An Indecent Obsession (31 page)

‘What are you going to down Civvy Street, Sally?’

‘Oh, have a bit of a holiday first, I suppose,’ said Sister Dawkin unenthusiastically. ‘Look up a few friends, that sort of thing. Then back to North Shore. I did my general at Royal Newcastle and my midder at Crown Street, but I’ve spent most of my nursing career at North Shore, so it’s more or less home by now. Matron ought to be glad to see me if no one else is. As a matter of fact, I’m in line for a deputy matronship, and that’s about the only thing I am looking forward to.’

‘My matron will be glad to see me, too,’ said Sister Langtry thoughtfully.

‘P.A., right?’ asked Sister Dawkin, using the universal nursing slang for the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.

‘P.A. it is.’

‘Never fancied a hospital quite that big myself.’

‘Actually, though, I’m not sure I want to go back to P.A.,’ Sister Langtry remarked. ‘I’m toying with the idea of going to Callan Park.’

Since Callan Park was a mental hospital, Sister Dawkin sat up very straight and subjected Sister Langtry to a hard stare. ‘Seriously, Honour?’

‘Deadly earnest.’

‘There’s no status to mental nursing! I don’t even think there’s a certificate to collect. I mean you must know that mental nurses are regarded as the dregs.’

‘I’ve got my general certificate and my midder, so I can always go back to proper nursing. But after X, I’d like to try a mental hospital.’

‘They’re not the same as X, though, Honour! Troppo is a temporary thing, most men get over it. But when a patient walks through the gates of a mental hospital he’s facing a life sentence.’

‘I know all that. But maybe it’s going to change. I like to hope it will, anyway. If the war helps it as much as it’s helped things like plastic surgery, lots of things are going to happen in psychiatry. And I’d like to be in on the ground floor of the changes.’

Sister Dawkin patted Sister Langtry’s hand. ‘Well, ducky, you know your own mind best, and I never was one to preach. Just remember what they always say about mental nurses—they wind up dottier than their patients.’

Sister Pedder walked into the room, looking around to see which group would welcome her most cheerfully. On seeing Sister Dawkin and Sister Langtry she gave Sister Dawkin a wide smile and Sister Langtry a frosty nod.

‘Have you heard the news, young Sue?’ called Sister Dawkin, nettled by the girl’s rudeness.

Common courtesy therefore compelled Sister Pedder to approach the table, looking as if there was a bad smell in the vicinity.

‘No, what news?’ she asked.

‘We’re almost a thing of the past, dearie.’

The girl’s face came alive. ‘You mean we’re going home?’ she squeaked.

‘Jiggety-jig,’ said Sister Dawkin.

Tears sprang to Sister Pedder’s eyes, and her mouth hovered between the twisted tremble of weeping and the softer curve of smiling. ‘Oh, thank God for that!’

‘Well, well! A proper reaction at last! Easy to tell the old war-horses among us, isn’t it?’ asked Sister Dawkin of no one in particular.

The tears began to fall; Sister Pedder saw how she could rub it in. ‘How am I ever going to be able to face his poor mother?’ she managed to articulate between sobs, so distinctly that all the heads in the room turned.

‘Oh, dry up!’ said Sister Dawkin, disgusted. ‘And grow up, for pity’s sake! If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s crocodile tears! What gives you the right to judge your seniors?’

Sister Langtry sprang to her feet, appalled. ‘Sally, please!’ she cried. ‘It’s all right, truly it’s all right!’

Neither of the other two groups of nurses was making any pretense at disinterest any more; those with their backs to the Langtry table had frankly swung their chairs around so they could watch comfortably. It was not a malicious interest at all. They just wanted to see how Sally Dawkin handled that presumptuous young monster Pedder.

‘In your quarters all night with Sergeant Wilson, t-t-t-t-t-treating him for shock!’ said Sister Pedder, and brought out her handkerchief to cry in good earnest. ‘What luck for you there’s no one else in your block these days! But I know what’s been going on between you and Sergeant Wilson, because Luce told me!’

‘Shut up, you silly little bitch!’ shouted Sister Dawkin, too angry now to remember discretion.

‘It’s all right, Sally!’ begged Sister Langtry, trying desperately to get away.

‘No, dammit, it’s not all right!’ roared Sister Dawkin in the voice which made probationers shiver. ‘I won’t have such talk! Don’t you dare make insinuations like that, young woman! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! It wasn’t Sister Langtry in over her head with a man from the ranks, it was you!’

‘How dare you!’ gasped Sister Pedder.

‘I dare pretty bloody easy,’ said Sister Dawkin, who somehow still managed in spite of posture and stockinged misshapen feet to gather the awesome power of a senior sister about her. ‘Just you remember, my girl, that in a few weeks it’s all going to be mighty different. You’ll be just another pebble on that big civilian beach. And I’m warning you now, don’t ever come looking for a job anywhere I am! I wouldn’t have you on my staff as a wardsmaid! The trouble with all you young girls is that you climb into a smart officer’s uniform and you think you’re Lady Muck—’

The tirade came to a sudden halt, for Sister Langtry gave such a horrifyingly despairing cry that Sister Dawkin and Sister Pedder forgot their quarrel. Then she collapsed onto a settee and began to weep; not soft, fluttering sobs like Sister Pedder’s, but great grinding tearless heaves which seemed to the worried eyes of Sister Dawkin almost like convulsions.

Oh, it was such a
relief
! Out of the angry atmosphere, out of the misguided affection of Sister Dawkin and the dislike of Sister Pedder, Honour Langtry finally managed to give birth to the terrible lump of suffering which had grown and chewed inside her for days.

‘Now see what you’ve done!’ snarled Sister Dawkin, lumbering out of her chair and sitting down beside Sister Langtry. ‘Go away!’ she said to Sister Pedder. ‘Go on, skedaddle!’

Sister Pedder fled, terrified, as the other sisters began to gather around; for Sister Langtry was well liked.

Sister Dawkin looked up at the others, shaking her head, and began with infinite kindness to stroke the jerking, shuddering back. ‘There there, it’s all right,’ she crooned. ‘Have a good cry then, it’s more than time you did. My poor old girl! My poor old girl, so much trouble and pain… I know, I know, I know…

Only vaguely conscious of Sister Dawkin beside her, talking so kindly, of the other sisters still gathered around and concerned for her too, Sister Langtry wept and wept.

2

A kitchen orderly brought the news of Base Fifteen’s imminent demise to ward X, transmitting it to Michael in the dayroom, and grinning from ear to ear as he babbled incoherently about seeing home again, home for good.

Michael didn’t move back to the verandah at once after the orderly had gone; he stood in the middle of the dayroom with one hand plucking at his face and the other pressed against his side, kneading it. So soon, he thought dully. So soon! I’m not ready because I’m frightened. Not depressed, and not unwilling, either. Just so frightened of what my future holds, what it’s going to do to me, what it’s going to make me. But it has to be done, and I am strong enough. It’s the best way for all concerned. Including me. Including her.

‘This time next week we’re all going to be on our way back to Australia,’ he said when he returned to the verandah.

A leaden silence greeted his news. Reclining on the nearest bed with a Best & Taylor he had wheedled out of Colonel Chinstrap held up in front of him, no mean feat of strength, Nugget lowered the enormous book and stared. Matt’s long hands closed into fists, and his face became still. Busy with a pencil and a piece of paper, Neil dropped the pencil onto the drawing, which happened to be of Matt’s hands, and looked ten years older than his age. Only Benedict, rocking back and forth in a chair that had never been designed to rock, seemed uninterested.

A slow smile began to dawn on Nugget’s mouth. ‘Home!’ he said experimentally. ‘Home? I’m going to see Mum!’

But Matt’s tension didn’t lessen, and Michael knew he was thinking of that first encounter with his wife.

‘What a pisser!’ said Neil, picking up his pencil again, and discovering that the repose of the beautiful hands was quite destroyed. He put the pencil down, got up, strolled to the edge of the verandah and stood with his back to everyone. ‘What a bloody pisser!’ he said to the palms, voice bitter.

‘Ben!’ said Michael sharply. ‘Ben, do you hear that? It’s time to go home; we’re going back to Australia!’

But Benedict rocked on, back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking dangerously, face and eyes shut away.

‘I’m going to tell her about it,’ said Michael suddenly, strongly. He spoke to any and all of them, but it was at Neil he looked sternly.

Neil didn’t turn, but his long slim neat back subtly altered; all at once it didn’t appear slack or weary or without resource. The back looked as if it was the property of a powerful and an aggressive man.

‘No, Mike, you’re not going to tell her,’ he said.

‘I have to,’ said Michael, not pleading, not looking at Matt or Nugget or Benedict, though both Matt and Nugget had tensed warily.

‘You can’t say one thing to her, Mike. Not one thing! You can’t without all our consents, and we don’t give them.’

‘I can tell her, and I will tell her. What does it matter now? If she knows, it can’t change anything; we’ve all decided what to do in that situation.’ He reached out to put his hand on Benedict’s shoulder, as if the rocking irritated him, and Benedict stopped rocking immediately. ‘I’ve taken the biggest share because I’m the only one who can, and because it was more my fault than anyone else’s. But I’m not willing to suffer in silence! I’m just not that much of a hero. Yes, I know I’m not the only sufferer. But I
am
going to tell her.’

‘You can’t tell her,’ said Neil, voice steely. ‘If you do, so help me I’ll kill you. It’s too dangerous.’

Michael didn’t mock, as Luce might have done, but the set of his face was unafraid. ‘There’d be no point in killing me, Neil, and you know it. There’s been enough killing.’

Sister Langtry’s soft step sounded; the group froze. When she walked out onto the verandah she stood taking stock of them, a little puzzled, wondering just what she had interrupted. If someone had got ahead of her with the news about Base Fifteen, why should that provoke a quarrel? But they knew about Base Fifteen, and they had been quarreling.

‘That footstep!’ said Matt suddenly, breaking the silence. ‘That wonderful footstep! It’s the only woman’s step I know. When I had eyes I didn’t listen. If my wife were to walk in now, I wouldn’t be able to pick up the sound of her.’

‘No, mine is not the only woman’s step you know. There’s one other,’ said Sister Langtry, walking over to Matt and standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

He closed the eyes that couldn’t see and leaned back a little against her, not enough to offend her.

‘You hear Matron’s step at least once a week,’ said Sister Langtry.

‘Oh, her!’ he exclaimed, smiling. ‘But Matron clomps like a GOPWO, Sis. There’s no woman’s sound to her feet.’

‘A GOPWO?’ she asked, stumped.

‘A Grossly Over-Promoted Warrant Officer,’ he said.

She burst out laughing, gripping his shoulders hard, laughing at some joke that was entirely her own, and laughing with real, happy abandon. ‘Oh, Matt, that’s a truer description than you’ll ever know!’ she said when she could. ‘Wait until I tell Sally Dawkin that one! She’ll love you forever.’

‘Sis! Sis! Isn’t it good news, eh?’ called Nugget from his bed, Best & Taylor forgotten. ‘I’m going home, I’m going to see my mum soon!’

‘It certainly is good news, Nugget.’

Neil remained standing with his back turned. Sister Langtry leaned over to study the drawing of Matt’s hands, then she straightened and released Matt’s shoulders, moving slightly away. And managed then finally to look at Michael, whose hand still rested on Benedict’s shoulder, a parody of her own touching of Matt. Their eyes met, both armored against pain, both stern with some purpose; met like the eyes of strangers, politely, without personal interest.

She swung away and went back inside.

Neil appeared not long afterward, shutting the office door behind him with an air that said he wished he had a Do Not Disturb sign to hang outside it. When he saw her face, eyes swollen down to the cheekbones, he studied it grimly.

‘You’ve been crying.’

‘Like a waterfall,’ she admitted readily. ‘I made an utter fool of myself right in the middle of the sisters’ sitting room, as a matter of fact, and not while I had the place to myself, either. I had quite an audience. A delayed reaction, I suppose. The young sister from Woop-Woop—you know, the bank manager’s daughter—came in at the wrong moment and accused me of victimizing Luce. That annoyed my friend Sister Dawkin from D ward, they began to squabble, and suddenly there I was, in floods of tears. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what really happened?’

‘Now could I make up a story like that?’ She sounded more like her old self, placid and calm.

‘Do you feel better for it?’ he asked, offering her one of his cigarettes.

She smiled slightly. ‘Deep down, yes. On the surface, quite the opposite. I feel ghastly. Like something the cat dragged in. My mainspring’s all unwound.’

‘That’s a very mixed metaphor,’ he said gently.

She considered it. ‘I’d say it all depended what the cat dragged in, wouldn’t you? Perhaps it was a mechanical mouse. I feel mechanical.’

He sighed. ‘Oh, Sis! Have it your own way, then. I’ll leave the subject—and you—severely alone.’

‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that,’ she said.

‘And in a week it comes to an end,’ he said conversationally.

‘Yes. I suspected they’d try to have us all out before the monsoons really begin.’

‘Going home to Australia—I mean when you’re discharged?’

‘Yes.’

‘To do what, may I ask?’