Nurses: Claire and Jan

by Bette Paul

  “It’s all right, we’re landed,” Claire was saying.

  And he knew he had to open his eyes.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “A tense moment.”

  “It always is.” She smiled, reassuringly. “But we’re down now, safe and sound.”

  “Safe and sound,” he repeated. And he was; the blackness had receded, the thudding in his ears stopped, he was back on firm ground. “Terra firma,” he muttered.

  “What?” Claire looked at him, worried.

  “Nothing.” He laughed a little. “Now, shall we take the bus or the train into Brassington?”

  “Taxi,” said Claire firmly. “Da gave me the money, we may as well use it.”

  Jan nodded, though without enthusiasm. It would have been nice, just once, to have contributed something to the weekend’s pleasures. And there had been so many at the Leonmohr Hotel, which Claire’s parents owned: a beautiful room over-looking the bay, several sumptuous feasts, walks along the wide, deserted beaches, log fires to come home to – all without asking. And there was Claire, beside him all day and long into the evening when the two of them made music for the family and their friends. Jan couldn’t remember when he’d last been so cosseted, so obviously cherished. And felt so guilty. He gave a huge sigh.

  “Is that a sigh of relief you’re feeling now we’ve landed?” Claire teased.

  “And a little sadness now that the holiday’s over,” he replied – almost truthfully.

  “Not for long; we’ll have a wonderful time there at Christmas.” Claire beamed up at him, obviously anticipating his acceptance.

  “But first we must work, eh, Claire?” Jan fielded the answer to her invitation. It had been a wonderful holiday, but. . . “Ah! Doors open,” he said with relief. “After you!”

  They were carrying only hand luggage and so were very quickly on their way into the centre of Brassington and to its Royal Infirmary, known to medics and students alike as St Ag’s.

  “Will I do us a meal later?” asked Claire as the taxi pulled away from Kelham’s, the nurses’ home. “I’ve brought half the Leonmohr kitchen as usual.”

  Jan groaned. “After what I’ve eaten this weekend?” he joked. “No, really, I think I need a rest, Claire. The journey, you know.”

  “Yes, you don’t look at all well.” Claire looked anxiously into his face. “And I thought the fresh sea air would be good for you.”

  “Oh, it was marvellous,” Jan assured her. “I just got a bit . . . a bit wheezy on the plane.”

  Claire looked puzzled. “Wheezy?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes, you know – feeling a little sick.”

  “Ah – queasy – that’s the word.”

  “Queasy,” Jan repeated slowly, memorizing the new word as he always did. His English had improved rapidly with the help of The Six – his friends and colleagues at St Ag’s – but there were hundreds of words still to learn, especially the colloquial, almost slangy words the others used so easily. “Queasy,” he said again. “How do you spell that?”

  He was still feeling queasy as he lay on his bed in his room. He’d take a little rest – a nap – and then go over to St Ag’s to check his placement. The exam results would be out too, but he wasn’t very interested in them – he knew he’d done well. Exams were no worry to Jan: he’d been well on with his biology degree before the civil war in his country. Chemistry, anatomy, biology – all the science subjects in the nursing course were elementary to him. It was the practicalities of nursing he found difficult. Not the blood, the vomit, the bed-pans – he’d seen all that and worse during the war back home. It was the patients, their attitude – whining, complaining, demanding. When he thought how brave his people had been, even with terrible wounds, horrendous burns, slow starvation . . . He sat up suddenly and opened his eyes wide. No! He didn’t want to think of that.

  “You’re in Mental Health,” Nick Bone told him. “And you’ve come top in the exams. Congratulations on both counts!”

  “Thank you.” Jan peered again at the notice board in the common room. “Where did you see this – this Mental Health?”

  “There.” Nick pointed to the list. “They must think you had enough blood and gore on Men’s Surgical last term.”

  “That I do not mind,” said Jan.

  “But nutters you do?” asked Nick cheerily.

  “Nutters? What are they?”

  “Ah, well.” Knowing Jan’s eagerness to extend his vocabulary, Nick hastily backtracked. “Not a word you’ll need to know, Jan. Forget it.”

  Jan bowed his head slightly.

  “You’ll do well in Mental Health,” Nick assured him. “A doddle after Surgical – and after exams.”

  “Exams – easy,” Jan told him. “Surgical – interesting. But this Mental Health – this is not in the hospital, is it?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, it’s that new building across the grounds,” he said. “Beautiful gardens and rooms with a view; treatment for healthy minds,” he added, seeing Jan’s uncomprehending expression.

  “Healthy minds,” Jan repeated. “But this is not medical?”

  “Well, there are folk who’d tell you it’s all in the mind,” Nick smiled. “Healthy mind in a healthy body, you know?”

  “Mens sana in corpore sano,” Jan said softly.

  “And you know Latin too!” Nick threw an arm around Jan’s shoulders. “Is there no end to your genius, young feller?”

  Jan hastily moved away. “Ask me that at the end of term,” he laughed, a little awkwardly.

  “Oh, you’ll enjoy Mental Health once you adjust,” Nick assured Jan. “And once you relax,” he added pointedly.

  “But I am just back from relaxing,” Jan protested.

  “Ah, yes. Did you have a good time over at Claire’s place?”

  Jan blushed. “Certainly,” he said stiffly. “It was very . . . luxurious.” He pronounced the word carefully.

  “You sound as if you disapprove,” Nick observed.

  “Everyone was very kind to me, very . . . careful. No – caring.”

  “A bit too caring, perhaps?”

  “Can there be ‘too caring’?” asked Jan, neatly avoiding the question that he’d asked himself all weekend.

  “Oh, yes,” Nick assured him. “Here’s another little saying for your English notebook: ‘smothering with kindness’.”

  “Smothering,” Jan repeated the word perfectly. “But that is a way of killing, is it not?”

  “It is,” Nick agreed cheerfully. “Too much of it kills the spirit. A bit of healthy neglect is what we all need now and then.” He stared hard at Jan. “See you!” he said, and breezed his way down the corridor.

  Jan stood gazing vacantly after Nick, quietly repeating his words “a bit of healthy neglect”. And he wasn’t just practising his English: the phrase seemed to hold a special significance for him just then.

  He suddenly remembered the exam list and looked along it to check the results of the rest of The Six, as the little group called themselves. He quickly scanned the computer print-out, which was in alphabetical order. Well, they’d all passed – Katie Harding with only a few marks less than himself, he noted. Even Claire’s results were better than usual; she’d be relieved. Claire found the academic work very hard and relied on his help; revision sessions, finalizing course work, help with biology notes – Jan was on hand to help her through all of these. It was one of the things that had brought them together.

  She might actually enjoy her period in college while he mouldered away in the non-medical world of Mental Health, he thought wryly. They were in different study modules; that was one of the things that kept them apart. Jan flushed, suddenly recognizing his feeling of relief. Of course, he told himself, he enjoyed being with Claire, was very grateful for the weekend he’d just spent with her family, loved making music with her, was perfectly willing to help her through the whole course if necessary. But. . .

  Frowning, he thrust the “but” from his thoughts and made his
way back to Kelham’s.

  Chapter 2

  The sound of laughter drifted down the top corridor of Kelham’s. It came from the kitchen, as did the pungent scent of spices. Barbara Robinson, not Claire, was providing the meal. Nevertheless, Jan walked cautiously past the kitchen door, hoping to go unseen.

  “Hi, Jan! Come on in. Grandma’s hot ’n’ spicy pumpkin soup, all the way from sun-kissed Brixton,” Barbara called through the part-open door.

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Jan popped his head into the kitchen, still hoping to make a quick getaway. “Not very hungry,” he corrected himself as he watched Barbara pouring thick, golden liquid into bowls and saw the mounds of Irish soda bread on the table. Saw, too, Claire’s face brighten as she turned to him. He went in.

  “Irish-Caribbean cuisine today – yet another triumph for the talents of the Kelhamites!”

  Barbara handed him a bowl of soup. “Spoons on the table, chairs all taken, you’ll have to prop up the worktop as usual.”

  So Jan went and propped himself up behind Claire.

  “Had a good rest?” She turned to look up at him and offer him bread.

  Jan nodded. “I went also into college,” he admitted.

  Katie Harding heard that. “Did you get the exam results?” she demanded. “I’ll bet you’ve come top.”

  His mouth full of soda bread, Jan merely nodded.

  “Does that mean you came top or you got the results?” teased Claire. She half-turned, looking up with shining eyes, and putting out a hand as if to touch him. Jan shuffled himself up on to the work-top, a little out of her reach.

  “It means,” he said, swallowing a lump of soda bread, “that I saw the results and. . .” He paused, rather enjoying the rapt attention of the girls. Even Barbara was wide-eyed.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “Well, I can tell you . . . that . . .” Another pause.

  “Get on with it, Jan! Don’t be so tantaliz­ing,” begged Katie.

  “Tanta- what?” asked Jan. “What does it mean?” He reached into his pocket for his notebook, but before he could find a pencil, Barbara had snatched the book away.

  “You’ll lose all your hard-won slang,” she threatened, “if you don’t tell us the results – now, immediately, tout de suite!”

  Jan grinned. “Well, you’ve all passed,” he said, holding out his hand for the notebook.

  “Of course we have,” said Barbara crossly. She slapped the book on to the table. “But what about the grades?”

  Jan blushed. “I didn’t much notice,” he said. “The list was in the order of the alphabet.”

  “Come on, Jan,” said Katie. “You’re not telling me you don’t even know your own grade?”

  “Well, yes,” he said carefully. “I do know that – and yours too, as a matter of fact.”

  “Then, as a matter of fact, tell me what I got!”

  “Almost the same as I – we both passed Grade A.”

  “Yippeeee!” Katie Harding jumped up and thrust a clenched fist into the air.

  “Well done, you two!” said Barbara, a little subdued.

  “But you and Nick are also high – Grade B.”

  “Well, I expected at least that,” said Barbara. “Nick Bone must be pleased with himself though,” she added, a trifle patronizing. “What about the infants?” She often referred to Claire and Nikki in this way; although Katie was technically the youngest of them all, the other two had come into nursing straight from school.

  Jan was uncomfortably aware of two pairs of anxious eyes still on him. He moved slightly so that he stood between Claire and Nikki Browne, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

  “Claire – a C. It’s better than you expected, no?”

  He felt her sigh of relief run right through his arm. “Oh, yes, thanks to you, love.” She reached up and this time grasped his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  But Jan had already turned away to face Nikki.

  “You too have passed,” he said gently. There was no need to mention Nikki’s grade, a basic pass – they all knew what he meant.

  Nikki Brown gave a small, tight nod. “Thank you, Jan,” was all she said.

  There was a slightly awkward pause. Katie slid back into her seat, Barbara turned her attention to the stove and, for different reasons, Claire and Nikki sat staring at the wall in front of them.

  “Well,” said Jan. He put down his soup bowl. “After that succrumptious meal, I will wash up.”

  “Scrumptious or succulent,” said Katie, “or even both, but not together.”

  The others laughed with relief. Now they were together again, not divided by their exam results.

  “We must do something to celebrate,” announced Katie.

  “It’ll have to be at the weekend,” said Claire gloomily. “Have you seen our timetables for this module?”

  Barbara and Katie groaned. They and Claire were in college for the next few weeks as they’d been on placement up to the exams. They went on talking together about schedules, seminars and tutorials, and Jan turned to Nikki.

  “There is a list of placements too,” he said. “But I am so sorry – I did not look for you.”

  Nikki looked round at him, like a startled rabbit. “Oh, that’s all right; Sister Thomas told me before half-term.”

  Jan was surprised. Placements were supposed to be announced only a day ahead, to prevent too much agonizing and arguing. Which was just what he wanted to do with the idiot who’d put him on Mental Health, he reflected.

  “Sister told you?” he asked.

  And the others, catching his drift, turned their attention to Nikki.

  “Why would she do that?” asked Katie.

  Nikki shrugged. “She wanted me to be prepared, I suppose,” she said.

  “Why?” asked Katie, never one for subtlety.

  Nikki took a deep breath, then paused. “I’m in the hospice,” she said quietly.

  “Wheeew!” Katie whistled.

  The others looked at Nikki with interest.

  “You think you can face it?” asked Barbara.

  “Well, you see. . .” Nikki hesitated, as she usually did before speaking. “That’s why Sister Thomas told me – to give me time to prepare myself. Of course,” she went on hurriedly in her clipped, well-bred voice, “there’s no need to suppose anyone will actually – er – go while I’m there.” It was obvious she was repeating Sister Thomas’s words of comfort. “And anyway. . .” she went on, then stopped.

  “Anyway?” Katie pressed her.

  Nikki flushed and looked down at the table as if it was suddenly very interesting. “What is it people say – ‘been there, done that’? I have faced the problem before, you know.”

  Another silence. It occurred to Jan that they knew very little about Nikki Browne. She was always rushing off home at every opportunity – weekends, free days – hence, he supposed, her poor exam results. But she never offered any explanation – merely turned down most of their invitations for weekend treats – film, disco, club – apologizing profusely and muttering about being needed at home.

  “You will have a very interesting experience,” said Jan seriously. “There is much courage in such a place.”

  Nikki brightened. “Is that what you found in the war in your country?” she asked.

  Jan nodded. “Of course things were so fast; many woundeds came and moved on, so we never knew what had become of them all. But some stayed and some died. . .” He closed his eyes, pushed the memory from him. “You will learn much at the hospice,” he said.

  “I hope so,” said Nikki. “And where are they sending you this term?”

  Jan grimaced. “I think maybe Sister Thomas should tell me before,” he said. “Then I can change it.”

  “Why? Where are you going?” asked Claire.

  “Maternity?” giggled Katie.

  “Gynae?” added Barbara.

  “Urology?” Nikki suggested.

  Everyone laughed; thes
e were all departments where most male nurses would rather not boldly go.

  Jan shook his head. “Mental Health,” he announced in hollow tones. He groaned and rubbed his hands through his hair nervously.

  “Well, why all the fuss? It’s great,” said Barbara. “We did a visit there last term. No dressings, no drips, no messy beds, not even any wards. All the heavy work’s done by domestic staff and the patients look after themselves. It’s a doddle, man!”

  “And it’s a beautiful place,” Nikki assured him. “I often walk through the woods down there – so peaceful.”

  “And Geoff Huckthwaite – the Charge Nurse – he’s a great bloke,” said Katie. “Don’t you remember him in the cabaret last summer? Killingly funny. . .”

  They all smiled at the memory of the stocky examiner doing a drag act. Except for Jan; he couldn’t find it in himself to smile at the prospect of six weeks in Mental Health, no matter how amusing the Charge Nurse was.

  “Myself, I’m not pleased with this arrangement.” He turned to open the door. “I shall go now and discuss with Sister Thomas. Goodbye, ladies!” He gave a mock bow and left.

  “Oh, Jan – don’t go! Wait a minute, please. . .” Claire came to the door and called down the corridor.

  But Jan merely waved back at her and stumped off downstairs to Sister Thomas’s sitting room.

  Sister Thomas was no help.

  “I’m sorry, Jan, but everyone has a placement he’d rather not do sometime or other and, you know, I’m always surprised how often he ends up enjoying it. You see, it’s part of the European training regulations: you have to experience the work of every department before making your final choice of specialism. And, after all, it’s only for a few weeks. . .”

  It was like arguing with cotton-wool, thought Jan. Though there had been no argument, really, because he had no valid objections. None, at least, that he was prepared to share with Sister Thomas.

  “You have no personal reasons for not wanting to work in the Mental Health Unit, do you?” Sister Thomas asked. Jan’s face set hard and he shook his head. “I mean, no close friends who are currently being treated there or anything like that?” she went on. And she’d smiled at him so warmly, looked at him so closely, that Jan found himself blushing and backing out of the elegant little room, feeling more than a little foolish.