Polly

by Betty Neels

  Polly gave a small yelp of alarm; she’d been told about asphyxia, but she hadn’t seen it before. It would be of no use calling for Nurse Honeybun, busy with a baby in its bath; she would have to do something. Polly plucked the child from its cot and held it up by the heels, then slapped it gently between its tiny shoulder blades, nothing happened, indeed the blue deepened and its breaths were alarmingly infrequent. Over the first shock, Polly remembered what else she had been told to do. She righted the toddler and poked a careful finger down its throat. There was nothing there, not to be reached anyway. With calm desperation she ran through the ward with the child in her arms, out of the swing doors across the landing and into the forbidden domain of theatre.

  There were several people in the vestibule leading to the anaesthetic room. She thrust the child at the one nearest—the Professor.

  ‘Sam,’ she cried, ‘for heaven’s sake—he’s not breathing! I’ve held him upside down and put a finger down his throat—do something!’

  There was a profound silence for a couple of seconds—on account of the child, but also because no one there had ever dared to call Professor Gervis Sam to his face. He didn’t say a word, merely put the child on the examination table and bent over it. Polly waited long enough to hear him say: ‘A scalpel and a tracheostomy tube, if you please,’ before she raced back to the ward to encounter Staff’s outraged face.

  ‘How dare you leave the ward, Nurse Talbot—it’s absolutely forbidden, and you know it! Nurse Honeybun can’t be here, there and in the baby’s room—you’re quite irresponsible!’

  ‘Benny Miles,’ said Polly. ‘He was choking—there wasn’t anyone here, I didn’t know what to do. I ran to theatre with him…’

  Staff swelled up like a turkeycock. ‘You what?’ she demanded. ‘You know you may never go there unless you have permission, and there’s a list this morning. I shall report you to Sister. Where is Benny?’

  ‘In theatre. Professor Gervis was looking after him.’

  ‘Stay in the ward and don’t dare leave it. I’m going to theatre. You’re quite untrustworthy, Nurse Talbot.’

  It had only needed something like that to happen, thought Polly. She hadn’t the least idea what else she should have done, but quite obviously she had done the wrong thing. If she hadn’t already made up her mind to go to the office this had clinched the matter for her. The moment Sister Bates came through the door she asked to go and speak to the Principal Nursing Officer, remembering to add: ‘Staff’s in Theatre with Benny Miles—he’s asphyxiated, Sister.’ Then she scuttled away before Sister could start her questions. There was exactly five minutes left of the time allowed for nurses to go to the Office each morning, and although her hair was untidy and her apron was rumpled, she really didn’t care. Indignation and fright had superimposed themselves on any other feelings. Only at the back of her mind she felt relief that it had been Sam there; he’d know what to do and Benny would be all right again.

  She was the last there and the Office Sister frowned at her. ‘Nurse, you’re very untidy, I suggest you come tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,’ her stern eye pinpointed the clock on the wall, showing barely two minutes to go, ‘and come tidily dressed, please.’

  ‘I got held up,’ said Polly earnestly, ‘and I really must see Miss Brice, it’s very urgent.’

  The Office Sister sniffed. ‘Very well, you may go in, Nurse—what’s your name?’

  ‘Talbot, Sister.’ Polly opened the door and crossed the Office to stand before the desk. The last time she had done that she reflected, was at her interview, such a short time ago.

  ‘Nurse Talbot?’ The Principal Nursing Officer looked at her, smiling a little. She knew all about Polly and Professor Gervis, seen talking by an outraged Office Sister; she knew about a good deal more than that too, but she liked the Professor, they were friends of long standing, and she had nothing against the rather plain and at the moment tense girl in front of her.

  Polly drew a breath. ‘Miss Brice, I should like to leave. I— I’m not good enough to be a nurse—I’m irresponsible and I break rules and I drop things.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, and I’m untrustworthy.’

  Miss Brice settled back in her chair. ‘And who says these things, Nurse?’

  ‘Oh, well, I couldn’t tell you that, Miss Brice, but it’s quite true.’ She added in a calm little voice: ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry because I thought… I’ve been told by someone who is an authority on—on nursing that I would never be a nurse.’

  ‘Have you really thought about this, Nurse? It’s not just a sudden flash in the pan because something’s gone wrong on the ward? You’re with Sister Bates, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Brice, and Sister’s been very kind.’

  ‘And you still want to leave?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Do I have to wait a whole month?’

  Miss Brice studied Polly’s pale face. ‘No,’ she said gently, ‘that won’t be necessary, but you do understand that I must have a report from your Ward Sister first, don’t you? I think the best thing is for you to take your days off as from now— I’ll see Sister Bates, you have no need to go back to the ward—go home and talk it over with your parents and make a final decision. Let’s see, it’s Tuesday—report here on Thursday after lunch, Nurse, and if you still wish to go we can arrange matters then.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Brice. I can go home now?’

  ‘Just as soon as you’ve changed. I’ll see you on Thursday, then.’

  Polly left by a side entrance and caught a bus to the station. There were trains enough to Cheltenham, she took the next one and then caught a bus to Pulchester and then another local one to her home. Her mother was the only one there. She took a quick look at Polly’s face and said cheerfully: ‘Darling, what a lovely surprise! Come into the kitchen and I’ll make another pot of coffee.’

  Polly’s frozen face crumpled. ‘Oh, Mother!’ she mumbled, and burst into tears.

  The Professor straightened his long back and threw a small brass bell—the kind worn by teddy bears—into the kidney dish a nurse was holding out. ‘Touch and go,’ he commented. ‘Leave the tube in for twenty-four hours and then I’ll have him back and close the wound. Where’s Nurse Talbot?’

  ‘Gone back to the ward,’ said a voice, and he nodded.

  ‘Keep him here in the Recovery Room until he’s OK.’ He glanced round him. ‘Ah, there’s Staff Nurse from the ward. Joseph, give her the details. I’m going to scrub. And tell her to see there aren’t any more bells lying round for the children to swallow.’

  He had a heavy list, it was almost one o’clock when he left the theatre, and went into the ward to look at his small patients. The ward was busy now and noisy as his four morning cases came round from their anaesthetics. He spent some time with them and then strolled round the cots and little beds until he reached Benny, back in his own cot again, sleeping peacefully.

  The Professor glanced around him. ‘Where’s Nurse Talbot? She deserves some thanks for acting so promptly this morning.’

  Sister Bates hesitated. ‘If you’d come into my office for a moment, Professor…’

  He didn’t ask any questions, only waited while she sat down at her desk.

  ‘Miss Brice telephoned. Nurse Talbot went to see her this morning—directly after she left the theatre—and she asked to leave. She’s gone home for two days to think it over and will report back on Thursday afternoon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She told Miss Brice that she had been told that she would never be a nurse, that she dropped things, that she was untrustworthy, irresponsible and broke the rules. She has quite made up her mind. I was asked to give a report and I’ve said she has the makings of a good nurse. She’s a natural with children, she’s honest and punctual and tries really hard.’

  ‘Who told her she was untrustworthy? Who was in the ward when she came back from theatre?’

  Sister Bates looked awkward. ‘Staff Nurse. When I got back she’d gone to theatre, of c
ourse, and Nurse Talbot was here alone.’

  The Professor sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘Would you get Staff Nurse Stockley, please. I’ll speak to her here.’

  Sister Bates lifted the phone. ‘She’ll be in the dining room. She’s a bit hard on the young ones, but she doesn’t mean to be unkind.’

  She would have said more than that, but her companion’s mouth was set so grimly that she remained silent until Staff Nurse tapped on the door and came in. It surprised her when Sister Bates went out after the brief observation that Professor Gervis wanted a word with her, but she turned a smile on him; he might be an engaged man, but there was never any harm in turning on the charm.

  ‘What exactly did you say to Nurse Talbot?’ he asked with silky politeness. ‘And I would like the exact words. You accused her of leaving the ward, perhaps?’

  She bridled. ‘Indeed I did, sir. She had no right to leave the children alone, and I told her so.’

  ‘Yes? And what else did you say to her?’ His voice was so mild that she went on readily:

  ‘I pointed out that she was untrustworthy and irresponsible and forever breaking rules—she’s quite unsuitable as a nurse, you know.’

  ‘Suppose you leave that for others to judge, Staff Nurse? And if ever I hear of you speaking in that way to any other student nurse, there will be trouble.’ He got off the desk and towered over her. ‘I’m very angry. You’d better go now.’

  She went, and he stayed where he was after she had gone, staring out of the window at the rooftops around him. Presently he walked unhurriedly down the ward, bade Sister Bates a civil goodbye and went downstairs to Miss Brice’s office.

  Mrs Talbot didn’t try to stop Polly crying. She made the coffee, sat down at the table beside her daughter, offered a hanky and waited. Presently Polly sniffed, blew her nose and took a gulp of coffee. ‘I’m going to leave, Mother. I’m no good as a nurse, really I’m not. I’ve loved it, but Sam said I’d never be a nurse, and he’s right—I should have stuck to Greek and Latin!’

  Mrs Talbot with unerring maternal instinct, hit the right nail on the head. ‘Sam—Sam said that?’ She stared at the wall and began to smile.

  Polly didn’t see the smile. ‘I tripped up and spilt a bowl of water just as he came to do a round—there’s a simply beastly staff nurse, and then Benny choked…’

  ‘Have some more coffee,’ invited her mother, ‘and start at the beginning, darling.’

  Polly sucked in her lower lip like a child and began. When she had finished her mother said comfortably: ‘Well, you have two days to think about it, love, but take my advice and don’t dwell on it too much, just potter about and take Shylock for his walk and do a bit of gardening; sometimes things look different when you’ve put time and distance between you.’

  She got up and took the coffee cups to the sink. ‘You pop upstairs and do your face and I’ll make some sandwiches, we’ll have them in the garden and perhaps you’d pop down to the village presently and get a few things from Mrs Greggs.’

  When Polly had gone upstairs, her mother sat down again at the table. ‘I’d better be prepared,’ she murmured thoughtfully. ‘If I make a really big steak and kidney pie—there are peas enough in the garden, and courgettes, and strawberries and cream for afters.’ She nodded her head. ‘Polly can bring back some more cheese, and I’ll make a cake and some cheese straws…’

  She started cutting bread, looking pleased with herself.

  Polly came down presently, nose and eyes still a little red, but with her face done and her hair a smooth curtain once more. She had changed into one of her cotton dresses, well washed and a little faded, and put sandals on to bare feet. She looked like a little girl, only her eyes looked huge and sad in her still pale face.

  By teatime, though, she looked better, for there was colour in her cheeks from the long walk she had taken Shylock on and her nose was no longer even faintly pink. She even ate quite a good tea before going into the garden to pick the strawberries with Ben, and then, at her mother’s request, getting on her bike to fetch the cream.

  They had all been dears, she mused, pedalling along briskly through the lanes. If they had been surprised they hadn’t shown it, nor had they asked a lot of stupid questions. Of course, she would have to explain to her father later; he’d asked her to check some Latin papers with him and that would be as good a time as any.

  She collected the cream, passed the time of day with Mrs Coffin, and pedalled briskly back home. It was a glorious evening, very quiet save for the country sounds around her. Perhaps Sam had been right after all; she wasn’t a town girl, she would do better to stay at home. She turned in at the open gate. The Bentley was crouching majestically before the door.

  Polly, braking so hard that she almost fell off, drew a loud, indignant breath, sprinted to the back door, propped the bike against the wall and went in. There was the tail end of her mother’s skirt whisking through the kitchen door into the hall and she was alone with the Professor, sitting very much at his ease on the edge of the kitchen table.

  Neither mincing her words nor stopping to think, Polly began: ‘If you’ve come to tell me I’m not to leave, you’re wasting your time.’

  His dark eyes studied her flushed face. ‘Oh, dear, oh dear, you are cross,’ he observed mildly, ‘and all for nothing. You have my full support if you want to go—it’s the most sensible thing you’ve decided upon in weeks.’

  The ground cut from under her feet, she stood goggling at him. ‘You really meant it—that I would never be a nurse?’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Then why are you here, Professor?’

  ‘Sam,’ he said, still mild. ‘We shall have to have that little talk, Polly, but you ran away.’

  Her voice rose despite her efforts to present an untroubled front. ‘I did not—I most certainly did not!’ There seemed to be no point in going on.

  He got off the table and came and stood in front of her. ‘Benny’s better,’ he said. ‘He owes his life to you. Never mind the rubbish Staff Nurse Stockley told you. You did exactly what any sensible girl would have done.’

  Polly’s eyes filled with tears; she was unhappy and uncertain and no longer thinking straight. ‘Oh, I am glad he’s all right!’

  ‘Does that make you change your mind?’

  She wiped away the tears with a furious hand. ‘No, it doesn’t. Oh, go home to your Deirdre, do!’

  He smiled a little at that and took her hands in his. ‘Yes, I must do that presently, but first there is something that I must say to you.’

  His hands felt very comforting, but she tried not to think of them. ‘About Deirdre?’

  ‘Yes.’ He let go of one of her hands and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. ‘I’m not usually at a loss for words, but I think I’m going to find this…’

  He was interrupted by Mrs Talbot’s voice from the door. ‘So sorry, but Sam, you’re wanted urgently—it’s the hospital. The telephone’s in the hall.’

  He went without a word, and Polly, standing in the kitchen with her mother, could hear his voice, curt and brisk. A minute later he came back into the kitchen. ‘I must go at once. I’m sorry, Mrs Talbot.’ He looked at Polly, standing exactly as he had left her. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can.’ He had gone before she could get her mouth open; she heard the Bentley go down the drive and up the hill, on its urgent way to Birmingham.

  ‘Ah, well,’ said Mrs Talbot regretfully, ‘we’ll have a nice quiet evening.’ And Polly, never more mistaken in her life, agreed.

  They were still in the kitchen dishing up the supper when she heard a car turn in at the gate. She stopped mashing the potatoes, her pale face suddenly pink and happy. It took only seconds to realise that it couldn’t possibly be Sam; someone for Cora or Marian, she supposed, and went back to her mashing.

  Cora put her head round the kitchen door, her face surprised and a little worried, and she paused again. ‘It’s Sam’s…she says she’s Deirdre and wants to see you, Polly.’

  Pol
ly put the saucepan back on the stove, wiped her hands and said: ‘Don’t wait for me, Mother, everything will spoil and I shan’t be more than a minute or two.’ Then she crossed the hall to the sitting room. Deirdre was alone; everyone else was in the garden and she was standing at the window watching them. She turned round as Polly went in and took a few steps towards her. Her glance invited Polly to compare the two of them—she in an elegant silky outfit which must have cost the earth, not a hair out of place, Polly in her cotton dress and sandals, and her hair not all that tidy. The glance had been calculated to put Polly at a disadvantage, but it left her unworried but puzzled. She said: ‘Hullo?’ on a questioning note, and Deirdre said quickly:

  ‘Sam said you’d be here—he’s been, hasn’t he? He told me he was coming.’ She paused and smiled with gentle malice. ‘Actually we arranged to meet here.’

  Polly didn’t ask why. ‘He was called away unexpectedly, to the hospital, I think, but he didn’t say…’

  The other girl fiddled with a bracelet and Polly wondered why she was nervous.

  ‘He didn’t talk to you, then.’

  ‘No.’ For the life of her, Polly couldn’t have said any more. There was a lump of ice inside her, getting bigger and bigger every moment. She wasn’t sure why, only that she was suddenly full of dire forebodings.