Nurse Errant

by Lucilla Andrews

That had me by the throat. I said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Graves. I don’t know the answer. I’m not a doctor.’

  ‘But you must have some idea?’

  ‘Yes.’ I paused. ‘If my idea’s right ‒ and I hope to God it isn’t ‒ not long. A couple of months, maybe. Only do remember I’m not a doctor,’ I repeated desperately.

  Paddy appeared in the kitchen doorway when I was clearing her tea-tray. He had earlier refused my offer to make him tea. ‘This stuff’s working off faster than I thought. I can now see you through the mist. How’s Aunt Mary?’

  ‘Pretty well. I’m going to call in at Mrs Ron’s tonight to ask her to come in in the morning.’

  ‘That’s great.’ Despite his previous remark, he was using the kitchen wall as an anchor, just as he had done with the front door. ‘With you, Bowers, and Mrs Ron rallying round, I’ll feel a lot happier about leaving her on her own again tomorrow night.’

  I gave the cup I was drying much more attention than it required. ‘Going back to town?’ My mind flashed to Angela.

  ‘Blake’s idea, not mine. He has some other eye pal he wants me to see. He’s driving me up.’ He narrowed his eyes to improve his vision. ‘Would it be my drops, or don’t you approve?’

  ‘I just wondered why you came back for so short a stay.’

  ‘Oddly enough, angel, I like it here. Time was when London had its charms for me. Now they can keep the lot, provided they leave me my marsh. Which was why I came back here, originally.’ He was quite detached, as if discussing a third person. ‘I wanted a good look at it.’

  Something stirred in my mind. Mike saying, ‘To quote Paddy, on certain occasions one has to view a circumstance academically, or fall apart in little pieces.’

  I copied his manner. It was not easy. ‘The marsh is a good place for time off. Peaceful.’

  The ghost of a smile lit his face. ‘I agree. With reservations.’ He moved from the wall. ‘While you’re here, there’s something I have to tell you about Thursday. I should be back by midday, at the latest. As your sister’ll have to miss it, that’ll rule out Michael. And there’s another spanner in the works. Angela can’t make it.’

  ‘She can’t?’ I told him about her mother and brother. ‘They’ll be surprised.’

  He said her family knew her too well for that. ‘Angela’s a keen girl for changing her mind. But let us get back to our plans.’

  ‘Surely we’ll call it off?’

  It was agony watching him trying to focus properly. ‘That depends on you, angel. I’ll bet old Dick can raise another girl. We can make a four. What do you say?’

  I was too puzzled for pretence. ‘You want it on?’

  ‘And why in hell not? Didn’t I suggest the date? Are you thinking I have to go into a decline because every once in a while I’ve to nip to some ruddy eye hospital and let some bastard shove drops in my eyes? Or do you,’ he went on sternly, ‘imagine that as one girl stands me up, I out with the sackcloth and ashes and have done? I asked you to a party because I believe it’s time we had a party. No more, no less! Understand?’

  I understood several things. One of them was him. I had nursed patients of his type. Not many. Enough. They all shared the same courage, same streak of sheer toughness, that made them outwardly accept illness as a joke and a bore. They kept their inner feelings and thoughts to themselves, and even when faced with inevitable defeat, they kept up the act. Only it was so much more than an act.

  He had made a date, was going to keep it and be good company, even though the girl he loved was standing him up. Something had obviously gone wrong between them, in town. Now I knew about his eyes, it was not hard to guess why. I was sure she knew nothing of his illness. If she had known, leaving love out of it, normal sympathy for an old friend would have brought her back with him. I was equally sure Paddy had used his old ‘not-one-of-the-marrying-kind’ line on her. Probably she had been too hurt and angry to want to return or have any more to do with him. One day this would all make sense to her. She might even be grateful to him. I had seen blindness. It could not only be a burden to the blind. Paddy was making certain he carried it alone.

  I had forgotten to answer him.

  He said drily, ‘Naturally, angel, if you feel perhaps you’ll be having one of your nasty headaches on Thursday ‒?’

  ‘Of course not. I like parties. Thanks ‒ a four’ll suit me fine.’

  ‘That’s a weight off my mind. I was beginning to wonder whether it’d have to be sackcloth and ashes after all. The pleasure, darling, will be all mine.’ And he suddenly walked out of the kitchen.

  I did not see him again that evening. Back home, after my round, I decided to telephone Mike. As I had insisted to Mary Graves, I was no doctor. Perhaps I was being far too pessimistic. Paddy was a strong man, in good health generally. There were other eye men besides Hilton Blake in London.

  I lifted, then instantly replaced the receiver. I did not have to have qualified in medicine to recognise the hopelessness behind Paddy’s treatment. I knew all about those disorientating drops. And I knew that if any eye surgeon thought there was a hope of saving his sight, he would already have Paddy in a hospital bed. Time was running out.

  Mike called in when I was having lunch next day. ‘I’ve just seen Paddy, Lesley.’

  ‘Then come in. I want to talk to you.’

  He said he had expected that, and that was why he had come. A few minutes later I knew I had been right not to make that call last night.

  ‘I wish you had told me this earlier, Mike,’ I protested. ‘And don’t give me the professional confidence routine. I am in the trade.’

  ‘Wasn’t that angle. He asked me to keep quiet. One can see his point. Once the story got round he’d be drowned in sympathetic syrup and offers to teach him Braille. God knows there’s time enough for that.’

  ‘That’s true. Then who knows, apart from you, Bowers, and Mary Graves?’

  ‘His father and brothers. Not his mother. Apparently she’s one of those highly strung sensitive females with a low anxiety tolerance who just have to be sheltered by their families. The reverse of Mary Graves, or yourself.’

  I let that go without comment. It did occur to me that any woman with a capable husband and three grown sons could afford to be sensitive and enjoy a low anxiety tolerance.

  He talked on. ‘You nearly tumbled to it, earlier. You know we were in Albion on Thursday?’ I nodded. ‘I can tell you now he had a long session in the eye department in Albion General that evening. It was originally fixed for three p.m., but there was the usual hold-up. He had a date with the vicar about those sets he’s doing for the play later, and when it came to the point couldn’t see a damn thing.’

  ‘The vicar didn’t guess?’

  ‘He didn’t get a chance. He was at a meeting when we arrived with an excuse to Mrs Carter about not being able to stay.’

  ‘Irish,’ I said drily.

  ‘Why not? He is.’ He smiled faintly. ‘So we said I had to see a patient and he had to take a trunk call at home. That was fair enough ‒ he was my patient and he was expecting to talk to Hilton Blake. We were just getting away when Angela Whatsit arrived. She decided we wanted her to join us. A spoilt brat, that girl.’ He paused. ‘Paddy shook her off. We got away around the time you must have finished practising. That’s what I meant about your nearly tumbling to it earlier. His act was very good, not good enough to fool anyone who knows anything about eyes.’ He picked up his gloves and case. ‘I must say I’m glad you’re in on it. He doesn’t want pity, but he can use all the help going.’

  I had a sudden conviction that last remark did not only apply to Paddy’s eyes. Mike must know about Angela, Paddy would have had to talk to someone; sooner or later, everyone had to talk.

  To test this, and my theory in the Graves kitchen last night, I said, ‘Angela Gerrard may be spoilt, yet I wonder he didn’t tell her.’

  ‘Good God, Lesley! She’s just about the last person he’d want to know.’

  Th
ere was no consolation at all in being proved right. ‘I’ll help any way I can, if he’ll let me.’

  ‘You’ve a point there,’ he agreed gloomily and walked out to his car. The telephone rang as I watched him drive away.

  ‘Bert Dickens here, Nurse. It’s the wife ‒ can you come quick? She says the baby’s near.’

  Mrs Dickens was right too. Isabel Dickens was born at three o’clock that afternoon. She started an avalanche of midwifery for me. I delivered seven babies in the next three days, and was not able to visit Ann until the following Wednesday afternoon.

  I heard nothing from Paddy during those days. I did not expect to. We were not on writing terms. Mike told me Paddy was staying with friends ‒ he thought. ‘He didn’t give me an address. I think the friends are some connection with his firm. They know the situation, inevitably. Hilton Blake said he would contact me when he has something to say.’

  ‘Just what is he doing?’

  He frowned at his feet. ‘You know as well as I do, Lesley, probably Sweet Fanny Adams. It’s not his fault. He’s only a ruddy surgeon. He can’t work miracles.’

  From Mrs Carter I heard Angela was still in London. ‘She’s a dear child and of course I’m so fond of her, Nurse, but’ ‒ she took a deep breath ‒ ‘I should be very upset if one of my girls behaved as she does. Parents cannot help fretting ‒ it takes no time to make a phone call or write a card. Her poor mother has not had one word from the naughty child. She only knows Angela is in town because dear Paddy wrote saying he had seen her.’

  When I walked into Ann’s ward on Wednesday afternoon she looked quite beautiful.

  ‘You do look nice, Annie. Mike been in?’

  ‘Just left. He was in a rush.’

  I smiled at her transparent happiness. ‘He just managed to get in a hurried proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Darling, how did you guess?’

  ‘It’s stamped all over you. My dear, I’m so bucked! I like Mike.’

  ‘Lesley, are you sure? You really don’t mind?’ Her words rushed out. ‘You won’t think I’m leaving you stranded? I couldn’t take that, nor could Mike. He’s terribly fond of you, too ‒ and I don’t believe he really meant to ask me to-day. He honestly only had a few minutes, but he looked so tired and sort of worried, and we got talking and it just slipped out.’

  ‘I can’t think of a better antidote.’ I kissed her. ‘Can you?’

  She smiled slowly. ‘It did make him look different. And he was so sweet ‒ but you’re not to think this is going to mess up our lives or the cottage. We aren’t getting married for ages, I promise.’

  I said I had never heard such something something nonsense in my life.

  ‘Lesley ! Where did you pick up those words?’

  ‘Sweetie, as a nurse in an agricultural area I can get down to earth with no trouble at all. Those words to most of my patients are terms of endearment.’ I grinned with her. ‘I don’t hold with long engagements. If you and Mike don’t fix a reasonably soon date I’ll ask him his intentions.’

  Mike’s car passed mine on the marsh road that evening. He hooted wildly and uncharacteristically, slowed ahead to a stop.

  ‘Lesley!’ He practically exploded from his car. ‘Ann told you?’

  ‘She did.’ He was now doing his best to crack my knuckles. ‘And I’m simply delighted. I’d love to stay and talk, but being inundated with babies, must get on.’

  ‘I heard you were bringing ’em in by the dozen!’

  ‘Seven to date, and only one booking left. Mrs Croxley. She’s not due for another ten days, but childbirth is contagious, it seems. I won’t be surprised if I get a summons from Donald Croxley before my working week ends tonight.’

  He agreed with this. ‘One day when I’m old and wealthy I’ll do a thesis on the subject. Let’s hope you’re wrong and you have a quiet night and good lie-in tomorrow. Enjoy tomorrow’s party and give my regards to Paddy if you see him before I do.’

  ‘Nothing from Hilton Blake?’

  ‘No.’

  Donald Croxley rang me at nine that night. ‘It is early, but the missus says she thinks you should be here, Nurse.’

  The five Croxley children crowded round me as soon as I stepped into their small hall. ‘Nurse, please, speak to Dad,’ Winnie, the oldest, urged. ‘Please ask Dad if the little ones can stay here and not go to Mrs Siddons’. Terry and me’ ‒ she jerked a thumb at her thirteen-year-old brother ‒ ‘will look after ’em and keep ’em ever so quiet. It’s not that Mrs Siddons isn’t ever so nice ‒ but we wants to stay together near Mum. Please, Nurse?’

  ‘It’s awfully late, Winnie.’ The five anxious faces made me hesitate. ‘Supposing I see Mum first?’

  They waited in a huddle at the foot of the stairs. When I left Mrs Croxley’s room I talked to her husband in the girls’ bedroom.

  ‘I don’t like separating the kids, Nurse. But it’s not as if we’ve sleeping room downstairs.’

  I knew the house, and Mrs Croxley, well from my visits.

  ‘I don’t believe your wife would mind if Winnie and Terry carried down mattresses and bedding and put the little ones to bed on the sitting-room floor. They’ll all probably sleep better if they’re together.’

  ‘If you say so, Nurse. All right.’ He glanced towards his wife’s room. ‘How is the missus? I know as you and the doctor wanted her in hospital. Is it going to matter that she wouldn’t have that? Did I ought to have backed you both up? And not let the missus talk me into letting her stay home?’ He smoothed his thinning hair anxiously. ‘Trouble is, Nurse ‒ she’s like the kids. She don’t like leaving home.’

  I said slowly, ‘I have to say I think Dr Bowers was right to advise Mrs Croxley to have this baby in hospital. She’s not as young as she was. But she does seem quite well and she is much happier being here. Perhaps she was right.’

  ‘So far so good?’

  I smiled. ‘So far.’

  Winnie and Terry tiptoed up and down the stairs heaving mattresses and blankets, with broad smiles superimposed on the anxiety still present in their baby-young faces. Mrs Siddons came over to help as the children were not staying in her charge. She bustled around the kitchen and Mrs Croxley’s room, handing out hot tea and clucking advice, as the hours of the night dragged by.

  The house was silent, the five children on the sitting-room floor fast asleep, when their brother was born.

  Mrs Siddons, hidden behind a mask and enveloped in one of my spare gowns, sat, a comfortable bolster, holding her friend’s hand.

  ‘A real lovely little lad, dear ‒ a real lovely little lad,’ she murmured over and over again.

  Mrs Croxley raised her head. ‘Is he all right, Nurse? I’ve not heard him cry.’

  I said evenly, ‘He’s not breathing too well yet, dear. Just try and lie very still. You’ve been so good.’

  The baby was barely breathing, his colour was shocking, muscle-tone almost non-existent. The small room a few seconds ago had been full of contentment. The tense silence was suddenly deafening.

  I had to ignore it. I used every method I knew to get that baby to breathe correctly. When I tugged down my mask as a final resort it was clinging to my face as if wrung out in water.

  ‘Nurse is breathing into the little lad.’ Mrs Siddon’s voice was choked. ‘She’s trying hard, dearie ‒ real hard ‒ she’s got him nigh on his little head ‒ and moving his arms ‒ oh ‒’

  She stopped short as the baby gave a faint wail.

  There are other beautiful sounds. There was none more beautiful to me at that moment. The wail went on, and slowly grew to a glorious yell of protest. And he went on protesting.

  ‘Oh, bless him ‒ bless the little lamb!’ Mrs Siddons was sobbing unashamedly. ‘Do you hear him, love? Do you hear that lovely lad of yours? Nurse got him right for you.’

  Mrs Croxley sighed deeply. ‘He’ll do lovely now.’

  I wrapped him in a towel and shawls, mopped my forehead with the back of one arm. ‘That’s right,
son. You shout your head off. I’d do the same if someone stood me on my head like that.’

  With each bellow the air rushed into his lungs. His colour was normal; his muscles were fine. He flayed the air with furious minute fists until I tucked his arms down. I laid him in a cot, tilted the mattress, and carried the whole thing to his mother’s side. ‘He needs a little rest, my dear. I’ll lift him out for you to hold in a little while.’

  She had not had a long labour, but it had been hard. She was very pale and exhausted. She looked at her son, touched his head, reached up and stroked my cheek. ‘Ta, dear. Ta.’

  A little later I went downstairs. Winnie opened the sitting-room door. ‘We heard Dad go up when the baby was crying. Is Mum all right? And can we see the baby? We’ll be ever so good.’

  Four untidy heads appeared behind hers. ‘Can we, Nurse? And what is it?’

  ‘Everything’s fine and you’ve a little brother. Hush’ ‒ Winnie helped me quieten the minor riot ‒ ‘go on being quiet, and I’ll see what Dad says.’

  Five minutes after they crowded round their mother’s bedroom door. I held the cot for them to see the baby.

  Oliver, the youngest until that night, sidled up to me when I closed the door and said they must go back to sleep. ‘Nurse’ ‒ he tugged my gown ‒ ‘that baby in there.’

  I knelt down to face him. ‘You like him, Oliver? He’s very sweet.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s not that he’s not real nice ‒ but he ain’t got no hair and he ain’t got no teeth. Will it matter? He is only a little ’un.’

  I promised him it would not matter at all. ‘His hair and teeth will grow, darling.’

  ‘Dad’s don’t grow ‒ at least, not his hair.’ He beamed suddenly. ‘That baby in there ‒ he looks ever so like Dad when his teeth is bad and he has to take ’em out. I ’spect that’s why Dad looks real made up.’

  ‘And I expect Dad looked real made up when you arrived ‒ without hair and teeth, sweetie.’

  That struck him as exquisitely humorous. He chuckled to himself while I carried him down and tucked him up again on the mattress on the sitting-room floor.

  Mrs Siddons collected up the others, saw them to their makeshift but perfectly good beds, and said she reckoned she’d be staying for the while. ‘My Bert’ll not mind fending for hisself. I got to see Donald and the kids have a good hot breakfast inside ’em before they goes off in the morning.’