Edinburgh Excursion

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘On my kitchen table, Nurse.’ She was a very sensible girl. ‘I’ve my boiler going there.’

  I tore for the basket, lined it with an unread newspaper and another shawl, laid the baby on top and the basket on the kitchen table. I opened up the boiler and plugged into the kettle’s socket the strongest electric fire in the house. The heat in the kitchen made me sweat before I ran back up. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t let you hold him or have more than that quick look, Mrs MacRae, but he’s so little the less handling right now the better.’

  She was smiling, wonderfully. ‘A wee peep was enough, just now. I’ve a son! Me!’ Her voice rose in triumph and amazement. ‘Hamish’ll be that pleased! He’s been awful set on the one being a laddie. Can you hear the other heart? Is it coming away? I can’t feel it.’

  ‘The heart’s fine, and I don’t think he’s shifting.’ I hitched forward a hard chair with my foot. ‘I’m just going to shift the foot of your bed up on this.’

  ‘Och, not alone! You’ll do yourself a terrible mischief ‒ you’ve done it! You must be awful strong, Nurse!’

  ‘Awful worried’ was more like it. ‘Any of your neighbours have ’phones? No? Where’s the nearest box? Right.’ I checked her pulse again. It was now back to normal and excellent. ‘I’ll be very quick, but whilst I’m gone, whatever happens don’t move. Promise? Even if you feel a bit damp below, just lie like a statue. All right? That’s the girl!’

  I ran to the ’phone-box. Mercifully, it was empty and in order. I rang Miss Bruce, as that was the official rule for any nurse with any major problem on district.

  ‘Very well, Miss Hurst,’ said Miss Bruce calmly, ‘I’ll inform the Obstetric Flying Squad. Stay till they take over. Her husband’s employer? Good. I’ll contact him. Thank you.’

  I ran back. No-one else was panting. Mrs MacRae was relaxed and smiling. The baby was a good colour, breathing well and fast asleep.

  The nearest Maternity Hospital was some distance away, but the O.F.S. arrived within minutes. The ambulance brakes were barely on when a huge dark-haired man in a white coat leapt out of the back. In one hand he carried a large sterile-dressing tin and in the other a portable infusion set. He was immediately followed by a smaller man in white carrying a portable anaesthetic machine, and a staff midwife with a portable incubator.

  I flattened myself against the wall by the open front door. ‘Mother, first right, up. Baby, first left, down.’

  The big man was an obstetrical registrar and his colleague an anaesthetist. ‘As the second bairn appears content to wait, Nurse,’ said the registrar a couple of minutes later, ‘we won’t.’

  The baby was already in the ambulance with his incubator re-plugged into the special heating system with which the vehicle was equipped. The incubator had been heated up on the outward journey and remained warm during its brief period of disconnection. The staff midwife was as worried as I was about the baby’s size. If he was more than two pounds the difference was in half-ounces.

  ‘All aboard?’ The registrar took an appraising look round. ‘Thanks, Nurse ‒ wait, now! Mrs MacRae wants a word with you.’

  I stuck my head in. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs MacRae, I’ll tidy round and lock up.’

  ‘It’s not that!’ She raised her head, still smiling. ‘Have you a first name that’ll do for a laddie?’

  ‘Alexia.’

  ‘That takes care of wee Alex! Let’s away before we’ve to find another name.’ The registrar whistled piercingly and slammed the doors. I looked at my watch. They had come and gone in five minutes.

  Inevitably, I finished much later than the others that evening. We had now organized a flat chore-rota. Gemmie was in the kitchen, cooking supper, Catriona and the one English girl from below, Sandra, were in our sitting-room.

  Sandra came from Sussex and had trained in London. She was a quite pretty brunette with a trim figure and thick legs. On her own admission, she was apparently incapable of posting a letter without escaping rape by inches. ‘I just don’t know what there is about me,’ she was telling Catriona. ‘Somehow men can’t keep their hands off me.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Catriona, ‘how exhausting!’

  ‘Utterly fragmenting!’ exclaimed Sandra. ‘Alix! My dear, what do you think happened to me this evening? Old Mother Kinloch on the ground floor was chatting me up when I got back, and then this man came in, and ‒ my dear ‒ the way he looked at me!’ She flapped the false eyelashes she invariably slapped on within five minutes of coming off duty. ‘He simply refused to move until Mrs Kinloch introduced me, and I must say I think it’s going to be rather fun having him as a landlord. Did you know he’s a medic?’

  ‘Big Brother? He’s a medic? Then why hasn’t he got his qualifications in the ’phone-book?’

  Catriona shrugged. ‘Possibly as he’s neither a G.P. nor a consultant.’

  Gemmie joined us. ‘Seeing the lad’s got himself a blonde bird, Sandra, I reckon you’ll have to wait in the queue.’

  ‘Are they actually engaged?’ Sandra wanted to know. ‘Not that being married really makes all that difference to some men when I’m around ‒ don’t ask me why.’

  Gemmie disappointed her by assuring her we wouldn’t. ‘Nosh up, girls! You going to stay and watch us eat, Sandra? Sorry, but only enough for three.’

  ‘Can’t stay. I’ve got a date.’ Sandra paused on her way out. ‘And who kept you so late, Alix? What’s his name? Tell, tell!’

  ‘Alex MacRae. A dolly of a Scotsman, even if seven weeks prem. I fancy ’em young!’

  Sandra did not wait for the other details. Gemmie and Catriona had them over supper. We were clearing when Gemmie said, ‘Our Sandra fancies Big Brother.’

  I said, ‘He’s quite attractive despite his deplorable clobber. Turn-ups and a jacket the wrong length ‒ and as for his hair-do ‒ ugh!’ I filled the sink with hot water. ‘If he’s a medic, what’s he doing being our landlord?’

  Gemmie suggested he might have won a football pool and bought the house with the money, or inherited it. ‘If he’s not a G.P. or a pundit he’ll have to be a hospital resident. He’d not buy this on their salary.’

  Catriona flushed slightly. ‘He could work for the University. It ‒ er ‒ is quite a big university. Did this O.F.S. really come and go in five minutes, Alix? Which Mat. Hospital?’

  The next day was my first day off. The others were on duty and left without waking me. I slept through my alarm and did not open my eyes till five to ten. At ten-thirty Bassy was arriving to take me sightseeing. I leapt in and out of a bath and was eating toast and making coffee when our front-door bell rang.

  ‘On the latch. Come in, Bassy!’ I called, but the bell rang again. I opened the door. ‘Gone deaf ‒ oh!’ I smiled. ‘Sorry, Doctor, I was expecting my brother. Good morning.’

  My caller was the large obstetrical registrar. He had on a very snazzy double-breasted navy jacket, elegant grey cords, a pale-blue shirt, and dark-blue tie. He looked very tired and slightly nervous. ‘Good morning, Miss Hurst. Mrs Duncan told me you lived here and were off today, and as I’m off for an hour, I ‒ I thought you’d like to know Mrs MacRae and wee Alex are doing nicely.’

  It was as good an opening gambit as any, and though, from the shadows under his eyes, he had forgotten the sensation of an uninterrupted night’s sleep, he had climbed four flights of stairs to use it. I offered him coffee. ‘My brother’ll be here …’ and the ’phone rang. ‘Do come in.’

  ‘If you’re sure I won’t be in the way?’

  I smiled and reached for the ’phone. ‘This’ll be my brother to say he’s overslept.’

  It was Bassy. He had not overslept as he had not been to bed last night. ‘I have this problem, Alix. I’m in Dunfermline.’

  ‘Why Dunfermline?’

  ‘Birthplace of Andrew Carnegie. Bruce is buried in the Abbey here.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So when I drove this bird Melanie home after the party last night we got talking, and I mean talking, and t
hen her mother said why didn’t I stay to breakfast and Melly says why don’t I stay to lunch? Sorry and all that, but I think I should. Got to remember Anglo-Scottish relations and so forth. Mind?’

  I glanced at the registrar. He had propped himself against a wall. He was darker and taller than John, but he had the same type of very regular features and very well-set, dark eyes. In theory I would have expected that to put me off him. I was interested to find it worked the other way round. ‘No. Thanks for ringing. See you some other time.’

  The registrar was a Robert Ross. He said he got called Robbie. He was on his third cup before he surfaced sufficiently even to talk shop. Last night he had delivered eight babies and two in a moving ambulance. ‘The second mobile mother had a P.P.H. (post partum haemorrhage). We’d her group and had taken some whole blood with us.’ He drained his cup. ‘Messy.’

  ‘And dodgy, getting a needle into a collapsed vein on the move.’

  ‘I have to get the bloody wee needle in. That’s what I’m paid for.’

  ‘I’ve known O.R.s draw their pay and still miss. You didn’t?’ He shook his head. ‘How is she today?’

  ‘Great.’ He smiled gloomily. ‘They all are. It’s just the staff that are nervous wrecks. A night like last night’s enough to put one off sex for life. No place like a labour ward for appreciating the virtues of eternal chastity.’ He had a strong Scottish accent and rattled out his ‘v’s and ‘y’s. ‘Or wasn’t that your impression of midder?’

  ‘In spasms. So many of our London mums seemed so swamped by matrimonial problems.’

  ‘ “Ach, Doctor, would that I were free again.” ’

  ‘You get that too?’

  ‘Constantly.’

  ‘How do you answer that?’

  ‘A placebo. A woman in labour needs comfort, not the truth.’ He watched me over the rim of his cup. ‘You make very good coffee.’

  ‘I’ve a superb talent for pouring on the boiling water. This is instant.’

  His eyes smiled very pleasantly. ‘Not only hospitable, but honest! Where did you train?’

  We talked awhile about Martha’s, and then his teaching hospital in Glasgow. He was a Glaswegian and had come to Edinburgh last year. ‘Doesn’t Catriona Ferguson share with you? She trained at my hospital.’

  ‘You know Catriona?’ I was surprised, as she had not mentioned this last night. Though I had not then known his name, I had described him in some detail. Once seen, he was a man most girls would remember, and not only for his great height.

  ‘We saw each other around. You know how it is in any big hospital. You can see faces around for years before you can put names to them.’

  ‘That’s very true.’ I glanced upwards, then asked if he knew anything about our landlord.

  ‘Charles Linsey? What do you want to know of him?’

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘He’s a pathologist on the research side of the University.’

  ‘Catriona was right!’

  He looked up from his cup. ‘In what way?’ When I told him what she’d said he added, ‘We’ve a different system up here. The Medical Faculty is a direct arm of the University of Edinburgh instead of being a Medical School attached to a teaching hospital, as, I believe, you’ve in London. You’ve met Charles Linsey?’

  ‘I’ve bumped into him, literally.’ I explained how. ‘He was rather sweet. How does he come to own this house?’

  He shrugged. ‘That I’m in no position to answer. I barely know the man. I see him occasionally ‒ and occasionally with a decorative English blonde.’

  ‘Josephine!’

  For some odd reason a dull flush crept up his face. ‘You know Josephine Astley?’

  ‘No. I just saw her once with Charles Linsey. He called her Josephine. This is the first time I’ve heard her surname.’

  ‘But it’s a name you recognize?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  His flush had faded and he was now looking bellicose. ‘Seeing you’re English, I’d have thought so. Daddy’s the industrialist. She’s the only child.’

  ‘And you know her?’ I asked, guessing the answer explained his belligerence and, quite possibly, his presence. I was a little surprised to find that did not bother me at all, and much more so to learn I’d guessed wrong.

  ‘Of course I don’t know her! I’m neither in her social nor financial class, and, frankly, I’ve little use for either. Such upper-class circles are not for me, and not merely as I wouldn’t know which fork to use first, being but a laddie up from the working classes.’

  I shouldn’t have been so surprised after seven years in a co-ed grammar. ‘Come the revolution, Robbie,’ I said, ‘you’re going to have quite a time explaining away all the protein, vitamins, and education you somehow acquired in your humble working-class home. You didn’t grow to your size on bread and scrape, though it’s as well you did. You need the shoulders of an ox to carry your chip. And, incidentally, since you’re so anti the upper classes, how are you going to cope when you’re an obstetrical specialist and move into their ranks?’

  He was puce. ‘You extraordinary gurrrl!’ Then he laughed. ‘I’m not turning pundit. Once I’ve obstetrics taped I’m moving right up north as a G.P. Do you know Caithness?’

  ‘Only from the map.’ I was not yet sure if I liked him, but I liked the way he had taken this. John would have sulked for hours. ‘Boots and a deer-stalker?’ He nodded. ‘I hope you get what you want.’

  ‘I hope so too, though I don’t expect it to drop in my lap. I’m a great believer in getting up off my backside and going out to get what I want. That’s why I’m here ‒ as if you haven’t guessed. I’ve to work from noon today, but I’m off next weekend. As I too have a weakness for decorative English blondes, what’re you doing next Saturday, Sunday, or preferably both?’

  Chapter Three

  ‘In future,’ said Mrs Duncan, ‘remember to sit only on a hard chair. Did you drown many in your wee basin of water?’

  ‘About six.’ I scratched my neck.

  ‘Take a bath and wash your hair directly you get in. That’ll wash them off you.’ She moved into the near-side lane as we ran into Waterloo Place. ‘Hop out fast as I can’t stop here. I hope your bus comes soon. There’s a drop of rain about to fall.’

  ‘That’ll drown a few more fleas. Thanks for the lift. See you in the morning.’

  The rain started as I dodged between the newspaper-sellers. The little man walking until eternity or a power-failure was glowing greenly in both crossings I wanted, but as I turned onto the North Bridge in the shelter of the post-office water was pouring off my hat-brim.

  Through the curtain of water the towering, close-packed grey tiers of the old city on the far side seemed not built, but carved out of a long ridge on a high hill. The massive carving swept up to the glorious climax of the Castle, half crouching, half floating on its great black rock, as if it were the work of one pair of hands. An architectural Beethoven, I decided, with the inspiration and courage for grand gestures and the genius to use them to perfection.

  More than the rain was obscuring my view. I blinked impatiently and found I was on the edge of the pavement. A blue car was hovering by me to the resigned despair of the lorry-driver directly behind.

  Charles Linsey opened the front passenger door with one hand, holding onto the wheel with the other. ‘If you want a lift, get in. I can’t wait here.’

  I jumped in. ‘Thanks. Sorry about the mess on the floor. I’m rather damp.’

  ‘It’ll dry.’ He glanced sideways as we were stopped at lights. ‘Why didn’t you use the bus shelter?’

  ‘Forgot.’

  ‘In this rain?’

  The lights changed. I studied his profile as we drove on and wondered why, since he was exuding disapproval, he had bothered to pick me up. His disapproval did not worry me. As I had first discovered with Robbie Ross, one of my unexpected post-John bonuses was the total loss of my former instinctive desire to hit every mildly attr
active new man I met between the eyes. Not giving a damn made life much easier, as one could be honest. I told him exactly what I had been thinking.

  ‘Beethoven?’ he queried, frowning. ‘Surely Wagner?’

  ‘God, no! Wagner would goldplate the Castle and re-do the Royal Mile in black marble and swans.’

  ‘You think so? Mozart?’

  ‘Not this side. Across, yes. Those enchanting Georgian streets and squares are pure Mozart. But from Holyrood to the Castle, Beethoven. You know the last movement of his Seventh? How it carries one up, up, up?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes. I know what you mean. I agree. Beethoven.’ He looked at me again. ‘That safety-belt the wrong fit?’

  I realized I had been wriggling my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ I said and explained. ‘The old boy’s bedding looked quite clean, but the bed was in a wall recess, and they kept hopping out. Do you know the type of bed?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, evenly, ‘very well. Difficult for nursing purposes.’

  ‘Not too bad today, as I could sit him out while I made his bed. My escorting sister said if I couldn’t the only way to make the bed properly would be to take off my shoes and stand on it.’

  ‘It would be so.’ We were stopped by more red lights. ‘You must find all this very strange after hospital nursing.’

  ‘In most ways, but not on the livestock count. I’ve met far worse than fleas in Cas. at Martha’s. Bugs. Ugh! They really make me creep.’ He was touching the back of his neck. ‘Bitten already? I’m terribly sorry! I shouldn’t have accepted this lift.’

  He smiled very nicely. ‘Only a sympathetic itch. Even if not, you can scarcely be held responsible for providing temporary sanctuary for a flea with strong nationalistic tendencies.’

  It was Sandra’s day off, and she came out of her flat in an unbuttoned shortie housecoat as I reached her landing. ‘What were you doing in Charlie’s car?’ She backed when I explained. ‘Picked you up? Huh! If that’s your story you stick to it, though you’re wasting your time. His girlfriend was showing Ma Kinloch her ring this afternoon. I needed shades! What do you say to that?’