by Yeadon, Jane
Praying for the miracle of a dialling tone, I reached for the receiver.
30
A RESCUE PARTY
Dr Jack’s wife answered the phone, unaware that I considered the sound of any voice at the end of the line miraculous. After I explained the reason for the call, she was calm, just as Dr Jack had promised. ‘As well as looking after the family, my wife takes the calls if I’m not around. She’s my right-hand woman,’ he’d explained when I asked what was the best way for us to communicate. ‘So you can call any time.’ He’d sounded proud.
He’d good reason. Mrs Jack had such a matter-of-fact way, combined with a voice as soothing as honey, that I felt I already knew her, and she certainly knew Mrs Reid.
‘Gosh!’ she said, ‘it didn’t take you long to drum up some business. It’s a good thing you’ve our telephone number, though we didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Unfortunately my husband’s out at the moment, but he’ll be home shortly.’
‘Mrs Reid needs to go to hospital. Both her condition and her home situation’s dire.’ I hoped not to sound as panicky as I felt.
‘Yes, that’s always been a bit dodgy. My husband’s hinted as much and I’m sure he’ll trust your judgement. It’s just a pity we’ve had to wait for an emergency before doing anything about the poor woman.’ Her tone lightened. ‘Anyway, I’ll get in touch with the Ross Memorial and let them know to expect Mrs Reid. I’m pretty sure they already know her. You make a 999 call for an ambulance and as soon as he’s home, the doctor can call the hospital with the details. Sounds like she’s got pneumonia from what you’re saying.’
Gosh! A diagnosis! And probably an accurate one. My respect for Mrs Jack was complete.
She continued, ‘You’ll manage to go with her in the ambulance?’
‘Uh huh. If we can get the doors unlocked to get her out of the house. If not, we might have to squeeze her through the window that I came in.’
‘You sound in control,’ she said, laughing, then just before putting down the phone, added, ‘In the meantime I’ll think of some solution to those blessed cats.’
The black one had already decided its future, shooting outside as soon as I unlocked the door and opened it. It gave a brief backward look, reminiscent of blowing a raspberry, then disappeared. I wondered where to put her young so that she would come back to resume her maternal duties.
Little could be done about the house’s squalid condition, but at least there was fresh air coming in through the open door. Mrs Reid was so vulnerable I only wanted an ambulance man able to deal with the present emergency. The state of the house was incidental, but it would be helpful if he’d a strong stomach and a poor sense of smell.
The phone rang. It was so unexpected it gave me a fright.
Molly’s breathless voice came over. ‘Hello, lassie! Mrs Jack’s just been telling me about Mrs Reid. Heavens above! I’ve been so caught up with our girlie that I haven’t been out to see Mrs Reid for ages.’ She clicked her tongue as if annoyed at herself, then resumed, ‘Now I don’t want to interfere but I’m coming right over with some toiletries. I’ll bet she hasn’t got any. She’ll get clothes from the hospital so their laundry can take care of all that. And that’s a bonus. I’m sure she won’t have anything decent to wear herself.’
She gave a phlegmy cough. ‘And don’t worry about the cats. There’s kittens too? See if you can find space in a drawer and pop them in there. That should do in the meantime.’ With a warning remark about fleas, she finished the call.
Despite everything, I had to smile. Fleas? Make my day! I hadn’t spotted any bite marks on Mrs Reid, but those kittens needed moving now. Molly’s suggestion made sense. There was a small chest in the bedroom under a pile of junk. Despite the missing knobs, I managed to pull out the bottom drawer, which with its assortment of old matted woollen jerseys made for a perfect bijou residence. The kittens took to it with the helpless trust of small dependent animals. Uttering small cries, they moved close in to snuggle against one another. The mother must have heard them because she appeared at the bedroom door, stalked past me and jumped in beside them. With calls of delight, the kittens plugged in.
‘To the manor born, Puss?’ I said, wondering where cats fitted into standard practice nursing care. What would Miss Cameron say? More importantly, I was sure that Mrs Jack’s diagnosis was correct. without the kittens I could now concentrate on getting Mrs Reid in a sitting-up position. That should help her congested lungs to expand. She was so light it was easy to get her upright, and staying that way, with some supportive old cushions that had been lying on the floor.
‘This should help you.’ I knew that even if she couldn’t speak, it didn’t mean she couldn’t hear or be aware of her surroundings. Now that I could see her better, it seemed more natural talking to her as well.
Her tiny face had ingrained dirt marking its many lines, her cheeks were sunken and whatever personalities dominated her schizophrenic brain, none looked out from behind those faded, dead-looking eyes. I imagined that her hair would be really white if washed free of soot. Surely she hadn’t thought that she was a chimney sweep!
‘I think you’ve been up the lum.’ I wiped her face with a damp face cloth. ‘I thought this was an old bit of cardboard until it was thrown into water, and I’m sorry but I couldn’t find a towel. Actually, my dear, you’re so like a wee hot stove you’ll soon dry off.’ I lifted up one of her skeletal-looking arms and popped a thermometer under it. ‘Let’s see what your temperature says.’
Regardless of being sponged, new air circulating about her and freedom from the quilt and kittens, Mrs Reid’s temperature was still going up. Her breathing was getting more laboured and she began to mutter in delirium. Hearing her disturbed babble, the black cat shot an anxious glance over the top of the drawer.
‘Don’t bother looking like that,’ I said, temper fraying, ‘you must know this is a bit of an emergency. If there’s any more of that bad language I’ll shut you and your family into that bloomin’ drawer and throw away the key.’
The cat yawned, began to clean her face, then stopped, listening. She might have been alarmed but I was delighted by the sound of a vehicle drawing up outside the house. Right after it came the roar of a car which must have had a hole in its exhaust pipe.
The sound of more slamming doors and people greeting each other made a noise like a cheery bus party pulling in for a cup of tea. Somebody coughed. It had to be Molly.
‘Hello, hello!’
I recognised Charlie’s voice. I’d forgotten he might be the ambulance driver, but as soon as I saw him coming into the room I remembered his bright optimistic way. His Beatles haircut was new.
‘Taxi!’
He’d brought a stretcher. I don’t know why I was worried about anybody noticing or being affected by my patient’s surroundings because Charlie just got to work. ‘Right, Sister, you roll her over and I’ll slide in the stretcher canvas.’
It was pathetically easy to get our patient’s bird-like form out to the ambulance where Molly was waiting. She waved a toilet bag. ‘I’ll stick this in the front and after you’ve gone, I’ll round up the cats and shut the house.’
As we lifted Mrs Reid into the ambulance, her breathing changed. It sounded horribly like a death rattle, but Charlie was unfazed. ‘Just as well I checked the oxygen cylinder was full.’ He seemed far more anxious when he said, ‘But, Sister, you’re not going to be sick, are you?’
‘Certainly not! But let’s get going.’
‘You’d have been glad to get that lady into hospital,’ said Charlie as he drove the ambulance back out of the hospital car park and turned towards the town.
‘I certainly am, and thank goodness for a staff that takes the admission of someone in thick pink knickers and a tea-stained vest in their stride.’
Charlie laughed. ‘I bet they’ve seen some sights. Part of the job, I suppose, but at least they knew we were coming and were ready for her. Whoops!’ He jammed on the brakes, just manag
ing to avoid running over two small children who’d been pushing each other off the kerbside.
There was a small, slight figure I didn’t recognise standing beside a familiar one wearing gold earrings glinting in jet black hair. As she grabbed the children, she swiped each one with a practised hand.
‘Ye silly wee limmers!’ Bell McGlone’s words floated mellifluously through the evening air.
Charlie took a deep breath, shook his head and waved a finger, to which one child responded by sticking out her tongue. The other, who had a scarred face, followed suit.
I’d forgotten to ask Sister Shiach about the bell-tenters, but watching the little group heading off with the women shaking their heads and the children laughing, I reckoned they looked very much at home.
31
NOT QUITE ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
It had been a long day but I didn’t particularly want to go home. I’d been in Fortrose for over month and Lorn and Johnny, the odd couple whom I’d met on my first day, had taken to regularly dropping by in time to catch me the minute I’d finished work. From their old pick-up parked outside my door, their eager, anxious faces would look out at me with such pathetic enthusiasm that, torn between guilt and exasperation, I’d invite them into the house.
Lorn would get out and, pulling Johnny behind her, she’d tug her hair a little, taking the usual line of, ‘We’re a bit bored and thought that, seeing as you’re still new here, you might fancy a bit of company. And you’re such a laugh. You always cheer us up. Anyway, we fancied a cup of tea.’
I’d usually ask about her arm, noticing that she wore long sleeves all the time now, but she always made light of it. Said it was better. A cup of tea and a chat – now that was far more important.
The pair seemed happy to sit in my snug little sitting room, skilfully fending off personal questions whilst smoothly finding out about my life.
One evening Lorn said, ‘It must be lonely here on your own.’ She twiddled her hair. ‘I bet you’ve a boyfriend tucked away somewhere that you’re not telling anybody about.’
I thought about David. Our brief encounter in Edinburgh hadn’t completely soured our relationship and we’d kept in touch, spasmodically.
‘Well, there is somebody, but he’s just a friend.’ Even if I was pleased, I aimed for a careless tone. ‘He used to live in Glasgow but he’s just written to say that he’ll be coming home to look after his father’s hotel in Forres.’
‘Just across the water from here then,’ said Johnny with a twinkle. ‘And certainly handier to get to than Glasgow.’
‘And what about yourselves?’ I asked, seizing a chance to find out a little more about the couple. ‘I guess you two live near here as well.’
Apparently Lorn kept house for Johnny, who was a farm labourer near Fearn. She gave the impression that her housekeeping skills weren’t wonderful. As time went past, I was beginning to find it getting harder to keep encouraging someone convinced she’d never improve.
I sighed. Today had already been hard going.
I hadn’t quite been introduced to the pupils of a local primary school as the nit nurse but the elderly schoolmistress would have preferred that to the alternative, I tried to tactfully suggest. Pursing her lips, she said, ‘Sister indeed! Our last nurse was very happy just being called Nurse. But if that’s the way you like to be addressed, then that’s the way I suppose I’ll have to do it.’ She turned to her pupils. ‘Now, children, you remember our last nurse?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Well, this is our new one, but she wants to be called Sister instead. Fancy!’
The children, with an aptitude the teacher might have appreciated better spent on their times table, immediately picked up on her annoyance. Lining up to show their nails, teeth and hair, a chant began. “Oooh, she wants to be called Sister. F-a-a-a-a-n-c-e-e.” The teacher, apparently deaf, looked out of the window.
I looked at the sniggering, pushing and shoving queue. ‘Before I start,’ I said, ‘I’d like to show you something.’
I went to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. ‘May I?’
I didn’t wait for the teacher’s answer. ‘Now, listen,’ I began. ‘Here’s a secret. I’m not only a sister but I’m a hunter… of these.’ I drew a picture of a louse. ‘That’s what I’ll be looking for.’
‘But that’s a crab!’ scoffed someone.
‘Very good. And yes, it’s certainly like one. But this is tiny, got more legs and it starts off life as an egg. A louse loves laying ones in human hair, where they can hatch.’ I tapped my head all over in a light way, hoping to illustrate the flight path of a louse. ‘And hopefully I won’t see any in yours, ’cos all of that action can make your head feel very scratchy.’
‘Yuck!’ said a small child. ‘I’m feeling sick.’
‘Rubbish!’ said the teacher, looking at her watch. ‘We must thank Sister Macpherson for that little lecture but I’m sure she’d like to get on.’
‘Just one more thing,’ I said, now rather enjoying myself and catching the teacher having a furtive scratch herself. ‘Brushing your hair’s great. Apparently it breaks the lice’s legs.’
‘Would there be blood?’ someone wondered aloud.
‘I expect so, but I’ve never actually seen that,’ I had to admit, ‘but maybe that’s because all the children I’ve seen wash their hair and, of course, brush, brush, brush it.’
‘Brush, brush, bru-sh-it!’ chanted the children, sliding the last two words together in gleeful harmony.
I’d ended the session issuing each child with a ‘just in case’ bottle of nit-deterring shampoo.
‘Maybe you should have one too,’ I said, handing one to the teacher. ‘Apparently lice prefer laying their eggs in clean hair.’
As I turned into my street, my heart sank at seeing the now familiar sight of the pick-up truck parked outside the house. On the other hand, I was always delighted to see Molly, especially now. Taking shameful delaying tactics, I was happy to stop as she flagged me down at the manse gate. I wound down the window and she leant in, a big smile lighting her face.
‘I’ve great news, lassie,’ she said. ‘Our young friend who’s been staying with us has gone home to her mum and dad to have her baby, and d’you know this? They actually want her to keep it.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Now that is a miracle!’ Her tone implied surprise at such a thing. Then she continued, ‘And, of course, we’ll be keeping in touch so she knows we’re here for her too.’
I thought about the young unmarried girl who’d sought succour under the manse roof. She’d arrived in Fortrose about the same time as myself and had been both in denial and despair at her situation, and telling no one but Molly and her husband.
Still, it had been easy enough for me to visit the manse. Then I was able to keep a discreet eye on her, whilst keeping Molly up-to-date with news about Mrs Reid.
‘The hospital says she’s improving and putting on weight – a bit like her cats,’ I’d said one day, nodding at the sleek and well-fed brood Molly was now caring for with the same generosity of spirit she was giving the young lass.
I might have said the same to her, but I’d to wait for her to acknowledge her pregnancy to me first. Then, one day when watching the cat attend to her kittens, she suddenly burst out. ‘I envy that cat. She’s just doing what a mother does.’ Between tears she went on, ‘But I know my family would never forgive me for having a baby out of wedlock.’
This had to be the green light. At least I could start a dialogue, which included giving her ante-natal care. From my cursory glances at her beforehand, I could see she was keeping well enough, but still refusing to see any doctor was a worry. Patient confidentiality was one thing but as the time passed and with her pregnancy making more demands on her body, I knew she should have blood tests that I couldn’t do and vitamin B9 (folic acid) tablets only a doctor could prescribe.
Thinking about the girl and the surprise of her return home, I leant back in the car seat
, savouring the moment. I said, ‘Now that is good news, and Molly, I suspect you’re responsible for this miracle.’
‘No, no!’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘My husband knows more about that sort of thing and his pastoral care was crucial. Once he’d a chat with her and she allowed us to approach her parents, the rest was easy. Things happened very quickly. Now, lassie,’ she tapped me gently on the arm, ‘you go and get your feet up. You look tired.’
It was such a perfect summer’s evening Molly had even jettisoned her coat and headsquare.
‘That looks remarkably like a twin-set. Pale green suits you. Are you going somewhere nice?’
‘The Women’s Guild have a meeting tonight and I’m hoping that between them and the vet we’ll find homes for all the cats,’ she said. ‘Even if the manse is a barn of a place, the minister’s beginning to protest at so many of them.’
‘So it’ll no longer be a case of the minister’s cats then?’ I was laughing now. Molly’s brisk take on life always made me feel better.
As it was such a pleasant evening, I could maybe prise my guests off their beloved sofa and get them to sit outside. I’d buy them a fish and chip supper from the cheerful Italians round the corner and we could eat them in my sheltered little garden at the back of the house.
Johnny came out of his pick-up van as soon as he saw me. He looked distracted.
‘I’m not staying.’ The words came tumbling out. ‘Lorn’s in hospital. She went last night. I had to take her, Sister.’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘It was awful. I’ve never seen so much blood. It was everywhere.’
I was too shocked to say anything. Only the call of a gull setting up the chorus of others filled the silence between us. Johnny took a huge sighing breath then continued, ‘I knew there was something no right but I never thought she’d try and take her life.’
‘Was it Raigmore you took her?’ It was all I could think to say.
‘Aye.’ Johnny looked around before he whispered, ‘But she’s been transferred to Craig Dunain.’ He said it as if the name of the Inverness psychiatric hospital was a disease in itself.