daresay that will be her again.’ Sister Sutton shook her head, chins quivering. ‘Perhaps you could indicate to her, Lane, that I am not your secretary?’
‘Yes, Sister. I’m sorry, Sister.’
Lucy waited until Sister Sutton had bustled off, then answered the telephone. ‘Hello?’
‘Lucy?’ Her mother’s voice sounded shaky on the other end of the line.
‘Mother?’
‘Oh, thank God it’s you! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning.’
‘I know, Mother.’ Lucy stifled a sigh. Her mother’s voice was slurred, a sure sign she had been drinking again. ‘What is it you wanted?’
‘You must come home immediately. It – it’s your father.’ She burst into tears. Lucy tensed, gripping the receiver, fearing the worst.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, her throat suddenly dry. ‘What’s happened to him? Mother?’
‘Oh, Lucy!’ her mother sobbed. ‘He – he’s disappeared!’
Dora enjoyed helping with the babies. Staff Nurse Ryan was supposed to be in charge of their care, but when she had to go off and special Ernest Pennington, she allowed Dora to take over supervising the feeding and changing.
Most of them were on the ward because they were underfed and not thriving. A couple, like little Bobby Turner, were suffering from more serious illnesses. Poor Bobby was in the late stages of infantile syphilis. He screamed constantly, his little limbs swollen, his skin turned coppery-brown by the rash that slowly ate away at him. Everyone knew his fate was sealed, but they went on feeding and cuddling him, trying to fill his last days with all the love his mother hadn’t given him.
‘He’s looking a little better today, don’t you think, Nurse?’ one of the pros, Clara Jessop, said as she changed his nappy. ‘I’m sure the rash is going down.’
Dora smiled at her. Sister Parry would have been matter-of-fact about it, told her bluntly that the child was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. But looking at the soft-hearted girl’s face, Dora couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘We must just hope for the best,’ was all she could manage.
A cry of alarm from the far end of the ward made them jump. Dora looked up. ‘What the—’
She hurried away to find another of the pros, Joanna Rudd, on her feet, a screaming baby in her arms. As Dora approached, a familiar sour milky smell stopped her in her tracks. Sure enough, Joanna’s apron was soaked.
‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve been feeding Teddy Potts?’
‘That horrid creature!’ Rudd exclaimed. ‘I’d just finished giving him the bottle and he suddenly – did this – all over me!’
‘Give him to me before you drop him.’ Dora took the baby out of her arms. ‘How much did you feed him?’
‘He took the whole bottle, the greedy little wretch.’
‘No wonder he was sick, in that case. He has pyloric stenosis,’ Dora explained. ‘He has to be fed a little and often, otherwise – that happens.’
‘How was I to know?’ Rudd muttered.
‘You would if you’d read his notes,’ Dora said sternly. ‘You must always read the patient’s notes for yourself, even if you’ve been told what to do by a senior. You are as responsible as anyone else for a patient’s care and wellbeing, don’t forget that.’
She looked at Rudd’s soaked apron and tried not to laugh. ‘Luckily in this case you came off worse than the baby,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and change before Sister catches you.’
Rudd stomped off, and Dora glanced back to where Clara was also trying not to smile.
‘Poor Rudd,’ she said.
‘Perhaps that will teach her to stop and think.’ Dora looked at her watch. Nick was due to collect the laundry soon. If she was lucky Sister might remember it was time for Dora to go off for tea and she could manage to speak to him outside.
Yesterday she’d watched him go off, dressed in his best suit, to the solicitor’s office up west. She hadn’t heard a word from him
‘Yes, Sister. I’m sorry, Sister.’
Lucy waited until Sister Sutton had bustled off, then answered the telephone. ‘Hello?’
‘Lucy?’ Her mother’s voice sounded shaky on the other end of the line.
‘Mother?’
‘Oh, thank God it’s you! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning.’
‘I know, Mother.’ Lucy stifled a sigh. Her mother’s voice was slurred, a sure sign she had been drinking again. ‘What is it you wanted?’
‘You must come home immediately. It – it’s your father.’ She burst into tears. Lucy tensed, gripping the receiver, fearing the worst.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, her throat suddenly dry. ‘What’s happened to him? Mother?’
‘Oh, Lucy!’ her mother sobbed. ‘He – he’s disappeared!’
Dora enjoyed helping with the babies. Staff Nurse Ryan was supposed to be in charge of their care, but when she had to go off and special Ernest Pennington, she allowed Dora to take over supervising the feeding and changing.
Most of them were on the ward because they were underfed and not thriving. A couple, like little Bobby Turner, were suffering from more serious illnesses. Poor Bobby was in the late stages of infantile syphilis. He screamed constantly, his little limbs swollen, his skin turned coppery-brown by the rash that slowly ate away at him. Everyone knew his fate was sealed, but they went on feeding and cuddling him, trying to fill his last days with all the love his mother hadn’t given him.
‘He’s looking a little better today, don’t you think, Nurse?’ one of the pros, Clara Jessop, said as she changed his nappy. ‘I’m sure the rash is going down.’
Dora smiled at her. Sister Parry would have been matter-of-fact about it, told her bluntly that the child was dying and there was nothing anyone could do. But looking at the soft-hearted girl’s face, Dora couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘We must just hope for the best,’ was all she could manage.
A cry of alarm from the far end of the ward made them jump. Dora looked up. ‘What the—’
She hurried away to find another of the pros, Joanna Rudd, on her feet, a screaming baby in her arms. As Dora approached, a familiar sour milky smell stopped her in her tracks. Sure enough, Joanna’s apron was soaked.
‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve been feeding Teddy Potts?’
‘That horrid creature!’ Rudd exclaimed. ‘I’d just finished giving him the bottle and he suddenly – did this – all over me!’
‘Give him to me before you drop him.’ Dora took the baby out of her arms. ‘How much did you feed him?’
‘He took the whole bottle, the greedy little wretch.’
‘No wonder he was sick, in that case. He has pyloric stenosis,’ Dora explained. ‘He has to be fed a little and often, otherwise – that happens.’
‘How was I to know?’ Rudd muttered.
‘You would if you’d read his notes,’ Dora said sternly. ‘You must always read the patient’s notes for yourself, even if you’ve been told what to do by a senior. You are as responsible as anyone else for a patient’s care and wellbeing, don’t forget that.’
She looked at Rudd’s soaked apron and tried not to laugh. ‘Luckily in this case you came off worse than the baby,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and change before Sister catches you.’
Rudd stomped off, and Dora glanced back to where Clara was also trying not to smile.
‘Poor Rudd,’ she said.
‘Perhaps that will teach her to stop and think.’ Dora looked at her watch. Nick was due to collect the laundry soon. If she was lucky Sister might remember it was time for Dora to go off for tea and she could manage to speak to him outside.
Yesterday she’d watched him go off, dressed in his best suit, to the solicitor’s office up west. She hadn’t heard a word from him
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