The Children of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  Dr Gaskell turned his key in the lock of the car door and shook his head.

  ‘You can’t take chances with little children with such severe breathing difficulties,’ he replied. ‘When you have been looking after the bronchioles and lungs of the young of Liverpool for as long as I have, there is one thing you learn above all else: a child can deteriorate faster than a sinking stone. I would much rather see him tonight, and tomorrow as well, if possible.’

  Dr Mackintosh looked at the much older man in awe. His reputation was well known, right across the country. His efforts to convince the government to introduce the Clean Air Act were unrelenting. Anthony had the hugest respect for the man and not just for his medical knowledge and professionalism but for his dignity and manner as well. However, he was ill prepared for his next question.

  ‘Have you just left the Grapes? Was my son in there?’

  Anthony didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to lie to a man he respected so much, so he just nodded.

  ‘Thought so. Which young nurse has fallen victim this time?’

  ‘Er, she’s the new probationer on men’s medical. Young Irish girl by the name of Nurse Moran.’

  The car safely locked, the two men walked towards the lamp hanging above the steps to the main hospital entrance. Its pool of light guided their way.

  ‘Do you know, Dr Mackintosh, I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. I really don’t. You young men today, you’re very different from how we were in my day. We used to set our cap at a young lady, feel very grateful if she allowed us to court her and then, when a suitable time had passed, we married her.’

  He pushed open the heavy, half-wood, half-glass door leading to the corridor and gestured to Anthony to pass. ‘After you,’ he said, and Anthony felt embarrassed that he hadn’t got there first to hold the door open for Dr Gaskell.

  ‘It sometimes seems to me that now the war is over everyone has gone slightly mad. What about you, Dr Mackintosh? By all accounts, you are the complete opposite. I hear you’re a workaholic, and you’re proving that by being here now.’

  Anthony gave a cough and grinned as he looked sideways at Dr Gaskell.

  ‘All right, all right! I know I have the same reputation, and God knows, I have earned it after forty-five years in this place. But I have a wonderful woman at home who keeps my feet on the ground. I don’t have to worry about anything at home, other than my roses and catching mice. Whereas you have no one, or so I hear. That is not a good thing for a doctor who works the hours you do.’

  Anthony blushed. He had no answer for Dr Gaskell. The truth was, he had become so set in his ways that it felt almost impossible to change. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about asking a young lady out; now he had no idea how to go about it.

  ‘Try and sort that out, Dr Mackintosh. We all need a good wife. Mrs Gaskell is marvellous. I’m afraid you will never catch the best, she has been mine for a very long time and there is no equal on this planet, but I am sure you can find someone to run a close second. Someone to make sure your shirts are ironed, your gloves are by the front door ready for when you leave and, most importantly, that you are fed.’

  Anthony was consistently underweight and could go days without a proper meal. He lived on slices of toast at the greasy spoon.

  ‘The thing is, if you really want to indulge your workaholism and not end up in the asylum, you can’t manage without one.’

  ‘I shall try my best, sir,’ said Anthony.

  They had now reached the top of the stairs and made to turn towards ward four. Dr Gaskell cast his eyes down ward three and reassured himself that all was calm. The hospital might now belong to the NHS, but when St Angelus was run as a voluntary trust it had been his responsibility, with Matron sharing the burden. Every birth and death in Liverpool’s dockside neighbourhoods, and each illness in between, had landed at his door. Now it was all in the hands of the politicians, but old habits died hard. He could not step away from responsibility. If there was a patient in the hospital who needed his care, he would be there. At times like this, the NHS with all its rules and regulations might as well not have existed.

  The red night-lights burnt dimly in ward three and the sound of infant snores floated through the door. Dr Gaskell smiled. All was well.

  Turning in the direction of ward four, both men startled as they saw Nurse Dana Brogan hurrying towards them at full pelt. When she saw them, she let out a yelp.

  ‘Oh, thank God. I was going for the phone. It’s Joe. I can’t get any sense out of him and he’s as blue as anything. His breathing is bad. I turned the drip up like you said, Dr Mackintosh, but it’s not touching him.’

  They talked as they hurried down the corridor towards the cubicle. As they approached, Dr Mackintosh saw a nurse from ward three trying to hold Joe and stop him hurting himself against the cot sides. He was obviously struggling to breathe, but in his confusion he was ripping the oxygen mask from his face.

  Joe was in two worlds. In one he was panicking and trying to breathe; in the other there were confused images and voices running through his head. It was Christmas morning and he was riding his bike along the half landing and Katie had her hand on the back of the seat and she was yelling, ‘Pedal, Joe, pedal!’ but he couldn’t because the exertion had robbed him of his breath and so instead he lifted his feet up in front of him and Katie ran behind until she fell on the floor laughing. He heard Nurse Dana, she was shouting, and two men were holding his head, one he knew and the other who was kindly and old, but they were trying to put a tube down his throat and it made him panic and he couldn’t breathe any more. ‘Hold on, Joe,’ the one he knew said, ‘it’s just a tube. Switch on the respirator,’ the doctor was shouting to someone, but he couldn’t breathe. He just couldn’t do what they were asking. He heard the nurse shout, ‘Joe, help us, Joe,’ but it wasn’t the nurse, it was Katie again and she was shouting, ‘Pedal Joe, pedal!’ and now his legs were suddenly free and he could. He could pedal faster and faster and he could breathe. He took a long, deep pull of the sweet, clear air, not the smoggy damp mist he was used to in Clare Cottages, and he pedalled faster as Katie whooped with laughter and he heard Lily saying to him, ‘Night-night, Joe. Night-night, little fella, I’ll be back soon.’ Lily was coming back. He turned around, he wanted to see Lily, she was coming back, he had to be there. Lily wouldn’t know where to find him and she would get upset, and he wondered, should he turn back for Lily? He looked behind him and although he could hear Lily, ‘Night-night, Joe,’ he couldn’t see her anywhere, but he could see Katie, laughing and running after him. ‘Pedal, Joe, pedal!’ She stopped and clapped her hands in glee, and turning, he saw the sunshine and the light before him and he felt free and overcome with happiness and exhilaration and he shouted, ‘Lily, I can ride my bike! Look, Lily!’ And he laughed out loud, long and hard, with all the breath he needed for the first time ever as he pedalled faster and faster towards the light.

  *

  Mrs Duffy stood in the kitchen, watching the bacon sizzle in the pan. Scamp lay at her feet. He had won the battle of wills and he had her wrapped around his front paw.

  ‘No, you can’t have the bacon from the pan. You will get the leftovers and nothing more. A bit of rind if you’re lucky.’

  Scamp dropped his ears flat against his head, laid his chin on his front legs and looked up at her imploringly. It was a technique he’d perfected in his first week.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, how do you do that?’ she scolded. Taking the end of a slice out of the pan, she threw it into his bowl. ‘Now go away, do you hear? Don’t you be bothering me again, this is for my nurses.’

  She heard the click of the front door as it opened and closed. ‘Aha,’ she said, ‘there you go, Scamp, the first one back off nights. Bacon’s nearly ready, come and get your tea!’ she shouted.

  There was no reply, but she heard footsteps in the morning room. Leaving the kitchen, she came out to see Dana pulling out one of the high-backed chai
rs and sitting down. Glancing at the wall, Mrs Duffy checked her chart to see who was off duty today. She had already dispatched the girls who were on day or split shifts, giggling and chatting, out into the sunshine.

  The off-duty rotas were placed on the noticeboard outside every ward each Thursday and the nurses in Lovely Lane were under strict instructions to fill in the chart in the morning room with their off-duty days by Friday. That way Mrs Duffy always knew who to expect for breakfast and when.

  ‘Ah,’ she said to Dana, ‘the terrible three will be missing you today. They’re off duty, they’ll all be down in a minute. I know they’re going into town to do a bit of shopping today. Is there anything you would be wanting?’

  There was no reply from Dana and Mrs Duffy turned round.

  ‘Oh my, you look shattered,’ she said. ‘So much responsibility for you on the children’s ward. Here’s your tea, and your bacon sandwich is coming up. Give me two minutes to fill your hot-water bottle and then we can pack you straight into bed, miss.’

  She heard the thunder of footsteps charging down the stairs. ‘Would you listen to that lot! I kid you not, they arrive a minute off the bacon being ready, not one before or after. Would you credit it!’

  Pammy, Victoria and Beth piled into the morning room. ‘Morning,’ said Pammy. ‘Would you look at that sunshine. And Dana off on her holidays the day after tomorrow, Mrs Duffy. Aren’t you the lucky one?’ she said to Dana.

  ‘Can I help, Mrs Duffy?’ said Beth as she filled up the milk jug, not waiting to be answered.

  Victoria was tipping cornflakes into a bowl and Pammy stood at the fireplace finishing off her make-up in the mirror over the mantelpiece.

  ‘We are off into town, Dana, is there anything you want?’ Victoria asked.

  She was met by silence. Mrs Duffy laid a plate with a bacon sandwich in front of her and her brow creased with concern.

  At the exact same moment, they all became aware that something was wrong. It wasn’t just because Scamp walked over to Dana and laid his head on her lap. It wasn’t because Dana failed to answer Mrs Duffy when she asked her was there something wrong and would she like an egg on her bacon sandwich. Nor was it the fact that she failed to join in with the chatter. It was the tears that poured down Dana’s cheeks and the pain in her voice that made them all hold their breath for a fraction of a second while they realized in horror that Dana had done what they all dreaded and had been warned against. She had become involved and something dreadful had happened. She couldn’t speak, and for the longest time just sobbed and sobbed.

  30

  Lily was woken by the sound of the police knocking on the door of St Chad’s. The entire convent was roused as they raised and lowered the large brass knocker three times. St Chad’s wasn’t used to early-morning visitors and Lily could hear the flustered scurry of a postulant’s footsteps along the stone flagstones. As she sat up in bed, her blood ran cold.

  She and Sister Therese travelled to St Angelus in a cab. Before yesterday, she’d never even sat in a car; now she was taking her second ride in one within a matter of hours. As they sped along Lovely Lane, Lily spotted Nurse Brogan. She was walking with her head bent low and she looked deflated and sad. Desperately worried, Lily sat back in the seat of the cab. All the police had said was that she needed to hurry.

  Once they reached the hospital, Lily ran down the corridor from the main entrance to the ward. There was no one around to chastise the poorly dressed girl and the nun, habit flying, who was holding up her skirts as she chased after her. The lights were dim, the corridor empty. The morning light was still too weak to chase the shadows from the corners and alcoves. The sound of her footsteps rang out through the hospital.

  ‘I’m coming, Joe. I’m coming,’ said Lily as she began to mount the stairs, not knowing she was too late.

  They were escorted by a nurse to Matron’s office. Matron had said that she would deal with them herself. She was now at the stage of trying to steer almost everyone out of the path of Miss Van Gilder. She did not want to prolong Lily’s agony so she got straight to the point. ‘We have lost Joe, Miss Lancashire. I am sorry to tell you, he has passed away. He had a further attack and it was too soon after the first. I am so sorry.’

  Lily’s anguished screams could be heard throughout the hospital.

  ‘Joe had the most experienced chest doctor in the region looking after him,’ Matron said. She had waited patiently for Lily’s sobs to subside so that Lily could focus on what she was saying. It was at times like this that her professionalism was tested to the limit and her years of experience stood her in good stead. ‘He went into respiratory arrest following a further bronchospasm and Dr Gaskell and Dr Mackintosh worked very hard throughout the night to try and save him. They did all they could to help Joe, using some very special equipment to assist his breathing.’

  Lily remembered the respirator at the side of the bed. Dr Mackintosh must have known.

  ‘His chest was very bad, but you know that, don’t you? Dr Mackintosh told me you took very good care of him.’

  Lily’s head shot up. ‘But, I wasn’t with him, he died alone,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh no he didn’t, my dear. He died in a nurse’s arms. Joe had quite stolen Nurse Brogan’s heart, I can tell you that. And Dr Mackintosh carried him to the mortuary himself, wrapped in a blanket, not on a trolley. By all accounts, your little brother was a very special person. Would you like me to take you to the mortuary now so that you can see him? I always think it is a good thing to do. Helps you to cope with the days ahead.’

  Lily nodded. This was the moment she had been waiting for since Matron had told her he was dead. She wanted to see him. But now it was here, she began to shake so violently she could barely stand.

  Twenty minutes later, in the chilly, forbidding mortuary, she kissed Joe goodbye. She ran the back of her fingers across his cold face and hair and hands. She took in his wayward curls and angelic face and burnt them on to her memory. ‘I will never forget you. Never,’ she whispered. Through her tears she saw that someone had laid the teddy that had brought him comfort on the children’s ward and the book the nurse had read to him by his side.

  She stood and ran her cold hands down the front of her skirt. Then she jumped as the mortuary attendant slammed the refrigerated drawer shut.

  Silence fell. It was the end of Joe’s life. The end of her own as she’d known it.

  ‘Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?’ she said to Sister Therese, who laid a comforting arm across her shoulders. ‘I will never love another person in my life as much as I have loved Joe, and I will never stop missing him. I swear to God, I shall pray for him every day for as long as I live.’

  ‘Hush now, hush.’ Sister Therese rubbed her back and guided her towards the door.

  Lily hadn’t noticed, but the mortuary attendant had made an inconspicuous little cough and when Lily hadn’t responded, he’d thrown Sister Therese a knowing look. It was time for his break; he was hurrying her along. Life was continuing as normal around Lily, but from the depths of her grief, she was oblivious.

  *

  As Lily and Sister Therese walked back through the hospital corridors, they were passed by Miss Van Gilder. She liked to make an impression and had made it a rule to be in her office and at her desk more than an hour before Matron was at hers. Today was an exception: Matron had clearly made a special effort to start early.

  Miss Van Gilder recognized Lily as the young woman who’d been on the children’s ward the previous evening. Lily was difficult to miss with the nun flapping alongside her as they staggered towards the main exit. If the nun hadn’t been present, she would have torn the girl off a strip. She didn’t allow visiting on the children’s wards other than on Sundays. That was the rule and Dr Mackintosh had violated it last evening. He had dared to defy her authority and she would not normally have tolerated it, but the warning bells had rung. That was how she had almost been caught out last time. She needed to get on with th
e job and avoid drawing attention to herself or her conduct. So she had given in, albeit reluctantly.

  ‘Excuse me, young lady,’ she called out. ‘I do hope you are aware that there will be no further visiting now until Sunday.’ Fancy her having stayed through the night, she thought. Nun or no nun, that doctor has taken a liberty. ‘The doctor said you would only be staying for a few hours. We have standards to uphold here, you know. Rules to obey. Your little brother is no different from any other child on the children’s ward. We don’t make exceptions.’

  Lily stopped and stared at her. She shook her head, unable to speak. Sister Therese crossed herself, glared at Miss Van Gilder meaningfully for a good few seconds, then hurried Lily towards the door without saying a word.

  Two minutes later, when Miss Van Gilder entered her office and looked down at her desk, she saw the first report of the day waiting for her on the blotter. It was the morning bed report. One new bed available on the children’s ward. ‘Well, how was I to know?’ she muttered as she picked up the phone.

  ‘Switchboard, get me the Acme cleaning agency on the phone.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Van Gilder,’ replied Madge in her smart telephone voice. ‘Would you like to hold or shall I call you back?’

  ‘Call me back,’ she snapped as she laid the Bakelite telephone back on its cradle with a loud ping. Miss Van Gilder thought people said thank you and please far more often than was necessary. A waste of good words.

  While she waited, she sat down, opened her desk drawer and once again pored over the details of the contract. He had missed out ward seven. How could he have done that? She wanted and needed that quote finalized for the next LDHB meeting. Then they would have a decision. She could see no good reason why it would take more than a month to go through the process of laying off the domestics and orderlies and putting the new contract in place. Then they could move on to the porters and, as quickly as possible, the laundry services.