path then the next they’re lying half paralysed in a hospital bed, some of them so helpless that they require every sort of help with their bodily functions. That’s where you and all the other nursing staff come in.’ She smiled gently as Sarah wiped her eyes with the edge of a tissue.
‘But it’s not just about making them comfortable,’ Nancy continued. ‘They all have need of companionship, someone to take a real interest in them as individual human beings.’
‘I know,’ Sarah said softly. ‘Mrs Abbott said that every nurse was expected to provide a listening ear or else spend time chatting in a friendly way to the patients.’
‘She’ll have told you that we read to them.’ Nancy nodded to Sarah. ‘Newspapers or articles from journals that we know will be of interest. Things like
Farming Monthly
for Mr Imrie. He was a farmer before his stroke, you know. It’s hardest of all for the ones who have led an active, physical life, don’t you think?’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah whispered quietly.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t thank
me
.’ Nancy beamed. ‘Thank the Good Lord who sent you to us.’
Looking at this woman whose kindness had given her a second chance, Sarah made a decision. She would make something of this job, she nodded in determination. Maybe Nancy Livingstone’s words were right. Perhaps she was here for a reason. And not just for herself, a whole-bodied young woman, but for these poor souls who depended on her nursing them with loving care. It was a chance to turn her life around once more.
A shadow loomed over Kirsty’s desk and she looked up to see Murdoch’s taciturn face staring down at her. He was dressed in his pinstriped suit again yet if anything his closely shaven face seemed even wearier than it had the day before.
‘I need you to take me over to the South Glasgow University Hospital,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the office door. ‘I…’ He hesitated for a moment and Kirsty thought she saw something bleak pass over his grey eyes. Then it was gone as he snapped at her, ‘Can you hurry up?’
The detective constable scurried down the stairs in Murdoch’s wake, conscious of trouble ahead.
Even as she drove along the motorway there was an ominous silence between them. What was going on? He’d not spoken a word since he’d commandeered her as his driver. A swift glance saw only the man’s profile, that bullet-shaped head and broken nose, a tough-looking face that seemed used to seeing the uglier side of human nature.
‘Park anywhere you can,’ Murdoch ordered as Kirsty slowed down to enter the parking area outside the huge new hospital that Glaswegians had nicknamed The Death Star due to its resemblance to the
Star Wars
feature. Then, to her surprise, he produced a blue disabled badge from his jacket pocket and laid it against the windscreen.
‘Come with me but don’t make a fuss,’ he said, turning suddenly to Kirsty. ‘I… never mind, just stay quiet,’ he finished with a sigh. Then he was out of the car and walking swiftly to the hospital entrance, Kirsty half running to keep up with him.
She followed her mentor through a maze of corridors, up several flights of stairs (why not take the lift? she wondered). Then at last Murdoch’s steps slowed as he pushed open a set of double doors and walked towards the nurses’ station.
‘Mr Murdoch,’ he announced quietly to a ginger-haired nurse who looked up at him enquiringly.
Kirsty saw the rush of sympathy in the woman’s face as she rose from her place behind the desk. ‘She’s not awake, I’m afraid,’ the nurse told them, including Kirsty in her glance. ‘Doubt if she’ll even know you are there,’ she added in her soft Highland accent, leading them along a corridor and into a small room that was shaded by soft green curtains drawn against the daylight.
Kirsty wanted to gasp at the sight that awaited them; the emaciated figure of a woman, her face partly covered in a Perspex
‘But it’s not just about making them comfortable,’ Nancy continued. ‘They all have need of companionship, someone to take a real interest in them as individual human beings.’
‘I know,’ Sarah said softly. ‘Mrs Abbott said that every nurse was expected to provide a listening ear or else spend time chatting in a friendly way to the patients.’
‘She’ll have told you that we read to them.’ Nancy nodded to Sarah. ‘Newspapers or articles from journals that we know will be of interest. Things like
Farming Monthly
for Mr Imrie. He was a farmer before his stroke, you know. It’s hardest of all for the ones who have led an active, physical life, don’t you think?’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah whispered quietly.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t thank
me
.’ Nancy beamed. ‘Thank the Good Lord who sent you to us.’
Looking at this woman whose kindness had given her a second chance, Sarah made a decision. She would make something of this job, she nodded in determination. Maybe Nancy Livingstone’s words were right. Perhaps she was here for a reason. And not just for herself, a whole-bodied young woman, but for these poor souls who depended on her nursing them with loving care. It was a chance to turn her life around once more.
A shadow loomed over Kirsty’s desk and she looked up to see Murdoch’s taciturn face staring down at her. He was dressed in his pinstriped suit again yet if anything his closely shaven face seemed even wearier than it had the day before.
‘I need you to take me over to the South Glasgow University Hospital,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the office door. ‘I…’ He hesitated for a moment and Kirsty thought she saw something bleak pass over his grey eyes. Then it was gone as he snapped at her, ‘Can you hurry up?’
The detective constable scurried down the stairs in Murdoch’s wake, conscious of trouble ahead.
Even as she drove along the motorway there was an ominous silence between them. What was going on? He’d not spoken a word since he’d commandeered her as his driver. A swift glance saw only the man’s profile, that bullet-shaped head and broken nose, a tough-looking face that seemed used to seeing the uglier side of human nature.
‘Park anywhere you can,’ Murdoch ordered as Kirsty slowed down to enter the parking area outside the huge new hospital that Glaswegians had nicknamed The Death Star due to its resemblance to the
Star Wars
feature. Then, to her surprise, he produced a blue disabled badge from his jacket pocket and laid it against the windscreen.
‘Come with me but don’t make a fuss,’ he said, turning suddenly to Kirsty. ‘I… never mind, just stay quiet,’ he finished with a sigh. Then he was out of the car and walking swiftly to the hospital entrance, Kirsty half running to keep up with him.
She followed her mentor through a maze of corridors, up several flights of stairs (why not take the lift? she wondered). Then at last Murdoch’s steps slowed as he pushed open a set of double doors and walked towards the nurses’ station.
‘Mr Murdoch,’ he announced quietly to a ginger-haired nurse who looked up at him enquiringly.
Kirsty saw the rush of sympathy in the woman’s face as she rose from her place behind the desk. ‘She’s not awake, I’m afraid,’ the nurse told them, including Kirsty in her glance. ‘Doubt if she’ll even know you are there,’ she added in her soft Highland accent, leading them along a corridor and into a small room that was shaded by soft green curtains drawn against the daylight.
Kirsty wanted to gasp at the sight that awaited them; the emaciated figure of a woman, her face partly covered in a Perspex
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