Nurses: Claire and Jan

by Bette Paul

  But this little crisis had brought them together, given them an aim in common, quite apart from their illness and their treatments. Jan jogged alongside Margaret and noticed that his symptoms of panic had subsided now. He almost smiled.

  But a shout up ahead made him put on speed. Martin was at an intersection where a narrow track led deep into the undergrowth. His head was held unusually high, his nose in the air – obviously sniffing – and he was pointing, almost animatedly, into the bushes.

  He made no attempt to speak, however, when Jan joined him. Not that there was any need: the smell of cigarette smoke overlay the dank scent of rotting vegetation.

  “Karen!” Jan called. “Karen, you have led us off the track; now come and lead us home again.”

  No answer. The others came up now, standing in a silent group around him.

  “Karen,” Jan tried again. “We must get back; Doug Bellamy will not be pleased with me if we are late.” Blackmail, he thought, grimly, that’s what this is. He knew Karen was fond of him; she’d want to protect him from Doug Bellamy’s wrath.

  And he was right – there was a response. Not an actual answer, more a rustling in the bushes and a slight sound – a whimper, perhaps?

  Martin looked a question at Jan, who nodded, and they both pushed off the path and into the dense undergrowth. Jan felt the brambles dragging at his tracksuit, ripping his hands, tangling in his hair, and yet he didn’t care. It was as if the effort of battling with the brambles was creating energy within him. Grunting, he thrust a fist through the prickly barrier towards the light and almost fell over Karen as she crouched in a sudden clearing.

  “Come on, Karen!” Jan commanded. “You should not rest in the middle of running; it is bad for the circulation.”

  But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move, he realized.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. He was suddenly reminded of a similar situation, with himself prone on grass, Claire asking the same question as she bent to examine his ankle.

  Karen lifted her head and grimaced with pain as he gently worked the right foot.

  “Never mind that – find my lighter,” she commanded.

  Martin had joined them now. He reached out to lift Karen up but she waved him away.

  “Go and look for my lighter,” she told him. “I dropped it when I fell over that damned root.”

  Martin obediently turned his attention to the grassy tussocks around them. Jan, meanwhile, had loosened the lace of Karen’s trainer. He tried to ease it off.

  “Ooooh!” she gasped. “Just leave it alone.”

  Jan looked down at her; she was very white now, her face creased with pain and shock. And it was a relief to know that she had something physically wrong with her; dealing with injuries came easily to him.

  “Here – wrap this round you.” He took off his tracksuit top and put it on her shoulders. “Now, Martin and I will lift you – like a cradle, see?” He indicated with crossed hands. “Come on, Martin,” he called.

  Between them they lifted Karen on to her one good foot, then cradled her back through the path they’d left in the undergrowth. As soon as they emerged, the others came forward with murmurs of concern.

  “Eeh, you’ve done it now, Karen,” said Margaret. “You’ll not be doing a runner for many a day now.” But she smiled at the injured girl, and supported her bad leg so that it didn’t drag painfully down.

  “Alan, can you get close behind us; lift her a little under her arms, let her head rest against you,” Jan commanded. “Now, are you comfortable, Karen?” He turned to look into her peaky little face.

  Karen shook her head. “What about my lighter?” she demanded. “And the rest of my fags?”

  Jan almost laughed at her – and then felt amazed by the urge. It was a long time since he’d wanted to laugh.

  “Martin and I will come back to find them,” he promised. “But now we must get you back to the unit and over to X-ray – pronto.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” said Karen, rather faintly. She turned to look up at Jan and gave a great wink.

  Jan couldn’t help smiling back, taken by surprise by the surge of tenderness he suddenly felt for her. Not that Karen would notice – she’d fainted again.

  “Let’s go!” he ordered. He braced his shoulders and, nodding to the other two carriers, led the group back up the running track.

  Chapter 10

  “I shouldn’t be spending too much time with Karen Shelford, if I were you, lad,” Geoff said.

  Startled, Jan looked up from the files he was checking. He was in Geoff’s office, working on a tedious administrative job that he would have despised as “non­medical” a week ago. But now he enjoyed the steady routine and the silent, undemanding company of Geoff. He was feeling better, in a vaguely uneasy way, so long as he kept busy with simple, non-stressful tasks. And although Dr Hammond assured him that the anti-depressants would not start working for at least a week, he was already sleeping more peacefully.

  And without consciously taking the decision, he had settled back into his role of student nurse again. Nick brought his files and notes across, Nikki collected psychology books from the library and Katie, obviously puzzled as to why Claire always passed the job on to her, dashed in with assignment hand-outs.

  So Jan’s daily routine was becoming established: early morning run (without Karen, alas!), snack and coffee in the residents’ kitchen, work on the. computer for Nurse Hawley, a few admin jobs for Geoff – all very peaceful, very satisfactory. For the first time in weeks, Jan felt he had things under control.

  He spread the files out on Geoff’s desk, noting with pleasure that his hands were almost steady now.

  “We are all spending much time with Karen, now she is stuck in the unit,” he observed.

  Karen’s fall had resulted in an inflamed Achilles tendon; her leg was strapped up and she had to rest it.

  “Couldn’t even walk out of this place, never mind do a runner,” she’d joked, holding court in the lounge all day. Even so, she was getting around on her crutches with remarkable speed and had queues of eager attendants ready to push the wheelchair across to the cafeteria at meal times.

  But Jan preferred to see her alone in her room, partly because he knew she’d be feeling low, but mostly, he had to admit, because he wanted to be alone with her.

  “She spent a lot of her time with me before her accident,” he pointed out to Geoff.

  “I know she did,” Geoff agreed. “But that was different; she’s free to visit who she likes, but you’re part of the team. It doesn’t do to get involved with a patient, you know.” He looked closely at Jan, who flushed and bent over his work. “Any road up,” Geoff went on, “you’ll not be around so much yourself now you’re feeling better.”

  “What?”

  “It’s time you were getting back to Kelham’s,” said Geoff.

  Jan stared at him. “But . . . I am not ready for that,” he protested.

  Geoff shrugged. “And you never will be if you stay on here,” he said. “Besides, I need the room.”

  There was no arguing with that; Jan went on with his filing in sullen silence.

  “You can take this afternoon to move your stuff,” Geoff offered. “Need a lift?”

  Jan shook his head. “I have only my bag,” he said. “I’ll take it when I go off this evening.” He hesitated. “After I’ve spent some time with Karen.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Geoff spoke gently. “You’ll see plenty of her in the daytime – in your official capacity,” he added firmly.

  By the time he’d packed his bag – and three plastic carriers – Jan almost wished he’d taken up Geoff’s offer of a lift. He couldn’t believe how much stuff he’d acquired in little more than a week. He put Nick’s portable CD/radio carefully back into its box and gathered up a dozen or more discs from the dressing table: dance music from Nick – not Jan’s taste – and a couple of Clannad. His heart sank: they must be Claire’s. Then there were Nikki’s big art books
, a box of cookies from Barbara and a whole bowlful of fruit – a collective offering organized by Katie. She’d delivered it only last Saturday, wide-eyed and curious.

  “Claire says to let her know if there’s anything you need,” she said. “She’s working in the library all morning,” she added pointedly. They both knew that Jan usually helped Claire with her assignments.

  Jan merely nodded, accepted the gifts and listened to the latest news from Kelham’s with an air of detachment. It meant nothing to him just then; he could scarcely remember being there. It seemed to him that the Mental Health Unit was the best place on earth to be: safe, secure, with a regular routine and a gentle atmosphere. Kelham’s was filled with bright talk and loud laughter – and Claire. What was he to do about Claire?

  Gloomily he picked up his luggage and staggered out to the foyer.

  “You’re leaving us, then?” Margaret was sitting by the desk, rocking gently from side to side.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” said Jan, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Aye.” Margaret nodded more vigorously. “But you’ll not be one of us then, will you?”

  Jan looked at her helplessly. She was right, of course, but he didn’t want to admit it.

  “Will you take these into the kitchen?” He offered the bag in which the cookies and fruit were packed. “Tell everyone to help themselves.”

  She nodded into the carrier bag, delved in and produced the cookies.

  “Thanks!” she said. “Just in time for afternoon tea. I’ll go and put the kettle on.” Clutching the bag to her, she scuttled off to the kitchen.

  “I hope they all like spicy biscuits,” said Barbara, standing by the open door.

  Jan jumped guiltily. “Oh, I liked them very much,” he assured her. “But I have to leave and there is so much to carry. . .” He surveyed the collection of plastic bags with dismay.

  “Lucky I came over to see you, then,” said Barbara. “Come on – you take the travel bag, I’ll take the rest.”

  Jan looked back to the lounge, where he was sure Karen was lying on a sofa, leg propped up in front of her, Martin dancing attendance. Jan had planned to see her alone, to explain about losing his room, to assure her – of what?

  “Ready?” Barbara asked, pausing at the main door.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Jan had hoped to slip back into Kelham’s unobserved. In the early evening most people would be in the cafeteria, having supper, or in the Medics’ Mess, having a drink. Well, there would be coffee and milk up in the Kelhamites’ kitchen and, with luck, a slice or two of bread to toast. He’d make do with that for supper; he was never hungry these days anyway. Then he’d sort out his room, turn in for the night, take a pill and hope to sleep until morning.

  But he’d reckoned without Barbara.

  “You look as though you could do with some decent food,” she observed, as she put the carrier bags down in his room. “Soup’s up in five minutes – made it yesterday.”

  Jan was about to protest, but she was already gone. He looked cautiously along the corridor. Nobody about. Apparently Barbara was the only one at home just then, and he felt he could face a bowl of her soup. He followed her into the kitchen.

  “So, you’re better now?” she asked, as she tipped the soup into a pan and lit the gas.

  “Well, what is that word Katie uses,” he smiled sadly, “when she means almost?”

  “Oh, you mean ‘nobbut just’.” Barbara laughed. “You’ve got a good ear for languages, Jan.”

  “Well, I must thank all of you for that.” Jan pulled out a chair and sat at the table, leaning his head on his hands. “You have been so patient with me. I even think in English now. Soon I shall forget my own language.” He smiled, though he wasn’t joking.

  “You mustn’t do that,” Barbara told him. “You’ll need it again one day.”

  Slowly, sadly, Jan shook his head. There it was again, that suggestion that he’d go back. They didn’t know what they were saying, these people who’d never experienced war. Nobody in their right mind would go back to what was left of Czerny.

  “I hear on the news that things are settling down,” Barbara said. She poured dark liquid, pungent and thick, into his bowl. “Bread?” she asked.

  Jan nodded. “Settling down in Czerny?” he asked. “There is nothing left to settle, I think.”

  “Well, that’s why I was on my way to see you.” Barbara came and sat down beside Jan, her expression serious, yet filled with suppressed excitement. “You know my mother is a nurse – a midwife?”

  Jan took a sip of the soup and nodded. “This is very good,” he said. “I have not felt hungry for days, but this I can eat.” He tore a piece of bread off and chewed vigorously. For once he could really taste what he was eating. “Mmmm!” he muttered, bending to inhale the aroma.

  “Listen, Jan, this is very important,” Barbara said. “Now, my family are Adventists – you understand?”

  Jan stopped chewing, swallowed hard and stared at her.

  “You understand the word Adventists?” she asked him.

  “Oh, yes. They were in Czerny even when we left. They have – immunization?”

  “Immunity,” Barbara corrected. “Yes, that’s right. They work with the aid agencies, delivering food packs, medical supplies – and letters.” She brought the last word out with a flourish.

  “Letters?” Jan’s eyes opened wide.

  Barbara nodded. “My mum’s been on a mission to your country, trying to get food and clothes and blankets to the camps before they’re cut off by the winter. I saw her just before she left and gave her your family’s name and the address you mentioned ages ago. Was it your house or your grandma’s?”

  “We all lived there together,” said Jan, thinking of the tall shuttered house above the river and waiting for the pang of pain that always accompanied the memory. But it never came; maybe the pills were beginning to work already.

  “Well, they’re all back home now. I talked to Mum on the phone last weekend; she sounded as high as she always does when she’s been doing good works.”

  “They are very brave, very kind, the Adventists,” said Jan.

  “And very clever, some of us,” laughed Barbara. She put a hand on his arm and looked straight into his eyes. “She found them – your family – way up in the mountains, away from the worst of the fighting. Hey – you never told us your mother’s a doctor.”

  Jan sat rigid, upright, quite, quite still, his spoon in his hand. Barbara was right: he’d never spoken to anyone about his family, not even to Claire. And everyone, assuming he’d left them behind, maybe even lost them, avoided the topic.

  “Yes, she was,” he whispered.

  “Still is,” Barbara corrected him. “She’s running a sort of refuge for the injured and an orphanage for all the stray kids. My mum was most impressed at the work they were doing – with so few resources too. . .”

  For once, Jan wasn’t interested in hospital organization.

  “Go on,” he urged. “What about Father – and Granya?”

  “It’s all in the letters. Mum brought them out and posted them on. I got them today. I was just bringing them over when I met you in the foyer.” She smiled. “Thought you’d rather receive them somewhere more private.”

  The spoon clattered down into the soup. Jan buried his head in his hands and took deep, shaking breaths. Gently, Barbara put a package on the table in front of him. Gently, very gently, she leaned over and squeezed his shoulder.

  “I was in two minds as to whether to deliver them right away, or to wait until you were feeling more – more together, you know?” she said softly. “But, well, I’m not qualified yet, but my nursing instinct tells me that losing touch with your country – and especially your family – is at the root of your depression.” She sat back and looked at the bowed head. “Anyway, Ma assures me this is what you need – ‘better than all the tryptophan in the world, Barbie-girl!’ she says. And she’s the greatest nurse I know
, since my gran retired.”

  Jan lifted up his face, blinked rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes, and looked at the package in wonder. He put out a finger, touched it, brought it gently towards him, then in a sudden movement, grabbed it and clutched it to his chest. Barbara turned back to the sink, ignoring the harsh, dry sobs behind her. She made a mug of coffee, sifting two spoonfuls of sugar into it.

  “Here,” she said. “Take this to your room, and read your letters in peace.” She put a hand under his elbow and, with surprising strength, almost lifted him out of his chair, guiding him along the corridor to his room. “I’ll be around if you need me.” Then, closing the door softly, she left him alone with his letters.

  Chapter 11

  Vlada Nov 5th

  My dear Jan, We were so relieved to hear from Serena Robinson that you are safe now. We knew about the evacuation from Czerny hospital but we thought you had been taken to Germany; indeed we were hoping you would be studying at one of the universities there. When Serena Robinson told me that you are a student nurse I laughed aloud. I think she was quite shocked, but then, she didn’t know how hard you fought against a medical career. Well, this war has changed many things – including, it seems, your mind. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to change it again and study medicine later?

  We were among the last to leave Czerny; we came straight up here to Granya’s family house – you remember the holidays you used to have with Granya and Grandpa at the farm? We brought some refugees along with us, including many children who have lost their families. They live in the stables and barns or camp out in the fields – even now, as winter sets in. In the house we have casualties from all sides; many of them have hobbled – even crawled – away from the fighting and sadly, many of them are too weakened by the journey to survive treatment even if I could provide it.