The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘I see.’ He let go of my hand and took out his cigarettes. ‘Tell me, love,’ he took out a cigarette slowly, ‘has it ever occurred to you that, although all men are technically brothers, that relationship doesn’t automatically apply to women?’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t. Women are sisters.’

  His hand shook and he had to light a second match. He inhaled, then blew the flame out quickly. He said simply, ‘Good God,’ and was silent.

  I decided to end our party. I looked at my watch. ‘Bill, I’m awfully sorry, but I think we ought to go. I’ve got to be back by ten-thirty.’

  ‘But you knew I was off until eleven,’ he remonstrated.

  ‘Till eleven? Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry ‒ I got muddled.’ My beam reappeared of its own accord. ‘You know how dumb I am. Anything muddles me, and I told Sister half-past ten. I’m afraid we’ll have to go. I don’t dare be late.’

  He deposited his stained napkin on the table. ‘I’m not sure that I go along with you in all your statements, Rose; but if you have to be back we had better get cracking.’ He beckoned Bert, paid the bill, and we all exchanged more expressions of mutual good-will. As we moved from our table Bill stopped beside Jake’s chair. ‘Grill’s pretty good to-night, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ Jake stood up and for the second time that night wished me good evening.

  Bert, taking us all for old friends, remarked pleasantly that it was the young lady’s first visit, but he hoped not the last! ‘You get Mr ‒ beg pardon ‒ Dr Martin to fetch you along again, miss. Want to come regular like Mr Waring, you do! I was only telling my missus this morning, ‘Friday won’t be Friday without that Mr Waring sitting at his table reading his paper.’ How much longer you got, sir?’ he asked Jake. ‘Getting near the end of your time, ain’t it? I mind as you told me when I was in that Henry ward as you’d got another two years to go. Getting close now, ain’t it, sir?’

  ‘It certainly is.’ Jake smiled down at Bert’s wide, shining face. ‘I’m going to miss your good cooking.’

  Bert wagged his head. ‘An’ they’ll miss you in that hospital of yours, I reckon. You been there a tidy time in all, they say.’

  ‘Fourteen years on and off,’ replied Jake. ‘I was away five years in the War.’

  Bert flicked his dish-cloth over Jake’s table and said where the years went to he couldn’t say, he was sure, but he’d best be getting back to his counter. ‘See you later, sir.’ He added another set of farewells to Bill and myself, and ambled back to his grilling.

  Bill slipped his arm through one of mine. ‘And I had better take you home, Rose. Nurse Standing,’ he explained to Jake, ‘has to be in shortly. Excuse us, sir.’

  ‘With pleasure. Good night, Nurse.’ We moved on, and Jake sat down again and picked up the paper that lay at present unopened beside him.

  Outside, I turned on Bill. ‘You shouldn’t have called me Rose in front of him. I’m sure he didn’t approve.’

  He laughed and held my hand as well as my arm. ‘He probably didn’t. So what? You’re off duty, in mufti, and so am I. Relax, sweetie. Not even Matron could object to what you do away from the hospital in plain clothes. You’re a private citizen for another quarter of an hour. She couldn’t even object if I ‒’ He broke off, let go of me, put his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that in there? Old Bert would have been delighted ‒ he’s incurably sentimental. Sink me, Rose! Uncle’s losing his grip; but, by God, who wouldn’t lose his grip when a character tells him that he looks like her brother. Still thinking of me as one of your dear brothers, Rose?’ he asked smoothly.

  ‘But, of course, Bill. I told you ‒ you’re just like Hector.’

  ‘Am I?’ he murmured, then caught me by the shoulders and kissed me as I had never been kissed before. ‘Hector kiss you like that?’ he asked a shade breathlessly as he let me go.

  I was a little breathless myself and a little annoyed ‒ with myself. ‘No, he didn’t.’

  Bill asked, ‘Still thinking of me as a brother?’ But without waiting for my answer he added, ‘Block your ears now, love, because I’m going to whistle a mighty whistle. There’s a taxi-rank just round the corner, and they can hear from here.’ He did as he said and almost immediately we heard a car engine drawing close. The taxi wheeled round into our street, and Bill opened the door as it slowed. ‘Hop in, Rose, and relax. I don’t fool around in taxis. You’re quite safe. And don’t look so old-fashioned, love. You don’t fool Uncle. I’ll admit you did ‒ for a short while; but I’m not as dumb as you like to make out that you are, Rose. I know you really aren’t shocked ‒ and no harm’s done to your career. Matron wasn’t looking and Jake’s not the type to tell tales out of school even if he had been watching, which he wasn’t. I noticed that he was looking at his newspaper just now when I looked back at him through the window before I kissed you. So you can’t say Uncle hasn’t thought of everything from your angle.’

  I said, ‘No, I can’t.’ I was not going to give him the pleasure of knowing that he had had an audience to his embrace. Jake had put down his newspaper again, and was staring out of the window at us. I had seen him as I turned away after Bill let me go. Of course, I now thought, the street had been fairly dark and he might not have seen us at all, even though we were standing only a few feet from the window. Certainly he had not looked shocked or even interested; he had only looked anxious. Very, very anxious. The recollection of his expression kept me quiet all the way back to our Home. I could not understand his expression. Then I closed my eyes, and the light dawned. He was obviously not thinking of us at all, but worrying about his own affairs; his future. It must be a big step for him, leaving Martin’s; he might well be anxious about it all ‒ and so was I.

  ‘Rose.’ Bill touched my hand. ‘Wake up, love. We’re here.’ As he helped me out of the taxi he added, ‘You still haven’t told me what you thought about my kissing you.’

  I sighed. I suddenly felt terribly tired. ‘Bill, I’m sleepy. Do I have to make a Federal Case out of it? But thanks for the grill. I enjoyed that. Good night.’

  Chapter Ten

  NURSES MAY NOT BE KISSED IN CASUALTY

  Next afternoon Angela and I helped Home Sister decorate the junior sitting-room in the Home. After we had worked for about an hour we ran out of drawing-pins. Home Sister went for a fresh supply while Angela and I sat on top of our respective step-ladders and discussed Bennings,

  Josephine, marriage, men, and whether the laundry would come back before Christmas Day, as we did not dare ask Home Sister, since that would mean my admitting that I had

  forgotten to send my soiled uniform in the last laundry collection.

  Angela stepped down to the floor. ‘I can lend you three aprons, but only three, as I need the rest for myself.’ She surveyed the paper-chains. ‘Rose, your last one is crooked. You’ve fixed it about a foot below mine. Lift it up.’

  ‘Right.’ I pulled out the pin and held up the chain. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘That’s straight.’ She descended her ladder slowly. ‘By the way, how did you get on last night? I forgot to ask.’

  ‘All right in parts.’ I answered absently, looking out of the high window at the end of the room. That window was too high to look out of if you stood on the floor of the room, but my ladder gave me a clear view of the road. I watched the road ‒ at first incuriously, then incredulously. ‘Angie, get up your ladder ‒ look out there! Do you see what I see?’

  She went quickly to the top and stood on the step. ‘What? That kid? I say, Rose, what ‒?’ But I did not stop to hear more. I shot down my own ladder, out of the sitting-room, nearly knocked down Home Sister, who was returning with the drawing-pins as I ran down the corridor, through the front hall, and down the steps leading from the front door of our Home. I heard irate voices asking me what I thought I was doing, and telling me to stop that at once! I ignored them all. When I reached the pavement I ran as fast as I could to the spot where the s
mall boy I had seen from my perch on the ladder was dodging on and off the pavement in front of the oncoming traffic. Just before I reached him he deliberately screwed up his eyes and stepped into the road. I leapt the last couple of yards, grabbed his coat, and hauled him back to the pavement as the car that was coming directly towards him on this side of the road swerved widely, avoided a bus by inches, and stopped with a scream of brakes about twenty-five feet on. The driver jumped out and slammed his door. He came towards the child and myself, looking very shaken and very angry. He was not nearly so angry as the child squirming in my arms.

  ‘You didn’t ought to ’ave pulled me! You didn’t ought to ’ave pulled me! You didn’t! You didn’t! You didn’t!’ His tight dirty little fists thumped my apron. ‘I wanted to get run over a bit! I wanted it! I did! And you didn’t,’ he began to sob, ‘you didn’t ought ’ave stopped me!’

  The motorist had joined us. ‘I’m more obliged to you than I can say, Nurse. But did you see what that child was doing? Here! You! Boy!’ He shook the boy’s shoulder not ungently. ‘What do you think you were doing? Don’t you realize a car is a heavy and dangerous machine? You can’t stop a car just like that. See where I stopped’ ‒ he pointed down the road ‒ ‘see? Over there! And I had my foot hard on the brake! But I still had to go all that distance. If this young lady had not seen what you were up to you’d be under my car now.’

  I tilted back the furious little head and recognized who it was. ‘Trevor! It’s you! Trevor, you should have known not to do that.’

  He was sobbing, uncontrollably. ‘But I wanted to get knocked down a bit like I said. I wanted to! I did! I did!’

  The motorist stared at me. ‘What did he say? Did he do it on purpose? Do you know him, Nurse?’

  ‘He came in with a cut a little while ago.’

  As I spoke Home Sister and Angela appeared on the pavement beside us. Home Sister looked pale. ‘Is the boy hurt, Nurse Standing?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sister ‒ just shocked.’ I tried to disengage his arms from my waist, but he would not let go. ‘Trevor,’ I said quietly, ‘let us have a look at you ‒ there’s a good boy. We just want to see if you are all right.’

  ‘Course I’m all right,’ he wept, ‘but I wouldn’t ’ave been all right if you’d let me be. Then I could have gone in ‒ in’ ‒ he let go with one hand and smeared the tears over his face ‒ ‘gone in and ’ad me Christmas ‒ proper ‒ like last year.’ And more tears pelted down his poor little face.

  Home Sister grasped the true situation first. She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Were you in Christian last Christmas, sonny?’

  He looked up at her and nodded. ‘You been in there, Sister?’

  The motorist gazed at us blankly. ‘What is all this about?’

  Sister took control. ‘I believe I understand. He wants to come in to hospital for Christmas, so he thought he would come in’ ‒ she glanced at the road, then back to the man ‒ ‘this way.’

  Trevor, sensing that he had, if not an ally, an understanding adult, detached himself from my waist and caught hold of Sister’s apron. ‘I didn’t want to be ’urt bad, see; but I reckoned as if I got sort of knocked down a bit they’d ’ave to take me in. They would, wouldn’t they?’ He appealed to Sister. ‘And then they wouldn’t send me out again until ‒ after, see. It’s only three days ‒ an’’ ‒ he sniffed and dried his eyes on his coat-sleeve ‒ ‘I just wanted to come in ‒ honest, I did.’

  The motorist looked more shocked than ever. ‘But, boy, you might have been killed.’

  Trevor began to cry again. ‘I only wanted to go into ’orspital. I only wanted that.’

  ‘But your mum, Trevor, what about her?’ I asked. ‘Won’t she be upset if you’re not home for Christmas? You wouldn’t want that.’

  He produced a surprisingly clean handkerchief from a pocket and scrubbed his face. ‘We don’t ’ave Christmas at ’ome,’ he replied flatly. ‘My mum says as she’s too busy to worry with all them goings-on; she says as I can see Father Christmas on the telly, and, anyway, she says as there ain’t no real Father Christmas ‒ it’s just kids’ stuff. But I see ’im,’ he insisted. ‘I see ’im last year when I was in that Christian ward, an’ ’e come round an’ fills all our stockings. An’ when I tells me mum that she says as there might be a Father Christmas in ’orspitals, but ’e don’t come to our ’ouse and, anyway, Dad can’t be doing with all that dressing-up, what with his over-time, and she says I’d better see it on the telly. But I wanted to see ’im, and I wanted to come in and she’ ‒ he jerked his thumb at me and gave me a hideous scowl ‒ ‘she stopped me.’

  The motorist said curtly, ‘You should thank the young lady for saving your life, boy.’

  Sister put up a hand. ‘He is only a very little boy and he is very upset. I am just going to take him into our Casualty department to let one of our physicians have a look at him. Perhaps, sir, you had better come with me. I am sure you feel very shaken yourself and could do with a cup of hot tea. We all witnessed what happened and saw that you were in no way responsible.’ She offered her hand to Trevor. ‘You come with me, sonny. You’ll be quite all right with me.’ She told Angela and me to return to the Home. ‘Straighten your cap first, Nurse Standing. You have displaced it.’ And she walked off, leading a docile Trevor into Casualty.

  The man lingered. ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you, Nurse.’ He shook my hand. ‘How did you grasp what he was about?’

  I explained that I had been on a step-ladder. ‘At first I thought he was playing that awful “last across” with another child. Then I realized he was alone and just thought he had lost his nerve and didn’t dare cross. I hurried simply because I was afraid he’d cross at the wrong time; I never dreamt that he was doing it all on purpose until I saw him shut his eyes and deliberately step out into the road. You know the rest.’

  He asked for my name. ‘I may need it. I doubt if I will, but it is as well to have it. And your address is St Martin’s Hospital? Thank you.’ He fingered his collar as if it choked him. ‘I think I am going to pay a call on that boy’s mother. I think she requires to be told how nearly she lost her son ‒ and why.’

  As we walked back to the Home Angela said, ‘Think he’ll do any good? How old’s that kid?’

  ‘Six.’

  She surveyed the endless traffic. ‘And she lets him wander around London alone and doesn’t let him believe in Santa Claus. Why do some people have children?’

  ‘I dunno.’ I was very upset now it was all over. ‘I wonder what they’ll do about him.’

  She said she did not know, but was sure Home Sister would cope. ‘Did you notice how the old dear stopped being an elderly housekeeper and snapped back into an efficient nursing sister? She’ll fix it up, you see.’

  I went to wash the mud off my hands and arms, and change my apron and cap. When I returned to the decorating Sister was handing up drawing-pins to Angela. She said she had left Trevor with Dr Spence. ‘The poor child is now very shocked and frightened. I do believe he at last understands what might have happened. Dr Spence talked to him very seriously.’

  I asked unhappily, ‘I suppose he has to go home, Sister?’ Sister studied her drawing-pins. ‘Naturally that kind of behaviour cannot be encouraged, Nurse. Children have to think before they act, and we have to teach them to do that, although occasionally’ ‒ she looked at me ‒ ‘one has to act and think simultaneously, as you did this afternoon, Nurse Standing. You acted most promptly and creditably. But that little boy appears to have had to learn far too much already; he needs to relax and behave like a child again. He is very shaken and will certainly have a high temperature to-night; children almost inevitably produce temperatures after bad shocks, so Dr Spence and Sister Casualty both feel that he needs to be warded.’ Her old face relaxed into a genuinely mischievous smile. ‘One has to watch any child with a temperature, Nurses. You can never foretell what that temperature may herald. I do not doubt that Dr Spence will want to keep an
eye on Trevor for a few days.’

  We both smiled back at her. I said, ‘Sister, I am pleased.’

  Angela asked, ‘Do you think his parents will object, Sister?’

  Sister’s expression altered. ‘I understand,’ she said rather grimly, ‘that Dr Spence is most anxious to speak to Trevor’s parents. I am sure they will not object. Dr Spence,’ she added not inconsequentially, ‘is a father himself.’

  Casualty was very quiet when I returned to duty that evening. Both staff nurses were on duty in the Hall; three of the Cas. nurses were working in the half-empty dressing-rooms; Astor was dressing a fairy doll for the Christmas-tree in the stock-room, and I was told to return to my painting in the plaster-room. ‘If we have a crisis, Standing,’ said Nurse Davis, ‘we’ll call you out; but unless I do that carry on with your decorations until supper. I don’t expect we’ll need you in the Hall; we’ve got the whole staff on to-night with the exception of Sister.’ She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes as if they ached. ‘About an hour ago I didn’t think either Astor or yourself was going to be able to finish your things this evening; we were packed with patients, even though it’s Saturday. We suddenly cleared in the last half-hour. I’m very glad, not only because we want those decorations finished to-night, but because it lets Sister go to her sherry party with a clear conscience. So off you go to your ducks.’

  It was peaceful in the plaster-room; peaceful and rather lonely. I had never felt lonely in there before, so I decided that it was the party that was responsible for my Cinderella-ish frame of mind. I applied myself to my painting, but, although penguins ‒ I had finished the ducks ‒ are pleasant birds, they do not engross your entire mind; at least, my penguins did not. Once I had painted one with Indian ink I had painted the lot, mentally; only I had twenty-seven to do. I played games with myself, painting a row of left flippers, then five heads, five feet, back to flippers again. I was not sure that this increased my speed, but it partially occupied my mind. Only partially. After an hour or so I was nauseated with penguins; I never wanted to draw another in my life, and I still had eleven to finish. As a relaxation I picked up a pencil and began to doodle on a spare sheet of paper. I drew Josephine throwing out her flowers, Bennings in that bubble-bath of detergent powder. I surrounded Bennings with little penguins, then decided I was going quite obsessional about the wretched birds and scratched them all out. Then, without planning what I was drawing, I let my hand ‒ and mind ‒ wander. I drew a head, outlined the hair-line and contours of the jaw. I nodded at the head as if it was an old friend, and filled in the face. He had highish cheek-bones and hollows ‒ here ‒ and two lines running down the side of his mouth and dozens of little lines under his eyes. Laughter lines or tiredness? I wondered. He must surely often get very tired. I studied the drawing, then worked on the eyes, studied it again. It was not right. I remembered how he had looked through the window last night and altered the curve of his mouth. I had given him too much of a curve; I straightened it, shaded the whole thing and put down my pencil. ‘That’s not bad,’ I said aloud, as I was alone. Like most people, I often talked to myself when alone.