have you got that silly grin on your face?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Effie said. ‘I’m just in a good mood, that’s all. You should try it sometime,’ she added in an undertone.

  ‘Less of your cheek,’ Bridget snapped. ‘Let’s see if you’re still in a good mood when you’ve finished testing all those urines in the sluice. Go on, get to it. I want them all done and the charts filled in before Sister arrives.’

  The sluice room was freezing as usual. The high mesh-covered windows were no match for the icy December wind, which blew straight through.

  Tilly Turnbull, another first-year student, turned to greet her as Effie came in. Her nose was blue with cold.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ she complained. ‘One day they’re going to forget about us in here, and we’ll end up frozen stiff.’ She shoved the rack of test tubes towards Effie. ‘Here, you do albumen and I’ll do sugars.’

  As Effie plodded through her tests, laboriously adding nitric acid to each test tube, Turnbull managed to race through hers by testing a few drops from each sample all together. Most of the students did this if they didn’t think they would be found out. It made it much quicker and easier than testing each sample on its own, especially if they all turned out to be negative.

  But not today. ‘Oh, look, we’ve got at least one positive,’ Turnbull said, pointing to the brick-red test tube. ‘Let’s try to guess who it is, shall we? I reckon Mr Anderson.’

  Effie shook her head. ‘Mr Pilcher, definitely.’

  ‘How much do you want to bet?’

  ‘Sixpence.’

  ‘You’re on!’ Tilly Turnbull giggled. ‘Listen to us! Did you ever imagine you’d be freezing to death in a sluice, taking bets on people’s urine samples?’

  As it turned out, Effie won the bet. So she was in an even more high-spirited mood when she was finally able to see Adam Campbell later that morning.

  He was half propped up, his fractured leg still suspended in mid-air, reading a newspaper.

  ‘You don’t want to be reading that,’ Effie said. ‘I never bother with newspapers, they’re always too full of bad news
.’

  He sent her a withering look. ‘That’ll be why you’re so well informed.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve got some news for you that you won’t find in your newspaper.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Don’t tell me, the man in bed five has had a bowel movement. That’s the kind of thing you nurses talk about, isn’t it? When you’re not discussing your love lives, that is.’

  Effie thought about keeping her news to herself to punish him for his meanness. But she was so excited she couldn’t wait to tell him.

  ‘Your friend Mr Webster has woken up,’ she said.

  Adam looked at her sharply. ‘He’s awake? Really?’

  She nodded, hardly able to hide her glee. ‘He regained consciousness yesterday. It’s still early days, but that’s good news, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, thank God. You don’t know what a relief that is.’

  For a moment they stared at each other. Then Effie collected herself. ‘Anyway, I’d better get on,’ she said, straightening his bedclothes for something to do. ‘Heaven forbid anyone should think I’m standing here discussing my love life.’

  Adam looked sheepish. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  As she walked away, he called after her, ‘Thank you, Nurse. For letting me know about Richard.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ll tell you if I hear any more.’

  Effie walked away, smiling to herself. Getting a thank you from Adam Campbell was even better than winning sixpence from Tilly Turnbull.

  Chapter Eleven

  SNOW HAD FALLEN heavily overnight, burying the hospital courtyard and the yard outside the Casualty department under deep drifts of crisp whiteness, marred only by lines of black footprints where the nurses had trudged through it that morning.

  ‘It looks smashing, doesn’t it? Like a winter wonderland,’ Penny said as they stood at the doors, gazing out.

  Helen frowned. ‘I’m more worried about how ambulances will get through.’

  Penny laughed at her. ‘Trust you to think of that!’

  ‘It’s my job.’ Helen turned to the students. ‘Kowalski, telephone the Porters’ Lodge and ask them to come down and clear the snow away from outside our doors, would you?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ Kowalski scuttled off, but returned a moment later. ‘Please, Sister, Mr Hopkins says to tell you all his men are already out clearing the main driveway. He can’t spare anyone else.’

  Helen frowned. ‘What are we supposed to do if an ambulance arrives? We can’t very well ask them to haul stretchers up from the main gates, can we?’

  ‘She’ll have us clearing it ourselves in a minute!’ one of the students, French, whispered to Perkins.

  Helen smiled. ‘That sounds like an excellent suggestion, French,’ she said. ‘Get your cloaks on, Nurses. Then you three can go down to the Porters’ Lodge and beg some shovels. Mr Hopkins might not be able to spare us any men, but I’m sure he can manage something for us to dig with!’

  Ten minutes later the five of them were ankle-deep in snow, clearing a broad path from the courtyard up to the doors. The metallic scrape of their shovels across the cobbles and the chatter of the nurses sounded oddly loud in the snow-muffled silence. The students, at first not very keen to venture out, were soon enjoying themselves immensely, laughing and egging each other on, their cheeks bright and glowing. But Penny Willard moved even more slowly than usual. She scarcely seemed able to lift her spade.

  ‘Put your back into it, Nurse Willard!’ Helen called out to her across the yard.

  ‘I’m doing my best, Sister.’ Helen noticed Penny’s strained smile and trudged over to her.

  ‘Are you all right, Nurse?’

  Penny nodded. ‘Just a bit stiff, that’s all. I – slipped in the bath last night and hurt my ribs.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Helen stuck her shovel into a drift of snow. ‘Let me see. Where does it hurt—’ She went to examine her, but Penny stepped away.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

  ‘But if you’re still in pain this morning you might have cracked a rib. It’ll need strapping.’

  ‘Really, I’m fine.’ Penny’s smile was suddenly over-bright. ‘No need to make a fuss.’

  Helen frowned. There was something Willard wasn’t telling her, she was sure of it. But before she could ask any more, she was distracted by a soft thump behind her.

  She swung round. Three very guilty faces stared back at her.

  ‘I hope you aren’t throwing snowballs?’ she warned. ‘You’re supposed to be clearing this lot, not messing about.’

  They exchanged even more guilty looks. Then French spoke up. ‘Please, Sister, we weren’t throwing them at each other,’ she explained. ‘Perkins bet me I couldn’t hit that tree over there.’ She pointed to a plane tree in the distance. Its dark, skeletal branches were weighed down by snow.

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, Sister. It’s too far away.’

  Helen narrowed her eyes on the tree. Then, still keeping it in her sights, she bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. She formed it into a ball between her gloved hands, took aim and then bowled the ball overarm. They all watched as it soared high through the air, before coming down in a graceful arc right on its target.

  The students clapped their hands in an admiring smatter of applause. ‘Well played, Sister!’ Perkins cried.

  ‘I used to bowl for my brother when we played cricket,’ Helen said modestly, patting the snow off her gloves.

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t just a lucky throw?’ Penny asked, leaning on her shovel.

  ‘Certainly not! I’ll prove it to you.’ Helen picked up another handful. ‘It’s all in the arm movement, you see. You have to make sure you give it just the right amount of spin . . .’ She skimmed the snowball through the air – just as the figures of Drs Adler and McKay came round the corner.

  Her aim couldn’t have been better if she’d tried. Helen knew exactly what was going to happen, seconds before the snowball arced downwards and hit Dr McKay square in the face with a soft thwump.

  The students couldn’t contain themselves. They doubled up, clutching each other for support, their hands pressed over their mouths to stop themselves from laughing out loud. Penny Willard had turned away, unable to watch. Helen felt the sudden, terrible urge to run away.

  Why did it have to be him? If it had been anyone else . . .

  Dr Adler gave a shout of laughter. ‘Good shot, Sister,’ he cried.

  Helen rushed forward, flapping at Dr McKay with her hands, trying to brush off the snow. ‘Doctor, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Just leave it,’ he said, shrugging her off.

  ‘It was an accident, truly. If you come inside, I’ll fetch a towel.’

  ‘I said, leave it!’ His brown eyes blazed with anger. ‘I think you’ve done enough damage don’t you?’ he snapped.

  Jonathan Adler was still laughing about it when David McKay went round for dinner that night.

  ‘You should have seen the look on your face! It was priceless,’ he chuckled.

  David stared at his plate, his pride still prickling. ‘I really don’t think it was funny,’ he said.

  ‘You weren’t standing where I was!’

  ‘Stop teasing our guest, Jonathan,’ Esther Adler protested mildly, but David could see she was trying not to laugh herself.

  ‘Someone could have been hurt,’ he insisted.

  ‘Nonsense, it was only a snowball,’ Jonathan dismissed. ‘Although you’re lucky she didn’t throw anything worse. I might have been tempted to aim a rock at you, the way you’ve been treating her!’

  ‘Really?’ Esther turned to him. ‘Don’t you like this girl, David?’

  ‘It’s not a question of liking or disliking her,’ he said. ‘I’ve just expressed my concerns about her suitability as a sister, that’s all. And surely today should have proved I was right,’ he added.

  ‘Nonsense, she’s a first-rate nurse. And you know it,’ Jonath
an said, pointing his fork accusingly at his guest across the dinner table.

  ‘I’ll admit she hasn’t been quite the unmitigated disaster I expected,’ David conceded. ‘But she’s still young and irresponsible, as she proved today. She sets a bad example to the younger nurses.’

  ‘Bad example, my eye. The nurses love her.’

  ‘No wonder, if she lets them cavort about in the snow. This chicken is wonderful, by the way, Esther,’ added David, changing the subject determinedly.

  ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He held up his plate for her to serve him. ‘I think you must be the best cook in East London,’ he told her.

  Esther’s face coloured. ‘Oh, it’s nothing grand,’ she murmured.

  ‘Nothing grand? Eating here is like dining at the Dorchester compared to what our housekeeper serves up at the doctors’ house.’

  ‘You should get married, then you’d be able to eat like this every day,’ Jonathan said.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Esther’s eyebrows shot up in mock reproof. ‘And is that the only reason you married me?’

  ‘You know it isn’t, my love.’

  David saw the look that passed between them, and marvelled all over again at his friend’s new-found domestic bliss. He and Jonathan Adler had been close friends for years. As well as working together in the Casualty department, they had also lived in adjoining rooms in the doctors’ house. But two years ago, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, Jonathan had married Esther, a Jewish woman who ran a local garment factory with her elderly father. They now lived in a tall Edwardian house overlooking Victoria Park.

  ‘All the same, I do recommend married life,’ Jonathan said. ‘You really should try it, you know.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ David said, helping himself to the roast potatoes Esther offered.

  ‘I’m sure Esther could introduce you to a suitable woman, if you’re interested? You have a lot of friends who would love to meet an eligible doctor, don’t you, my dear?’

  ‘Stop it, Jonathan. David didn’t come here to be teased,’ she said with a glance at him.

  ‘Of course he did, he loves it. Besides, it makes a nice change from the lonely bachelors’ home!’