Call Me Sister

by Yeadon, Jane

  I didn’t add that Ginny had also said she was protecting her husband against flighty pieces, a remark which had thoroughly interested the Captain and thoroughly annoyed me.

  The remark might still have rankled had Sister Shiach not seemed so pleased. Clapping her hands twice, she said, ‘Well, that’s just fine. And there was me feeling sorry for her! She can get on with helping him. It’ll save me the hassle of visiting. There’s lots more people needing my time than the bloomin’ Saunders-Hewitts. I’ve only really been going there to support her, but it sounds like she’s managing fine, if in her own way.’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth,’ I said, ‘I think she quite enjoyed the experience. She must have. She actually threw off her kimono, pulled off her necklaces, shouted, “Look! Charles, I’m casting my pearls before swine,” then she dived in. There was a bit of a splash,’ I reflected. ‘You’re lucky to see me. For a minute I thought I’d be washed away in a tidal wave. Anyway, I got out before I could see any more creative uses of a loofah.’

  Chuckling, Sister Shiach opened a green book with a list of names and columns beside them. She took a red pen and put a tick beside the Captain’s name. ‘To show he’s had a visit,’ she explained, then she stroked a line through it. ‘There! I’ll give him a follow-up call, tell him he’s off the books and I’m so pleased he’s able to bathe himself but to keep an eye on his wife when she’s there too. It’d be good for him to take some responsibility for her for a change.’

  Had Jomo had a watch, he’d have been checking it. As it was, he was studying the door with fixed interest then running to his mistress and pawing at her boots. I wished I had boots like hers. They looked far more useful than my trendy numbers, which leaked and seemed to embrace the cold. My toes were sore when they weren’t itching. Maybe I was getting chilblains. Sensible boots would probably solve the problem. Thinking about the bell-tent lady and how exposed to cold she must be made me feel lucky I’d such a simple solution.

  Sister Shiach shrugged into her coat. ‘Okay, Jomo, we’ll go. Come on, troops.’

  As I got into her car I said, ‘I didn’t get round to asking you last night, but were the bell-tenters all right?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really. It was so cold I was anxious about them. It was a good thing I took them soup and the mum wasn’t too proud to take it. The stove was going great guns so I thought that as long as they didn’t put their tent on fire they’d survive.’ She wiped the windscreen with the back of her gloved hand and peered up at the sky. ‘Thank God the weather’s better today. Still, I think Mum’s beginning to realise she can’t go it alone. I’m going to have a word with her doctor today. See if we can get her a house. I bet there’ll be one near Bell shortly.’

  Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she continued, ‘From the way she spoke yesterday, her present neighbour’ll soon be wanting a shift. She’s not going to stay at the end of Bell’s tongue for long. What d’you say, Jomo?’ Thoughtfully, she stroked his head.

  Jomo stood up to wag his tail, which made Sister Shiach nod her head. ‘Yes, I think so too. And if that house does become available, I’m sure if I asked Bell to help the bell-tenters settle in, she’d do it gladly. She knows what such a lifestyle change that is. Then, the wee one’s much the same age as Shirley – they’d be company for each other and that’d be good for their confidence, especially when they start school. It’s not good for anybody to shut themselves away.’

  She started the car then, as if readying for take-off, revved the engine. Above its roar she shouted, ‘The couple we’re going to visit may have different home circumstances from my bell-tenters but they’re not so different when it comes to hiding away.’ She crashed the car into gear, pushing me back in my seat, then continued in a softer voice, ‘Now I know you’re anxious about seeing folk in a health visitor capacity. This visit’ll maybe give you a chance to see that using your common sense can work fine even if you haven’t got a certificate.’ She tapped her head. ‘Using this is the key. Anyway, I’d appreciate your help with the Oggs. For a start, coping with a new face will be good for them, and your friendly one is a bonus.’

  I caught my reflection in the driver’s mirror. I looked anxious, probably because the car’s indicator was showing a right, meaning we’d probably be turning left. Keeping her options open and oblivious to the squealing brakes of a car coming behind, Sister Shiach was unperturbed. She maintained a steady course in the middle of the road and continued, ‘Their baby’s three months old now. Lovely wee fellow, if slow.’ She cancelled the right-turn signal, then immediately turned into a street on the left. Her remark was casual. ‘But that’s what you’d expect of a mongol.’

  The Oggs had a modern-built, smart-looking bungalow. It had such an immaculately tidy garden that the casual way my driver had parked her car in the driveway made the place look untidy.

  ‘Somebody’s seen us,’ I said, glimpsing a pale face peeping out from behind a curtain.

  It had gone by the time Sister Shiach waved. She said, ‘That’ll be Marion. I’ve told her we’re coming. I’ve asked if her husband could be around too. I’m afraid they’re both struggling to cope with this baby and they’re wondering where they’ve gone wrong.’ She bit her lip. ‘And they won’t want their neighbours seeing us visit. Let’s catch them before they change their minds about letting us in.’

  An anxious shadow was cast over Marion’s pretty doll-like face as she opened the door then, glancing around as if to check whether anybody else was around, she ushered us in. ‘Come in, quick, please! It’s such a cold day.’

  Sister Shiach dawdled, making a big play of wiping her feet clean. ‘We don’t want to bring dirty feet into the house,’ she explained.

  I could understand her reasoning. Waiting in the hallway I saw that all but one of the rooms leading off it had their doors open. Apart from the kitchen, they were carpeted in the same pale blue as where we stood. I presumed that the one with the closed door was the same. It must be murder to keep. I wondered what the Duthie brothers would make of something with a pile so thick they’d trip over it. No wonder Marion looked so anxious.

  Rather more worrying, however, was the reason we were here. There didn’t seem to be any sign of the baby. Where could he be?

  There was one with a tear running down his cheek, only he was looking out from a Boots picture hanging on a white-painted wall. And from his viewpoint in the hall, there wasn’t much to see, just a walnut sideboard standing on skinny legs.

  From a quick glimpse through the open doors I saw only one bedroom. I wondered if it was the Oggs’ and if they ever slept there. Its covers looked fresh out of the packet. The other rooms were as immaculate as a showroom exhibition. Bell’s house with all its chaos felt more alive than this one with its air of vacancy and smell of beeswax.

  A man, dwarfing Marion, appeared at her shoulder. They made a handsome couple, she with her fair good looks whilst he was tall and dark. ‘Ah! Sister.’ He glanced towards me, then added, ‘Or should I say, Sisters, eh? Ha ha!’ He rubbed his hands in a jovial fashion but his smile didn’t reach his eyes and I sensed we weren’t welcome.

  Sister Shiach wasn’t fazed. ‘I’ve got an extra pair of hands just now so I thought I’d introduce you to Sister Macpherson. She’s a modern miss – believes dads should have a hand in baby care.’

  I nodded my head vigorously. ‘It must double the pleasure whilst halving the work.’

  ‘Ha ha! Halving work, eh? I could do with more than a half hand myself, and that’s just for work. Dads helping? Crikey! Not always easy when you’re already a working man, and self-employed at that.’

  She might have the delicate look of a Christmas fairy but there was a note of steel in Marion’s voice as, bending down to pick a thread off the carpet, she said, ‘Well, but I do help you, Neil. Who keeps the house as well as doing your typing?’

  Ignoring this, Mr Ogg bared his teeth and looked at his watch. ‘Time’s the thing, eh, Sister? Look at me. Al
ready I’ve given up some of the valuable stuff just to meet up with you.’

  Immune to his piercing blue eyes and chiselled jaw, Sister Shiach was forceful. ‘Well, you’re just lucky we’ve the time. Now I’d like a wee word with your wife. Sister here,’ she said, nodding towards me, ‘is going to help build up your confidence handling Andrew. He’s old enough to cope with you bathing him now.’ Taking Marion’s arm, she steered her away from us. ‘You go on, Neil. Take Sister Macpherson to see your son. I know you’re both going to enjoy the training session.’

  He threw his hands open and sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh well, if you insist. But I hope this isn’t going to take long.’ Opening the previously closed door he waved me into the room as if he were a traffic policeman.

  10

  A FATHER’S ROLE

  We were in a nursery with a military-looking Donald Duck marching across one of its lemon walls.

  ‘Who’s the artist?’ I asked, wondering if I should step on or around the natural-coloured shag pile rug beside Andrew’s cot. I looked down at the baby and saw an identical version of that boy in the Boots picture, except this one was asleep and had no tears.

  ‘Marion. She knitted that too.’ Mr Ogg nodded at a white and lemon crocheted cot blanket covering the baby. His laugh was bitter. ‘She did it before he was born. Kept her options open as to the sex, but not for the fact it mightn’t be normal.’

  Usually mothers were shown how to bath their baby, either at their ante-natal classes or in the post-natal wards. Very few Sixties dads were offered the chance to get this experience and child rearing, in Dingwall at least, was still considered women’s prerogative. Judging by his combative stance, Mr Ogg saw no reason to change the status quo.

  Still, he was a captive audience and I couldn’t have asked for a better-equipped place to give a demonstration. There was even a sink in the room. Next to it was a stand, holding a baby basin with enough towels and talcum powder in it to start a chemist’s shop.

  ‘Right,’ I said, readying for work, ‘let’s waken our wee pal and see what he’s to say for himself.’

  Folding his arms and leaning against the door, Mr Ogg watched as I stroked Andrew’s face and spoke to him, ‘Morning, Wee Andrew. We’ve a special treat for you today. Your daddy’s going to bath you. You’ll need to be patient with him, mind. He’s not very experienced.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re talking to him. You’ll not get any response.’ Mr Ogg spoke irritably.

  ‘Oh, I dunno. Look.’ I lifted Andrew out, and rubbing my cheek against his, heard his quiet breathing change. He gave a small cry. He had a shock of black hair, a perfect skin and until he opened his eyes, it would have been difficult to see he was different from any other baby.

  His father backed away when I tried to hand him over. ‘Oh, no – he just feels so floppy. I’m scared I’ll drop him.’

  ‘It’s just because he hasn’t the greatest of muscle tone. But that’ll develop come time. You’ll see. Go on.’ I tried my most encouraging voice. ‘Take him. I need to fill his bath. Show you what the right temperature is.’

  ‘You’re even bossier than Sister Shiach,’ Mr Ogg complained, nevertheless taking off his jacket, draping it over a nursing chair then putting out his arms. ‘Oh well, then!’

  ‘Now chat to him, or sing,’ I instructed. ‘Babies like that.’

  There was a lot of huffing and puffing until Mr Ogg realised he could use this heaven-sent opportunity to deliver a complaining message about interfering district nursing sisters without interruption. ‘D’you know I think Andrew’s listening,’ he said with a note of wonder, then mischief. ‘It must be because I’m talking such a lot of sense.’

  ‘No. You’re filling his head with nonsense. Now unless you were thinking of putting him in the bath with all his clothes on, you’ll need to take them off,’ I said, and threw a towel over the rug. ‘Do it on this. It’ll be safer.’

  ‘It’ll spoil my suit,’ complained Mr Ogg, nevertheless getting down on his knees. ‘Och, Andrew, she might have dimples, but underneath she’s a hard woman.’

  Andrew, released from his nappy, kicked as if in delight, but his father was morose.

  ‘With legs like that you’ll never be a sportsman.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, remembering someone I’d known who had a smile that embraced the world. ‘We’d a boy like Andrew whose mum was our primary school’s cleaner. She took him everywhere and he used to come to our school picnics. He won every race, fair and square. But nobody minded,’ I thought back and smiled, ‘probably because he always shared the sweetie prizes.

  ‘What’s more, he’s still a lovely, happy chap,’ I continued and swished the bath water. ‘But come on, chaps, before this gets cold and, Andrew, who knows, one day you might become a top swimmer.’

  ‘Not if I drown him first.’ My pupil said as he advanced, holding his son with the tight control of a sumo wrestler. As Andrew squealed in protest, his father paled. ‘See! I’m not the man for the job.’

  ‘Och! That’s just rubbish.’ I said in exasperation. ‘Hold him gently and look at him. Tell him what you’re going to do. It’s a well-known trick not doing something well so you can avoid doing it in future, but honestly, if you only do it the once you’ll miss out on a whole lot of fun.’

  He sighed. ‘“Fun,” she says? All right. Whatever you say, Sister.’

  ‘Put your hand under his furthest arm and keep a grip. That way you’ll support his back and head and he won’t slide under the water.’ I spoke slowly.

  A plainly nervous Mr Ogg snapped, ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’

  He held Andrew so that he was facing him. ‘Well, son, are you ready for the big dip?’ With immense care, he lowered him into the bath.

  Our charge relaxed under the feel of the water and his fretful cries stopped. He looked thoughtful as his father gently splashed him, then gazing up at him he gave a gummy smile.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! He likes that,’ cried Mr Ogg, whilst a rogue tear sneaked down his face.

  ‘Mission accomsplashed!’ proclaimed my pupil. Leaving the nursery in a fine dusting of powder, we’d moved to the kitchen. It was a spotless chrome affair where both women were sitting at an island workstation.

  ‘Which one of you had the bath?’ Marion slid down from her high stool and in a fussy way tried to dust off the fine layer of Johnson’s powder covering her husband’s trousers. ‘Just as well you took your jacket off.’ She looked at him in disbelief as he jigged the baby.

  ‘Andrew likes company in the water and Sister Macpherson says he probably likes it on dry land too. Ha ha!’ he replied, now surely, genuinely smiling.

  ‘That’s true,’ declared Sister Shiach. ‘Nobody likes to be stuck on their own all the time. I think babies need to be where the action is. That’s how they develop best.’ She fished out her car keys and swung them before Andrew. ‘And see how he’s watching these? We might take everyday objects for granted, but this is his first time to see these, and look, already he’s trying to grab them.’

  ‘The consultant said he was a poor specimen.’ Marion spoke in a wobbly voice. ‘And not to expect too much of him.’

  Sister Shiach’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t know how he could say that. We’ll just have to prove him wrong. Wait till the pair of you get him out in his pram. You’ll find nobody can resist this wee fellow!’ She patted his thatch of black hair. ‘But you’ll need a bit more practice combing this lot before you go anywhere.’

  ‘I forgot to do that,’ said her husband, and pointing his finger at me, added, ‘and so did somebody else.’

  Marion wasn’t ready for banter. She bit her lip and looked doubtful. ‘Anyway, Neil, we wouldn’t be going out in this weather.’

  ‘But at least we could take in the pram – we could use it to walk Andrew around, but inside.’

  ‘Inside?’ Marion looked horrified. ‘The pram’ll take mud in on its wheels.’

  ‘No it won’t. I
’ll make sure they’re clean. Anyway, it’s never been used and the kitchen’s easily big enough to take it,’ Mr Ogg said, handing her the baby, ‘but would you look at the time? I need to get to proper work now.’ He nudged Sister Shiach in a teasing way. ‘But before I do and to save you lot nagging, I’ll get out the pram.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ Sister Shiach was full of enthusiasm. ‘And as your office is so near the toy shop you could pop in and buy pram beads. They’re great entertainment for babies. Stimulating too. Sounds and colours make a great combination.’

  She put a hand on Marion’s arm. ‘And having an occupied bairn will give you a bit of peace and allow you some time to do your typing for Neil. No reason why you can’t do it at home, is there?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Marion said, tapping her chin with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Sometimes I find it can be a long day, and housework’s pretty boring after a while.’

  ‘Trust me, you won’t find it like that soon. Before long your son’s going to get you both very busy, but happy. Don’t forget that bit.’ Sister Shiach climbed down from her stool and turned to me.

  ‘Talking of work, we can’t sit here all day. We’ve lots to get through before this afternoon’s staff meeting.’ She added with a touch of mischief, ‘We’ll be in the big meeting room at Council Headquarters and I hear the agenda includes a little drama. I’m looking forward to it and it should appeal to you, Sister Macpherson. Since you’ve arrived, there’s been no shortage of it.’