A mothers love, p.7
A Mother's Love, page 7
‘You’d think Laurence Olivier was going to turn up for cocktails,’ Sal teased.
‘Oh, I wish,’ Lillian sighed.
Those dreamy long-ago cinema days were well over; in fact, she didn’t even know where the nearest picture house was these days. And, even if she did manage to find one, she knew that once she was inside the all-consuming, seductive velvet-darkness, she would close her eyes and sleep for a week.
As high summer set in and the temperature soared, it was bliss to discover a natural deep rock pool in the fold of the steep grey fells where the sheep grazed. After hours of shearing panting sheep with thick woolly coats stinking of lanolin, the girls made a beeline for the pool to escape the scorching July heat. Lillian, desperate to cool herself off, reached the place first one particularly hot day, abandoned her dungarees and the rest of her clothes and whooped like an excited child as she leapt into the deep clear pool stark naked. Floating flat on her back with her hair streaming out behind her, Lillian flipped her slim, lithe body under water, where she swam until she ran out of breath. When she surfaced, she sensed she was no longer alone and looked eagerly for her friends. But she saw, to her utter dismay, that it was a leering Wilf who was standing on the rocks surrounding the pool, holding her dungarees, drinking in the sight of her small slender frame, half of which was submerged under the crystal-clear waters of the pool.
‘Thought you might be needing these,’ he said with a lecherous wink. ‘Though if you fancied it I could rub you down first, sweetheart?’
Hugging her breasts and making sure she stayed well under the water, which now felt freezing cold against her skin, Lillian tried to behave as normally as she could, given that she was alone and stark naked with an over-sexed farmer.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered stiffly. ‘Please leave them there.’
‘If I did that, I’d miss the view,’ Wilf mocked.
With her heart pounding, Lillian was wondering whether it would be better to freeze to death or reveal her body to the loathsome farmer, when she was saved by the arrival of noisy Mo, Sal and Pat. Swivelling her eyes from Lillian in the pool to Wilf on the edge of it, Pat immediately grasped what was going on.
‘Hello there, Wilf, are you coming in too?’
Much as he yearned to see the lovely new arrival rise like a goddess from the water, Wilf had no desire to see the other three clod-hopping women starkers, so he dropped Lillian’s dungarees.
‘I’ll be off – some sheep have run on to’t fells and need rounding up.’
The girls didn’t even try to conceal their mocking laughter as Wilf scurried off.
‘Dirty bastard!’ Mo scoffed.
Throwing off her clothes, Pat chided Lillian, ‘I told you to wait for us, Lil. You’ve got to have eyes in the back of your head with a bastard like Wilf around.’
Grabbing her dungarees, Lillian held them close to her body in an attempt to get warm. ‘Next time I’ll take your advice, Pat,’ she promised. ‘I was so hot I just didn’t think. He gave me the fright of my life,’ she admitted. ‘Towering over the pool, waiting for me to get out.’
Plump, pale, freckly Mo inched into the water. ‘Jesus! It’s bloody freezing,’ she wailed.
After the girls had had their dip, they lay in the sunshine on the cool slabs of rock to dry themselves off. Staring up at the duck-egg-blue sky, where a pair of hen harriers glided on the warm spirals of air, calling out to each other as they hunted over the high rocky crags, Lillian sighed, happy and relaxed for the first time in weeks.
‘This is so beautiful.’
‘Aye, so long as Wilf hasn’t got his binoculars out and is having a good gawp at us lasses in’t nude,’ giggled Sal.
Worried that the farmer might be doing exactly that, Lillian slipped back into her dungarees, then sat with her arms locked around her legs, thinking about where Trevor might be. Having only so far received one letter from him (compared to the half a dozen she had sent him with her present address clearly written in bold at the top of the page), Lillian was beginning to despair. Could such blinding passion go so quickly, like a flash in the pan? Their brief relationship, which had blossomed in Blackpool’s dark picture house, seemed to be fast fading: though Trevor had promised on their last evening together that he was ‘eternally hers’, the only letter he had bothered to write was vague and rushed; he hadn’t even mentioned his next leave or hinted at any desire to see her. Had Trevor played with her while he was home on leave? Had she been nothing more than a brief romantic episode? Had they both lost themselves in the magic of the motion pictures, imagining themselves to be Hollywood movie stars who found happiness at the end of the rainbow? Thank God she hadn’t given herself to Trevor, as she almost nearly did that night on Blackpool Beach. What if he had left her pregnant? Being a Land Girl was bad enough but a pregnant Land Girl – Lillian shuddered at the thought – would be absolutely intolerable.
10. Observations
Jamie’s concerns about Sister Renee centred more around her bedside manner than her teaching techniques. Technically she was a good nurse. He had seen her on the wards and in the delivery room: she was unquestionably competent and experienced, but sometimes he worried about the image she gave off. There were days when Renee’s bright, upbeat demeanour lapsed into a sloppy dismissiveness which set Jamie’s teeth on edge. The delicate likes of Polly she left others to nurse when she could get away with it, leaving Renee free to attend to the more robust noisy patients, with whom, Jamie thought, she was way too chummy and intimate. He regularly witnessed Renee’s casual behaviour during mealtimes when, typically, she took things one step too far: putting her feet up on an empty chair, smoking and cracking jokes. Renee somehow managed to change the atmosphere into that of a bar or a tap room rather than a hospital. Jamie maintained that they, the staff, were the professionals – the grown-ups who kept their patients calm, informed and secure, not necessarily entertained. Energetic and often over-familiar, her manner reminded Jamie of some of the students he had trained with who had tried to befriend their patients rather than treat them. Jamie believed that the best doctors and nurses did not need their patients to be their friends, but it became evident to Jamie that Renee certainly did.
From his own relationship with the residents Jamie knew that nearly all of them were concerned not only about themselves and how they would handle their advancing pregnancy but about their baby’s health too. Over and over again he heard the same questions.
‘Doctor, is my baby strong?’
‘I want to do the best for my baby.’
‘It’s the least I can do before I hand her over for adoption.’
After hearing Renee’s flippant responses to some of these genuine questions, Jamie became increasingly annoyed, to such an extent that finally, early one morning, when Renee was clocking on, he was forced to have a quiet word with her.
‘Look, I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but I’m a bit uncomfortable with how you sometimes address the patients,’ he started.
Shoving stray black curls under her starched cap, Renee gave Jamie a rather bleary-eyed look. Uncomfortable that he might well come over as a prig, Jamie nevertheless explained his concerns.
‘In my professional opinion I think it’s very important to draw a line between patient and professional. On a couple of occasions, I’ve witnessed you ignore a request for information, or turn it into a joke, as if it’s not worth the trouble of even answering,’ he added. ‘These young women in our care are very vulnerable and often very, very frightened.’
Renee’s green eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Are you implying I’m a bad nurse?’
‘Certainly not – your technical skills are good – it’s just that I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to be rather over-friendly on the wards. It’s disrespectful to fob off patients with a joke when all they want is a straight answer,’ he finished bluntly.
‘And exactly how have I fobbed my patients off?’ Renee asked huffily.
Jamie quoted some of the things he had heard Renee say to anxious patients.
‘To tell them things like “Nothing to worry about” or “You’re imagining things”, when that isn’t necessarily the case. That kind of response is disrespectful. When a patient is worried about intermittent bleeding or prolonged sickness, she wants a serious answer to a serious question. Casual behaviour in those circumstances is unprofessional in my opinion.’
Obviously annoyed Renee hit back. ‘In my training at St Thomas’s I learnt from my tutors and colleagues that the best attitude a nurse could have was one of cheerful optimism, and that’s exactly how I conduct myself here at Mary Vale.’
Having worked with doctors and nurses from St Thomas’s, Jamie was not for a moment convinced. ‘Cheerful optimism is to be applauded,’ he agreed. ‘But if an anxious patient wants the truth, a smile or a joke won’t cut the mustard,’ he declared, then continued with a passion that simply got the better of him. ‘Without any doubt the residents here have all been through some kind of personal hell; the least we can do is take their concerns seriously and treat them honestly,’ he concluded.
‘So, if a young girl says to me, “Will having a baby hurt?” what do I say?’ Renee snapped. ‘“Like hell it will”, or “Don’t worry, nothing worse than period pains”? Truly, what is going to calm her down the most?’
‘Softening the blow with a throw-away remark might momentarily help the patient, but ultimately it won’t help her through the long, traumatic experience of giving birth.’
Moving away from him, Renee said coldly, ‘Thank you for your advice, Doctor, I shall take it on board.’
Looking thoughtful, Jamie watched her go. Had he gone too far and made an enemy? He hoped not.
Polly was turning out to be a real worry. She could never get enough reassurance about how her pregnancy would progress and where her baby would go after she had given birth.
‘Have another chat with Father Ben,’ Ada advised the highly nervous expectant mother. ‘You’ve seen him before, and, as I recall, you liked him very much and felt you could trust his judgement,’ Ada reminded the scatty frightened girl.
Polly nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember he’s the one that handles all the adoptions for the Mary Vale babies.’
‘He’s excellent at finding the right match for all our babies,’ Ada assured her.
As the days passed, Jamie was relieved to see Sister Renee more supportive with their youngest patient.
‘Maybe she did take what I said on board,’ he thought hopefully, but by the end of the week he could see that Renee’s resolve was slipping. Unaware that he was close by, Jamie overheard her impatiently telling Polly to stop flapping.
‘You’ve months to go yet,’ she said sharply. ‘You’ll wear yourself out if you carry on worrying about your blood pressure.’
‘It’s not just that, Sister, I’m worried about the size of my baby too. I saw Sister Ada measuring a girl’s tummy the other day; she was using a tape measure. Can you do that for me?’ she begged.
Renee gave a loud exasperated sigh. ‘Really, Polly, I’m in the middle of doing jobs. I can’t stop just because you’ve found something else to fret about.’
Nearly in tears, Polly cried, ‘Can’t you come back later, please?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Renee said, before she went on her way.
Jamie’s heart sank; obviously the talking-to he had given her had hardly had any effect at all.
Hearing Polly weeping, he popped his head around the corner of her bed curtain. ‘Did I hear something about measuring your baby?’ he said with a winning smile.
Polly’s desperate expression cleared and, clearly relieved, she smiled brightly. ‘Yes, please, Doctor.’
As Jamie hurried off to fetch a tape measure, he thought crossly, ‘If a tape measure is all that’s needed to make a patient happy, why the hell didn’t Sister Renee put herself out?’
Later Jamie glumly told Ada that he had had a few words with Renee.
‘I’m afraid they didn’t have much of an effect,’ he admitted. ‘Or not for long.’
‘What did you say to her?’ Ada asked.
After Jamie relayed the conversation, Ada looked concerned. ‘Mmm, I bet she loved you?’
‘She wasn’t best pleased,’ he admitted. ‘She said that she was trained to nurse that way at St Thomas’s.’
Ada raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so,’ she retorted.
‘Neither do I,’ he responded. ‘I thought it might be wise to mention my conversation with Renee to Matron; she said she would certainly have a word with her.’
‘It’s good that Matron’s dealing with it,’ Ada said.
‘Well, I only hope she has more luck than me,’ Jamie concluded.
After her meeting with Matron, Renee didn’t appear for work the following day.
‘She sent word down to the ward that she’s got a tummy bug, something she ate,’ Matron told Ada when she turned up for her shift. ‘Odd, when you think about it; we all eat the same food at Mary Vale, and nobody else has reported a tummy bug.’
‘It could be an infection she picked up on the wards,’ Ada replied.
Crinkling her brow underneath her starched white wimple, Matron said realistically, ‘Or it might well be that she’s upset after I ticked her off yesterday.’
Knowing what a kind and gentle soul Matron was, Ada smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m quite sure you didn’t say anything too dreadful; it’s not your style.’
‘Renee said she felt picked on by the senior staff,’ Matron admitted.
‘That would include Jamie too,’ Ada reminded her.
‘She might consider that a good-enough reason not to show up for work,’ Matron murmured.
Feeling suddenly irritated, Ada exclaimed, ‘Instead of playing the victim, Renee should take on board what senior staff are advising. It can’t be a coincidence that we’re all concerned about exactly the same thing.’
Matron nodded her head in agreement. ‘I don’t want it to turn into an even bigger problem,’ she said frankly. ‘Perhaps one of us should pop in and see Sister Renee later this afternoon.’
‘I’ll call in on her after I’ve finished work,’ Ada promised.
True to her word, Ada tripped upstairs to the top floor of Mary Vale Home, which housed the staff, at the end of her shift. Hurrying along the faded carpeted corridor to Renee’s room, she heard a clinking-clanking sound, which was a relief, as Ada had been worried about waking Renee from a deep sleep. Tapping cautiously on the door, she called out softly, ‘Hello, Renee, it’s Ada.’
Hearing a scuffling noise, Ada waited, but the door didn’t open.
‘Can I get you anything, Renee – some tea and toast, an aspirin?’ she suggested. When the door remained closed, Ada thought she had better back off; clearly the patient was in no mood for company. Just as she was about to turn away, the door slowly opened an inch or two, and Ada was assailed by a strong stale smell that issued from the darkened room. Seeing white-faced Renee, still in her nightdress, with her hair plastered to her head, leaning limply against the wall for support, Ada immediately apologized.
‘I’m so sorry, dear, we were all just a bit concerned. How are you feeling?’
‘Still a bit sick and dizzy,’ Renee answered in a low, cracked voice.
‘Can I bring you anything?’ Ada asked again.
‘No, thanks – the thought of food makes me feel even worse. I’m just sticking to water.’
‘Good idea,’ Ada said cheerily. ‘Well, I’ll leave you in peace – don’t rush back if you’re feeling under the weather,’ she urged.
‘It’s just a tummy bug,’ Renee assured Ada, before she closed the door. ‘I’ll be back on the wards tomorrow.’
Hurrying downstairs, Ada headed to the back door, which she always used these days as it led into the yard, then directly on to the farm track, her route home. Passing the open pantry door, she saw Sister Mary Paul looking very agitated.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ Ada asked the old nun.
‘I know my eyesight’s failing,’ Mary Paul replied. ‘But I swear there was a good half-bottle of brandy in here a few days ago. For the life of me I can’t find it now.’
Seeing her friend squinting as she struggled to locate the brandy bottle, Ada stepped into the large pantry and had a quick look for it herself.
‘There’s some port and sherry but no brandy,’ she told Mary Paul. ‘I hope you’ve not been having a tipple?’ she teased.
‘Get away with you, child, it’s the devil’s brew! The vapour it gives off and the smell of the stuff turns my stomach,’ Mary Paul cried. ‘I keep a bit by just in case any of the residents gets a sore throat – diluted with hot water it can be quite soothing.’
Giving the pantry shelves one last look, Ada reaffirmed, ‘It’s not here now, for sure.’
Mary Paul shrugged. ‘I’ll ask Farmer Arkwright to get me a half-bottle from the outdoor off-licence when he’s next in Kendal; you never know when we might need it next.’ Checking the time on her wristwatch, she exclaimed, ‘Shouldn’t you be on your way home to that lovely baby of yours?’
‘Yes,’ Ada laughed, ‘I just got waylaid by hearing you muttering away to yourself in the pantry,’ she joked. ‘And I also popped in to see Renee.’
‘How is she?’ the old nun enquired.
‘Rough,’ Ada answered honestly. ‘She’s still in her nightdress, so she’s obviously been in bed all day.’
‘I’ll be blowed if I can think what’s caused Sister Renee’s illness; we all eat the same food day in day out, so I don’t think it can be something she ate, and nobody else is being sick, which you’d expect from a tummy bug,’ Sister Mary Paul fretted.
‘Don’t worry about it, darling,’ Ada reassured her. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to do with your lovely cooking.’
Walking home deep in thought, Ada recalled Sister Mary Paul’s appalled reaction to the thought of drinking brandy.
