Tread Softly, Nurse

by Hilary Neal

  “You’d like some tea, wouldn’t you, sir? I’ll put it in the surgeon’s room in a second.”

  She walked ahead of him and went into the kitchen to make the tea. When she carried it into the surgeons’ room he was dragging the red sweater over his head and his face was covered.

  “Oh, there you are, Mair,” he said through the woolly folds. Then his head came through, and he stared at her. “Oh—sorry. I thought you were Nurse Lewis.”

  “She’s clearing up in the theatre, sir. Did you want her?” She put the tray down clumsily, and he frowned.

  “She’ll come when she’s ready.” He sat down on the arm of the big chair. “Is Gilda Seymour all right?” He picked up the teapot and began to pour his tea.

  “Yes, sir. She was—asking for you.” And then she could not resist adding: “She wanted you to say good night to her, but I told her you were busy.”

  He swallowed some tea and picked up a biscuit. “Did she indeed?” he said levelly. “I’m sorry to disappoint her. Is she asleep now?”

  “I expect so, sir.”

  “You’re too quick to jump to conclusions, Nurse Scott. No doubt she wanted to ask me when she could see Stephen Ames.”

  “I expect so, sir. She did mention it.”

  His mouth tightened. “About time that business was cleared up. I’ve asked Matron to see that he’s taken along in the morning.”

  Fenella went back to the wards to look for Micky and tell him that she had taken the tea in. What did David mean? she wondered. “Time that business was cleared up”? Was he—could he be hoping that Gilda would finally break off her relationship with Stephen? Where did he stand? And where was Micky? He had disappeared from the wards, and on her way back she finally met him flinging out of the theatre. He rolled up his gown and threw it on to the Casualty bin instead of taking it back inside, and he went over to the kitchen still in his rubber apron and theatre singlet.

  “Aren’t you changed yet? I’ve taken the tea in to the surgeons’ room.”

  “So I see.” He pushed back his glasses irritably and folded his arms. “And I’ve been forestalled, so I’ll have some with you, thanks. If you’re making some.”

  “You make it. I’ll be back in a minute.” She thrust a pot at him, and slapped the tea caddy down on the draining board. Now what was upsetting him?

  Mr. Parsley was still not round. She left Nurse Dennis to stay with him while Nurse Greatrex went back to the females. When she got back to Micky she asked: “What do you mean, forestalled?

  He glowered at her as he put two cups out and reached for the milk. “I mean that Mair’s in there, drinking mine.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, couldn’t you have taken another cup in? Don’t be childish, Micky.”

  “I’m not being childish. I just have the sense to know when I’m redundant.” He drank his tea sulkily, and then smacked the cup back in the saucer. “It makes me sick! Why must they keep putting their heads together?”

  “They don’t, Micky. You’re exaggerating.” And then she remembered how Mair and David had stood close together in the office talking eagerly, and that Mair’s smile had been brilliant. What was in the air? She sighed. “Anyhow, you should have joined them.”

  “Oh? So you don’t want my company, either?”

  ‘.‘Of course I do. Really, you have got an outsize chip on your shoulder tonight, haven’t you?” She tapped his hand. “Be your age, do.”

  He sat down on the table and put his arm across her shoulder. “Sorry, Fenny. Look—what are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Why—I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Then think about it now. I’ve got something to show you.”

  “To show me?” She faced him squarely. “Let’s have this clear. If you’ve got something to show somebody, oughtn’t you to be showing it to Mair? Not that it’s my business, but...”

  He laughed without amusement. “Mair, dear girl, is heavily booked tomorrow.”

  “Is she?” What had David been saying about driving her somewhere? “She didn’t tell me. But there’s all the rest of the week, Micky.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said stubbornly. “Is it a date, or isn’t it?”

  “I oughtn’t to encourage you in being difficult...”

  He patted her cheek. “You aren’t. Tomorrow is my only day off. And I’m coming to pick you up, so just say what time.”

  “Is it? I didn’t even know you had one. Who stands in for you, then?”

  “The G.P.’s take it in turns to be on call. How about the evening?”

  “I’d have to be in at eight-thirty.”

  “Can do. Shall I call for you at six?”

  She nodded. “All right. But ‘call for me’ sounds odd. You’ll be here anyway, won’t you?” She got to her feet. “And now...”

  “And now...” said David from the doorway “There’s a casualty waiting for you, Nurse Scott.”

  She swung round. “I’m sorry, sir.” She flushed and bit her lip. “I hadn’t heard anyone...”

  “I don’t expect you had. Your conversation was too loud for anything else to be audible.” He frowned. “West, you’d better go across to Casualty yourself, too. Looks as though he may be a nuisance.”

  Micky walked past him without speaking, and Fenella was about to follow him when David barred the way with a hand on the doorpost. His neck was young-looking in the crew-necked sweater, but there were tired lines under his grey eyes. He looked into her eyes. “Are you...” He stopped and dropped his hand and stood aside. “I beg your pardon.”

  She slipped past him and went across to Casualty. At the door she turned round. “Perhaps you’d look in at Miss Seymour, sir,” she said sweetly. And then she was furious with herself, and hurried inside. There was an old man lying on the couch, curled up on his side with his hands folded under his cheek. Micky was shaking his shoulder.

  “Come along, old lad. You can’t go to sleep here.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing. This is Joe. He does this kind of thing regularly. It’s just a gag to get a bed, so that he needn’t cycle to Lichfield and come back in the morning.”

  Fenella went over and looked down at the bristly chin and the calloused hands. “But who is he?”

  “Local character. He’s a road scavenger. Trots about with a little cart all day, getting grass out of the gutters and so on. Then he spends the evening in the Horse and Jockey. After that he’s supposed to ride home to Lichfield—but in practice he’ll doss down anywhere sooner than face it.” He tapped the old man’s shoulder. “Come on, Joe. Wakey-wakey.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. It’s quite a distance.” She took one of Joe’s arms, and Micky took the other, and they sat him upright. “Up you come, Dad.”

  “Wanna sleep.”

  “Yes, but not here.” She shook him gently. “Where’s your bicycle?”

  “Porch,” he muttered.

  “Then I’ll take you to it. Stand up now, there’s a good chap.” He clutched her arm with both hands to steady himself, and then the doorbell rang.

  “You go, Micky, will you? It’ll be Theatre Sister.”

  “Right. Can you cope?”

  “Don’t let her ring twice, there’s a dear. All right—I’ve got him.” It was then, as the old man swayed over her arm, that she realized something was wrong. She felt vaguely uneasy, and looked at him more clearly. He didn’t smell of drink, yet he could only control one leg. The other dragged loosely. She pushed him back on the couch and lifted his feet up again. Quickly she checked his pupils. One was a mere pinpoint, the other was dilated. His pulse was heavy and slow, and one corner of his mouth sagged moistly. She pressed the button above the couch that would light up the red “doctor wanted” lamp in the corridor, to fetch Micky back.

  But it was David who came. He was holding a jagged piece of glass in one hand, and he tossed it into the dressing bucket. “Not a good thing to leave in a patient’s bed,” he said pointedly. �
��You’ve been knocking roses over, I hear. What’s this?”

  “Cerebral, I imagine, sir.”

  “Well, hasn’t West seen him?”

  “Yes, sir, he thought ... No, sir, not really, not yet.”

  He sighed. “Make up your mind. Has he or not?”

  “No, sir.” Better, she felt, that Micky should be blamed for leaving Casualty than for missing the man’s condition. Joe was lying back, breathing harshly now. “As a matter of fact, sir, I thought he’d just come in for a sleep, until I noticed his eyes.”

  “Yes, that’s how things get missed, Nurse. Through people ‘thinking’. Never think. Never prejudge any issue. Be sure of the facts, first. Medicine is an exact science, in many ways. And all science is a question of fact—not of opinion, you know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He took off the old man’s battered boots and ran his fingernail down the sole of his foot. “Yes. Well, we’ve got a bed, haven’t we?”

  Micky came in at the door. “It wasn’t Theatre Sister,” he said, “it was—Oh. Sorry, sir. Won’t Joe wake up?”

  “Have you not examined him?”

  Fenella shook her head at him, behind David’s back, and he said: “Er—no. Not yet.”

  “Then do, West. You’ll find it interesting. And he can go in the medical ward when you’ve satisfied yourself. I’m going home now, unless you want me for anything else.”

  “No, thanks, sir.” He went over to the couch and began to take Joe’s pulse. His eyebrows went up behind his glasses, and he pulled his stethoscope out of his jacket pocket.

  “Can we have his coat off?”

  “Nurse will let me out first. And then she can help you, no doubt. Good night.” David strode out.

  “Good night, sir.”

  When Fenella had unlocked the front door and was holding it open for him he paused on the top step. “Oh, yes,” he reminded himself. He reached into his hip pocket again, and brought his hand out, holding her white gloves. “You forgot your gloves.” They were warm from his body when she took them. “Thank you. I’d forgotten.” She looked up. “Were they in the car?”

  “You forget too many things, Fenella. I wish you didn’t. And often the things you remember are the wrong ones, aren’t they?”

  She looked down at the gloves and twisted them in her hand. “I don’t know. Are they? I’m not a very—sensible person, am I?”

  His rare smile broke across his. face and the light from the street lamps outside glinted in his eyes. “No. But if you were, you wouldn’t be Fenella, would you?”

  She took courage from his expression. “And if you weren’t perfectly horrid sometimes ... and so completely unpredictable ... you wouldn’t be...”

  “Well?” His pointed eyebrows went up, and his eyes smiled. “Go on, say it.”

  “You ... wouldn’t be you,” she finished hurriedly.

  “That wasn’t quite what you were going to say, was it? Now say it properly.”

  “You—No, I can’t.” She pulled the door wider, and waited for him to go out down the steps.

  “All right. Perhaps when you’re out of uniform you’ll be able to manage it?” He touched her waist lightly as he passed out. “Good night, Fenella. And thank you.”

  Watching him run down the steps she said her “good night” silently. She stood there until the last glimmer of the red sweater had vanished among the trees that lined the drive of his house. After she had locked the door she pressed her forehead to the cool glass until she saw the single lighted window upstairs, glowing yellow in the darkness, and knew that he had gone to bed.

  CHAPTER VI

  AFTER eight hours’ sleep Fenella woke with the sun shining in on her face, and she was more than ready for the distraction of the outing Micky had promised her, and curious to know what it was he had to show her. She ran downstairs in her green shantung dress and fluffy white jacket, with time to spare for a snack before he picked her up.

  In the dining room the staff nurse from the male surgical ward was finishing a belated tea, and she had walked over to the window, sandwich in hand, to peer through the net curtains. She glanced back over her shoulder as Fenella opened the door.

  “What, you, too, Scott? Whatever it is you’re all dressed up for, Lewis seems to have beaten you to it.” She turned back to the window, and her voice had an envious edge. “There they go.” She leaned forward to watch the saloon crossing the car park.

  Fenella carefully poured herself a cup of tea. “There who goes?”

  Nurse Wood came back to the table and sat down again. “Mair Lewis and our lordly neighbour across the road,” she said. “What next? I always thought he was a confirmed bachelor and woman-hater.” She eyed Fenella curiously. “And where are you off to? I always thought the night staff were supposed to take the air before noon?”

  “We do, usually. But I’m going out with Micky West, as it’s his day off. There isn’t much you can do in the morning.”

  “I should think it is his day off. What a day we’ve had without him! I’ve done nothing but chase up elusive G.P.’s from the moment I came on duty. Isn’t it marvellous the way they just, disappear into the blue when you want them? Give me a medical school, with men on tap when they’re needed. There are times when I even bless the name of Anderson. He may be a headache, but at least he’s there.”

  “It doesn’t look as though he’s there this evening, Wood. And Micky won’t be, either, so I hope you manage to get through the G.P.’s surgery hours. I don’t want to come on and find a queue waiting at half-past eight.”

  “You won’t. We’re full now on the male side.” Nurse Wood got up to go. “Unless there’s anything under four foot six to take in. The children’s ward’s empty except for the py. baby.”

  All the tonsils gone?”

  “Yes, the lot. That ought to help. Your old Joe’s perked up quite a bit, by the way.” She twitched the curtain aside as she edged between the table and the wall. “Are you sure it’s the Resident you’re meeting? It wouldn’t be a young man in a red sports car, would it?”

  Fenella shook her head. “No fear. Shank’s pony for me.” She looked at her watch. “Time I was ready, too.” She swallowed the last of her tea.

  The two girls went through the hall as Micky opened the front door. He grinned at Fenella. “There you are. That’s my girl, right on time. Have you brought one of those head-scarf things?”

  “No. I never wear one.”

  “Tonight you will. Can you get one? Something to tie round your hair, you know.” He was eager to be off, and stood half out of the door, waiting.

  Then Fenella understood the excitement in his face; understood, too, his need to take out someone on this great day, even if Mair had let him down. She flew up to her room and came down with a yellow chiffon scarf in her hand.

  “All present and correct, sir!”

  Micky swept her a bow, and flung the door wide open. “Madame, the carriage waits.”

  At the bottom of the steps squatted a new vermilion two-seater, with a white tonneau cover and gleaming wheel discs.

  “Yours?” She smiled up at him. “Lovely! How did you ever afford her?”

  “I didn’t.” Micky stood caressing the glossy bonnet, and flushing with pride of ownership. “My old aunt stumped up for this. Isn’t she a love?”

  “Who—the car or your aunt?” Fenella teased. She walked all round it, admiring the anodised bumpers, and the forward urge of the swept wings. “Has Mair seen her?”

  “She has not. You’re the first person to sample her. In fact I’ll christen her ‘Fenny’, to be really polite. Get in. You have to climb over the top. All right?”

  “Fine. Now I see what the scarf was for.”

  “Well, put it on. Not that we’re going to burn the roads up. I’m watching the revs with due care until she’s run in. But it’s pretty blowy, and I’d like to keep the windscreen folded down. It feels faster, that way.”

  “Baby!” Fenella tied the yellow scar
f over her silky hair and Micky climbed in beside her. When he pressed the self-starter there was a burst of deep, powerful exhaust note, throaty with restraint, and two little boys stopped to watch them ease out of the car park on to the High Street. “Where are we going?”

  “Well, we can’t hurry. So we’ll keep right away from the temptation of country roads and go into Birmingham, shall we? We’d have time for a meal, and come back the long way round. Yes?”

  “Just as you like, Micky. So long as I’m in soon after eight. I’m on duty at half-past, remember.”

  “I’ll remember.” He sank into contented silence, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the rush of air on her face across the folded windscreen.

  Although he was driving carefully, it seemed no time at all before they were in the outskirts of the city, bumping over old tram tracks, and threading their way between convoys of blue and yellow buses. Fenella opened her eyes and looked at Micky. He was leaning back, smiling to himself, caressing the cream plastic covered wheel with sensitive fingers. He was humming softly, and the tune seemed familiar.

  “What’s that tune called? It rings a bell.”

  “Oh, it’s a very old one. ‘You forgot your gloves.” He began to sing above the copper-tube purr of the exhaust. “ ‘Now forget your heart, if you’re really the kind who loves; then you’ll part with it, too, the way that you forgot your gloves.’ ” He glanced at her face. “Nice tune. It was before our time. What are you smiling at?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was thinking of something else. Where are we now?” Despite the breeze on her cheeks, they were uncomfortably warm.

  “Just pulling out to the north side of the city. Something I want to look at before we eat.” He threw her a little smile. “Fenny, I’ve been wanting to thank you.”