Nurses: Claire and Jan

by Bette Paul

  “Yeah, go on then. Tea, two sugars,” she said, as if doing Claire a favour by accepting the offer.

  Claire hesitated. She’d been told to stay with the girl but she’d also been told to calm her down, and apparently the mere offer of tea had pacified her. Claire frowned; which was more important – to stay with the girl or to keep her calm?

  “What’s a matter, Irish? Got no change?” The girl sneered. “Suppose we have to pay for our own, do we?”

  She didn’t look as though she had the price of a cuppa on her, thought Claire, and she was just going to explain that she could get a free one when she had an idea. Instead of going up to the staff kitchen, she’d get the tea from the vending machine – it was only round the corner from cubicle five; then she’d be on hand if the girl got hysterical again.

  “No, that’s all right.” She smiled across the recumbent baby. “I’ll be back in a moment with your tea, right?”

  “Right,” the girl nodded, watching Claire now as intently as she’d watched her baby.

  “Two sugars – and milk?”

  “Both – yeah.”

  Humming a snatch of one of Kathleen Brogan’s songs, Claire popped round to the vending machine, switched to by-pass, which meant there was no need to insert money, pressed the T/M/S button and filled a paper cup with hot tea. This was a nice part of the job, she reflected; making yourself useful, making someone a little happier. . .

  “Here we are—” she started cheerfully when she reached Cubicle Five. And then stopped.

  There was no one in Cubicle Five!

  For a second Claire stood, holding out the tea to the empty chair, on which lay a blue form. She felt merely irritated at first; the girl must have been sitting on the dratted form all the time and even now she’d forgotten to take it with her, wherever she’d gone. Well, the tea could wait, she’d better get that form united with its patient. Claire put the tea down, picked the form up and began to read it.

  BRASSINGTON GENERAL HOSPITAL – ACCIDENT & EMERGENCY DEPT.

  SURNAME – Hickling

  FORENAMES – Debbie

  TITLE–Mr Mrs Ms Miss Other

  AGE – 6 weeks

  ADDRESS – not known. Mother, Lisa Hickling, “staying with friends”s.

  COMMENTS – Baby reported to have fallen. Bruises on arms and chest. NAI? No apparent head injury. Weight? Feeding? Child clean but has widespread nappy-rash. Still in last night’s nappy – no apparent replacement.

  Claire felt the cold creep up her arms and into her chest. NAI – non-accidental injury! That baby had been hurt by someone – by her hysterical mother? But how could that girl, almost a child herself. . .

  “Right, Claire. It all seems peaceful in here. . .” Ben Morrison swished the curtain into position and turned to look at the empty bed.

  “Where are they? Has Sister Banks moved them?”

  Claire looked startled. “I thought maybe you’d collected them when I went out to get her tea.”

  Ben stared at her. “You did what?” he asked quietly.

  “I went to get her some tea – only from the machine. She was shouting – hysterical. I thought it would calm her. . .” Claire paused for breath. She looked at the blue form in her hand then she looked at Ben, with big, scared eyes.

  “You left an NAI alone with its mother?” he said. “Did you not realize she might have inflicted the injuries?”

  Claire shook her head. She held out the form in her shaking hand.

  “This was missing. I mean, I didn’t see it. The girl was sitting on it.”

  Suddenly Ben moved. “Come on,” he said. “You need to sit down.” He guided her out of the cubicle, across Reception and into the office. “Sit down – and stay in here,” he ordered.

  Claire sat in Sister’s office, staring blankly at the noticeboards overflowing with lists, timetables, bulletins, phone numbers. . . and seeing nothing. Just like that girl with her baby, she thought.

  Outside she could hear a lot of movement, footsteps, running even, though that was strictly forbidden. Someone shouted an order – against all rules again. Then the door opened and Sister Banks came in.

  Claire scrambled to her feet.

  “No, sit down; you look as if you need to.” Sister Banks sounded almost sympathetic, thought Claire hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, Sister,” she began.

  “No, Student Nurse Donovan, don’t say anything until you’ve listened to me.” Sister Banks spoke very quietly, settling herself in the chair opposite, with the desk between them. She looked steadily at Claire all the time she spoke.

  “What you must realize, Student Nurse, is that you are in no position to take decisions for yourself. Your job is to follow instructions to the very letter. Do–you–under–stand?” This was enunciated slowly and clearly as if to a foreigner – or a child.

  Claire nodded. Tears spilled down her face. Unaware that she was weeping, she was surprised to observe them dripping on to her hands, tightly clasped in her lap.

  Sister Banks leaned over and pushed a box of man-sized tissues across the desk. She was obviously prepared for occasions such as this, thought Claire, miserably mopping her face and eyes, blowing her nose and swallowing hard several times.

  “Have you found her?” she asked.

  Sister shook her head. “We need your help here, Claire,” she said, her tone slightly softer now that she’d got her message across. “You must have got a good look at the girl, at least. Can you give a description of her to the police?”

  The police! Claire’s heart jumped. Where she came from the British police were regarded with some suspicion.

  She swallowed once again. “I think so,” she said, torn between the urge to prove herself useful and her fear of the police.

  Sister Banks nodded briskly.

  “Right,” she said. “As soon as you feel ready, I’ll have Sergeant Booth sent in.” She went over to the door. “And Claire?” she hesitated. “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning a job, you know. The trouble with our profession is that the mistakes have pretty obvious results, often serious ones. This is why you must never take on any more responsibility than your rank allows – in your case none at all. Understand? Do exactly as you’re asked, no more, no less; then if anything does go wrong, you can’t be held responsible. There’s someone above you, someone qualified, to take the blame.”

  “So who’s taking it now?” asked Claire, dreading the answer.

  “Charge Nurse Morrison, of course. He gave you an instruction; he should have made sure you understood fully.”

  “But that’s not fair – it was my mistake,” said Claire.

  “It was one which you would not have made had you been fully informed of the case.”

  “If only the girl hadn’t been sitting on the admission slip I could have read the notes.”

  “Yes, well, she knew what she was doing even if you didn’t.” Sister Banks smiled grimly. “It seems she’s had plenty of experience of A & E departments.”

  Claire stared at Sister, the implications of her remark cutting like ice into her brain. “You mean she’s been in before?”

  “Not here, but to other hospitals.” Sister Banks turned to open the door. “That’s why we have to involve the police.” She paused. “They’re waiting to interview you now, Claire; may I let them in?”

  Claire nodded blankly.

  Sister Banks opened the door and looked out. “Right, you can come in now, Sergeant Booth.”

  Again Claire struggled to her feet but the young policewoman smiled and told her to sit down.

  “No need for formalities,” she reassured Claire.

  Claire was less than reassured to see a policeman enter as well. He stood over by the door, notebook in hand.

  “Right now, Claire, just tell us all you noticed about the girl and the baby.”

  Sergeant Booth settled herself in Sister Banks’s chair and sat back.

  Living in a hotel had taught Claire the importance of
close observation; it was most important to fit the right name to the right guest; the correct room, meal, newspaper to the correct client. Da was most particular that every visitor was made to feel special – eye-to-eye contact, bright smile, repeated name, appearance committed to memory. Claire had learned the knack of it from an early age.

  Now she drew a detailed and accurate word portrait of the girl. “Very pale, might have been fair, if her hair had been clean. She was rather scruffy, unwashed rather than dirty, and badly dressed for the weather – just a T-shirt, denim jacket; I couldn’t see whether she had jeans or a skirt. She was big—”

  “Tall?”

  “No, big – you know, quite a large build but not fat.”

  “Any special marks or features?”

  Claire paused. “Her eyes – they were sort of drawn down at the corners, like Eskimo or Japanese eyes but not so slanting.” She demonstrated with her own eyelids. “Like that; just a bit, but enough to make you look again.”

  “Well, you’ve been most helpful.” Sergeant Booth stood up, nodding over Claire’s shoulder to the constable. “We’re lucky to have such an observant witness. Thanks to you we’ll pick them up quite soon, I’m sure.”

  For a moment Claire felt a glow of pride, then she reminded herself that she wouldn’t be needed as a witness if she hadn’t let the girl escape – with the baby she might well have injured!

  “I hope you find them quickly,” she said.

  “We’ll do our best, and we’ll be in touch. Thanks for all your help.”

  They closed the door behind them quietly, as if Claire herself was a patient. She sat there, not knowing quite what to do, certainly not feeling fit enough to go back on duty.

  But Sister Banks had other ideas.

  “Claire?” She put her head round the office door. “Could you just rush these X-rays over to Orthopaedics? They’ve taken a patient but forgotten his records.” She held out the documents almost as a peace-offering.

  Claire took them, blushing and fumbling but brave enough to look right up at Sister Banks.

  “Do I leave them at Reception or hand them over to someone specific?” she asked.

  Sister Banks nodded approvingly. “Good girl. Hand them over only to Staff or Sister, then they’re responsible for them, all right?”

  Claire nodded. “All right, Sister,” she said. “I understand.”

  Chapter 5

  Everyone was very kind. They treated Eher, Claire thought gloomily, as if she were ill: quiet voices, gentle manners – even Katie Harding softened her usual peremptory commands.

  “Why don’t you take Jan down to that Irish club of yours this Saturday?” she suggested. “Take your mind off things.”

  Katie and Claire were in the same tutorial group and usually took their lunch-breaks together. Claire enjoyed this bit of the day – a laugh, a bit of gossip, and a chance to sort out any bits of work that still puzzled her. But today she could barely summon up the energy to talk.

  “Go on,” Katie urged her. “You know Jan’s dying to ask you out.” “I know no such thing,” Claire corrected her. “He’s made no attempt to ask me.”

  “Well, he’s shy; probably waiting for you to suggest something like the folk club. And anyway, it’ll—”

  “Do me good?”

  Katie flushed. “Well, it’s no use brooding over that missing girl,” she said, blunt and honest as ever.

  “I’m not brooding,” said Claire. “I just need to be left alone to get on with my work. I’ve got a lot on at the moment.”

  “Haven’t we all?”

  “It’s all right for you; it all comes easy. I have to go over and over everything before it sinks in.”

  It was true. Claire had found the college work difficult enough last term, but this term it was much more hectic, fitting it in between her hours on the ward. Even so, for the first time she found herself wishing she was in college and not back in A & E, where everyone knew of her mistake.

  “Look, you’ve shut yourself away with your work every night this week. You need a break,” said Katie. “Why not get out on Saturday?”

  Claire sighed. “I’ll see how things go,” was all she would promise. If the girl and her baby had not been found by then, she doubted she’d feel like going out – even with Jan.

  * * *

  So she shut herself away for the rest of the week, in the library whenever it was open and up in her room when it closed. And to her surprise, even with the worry hanging over her, she began to make progress. Notes and diagrams that had made little sense when she’d filed them last summer now fell into place; she even remembered most of them. All the biology was settling into her mind far more firmly and quickly now that she had some practical experience. Well, that was something to be thankful for, at least.

  A pity the psychology notes didn’t do the same, she reflected gloomily, then she might have had the sense to stay with Lisa Hickling and baby Debbie all the time.

  On Saturday she awoke with a sense of foreboding. Three days now since she’d let the girl escape with her baby, and nobody seemed to have seen them. How could they be living, so hidden away? What if the baby was already injured? If she was too hurt to eat she’d never survive a week.

  Claire pulled the quilt over her head and shut out the world. If I had the energy, she thought, I’d get myself to the airport and on the next plane home. And never come back, was the unspoken thought that hung in her mind. Well, she found college work difficult and made horrendous mistakes on duty. She was obviously not cut out to be a nurse – might as well go home. She could spend an easy year or two helping in the hotel, maybe take a job in an exotic place with one of Da’s many contacts. She was used to hotel life and good at it too. Better to do that than struggle on with the nursing, she decided; at least her parents would be pleased with her. Slowly she lifted her tousled head from under the quilt and looked around the room, making plans to start her packing.

  Then someone knocked at her door.

  “Can I come in, Claire?” Barbara’s husky voice came through – as did the aroma of strong, fresh coffee. Barbara was the other “caterer” of the group; spicy soups and vegetable curries were her specialities and, unlike Claire, she always cooked them herself.

  “Oh, Barbara – come in!” said Claire. Had it been anyone else she might have put them off, but Barbara was very together; she made no demands on anyone, although, being a little older than the others, she was much in demand for advice at times. “Aunty Babs” was Nick Bone’s teasing nickname for her.

  “I’ve just made coffee,” she announced. “Thought you’d probably opted out of cafeteria breakfast.”

  Claire nodded. “I wasn’t really hungry, and it’s such a hassle to go over there when we’re not going into college.”

  “I never get up for breakfast at the weekend.” Barbara put the tray down by Claire’s bed. “Don’t bother getting up; have your coffee in bed, then I can sit in the chair.”

  She poured coffee for them both, added milk to Claire’s and passed the mug over.

  “Here, have one of Gran’s cookies; she insisted on making me a tin full and I’ll never get through them.”

  Claire wasn’t hungry but it seemed churl­ish to refuse. She nibbled the outsize cookie cautiously, then took a more serious bite. It was good – nutty, crisp and spicy. She finished her first without noticing, then lay back and sipped her coffee, feeling herself coming back to life.

  “You look better already,” Barbara commented.

  “Must be the medicinal effect of Grandma’s cookies,” said Claire, smiling weakly.

  “First smile this week!” Barbara refilled the mugs and handed Claire another cookie. “Well, Grandma was a nurse,” she smiled, “and my mother’s a midwife. Both of them utterly dedicated to the job, perfectionists. You know, Nightingale medal, exams passed with honours, all that stuff.” She paused. “But they had their failures too.”

  Claire looked deep into her coffee mug as Barbara went on.r />
  “I remember Mum coming home late one night all ready to resign. One of ‘her’ babies had died – strangulation by the umbilical cord. She was terribly upset; felt she should have been able to save it or at least warn the mother about the problem, prepare her. She even wrote out her resignation. Then Gran told her to stop playing God and to behave like what she was – just a hard-working professional woman who could only do her best.”

  Barbara put her hand on Claire’s arm. “In spite of public opinion,” she said gently, “we’re only quite ordinary young women, not angels.”

  Claire sighed. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “And I know mistakes are made every day, but a baby’s life is at risk because of mine.” Her lips trembled. “I don’t think I can face going back to A & E for another week, not with everyone knowing.”

  “Well, you could be transferred,” said Barbara.

  “Could I?” Relief flooded through Claire. Maybe if she could get a new placement on a different ward she’d make a new start. “Do you think that’s what I should do?”

  Barbara looked serious. “I think if you give up on A & E now, you’ll find it harder to accept mistakes in the future.”

  “Future? I’m determined never to make a mistake like that ever again!” Claire sat upright, almost spilling her coffee.

  Barbara laughed. “Oh, Claire, we all make mistakes! Look at me; I made the mistake of thinking accountancy was a good substitute for nursing, wasting four useful training years. But sometimes making a mistake is the only way to grow. ‘Everything’s a learning experience.’ Quote – Emmelia D. Robinson, my gran.”

  “Sister Banks said something like that,” said Claire.

  “I expect it’s all written in a senior nurse’s script,” smiled Barbara. “Oh, and talking of scripts, now you’re looking alive again I’ll leave you to get ready.”

  “Ready?” Claire suddenly remembered about her packing plans.