The Lonely One

by Claire Rayner

  Chapter 13

  When they got back to the hospital, Casualty was seething with activity. Every cubicle was full, every one of the staff, including a few extra nurses collected from less busy parts of the hospital, running about as though all the hounds of hell were after them. In the waiting-room, two trolleys with grimly covered shapes on them, waited for porters to take them to the mortuary, and a theatre trolley arrived to take the most severely injured straight to Theatre, just as Bridget and Josh and their two patients arrived to swell the throng.

  The RSO, his hair ruffled and his face creased with fatigue, took one look at the small bundle Bridget was carrying, and his face dropped.

  ‘Christ, not a baby as well. Was it injured?’

  Josh grinned. ‘Looks fine to me. Born on the edge of the road – ’

  ‘That’s all that I was short of,’ the RSO said wearily. ‘How’s the mum?’

  ‘Pretty exhausted – but as far as I could tell, no other injuries. Bloody miracle – ’

  ‘Mmm. Look, don’t bring ’em in here. Get her straight to Maternity – tell them to put her in a single room and barrier nurse until they’re sure she hasn’t picked up an infection – ’

  ‘I should think she must have done. I mean, delivery in the gutter isn’t exactly an aseptic technique,’ Josh said.

  ‘Yup – tell the Maternity people to put her on penicillin. I’ll send a radiographer up to take some films – better make sure she’s got no bones broken – and I’ll come and see her as soon as I can. Oh, and the baby’d better be in isolation, too.’

  ‘It’s prem – about thirty-two weeks maturity, to look at it.’

  ‘Well, the midwives’ll know whether it needs an incubator. Get them off, will you, Josh? I’m a bit pushed here – ’ and he disappeared back into a cubicle, to deal with the motor-cyclist, who was now regaining consciousness, and making a great deal of noise about it.

  Josh turned to where Bridget was standing, still clutching the baby, and said crisply, ‘Right. You go on ahead, will you? I’ll follow with Mum – ’

  The midwife on night duty looked startled, to say the least, when a trousered and dirty-faced Bridget arrived with a baby wrapped in a now oil-stained towel. Until she saw the look on the midwife’s face, Bridget had no idea how very odd she looked, but she caught a reflection of herself in the glass front of a cupboard, and despite her fatigue, grinned slightly as she handed the baby over to the midwife.

  ‘Mother’s on the way – ’ she began, and then the trolley with Josh at the head came rattling along the corridor from the lift. Succinctly, he gave his instructions to the midwife, who with a nod, swept into efficient action. Just as the trolley was being wheeled into one of the single wards at the side of the corridor, the mother turned her head, and putting her hand out, touched Bridget.

  ‘Nurse?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Are you a nurse? The one who was with me?’

  Bridget smiled, and held the hand warmly. ‘Yes – and the doctor’s here, too.’

  The woman turned to look at Josh, and murmured, ‘Thank you – thank you. Is – he all right?’

  ‘I think he is, lovey,’ Josh said, smiling down at her. ‘He looked fine to me. They’ll have a good look at him here, and tell you all about him properly – but I don’t think you need worry – ’

  She bit her lip, to stop herself from crying tears of weakness and sheer happiness. ‘What’s your name, Doctor?’

  He grinned widely. ‘Joshua, I’m afraid.

  ‘And yours, Nurse?’

  ‘Bridget Preston.’

  And the woman nodded. ‘That’s what I’ll call him then. Joshua Preston Burke. Nice name. Thank you both so much – ’

  And the midwife pushed her away to her warm bed and to the rest she so sorely needed.

  There was a long pause, then Josh said softly, ‘There. A baby named after us. Isn’t that nice? An – omen, perhaps?’

  But Bridget turned away, and began to walk towards the lift. He fell into step beside her, and said softly, ‘Bridget? Tiddler?’ She shook her head wordlessly. All that had happened the night before, so very long ago now, it seemed, his letter and the way it had made her feel, the conversation with Bobby, came back to her, and misery washed over like a palpable thing.

  But before she could open the lift gates, he took her arms, and pulled her away, leading her into the small linen room that was alongside.

  He stood with his back to the door, and said firmly, ‘Now, listen. I know it’s the middle of the night – damn’ near morning – and we’re both dead on our feet’ – his voice softened – ‘you look exhausted, my love – ’ and she turned away, and shook her head again.

  ‘ – but I must talk to you. I must. You – got my note?’

  She swallowed, and then said huskily, ‘Yes, I got it.’

  ‘Well?’ and his voice was urgent. ‘Well?’

  ‘Please, let me go. I – I’m tired,’ she said.

  ‘So am I,’ he said grimly. ‘And another few minutes won’t make much odds. Please, Tiddler, what have you to say about that note?’

  And his voice, the nearness of him, was too much for her exhausted body to cope with any more. She felt huge tearing sobs start deep in her throat, felt her shoulders shake, and leaning against the little table covered with sheets and towels in the middle of the room, wept as though her tears would tear her apart.

  His arms were round her then, holding her close, holding her against the roughness of his tweed jacket, holding her shoulders so that their shaking was stilled, so that she felt warm and safe again.

  Slowly, the tears subsided, and she managed to pull away from him, to stand pressed against the wall as far away from him as she could get.

  ‘You lied to me. You lied to me,’ she said flatly, and her eyes were huge in her pinched face.

  ‘I lied to you?’ He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Lied? My love, what about? I told you all I could tell you in that letter – that was why I wrote it – to – clear the slate – to start new – ’

  But she shook her head stubbornly. ‘You lied,’ she said again, feeling the dreary persistence in her voice. ‘I know now.’

  ‘Know what?’

  And at the continued puzzlement in his voice she became angry, and clenched her fists and almost shook them at him.

  ‘I saw her last night – Bobby – and she told me – ’

  His own eyes glittered at that. ‘Bobby? She told you something last night?’

  ‘Yes!’ she blazed. ‘So you can keep your lies for her in future. I want no part of it – ’

  His hand shot out, and gripped her wrist in a grasp so strong it hurt her, and he bent his head close to hers, and looked directly into her eyes, eyes full of pain, and anger.

  ‘I don’t know what she told you – that girl is a pathological liar – but whatever it is, I told you the truth in my letter. You must believe that – ’

  She closed her eyes wearily. ‘Oh, God, I don’t know what to believe – I just don’t know – ’

  He dropped her hand, and stood back, then after a moment said shortly, ‘We’re both tired out. And the only way I’ll ever convince you is to get this business about Bobby sorted out properly once and for all. Tomorrow – today – we’ll go and see her – ’

  ‘No – no, I couldn’t – not again – ’

  ‘Yes!’ He almost shouted it at her. ‘Yes! Together, we’ll go and see her. And then you’ll find out for certain. Now, go to bed. And at two o’clock this afternoon, I’m coming to the Home to collect you and we’ll go over to Sick Bay and see that – girl. And if you aren’t waiting for me, so help me God, I’ll come and drag you out of your room – and don’t think I don’t mean it.’

  And he turned on his heel and left her, listening to the lift clatter away to the third floor and the doctors’ quarters.

  It was half past one in the afternoon when she woke from a thick and troubled sleep to find one of the Home maids standing grinning down at her.

&
nbsp; ‘ ’Allo, Nurse – ’ow are yer, love? Better for a good kip, I’ll be bound – ’ she plonked a tray of tea and toast down on the bedside-table and crossed the room to open the curtains. As the afternoon sun came streaming in, Bridget blinked, and rubbed her face, aware of the stiffness of fatigue that was still in her.

  ‘Cor, but you’re a right one, you and your pal, aren’t yer? Evenin’ papers is full of it – two plucky little nurses from the Royal, that’s what it says, two plucky little nurses, and three doctors all out in the fog in the middle of the night, savin’ lives – an’ that baby – ain’t that a thing though? Was ’e a nice baby?’

  ‘Very nice,’ Bridget said absently. ‘The papers?’

  The maid grinned, basking in the reflected glory of it all.

  ‘Not ’arf! All over the front pages it is – not much other news about, see? Makes quite a story. They had men ’ere today – wanting pictures of you and Nurse Jessolo, but Matron wasn’t havin’ any. “They’re sleepin’,” she told ’em, “and they’re not to be disturbed,” that’s what she said. And ’ome Sister says to tell yer you’re off duty rest of today, and not to go back till termorrer mornin’. So you just drink your tea and have a bite o’ that there toast, and rest up. Lovely day, too – bit of an airin’d do you all the good in the world,’ and she bustled away to tell the other maids about the way poor little Nurse Preston looked when she woke for her tea and toast.

  Bridget swallowed her tea and toast with a relish that almost surprised her, and then took a hot bath that brought some of the exhaustion out with the steam. She dressed slowly, and was still combing her hair when the maid reappeared, grinning even more widely, if that were possible.

  ‘There’s someone waitin’ downstairs for you. An’ ’e says to tell yer if yer don’t come down right now, ’e’ll be up ’ere to get you. ’e’s standin’ on the bottom step, and ’e looks as if ’e means it – ain’t ’e a looker, though? Smashin’ feller – you’d better ’urry, Nurse. If ’e comes up ’ere ’ome Sister’ll ’ave you on toast – ’

  And under the grinning maid’s eye, Bridget couldn’t help herself.

  She walked down the stairs with all the dignity she could muster, all too aware of the maid watching her from the landing at the top.

  He was standing as the maid had said, staring up at her as she came, his hair neat, his face fresh-shaven, looking as rested as though he had spent the past twenty-four hours in bed, rather than a bare five or six.

  ‘Hello,’ he said softly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ she said stiffly.

  He took her arm, and then walked out of the Home into the garden, and by one of the benches, he stopped and pulled her down to sit beside him.

  ‘Will you come to see Bobby, Tiddler?’

  She looked up at him, startled.

  ‘You’re – asking me? I thought – ’

  ‘I’m not going to force you to do anything against your will,’ he said soberly. ‘Last night – this morning – I was tired, and – upset – you seemed so – so bitter about me. But now – well, if you don’t want to come, I won’t force you. But I do ask this. I’ve told you one thing. Clearly, Bobby’s told you another. And though it hurts to have to admit it, there’s no reason why you should believe me rather than her. I’ve not exactly shown myself to be – a suitor sans reproche. On past showing, you’re entitled to believe me a liar as well as – a tom-cat – ’

  She winced at that. ‘Don’t – ’

  He laughed a bitter little laugh. ‘Well, wasn’t I? It was your own term – you used it to Bobby, and my God, you were right to – no, I shouldn’t say that. Whatever else Bobby may be, I’ve no right to call her names. I – was as much a party to her behaviour as she was herself, I suppose – ’

  He looked at her, and smiled crookedly. ‘I don’t like myself too well, at present, Tiddler. It never mattered before, you see. But now, I feel – ’ and he moved his shoulders in a gesture of distaste.

  She sat in silence, looking with unseeing eyes at the wide lawn, the early flowers nodding in their beds, at the thin spring sunshine glancing off the white-painted walls of the garden. Then she said, with sudden resolve, ‘You’re quite right. Of course you are. The only thing to do is go and see Bobby – and – ’ She stopped, and looked at him, smiling a little. ‘I – want to know. It’s – important to me. I’m feeling less emotional this morning – afternoon, I mean – than I was. Last night I hated you – ’

  ‘And now?’ He put his hand out, and held her chin between strong warm fingers. ‘And now?’

  She bit her lip, not meeting his gaze. ‘Now, I – I want to know.’

  ‘Come on, then. We’ll get it over – ’

  They walked in silence across the courtyard, managing to avoid the few nurses and doctors who seemed to want to stop and talk to them about the night’s exploits, and still in silence, walked along the corridor that led to the sick bay.

  Bridget felt herself go cold again, a familiar sick feeling, as she thought of having to see Bobby again. And Josh would be with Bobby again, just as he used to be. She stole a look at him, at the rigid face, as he walked head high, beside her, and told herself – no. He’ll be there, but not as it used to be.

  Sister on sick bay looked at them curiously when they arrived and asked to see Nurse Aston. But she gave her permission, and watched them covertly as they went down the little corridor to the room at the end. She would have given a great deal to have been able to hear what was going on there – and wished, not for the first time, that the sick bay was an ordinary ward, instead of single rooms. It would have given her a better opportunity to ‘keep an eye on things’ as she told herself mendaciously.

  It was Josh who knocked at the door, who opened it in response to the high ‘Come in!’ in Bobby’s unmistakable voice. And it was Josh who walked in first, while Bridget, her nervousness rising in a huge wave, lingered behind for a second.

  She heard the warmth, the almost caressing note in Bobby’s voice as she said in surprised delight, ‘Josh!’ and wanted to turn and run.

  But Josh stood aside, and put a strong hand out, and led her in so that she was standing beside him in the door-way, looking across at Bobby in her nest of pillows.

  She was looking better than she had – or perhaps that was because Bridget had already seen the change in her, and could no longer be shocked by it. Her hair was tied back with a wide, blue ribbon, which gave her an appealing little-girl look, and the matching bed jacket showed off her fair skin to advantage.

  But when she saw Bridget, her face altered, the warm welcoming smile that had wreathed her lips giving way to a sort of petulant surprise.

  ‘Bridget?’ she said uncertainly. ‘You here again – ’

  Josh closed the door firmly, and said evenly, ‘Yes, Bobby. Again. And I want you to repeat to her again whatever it was you told her last night. Now. While I’m here to listen.’

  Bobby stared at him, and frowned sharply. ‘For heaven’s sake, Josh, what is all this? If I say anything to Bridget, it’s my affair – I don’t see that it’s anything to do with you – ’

  ‘I rather think it is,’ he said, and stood still, his hands in his white-coat pockets, his head bent in a watchful way. ‘I rather think it is. Will you repeat whatever it was?’

  She slid down in her bed a little, and made a moué. ‘Why should I? Anyway, it was true – ’ but she sounded unconvinced.

  He looked at her with distaste, his mouth turned down. Then without turning his gaze away from Bobby, he said softly, ‘Bridget, will you tell me now what Bobby told you last night?’

  She gasped a little, looked at him appealingly, and for a fleeting moment, he looked at her, his eyes stern.

  There was a long silence, then, almost against her will, Bridget heard her own voice.

  ‘Bobby says the – the baby she got rid of was yours. That you knew. That you knew she was going to get rid of it, and that she did it for your sake.’

&
nbsp; The silence this time was electric, and Bridget felt, rather than saw, the muscles of Josh’s face go hard as he clenched his teeth. Then, in a voice thin with the control he was putting into it, he said slowly, ‘That baby could not have been mine. On your own admission, Bobby, you were three months pregnant. The – the last time I – could have been responsible was well before three months ago. According to your history, and the information you eventually gave the Gynae registrar, that child was conceived at about Christmas-time.’

  Bobby said nothing, lying quite still, staring at him with her shadowed eyes, her mouth a thin line.

  ‘And you know as well as I do what happened at Christmas. When Bridget left the house that night, I went shortly afterwards – and very angry indeed you were about it. What happened that night, Bobby? Because it was then, wasn’t it?’

  Still she said nothing, only lying still and staring at him unwinkingly.

  ‘I know what happened that night, Bobby. You don’t need to tell me. Because you forget that David Nestor was not a man to care what he told to who. You know that, don’t you? One of the boasters, David?’

  Bobby closed her eyes at that, ‘No – ’

  ‘Yes – yes; Bobby, he told me. With a great deal of relish. As he put it, I’d – “spoiled his weekend” ’ – his voice grated in anger – ‘so he sorted out things for himself. Didn’t he –? And until you were brought in that night last week and I was sent to see you, I had not the least idea of what had happened – not that you were pregnant, or what you had done about it – ’

  Bobby pulled herself up then, to lean forwards, her face twisted with rage.

  ‘All right – all right – ’ she screamed. ‘So what? So bloody what? You walked out and left me high and dry, to run after your sweet little – bitch’ – she almost spat the word – ‘so what would you expect? And who cares, anyway? What’s it to do with you? Don’t tell me I was the first – or that I’m the last either – ’ and she looked at Bridget with such loathing and such spite in her eyes, that Bridget shrank back in sick fear.