One Night in London: a hospital in wartime (The Jason Trilogy Book 1)

by Lucilla Andrews

  She shrugged, ‘I don’t think so, but I’m not sure as she doesn’t discuss her love life with me. She doesn’t gossip with juniors. Bad form. Not in the book. Dean’ll stick to the book on and off-duty.’

  His long mouth twitched, ‘No wonder poor old Mack’s been so bloody-minded lately.’

  She got off the bin. ‘I expect he’s quite glad about that now.’

  ‘Making him feel less guilty?’

  ‘Sort of.’ She began preparing Nurse Smith’s sandwiches. ‘How’s he taken it?’

  ‘Hard to say. He just froze over.’

  ‘The shock would do that even if he’s genuinely gone right off her. He must’ve been badly smitten once, or he wouldn’t have married her. No kids?’ He shook his head. ‘No kids no shot-guns. She was the wife he took on honeymoon. Shock’ll bring the lot back.’

  Jason thought of MacDonald’s expression after seeing his wife in Casualty that afternoon. ‘I wonder.’

  She covered the sandwiches with a plate then looked straight into his face and her eyes were shadowed with an old sadness and a new concern. ‘I don’t wonder, I sort of know. Just sort of, as I still loved the man I was engaged to when he was killed. Name was Charles. When I first heard, I remembered everything we’d ever done together. Sort of like a speeded up Movietone News running backwards in my mind.’

  He winced with distress. ‘Christ. I ‒ I didn’t know. Engaged long?’

  ‘Three months, two weeks and one day. We’d known each other years. He was a boy from home. My parents said we must wait till I was nineteen to be engaged and twenty-one to marry. He was two years older than me. His Wellington was shot-up over Bremen. Exploded in mid-air. None of the crew survived.’

  ‘Bloody, bloody hell.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ he muttered and his clenched hand ripped the lining of his right pocket from one seam. ‘Where were you then? Home?’

  ‘No. VAD in a military hospital in Hampshire. I didn’t know what to do so I just went on being a VAD until one of my VAD buddies wanted to train here, and said why didn’t I apply with her as I like patients. I do. I couldn’t stick nursing if it weren’t for the patients. So I wrote to Uncle Henry, and she and I started in the same set.’ She was still looking at him but he saw she wasn’t seeing him. ‘It took me ages to crawl up out of the pit. He was sweet. Crazy type. He should’ve been in fighters not bombers. My sort of colouring and he talked as much as I do. Odd.’

  She blinked and saw Jason’s grave, strong, young face. ‘Only like you in one way. He couldn’t have made first base as a heel, either. Do you mind my telling you about him?’

  ‘Only if you mind having told me.’

  ‘Not now, or I couldn’t have told you. I’ve never been able to talk about him to anyone else in Martha’s. My set and some of the other girls know from my ex-VAD buddy. She was jolly decent to me when it happened and in our first year in the country. When our set had brothers on leave or boyfriends with buddies panting for blind dates, she kept the lot out of my hair. She understood why I needed time to get my breath back as she’s been a widow since Dunkirk. She’s a bit older than the rest of us. Night junior in Luke.’

  He was surprised, ‘That chubby bouncing red-head with glasses? I didn’t know she’d been married.’

  ‘She wears a wedding ring.’

  ‘Hadn’t noticed. Haven’t really noticed any nurse but you. I ‒ er, I see now why the entire house-staff’s had the brush-off from you until Sullivan shoved in the horse stuffed with tea. I’d presumed you’d a Yank heading the queue.’

  She smiled faintly. ‘No. Nor a queue. How about you?’

  ‘When I was a student, off and on, but more off than on as I never had the cash. Can’t say that bothered me much till the night I walked in here and first saw you. Kerplop went Jason. I never believed it could happen just like that before. It sure can and it sure has,’ he added under his breath. ‘I’m nuts about you. Can we get together bloody soon and talk of this and that?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Right ‒ hey ‒ don’t go ‒’

  She had flicked out her watch. ‘I must. Dean said only a few more minutes. I’ve overstayed plus. If I don’t go in she’ll be out to create. Look at the time!’

  ‘I can’t. I just can’t stop looking at you ‒ but ‒ but ‒ if you’re going to look at me like that if you don’t beat it like a bat out of hell I won’t be able to keep my hands off you ‒ no, wait!’ She had backed to the door, but stopped. ‘Meet me on the terrace when you come off in the morning. Just for a few minutes and we can fix something up if ‒’ his voice cut out abruptly as the engine of a flying bomb, but the explosion of reality had already taken place. ‘If ‒ er ‒ it’s not raining,’ he drawled.

  She heard the words he had left unsaid but she had begun to hope again. She said briskly, ‘If it’s raining, I’ll bring an umbrella, but not to worry if you oversleep as I won’t take um …’

  His eyes caressed her. ‘I won’t oversleep.’

  ‘Good show.’ She spread her hands helplessly. ‘Sorry. I must go.’

  ‘I know.’ He touched his forehead with one forefinger. ‘I’ll give you a five second start.’ He watched her disappear behind Briggs’s screens before he went slowly into the ward. He paused to watch the Major, then Nigel Gill, before moving on to Briggs. Neither he nor Nurse Carter looked at each other and he only spoke to Nurse Smith, ‘All as quiet as he looks?’

  ‘Pro tem. And the Major.’

  ‘So I’ve just seen. Thanks, nurse.’

  He walked quickly, quietly back to the flat and for some moments stood looking down at the silent telephone. If he could get Mack on his own in a quiet corner, perhaps a tactful hint off the record? Of course, if it stayed quiet ‒ he glanced upwards ‒ and reluctantly reached for the receiver. ‘Switchboard? Jason in Wally’s. Do you happen to know if the SSO’s in Luke or Thomas Holtsmoor?’

  ‘Not in neither, Mr Jason. He’s in the Night Sister’s Office and I got him on the line now waiting for an outside call. Hang on, I’ll put you through.’

  MacDonald was listening and broke in, ‘I thought you’d gone to bed, Jason. What’s the problem with the chaps in Wally’s?’

  ‘Oh ‒ er ‒ chaps doing quite nicely in here.’

  ‘Good. Whole hospital’s settled, so Night Sister and I are grabbing the chance to deal with my lists for tomorrow’s surgical transfers. Mr Davis is coming up from the country to take over from me at nine and he’ll have enough on his plate without having to do my sorting. Oh, thank you, Sister ‒ yes, please, another cup ‒ still there, Jason? Why do you want me if the chaps are all right?’

  ‘Oh ‒ er ‒ I just thought I’d let you know I’ve finished and in case I don’t see you in the morning before you push off say ‒’

  ‘Thanks but you’ll see me in the morning. You know I’m not off till nine and if you’re not in Cas. by then God help you, as Sister Cas. most certainly won’t. Go to bed and sleep whilst you can. Goodnight.’ MacDonald rang off.

  Jason limped slowly down the many stairs to the basement and the box of a room with double bunks fitted to walls that he shared with three other housemen. Despite his limp he didn’t notice his feet were hurting. His tired mind was occupied by his determination to concentrate on Nurse Smith’s problem before he let himself think of Catherine Carter as he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.

  He thought how the Major and Briggs looked now, how they had looked earlier, how desperately both needed the good nursing they were receiving. A good night could swing the difference for the Major, and if it couldn’t alter the eventual outcome for Briggs, peaceful sleep was the only thing left that anyone could give him. Sudden staff changes always upset the very ill and if she could last out tonight, maybe that would help her too. Maybe. After all, only a few hours left ‒ why shouldn’t the quiet last till morning? If one bloody marvellous thing could happen tonight, why not another?

&n
bsp; A few of the nurses in the basement wards glanced up sympathetically as he limped by, as it was so late, and the basement lighting was too dim for them to see his eyes were alight with joyful wonder.

  Chapter Seven

  But for the glass of milk in her hand MacDonald would have thought Nurse Smith asleep. She was huddled in the armchair, limp and colourless as an eyeless, washed-out rag doll. On the tray on the hard chair drawn up beside her, the sandwiches and apple were untouched. When he drew back the remaining chair at the table, she opened startled eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Mr MacDonald, I didn’t hear you. Shall I tell Nurse Dean you’re here?’

  ‘Don’t bother, nurse. I’ll go in directly I’ve checked Gill’s op. notes.’ He sat down before he remembered to add, ‘Sorry to disturb your meal.’

  She murmured the trite response demanded and watched him run the nib of his pen along the lines whilst she nerved herself to use this unexpected but hoped for chance of a private talk with him. He read swiftly, yet without undue haste, occasionally scratching-out or adding a word. He looked much less tired than earlier that night and even by his high standards, very spruce. When he had changed out of theatre clothes after the appendicectomy he had put on the spare clean white shirt he kept in his surgeons’ room locker and a clean white coat. ‘So Gill’s round?’ he queried, without looking up.

  ‘Yes. Sleep, colour, pulse, respirations all normal when I came out a few minutes ago. Chest sounds fine despite those ribs.’

  ‘More than the young fool deserves. He swore blind he’d never felt that appendix, but from the adhesions he’s had intermittent bellyache for months if not years. That was what he tried to drown in beer at lunchtime. He’s bloody lucky he didn’t perforate.’

  ‘He’s only a student,’ she reminded him wearily.

  His fine black eyebrows met and his pen sped on, ‘ “Men of 17¼ to 33 may fly with the RAF.” ’

  ‘If this war lasts much longer the Government’ll stick up posters calling up boys of fifteen as men.’

  ‘They say Jerry’s already having to do that. Could just be our propaganda.’ He scratched out a balloon note, inserted another. ‘I can sympathize with a coward, not a liar.’ She glanced at him sharply, without comment. ‘He wasn’t too tight to tell me the truth on admission, but he didn’t as he didn’t want more than one night in Wally’s. If he had, I’d have packed him off on the evening convoy and he could have had it out in the country tonight. Now he’ll have to sweat out the five days till his clips come out unless he busts the lot flinging himself under his bed first.’

  She was anxious not to annoy him, but she had too much empathy with Nigel Gill to control her tongue. ‘I presume his appendix was too sub-acute for diagnosis on admission, Mr MacDonald?’

  He glanced up, blankly. ‘It may’ve been. I’ve no idea. We were just getting in the casualties from one that had dropped in our zone when two students lugged in a semi-drunk pal with a couple of cracked ribs. If I spent three minutes on him, I regarded it as time I could ill-afford. I remain of that opinion.’

  She gripped the arms of her chair. ‘Yes, of course you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘It was a reasonable presumption as you weren’t in Cas. at the time.’ He returned to his checking.

  She went on watching him, warily. She was afraid that if he suspected her latent hysteria, he might not believe her now, though so often before she had noticed that about the patients he and she spoke the same language. She had seen him being very kind to hysterical patients; but an hysterical nurse could be another matter to him ‒ as to most doctors. Including, in her professional and not personal experience, medical psychiatrists. She was very sure what would have followed had she admitted her phobia to the consultant psychiatrist in the country hospital … Take your time, and we’ll have a nice little talk … let’s get down to the root cause, shall we? … You know you aren’t really frightened of the flying bombs, my dear … You know you worked quite safely in London from June till the end of August … were you hurt at all? Of course not! … You know this goes much deeper … you’re a trained nurse … you can recognize the sexual implications … think of those cigar-shaped objects attacking … you are twenty-six and you will forgive my speaking plainly but … a virgin? … Yes, indeed, very prudent as you are still single … yes, indeed, the correct moral attitude … but you must see what your basic fear is … Not frightened of men? Ah, you say not, my dear nurse, but you must forgive me … and we must remember your background … your parents’ divorce in your early childhood … two re-marriages … your being shuttled between both homes … yes, indeed, the fact that both sets of parents are wealthy and have always indulged you financially only adds to your guilt at disliking your step-parents and I’m afraid your father, and so all men and … alas, sex … but you’re not really frightened of the flying bombs, my dear nurse …

  Like hell I’m not! Like hell! And if he’d worked in Rachel ‒ but she must NOT think of Rachel now. MacDonald was coming to the end of the notes. If Dean hadn’t yet noticed his arrival, she would at any moment. She knew how Dean would take this if she heard.

  Dean, she thought again, and her mind went back to the whispers in the senior shelter before supper. ‘Smithy, yes! Dean and Mack, just like that! Can you believe it?’

  ‘Easily. Dean’s always been that rarity, a hot number who genuinely doesn’t know it. Mack’s another, but he knows it, even if he has kept himself to himself since he married. If his marriage really is on the rocks, sling him and Dean together and inevitable as night following day.’

  ‘But he is still married. Awful, really.’

  ‘It happens. Personally, if he’s actually got Dean showing willing after all these years I think he rates a George Medal.’

  She studied MacDonald wondering who would win now; Mr MacDonald, or his hormones?

  He was on the last page.

  ‘Mr MacDonald, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think there is something I should say ‒’

  He cut her short without raising his head, ‘Thank you, Nurse Smith. I appreciate your sympathy. I’m sure you’ll understand I’d rather we left it there.’

  ‘Sympathy?’ she echoed enquiringly.

  His head jerked up and his eyes appraised her tense posture and taut, over-sensitive face. ‘I thought you were about to refer to my ‒ my recent personal bereavement. Clearly, you’ve not heard.’

  ‘No.’ She coloured in genuine discomfort. ‘I’m terribly sorry. Being in the country one gets out of touch.’ She tried to recall what family he possessed aside from his wife in ‒ where? Beds? Berks? She had a vague recollection of hearing that his father in Scotland suffered from recurrent malaria. Probably his father, she decided, but didn’t ask as he hadn’t specified, and she had an aversion to asking or being asked, personal questions. ‘I really am so sorry.’

  He inclined his head and fingered his noncommittal dark blue tie. ‘Not black. Worry the patients.’

  ‘Oh yes. And they’d spot it at once.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He sat back. ‘What were you about to say?’

  ‘It ‒ er ‒ concerns Major Browne.’

  ‘That obstreperous turn? Just had that from Night Sister. Settled well since, she said.’ He sensed the concealment in her silence. ‘So it’s not that. Well? Afraid his flap’ll give?’

  ‘No. The flap’s fine. It’s about his accident,’ she added nervously. ‘I don’t believe it was an accident.’ Once the words were out, suddenly she was calm, self-assured. ‘I thought you ought to know.’

  MacDonald didn’t move, but his chin looked more blue. ‘On what do you base your belief?’

  ‘I heard him tell his wife he’d stepped deliberately in front of the tram. I was with Briggs, but I heard quite clearly.’

  ‘What did his wife say?’ He could have been enquiring about the weather.

  ‘She told him to keep his chin up, have a good kip and everything would be tickety-boo.’

  ‘Tickety-b
oo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Think she believed him?’

  ‘I think so. I can’t be sure as she didn’t tell me. It was in her eyes. I had to keep going in and out. She’s rather a gallant old girl ‒ determined to go down with all the flags flying ‒ but her eyes were in hell.’

  His narrowed, steady gaze was fixed on her face. ‘Who else heard?’

  ‘I’m quite sure it was only me. All the patients immediately around were asleep. Gill and the junior were in the theatre. Nurse Dean was behind screens re-doing that Irishman in 15’s back dressings. He was chatting to her all the time but so quietly I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Sorry. Forgotten his name.’

  ‘Murphy. Multiple lacerations.’ His tone altered. ‘You’ve told Nurse Dean?’ She shook her head. ‘Night Sister?’

  ‘Just you.’

  His elegant eyebrows met. ‘Why wait for me? You know very well any nurse with reason to suspect any patient of suicidal tendencies must report it stat. to whoever is in charge of her ward.’

  There was a new colour in Nurse Smith’s face, a new light in her almond-shaped brown eyes. She could never be described as pretty, but depending on her mood could look either very plain or very attractive. She generally looked the former when bored or frightened for herself. She had forgotten herself now and was unrepentant. ‘The Army doesn’t like self-inflicted wounds.’

  ‘If you’re trying to protect his pension why tell me?’

  ‘Mr MacDonald, if you hadn’t amputated he’d now be dead and his wife’s widow’s pension safe.’

  ‘That, nurse,’ he retorted sharply, ‘is merely your opinion. Whether or not you’re right gives you no right to translate Martha’s rules as you see fit. The rules are made to protect the patients, not cushion the staff’s moral dilemmas. If Browne’s genuinely a failed suicide, he’s going to need all the protection he can get to prevent his next attempt ‒ and he’ll make it.’

  ‘With every respect, Mr MacDonald, isn’t that final observation merely your opinion?’ She gave him no time to voice his obvious reaction. ‘Aren’t there on record very many cases of failed suicides who have proved to have had lasting second thoughts after their first attempts failed? Aren’t there also on record the views of the many psychiatrists who agree many first attempts are meant to fail and are made not from any death-wish but as a shout for help? Certainly, every textbook I’ve read on the subject insists that the suicide who really means business does the job properly.’