The Healing Time

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Yes. Feel anything yet?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Good.’ I straightened his top sheet. ‘Now, sleep.’

  ‘No. Wait.’ He caught my hand. ‘I’m getting a feeling there’s something I have to tell you. Can’t think straight. Any idea what it could be?’

  I had several. None could be offered now. ‘It’ll come.’

  ‘Hang on, Pip!’ His grip tightened. ‘I’m sure this is important. Now ‒ what? Someone has to do something ‒ someone has to ‒ coming ‒ vaccination? Yes! That’s it! Someone’s got to get done ‒ I know ‒ your infant! Get her done again, Pip. God knows why, but get her done.’

  ‘Joel, she’s had a recent booster and you did tell me.’

  ‘When? I don’t remember?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you wouldn’t now, but I do. It’s all right. You can go back to sleep.’

  ‘Right,’ he murmured. ‘Thank you.’

  He went back to sleep as I watched and did not wake when I disentangled my hand. Pity, I thought, again watching his unguarded face but now recalling his unguarded words. I wished I had realised sooner he had not changed as much as I thought. Then I realised that even if I had it would not have made much difference since he was so convinced I had changed. He was probably right. Most women change fundamentally as well as physically once they have borne their first child.

  Hills had returned and was looking for me. Liz was on the line again. After she rang off, Hills said, ‘She’s bound to fuss like crazy. Aren’t they engaged?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Staff, everyone knows about those two! It’s been going on for years! He even dated her last Sunday night.’

  ‘Since it’s been going on for years, be odd if he didn’t date her.’ I sat at the desk. ‘We going to have tea now?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve forgotten to set the sluices. Shall I do that first?’

  ‘Do. I’ll get started on my full report.’

  I had been writing some minutes before the scent of the jonquils reminded me I had forgotten George’s letter. Reluctantly, since all this guilt was beginning to grind me down, I slit the envelope with my scissors and nearly gave three loud cheers in relief. The letter and flowers were from Henry Kirby. The letter was such a model apology that I guessed it had been written with Parsons breathing fury down the writer’s neck.

  I was re-reading it when Henry Kirby in person nervously opened our opaque door. ‘I’ve just seen Dr Bush and he said I could come up to ask after my brother,’ he explained breathlessly, ‘honestly! The Office were being sticky but he’d been called up for someone and I ran into him and he was bloody decent. I’m sorry it’s so late but I was out at this party and didn’t see the note my landlady put on my bed until I was getting into bed. Dr Bush said you’d understand and tell me the latest. He said Joel was doing damn well. Considering what?’

  I gave him a full medical report and he knew enough to find it reassuring. I was surprised the Office had been sticky and said as much.

  ‘Wouldn’t have been so bad if Liz Brecklehurst had been there, but she was in some ward. They were a bit spare about having to ring all round London without finding me because of this party ‒ and, let’s face it, Staff ‒ not only this party. There was another last night in the Medical School and we did make rather a racket and they came over to complain, and well ‒ there’ve been other parties. You know.’

  I did. But there was something I didn’t know as Liz had still to enlighten me. ‘Mr Kirby, what about your parents? Can you give me their address for our Admission Book? All I’ve got for your brother pro tem is S.M.H., London. And did the Office tell you if they’ve contacted your parents?’

  ‘They won’t have done that as the parents are on a cargo ship somewhere between Singapore and Darwin. They’ve let our house and gone on one of these trips. They’ve been wanting to take one all their lives but only been free now Dick’s married and got a flat of his own. Dick’s our middle brother. I’ve just given his address to the old bags in the Office but warned ’em not to start ringing up till morning as Sandra’s about to produce at any moment. Dick’s wife, you know.’

  ‘I’d better have their address and yours.’

  He gave me them. ‘My digs are quite close.’

  ‘Good. Nice digs?’

  ‘Not at all bad if you don’t object to dog hairs in the food.’ He glanced at the flowers. ‘Mine?’

  ‘Yes.’ I thanked him for them and his letter.

  He smiled sheepishly. ‘Linda Parsons dictated it. Not that I didn’t mean it!’

  ‘I guessed both. You won’t mind my saying, no repeats, Mr Kirby.’

  ‘Couldn’t you call me Henry? Show all is forgiven?’

  Despite his vast body, his face did not look much older than Marcy’s. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Henry. Want to see your brother now?’

  ‘Can I? I was wondering how to work up to that. Bush said as it is so late you might not want to risk disturbing him. I won’t do that, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  He blushed suddenly. ‘Do you know something else? Even though Bush had cleared me, I was afraid you’d sling me straight out after the other night.’

  ‘Duckie, the circumstances are rather different’

  ‘You should’ve seen the Office just now. When I showed up they all looked like I’d come to rape every night nurse in the joint.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t recognise you as Dr Kirby’s brother? They have to take a tough line with nocturnal intruders.’

  He admitted having to introduce himself. ‘But you recognised me!’

  ‘That’s different!’ I spoke without thinking. ‘I’ve known your brother since he was about the age you are now. You’re bigger than him but otherwise very alike.’

  ‘Lindy never told me this! Did she know?’

  ‘Probably not.’ I had realised my slip. ‘Come and see him.’

  Joel woke briefly. ‘Good God, it’s young Henry. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Stuff that, Joel,’ retorted his brother amiably, ‘that’s my line. How’re you making then?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Thanks for coming. What time is it?’

  ‘Oh, late-ish. Just got back from this party ‒ would’ve come earlier. Sure you’re all right?’

  ‘ “Condition satisfactory and getting on as well as can be expected”.’ Joel saw me in the doorway and beckoned. ‘Pip chuck the lad out to bed. A growing lad needs his sleep.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ I went closer. ‘Wound beginning to niggle?’

  ‘No. Just heavy as lead. Think they stitched in one of the theatre sandbags by mistake?’

  ‘I’ll ring the theatre and tell ’em not to worry if one’s missing.’ I took his pulse. He was not feeling any pain yet. ‘Have another snooze.’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Pip. ’Night, Henry.’

  Henry had been watching us very thoughtfully. ‘’Night, Joel. See you.’ He walked out ahead of me and half-way down the corridor before facing me. ‘You said he was doing all right.’ His tone was accusing. ‘He looks dead grotty to me.’

  ‘Immediate post-op P.A.s generally do. But as post-op P.A.s go, he’s looking pretty good without looking too good.’

  ‘If you say so.’ His own opinion was as obvious as the new hostility in his manner. ‘Has Liz rung up about him?’

  I looked at him more closely. ‘Several times.’

  ‘Have you told Joel?’

  ‘Not yet. He probably wouldn’t take it in.’

  He flushed. ‘He seemed on the ball to me.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘he’s not. When he really is, then he’ll start feeling the pain.’

  ‘I forgot that,’ he muttered. ‘But don’t you forget to tell him about Liz. He’ll want to know.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  ‘You do.’ It was very late. Joel’s appearance had upset him badly, he was suddenly nearly as angry as worried and far too young to know how to handle the mixtu
re or himself. ‘I’m thick. Mr Jones called you Nurse Dexter. Only just caught on. You’re Pip Dexter.’

  And I had caught on. ‘I was.’

  ‘Yes. You were.’ He was twenty. A man of the world and determined to prove it even if puce in the face. ‘Dick told me about you and Joel, but he didn’t know the name of the chap you managed to hook. But he told me you’d been Joel’s mistress. You were, weren’t you?’

  The truth, in his present humour, he would either take as a slur on Joel’s virility, a lie, or both. ‘Why not ask your brother Joel when he’s better? He should know the answer.’

  ‘Huh! I guess you think that’s clever! Well, if you want to know what I think ‒’

  ‘No, Henry,’ I said firmly, ‘I don’t. And I don’t think you really want me to know it, either. Go on home to bed.’ I held open the glass door. ‘You’ve had a long day and disturbing night. Good night.’

  He looked about to insist on fighting it out for the full fifteen rounds, but a lift was coming up. He charged through the door and down the stairs as if to take all eight floors by storm. I wondered if I should have returned the poor boy’s flowers, then decided it was just as well I hadn’t since that would only have reminded him of my positive and even more unforgivable offence of doing him a very good turn.

  Indirectly, he had done me one by easing more of my burden of guilt. Did the three Kirby brothers have an annual Let’s Hate Pip Day? Or did they settle for sticking pins into a wax dolly in my image? And, when down to basics, why?

  The question had to wait. Dr Rowlands had arrived for his first round. ‘Sorry to be so late, Staff, but I wanted to get everything sorted out in what’s left of tonight so as to make some kind of a fresh start in the morning.’

  ‘No small problem taking over just like that, Doctor.’

  He was a thin man with a near-crew-cut and a long-jawed, gloomy face. ‘Could’ve been worse. Kirby’s notes are all up to date. All I’ve had to do is read and examine. How’s he doing?’

  I told him. ‘You’d like to see him, Doctor?’

  ‘It’ll be a social call. He’s not my patient.’

  When he had seen and read all he required, I offered him tea. He said if possible, he’d prefer coffee. Etiquette ordained I should make the offer and allowed him the choice. He was polite, professional, and very hot on ethics. He had a quiet, rather crisp and very English voice. When he was leaving, I asked, ‘Aren’t you from New Zealand, Doctor?’

  He was not displeased. ‘You’ve actually heard there are islands off the Australian coast?’

  ‘My step-father-in-law’s from Queensland.’

  ‘That explains it. He live in London?’

  I shook my head. ‘He and my mother-in-law are in Majorca. This weather’s getting them down.’

  ‘Don’t blame ’em. Getting me down, and not only me. This flu bug’s blowing up, I’ve been admitting medicals all night and from Kirby’s notes he was hard at it all week-end. That’s why he couldn’t get away even though he was officially off from Saturday noon. He managed to grab a few hours Sunday night.’

  I thought of Saturday afternoon. ‘I forgot he was officially free this last one. I didn’t realise the medical side was so busy.’

  ‘Be busier once this bug starts affecting more than students and first-year nurses. It will.’ His face grew much more cheerful at the prospect of gloom. ‘Thank you, Staff.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Rowlands.’

  Hills brought our tea-tray to the desk. ‘He’s an R.L.G.A., isn’t he, Staff?’

  ‘Dr Rowlands? I wouldn’t have said he was anything more than a professional professional.’

  ‘You must admit he wants everyone to know who’s boss!’

  ‘Yes.’ I was now remembering my impression of Joel my first night back. ‘But as he is boss, it’s good sense to make that loud and clear to one and all from the start.’

  ‘I’ve never looked at it like that.’

  ‘It’s taken me quite a time to do that.’

  She picked up the morning work-list I had drawn up earlier. ‘Oh, God! Must I help you with Dr Kirby?’

  ‘I can do his face and hands and any dressing alone, but I’d like help with his bed. They’ll get him out in a chair whilst it’s done this afternoon, but not inside of his first twelve hours. He’s no straightforward appendix job. Relax, Hills. He won’t bite you. For one thing, he’ll be feeling far too lousy.’

  Her three months as a Lister day junior had left a deep scar. ‘Nursing doctors just makes me want to throw up. The creeps are so fussy and so convinced they know it all. And you can’t trust ’em. Ordinary patients’ll always back up nurses. Doctors don’t give a kick for nurses! They’ll shop us to Sister every day of the week and twice on Sundays!’

  ‘Ever worked in Nightingale?’

  ‘No. You’re going to say sick nurses are as bad?’

  ‘No, dear. Much, much worse! Just imagine nursing old Sister Charity. Or Miss Dawes.’

  ‘Staff,’ she protested, ‘I’m too young for the really seamy side of life! And I still loathe nursing doctors!’

  ‘Then make yourself forget he’s one. Just hang on to the plain fact that right now he’s a sick man who’s going to feel a lot sicker once the anaesthetic wears off and the full reaction and pain sets in.’ I flicked open Joel’s bed-ticket at the prescription sheet. ‘Mr Brown’s left him a couple of shots in hand. We’ll give him the first before I start on him. He’ll need it.’

  He did. Hills was there as my witness and to her patent disappointment, Joel neither criticised nor winced at my technique with a hypodermic syringe. I said, ‘I hope that didn’t hurt, Dr Kirby?’

  ‘Not at all. Thank you, Staff.’

  In daylight, his colour was poor, tension had drawn the skin tightly over his cheek-bones, and his pulse was racing. The injection would swiftly take care of the two last. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes, Doctor.’

  ‘Thanks, Nurses.’ He closed his eyes.

  Hills and I added our signatures and the precise time to the dated entry in the Dangerous Drug Book. I took the temperatures of the other small ward patients, then went back to Joel. His eyes were still closed but the tension was fading. He looked up directly I touched his pulse. It was much better.

  ‘Easing off?’

  ‘Nicely.’

  He smiled wearily. ‘Thank God for the white poppy. What do you want me to do now?’

  ‘Nothing, thanks ‒ apart from leaving it to me.’ I hitched up my mask. ‘I’ll just see if your dressing needs re-packing. No. It doesn’t. So all I’m going to do is wash your face and hands, replace that limp gown with a clean one and make your bed. Then I’ll leave you in peace to sleep.’ I put a chair at the foot of his bed and stripped off the top sheet, leaving on all his blankets.

  ‘Can’t I wash myself?’

  ‘Not this morning. You start moving around and you’ll be horribly giddy.’ I tucked a towel under his chin. ‘Hence the first post-op’s morning lick and a promise. Can you shut your eyes? There’s quite a bit of soap on this flannel.’

  He obeyed, smiling. ‘I can’t remember when I last had my face washed for me. It’s surprisingly refreshing.’

  ‘Good.’ I dried his face. ‘Have you ever been a patient before?’

  ‘No.’

  His eyes remained closed, so I didn’t bother him with more chat as I washed and dried his hands, then helped him out of his old and into a new gown. He knew what I was doing and raised his head unasked for me to tie his gown strings.

  ‘Thanks.’ He opened his eyes. ‘Sometime I must ask someone to get me my pyjamas.’

  ‘The Night Super brought up three pairs of yours along with your hair-brushes, tooth-brush, and electric razor when she did her last round. I’ve put them all in your locker but stuck to a gown this morning as it’ll be easier with all that padding round your middle.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said again. ‘Nice of Night Super. She help herself from my room?’

  ‘Liz got
’em for her. Liz’s rung several times to ask after you. You gave her a bit of a turn last night.’

  ‘Poor Liz.’ His smile was affectionate. ‘I’m sorry about that and to have given so many people, including you, all this work.’

  ‘Like you said on Saturday, all part of the service.’ I combed his hair. ‘I hope that parting feels right. This front bit’s still standing on end.’ I used my hand to smooth down his forelock. ‘That’s better!’

  His eyes were amused and his pupils very small. ‘You sound as if I’m all of eight years old.’

  ‘A highly precocious eight with that blue chin.’

  He fingered his overnight beard. ‘Very thuggish?’

  ‘I’ve seen lots worse. If it’s worrying you, I can try and raise a porter and if there’s not one handy, I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting using a cut-throat?’

  ‘I’m much safer with a cut-throat than a safety. I’ve never even scratched with a cut-throat, but I’ve nicked out chunks with a safety.’ I smiled at his expression. ‘I could run your electric over you?’

  ‘Now you make me sound like the front lawn! Thanks, but no. Or is that cause for more umbrage?’ He touched my arm with one finger, as I shook my head. ‘Though last night’s mostly blank, I’ve a hazy notion you and I earlier had a set-to. Did we?’

  ‘Yes. Or rather, I set-to. You were the receiving end. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Sackcloth and ashes for two?’ he suggested dreamily as Hills bustled in looking belligerent to help me make his bed.

  Chapter Twelve

  PHYSICIAN TURNS MODEL PATIENT

  Belligerence was in the air. Maggie MacDonald was on our doorstep when we got back from school the following afternoon. She had been delivering some shirts her brothers had left in her flat. My ‘How’s the ward?’ evoked an irate. ‘That man’s impossible!’

  ‘Joel Kirby?’

  ‘Och, no! That man Rowlands! He walked in this morning, demanded my diagnosis list, then said “out, out, out” to all but two of my medical patients!’

  ‘Beds wanted for flu?’