Nightingales on Call by Donna Douglas

aside to make room for all her dresses, hats and shoes, not to mention her jewellery collection. She made a real effort to be friendly to Millie but barely spared a word for Dora, who was beginning to feel like the outsider in her own room.
    Lucy stood outside the kitchen door, listening to Dora complaining. She felt like bursting in and telling her that she wasn’t exactly delighted at the idea of Dora assisting her either. This was Lucy’s first assignment as a special, and she was determined to do everything right and show Sister Parry she was worthy of the responsibility. The last thing she needed was Dora making mistakes and messing everything up for her.
    But Dora didn’t think of that, did she? She could never be wrong about anything. It made Lucy sick to see her sometimes, swanning around the ward, laughing and joking with the children, cuddling and playing with them even when she was behind with her worklist. She didn’t seem to care that Sister Parry despaired of her.
    She even managed to quieten the babies with colic, when their screaming drove Lucy to hide in the sluice. Only yesterday morning Staff Nurse Ryan had said that Dora had a magic touch.
    It frustrated Lucy that she didn’t have a magic touch, too. She was easily the cleverest student in their set, and was always being mentioned favourably in ward reports for her neatness and efficiency. But when it came to working with children, she was lost. She could make their beds and sponge them when they got too hot and treat their shaven heads for ringworm, but she didn’t know how to make them smile or how to dry their tears.
    Not that she really cared, she told herself. She didn’t like children, they unnerved her. They seemed to sense it, too, which was why they were always so fretful around her. She couldn’t wait to be assigned to another ward, preferably one without Dora Doyle on it.
    The consultant, Mr Hobbs, came to see Ernest later that morning. Lucy felt very important as she stood at Sister Parry’s shoulder, listening to the great man in his pinstripe suit.
    Mr Hobbs confirmed the diagnosis of acute rheumatic fever and prescribed complete bed rest, a liquid diet, and an intensive course of salicylates for the first forty-eight hours: ‘One dose of thirty grams, followed by twenty grams every three hours until the temperature has subsided,’ he said, scribbling it down on Ernest’s notes.
    After he’d gone, Lucy administered the first dose watched by Sister Parry, then carefully wrapped Ernest’s swollen knees in warmed wool and erected a frame over his legs to keep the blankets off his painful joints.
    By the time she’d finished it was one o’clock, and Sister sent her off duty for the afternoon.
    ‘I will instruct Staff Nurse Ryan to take over until you return.’
    ‘Please, Sister, I thought Doyle was supposed to assist me?’ Lucy said.
    Sister Parry’s face took on a pinched look. ‘Assist you, yes,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid Doyle may not be up to specialing on her own. Not until she has learned to take orders, at any rate. Now get along with you, and I’ll explain to Staff Nurse Ryan.’
    ‘Yes, Sister.’ Lucy couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she sauntered from the ward. She passed Doyle, who was showing one of the new pros how to change a baby’s nappy. Lucy almost wished she could have told her what Sister Parry had said, just to see the look on her face.
    It was another bright, sunny May day, and Lucy was planning how to spend her afternoon off when Sister Sutton pounced on her in the doorway of the nurses’ home.
    ‘There you are, Lane. Thank heavens.’
    ‘Did you want me, Sister?’
    ‘Not I, Nurse. But your mother has telephoned six times since nine o’clock this morning.’ Sister looked put out. ‘I tried to explain that I didn’t know when you were off duty, but nevertheless she continues to telephone.’
    As if to prove her point, the hall telephone jangled, shattering the peace.
    ‘I