Call Me Sister (6 page)

Personal accountability was one of the reasons I wanted to be a district nurse. In hospital, I hadn’t cared for leading a team, hadn’t felt I would need to have the same instructional expertise on district. Now here I was, with a team of just one whom I’d managed to put in as much in danger of collapse as my existing patient.

My call then. Given the domestic circumstances, I’d have to settle for something unconventional.

I took Jock’s arm and steered him towards the bed, grateful it was a three-quarter size. ‘Okay, Jock, I know you’ll think this is daft, but if you want to be really, really helpful, climb in with Willie then hold onto him for dear life.’

My team member stepped back, looking horrified. ‘What! He’s my brother, he’ll no like that.’

‘Well, that might be a good thing. Anything to make his brain register. In the meantime, your body heat will transfer to him. In fact, you could just be his lifesaver. Go on!’

Somewhere in my training, after all, I must’ve picked up on how to give a command that gave a result because Jock threw himself on the bed. As he climbed under the bedclothes, there was a clunk as he kicked off his boots and they hit the floor. A minute later, as if steeling himself, he rolled Willie on his side, and put his arm round him.

‘That’s great. Cuddle up close and keep your arm there. It’ll stop him rolling out. Now, either whistle or chat to him, whilst I get some more bedclothes.’

Jock’s whistle was a tuneless accompaniment as I rushed through to his bedroom. I grabbed an ancient purple quilt and grey blankets off the bed and seized a pair of socks so grimy they must have been used instead of shoes.

‘That’s my socks, and my quilt, my quilt!’ protested Jock as I returned, laden. ‘And, Nursie, I’m no complainin’ but you’ll have me boiling, boiling!’ And certainly his face had returned to its usual rosy hue. Still, after I’d navigated the socks past Willie’s long, horny toenails and onto his feet, I thought it best to take both of the brothers’ pulses.

‘You’re fine,’ I said to Jock, wishing my real patient was registering the same healthy beat. ‘And I’ll make sure you get the socks back. Anyway, you’re doing a grand job. You’re better than a hot water bottle.’

‘As long as I don’t start leaking, leaking.’ Even if beads of sweat were forming on Jock’s brow, he was beginning to relax and able to tell me where I could get the necessary to start the fire.

‘Look in the range cupboard. Plenty kindlers there,’ he said. ‘And you’ll get paper under Willie’s chair-cushion, cushion. That’s where he keeps the
P&J.
’

Willie was never going to get a medal for housekeeping but the sticks piled inside the wee range were stacked with such precision it seemed a shame to use them. There was a bonus to the unusual use of the oven too, for the sticks were bone dry. Soon I’d a good fire going.

Casting flickering shapes on the walls, it brought a little cheer to the sparsely furnished room and ill-lit living room. Lampshades wouldn’t have had a high rating on the brothers’ shopping list but at least the house had electricity so that a hot drink would be possible. The thought was encouraging, but I’d been so engrossed on tending the fire I hadn’t noticed that Jock had stopped whistling.

I rushed through to the bedroom. To my surprised relief, he’d actually fallen asleep. With his pink scalp and his wrinkles relaxed in slumber he looked like an elderly untroubled cherub. I breathed again, then checked Willie. He was beginning to get back some colour, and his pulse and temperature were picking up.

I knew there was a farmhouse just along the road. Maybe they had a phone. It was worth a try.

‘I’m going to ask your neighbours for a bit of help,’ I whispered to the two recumbent forms, ‘and I’ll be right back.’

Although the distance between the houses was short, I was glad to get there without the Morris slipping off the farm road.

‘Mercy me!’ exclaimed the lady who answered the door to my frantic knock. She shouted to someone over her shoulder, ‘Hugh, come here! There’s a car with a nurse here and she’s saying the boys are in big trouble.’

Confidentiality wasn’t a big issue, I thought, forgiving myself for my garbled introduction. ‘Actually, if I could use your phone that would be a great help.’ I said, then, trying for a less dramatic approach, ‘I’m sure they’re going to be fine but I’d just like to speak to Sister Shiach first.’

‘Ah! Sister Shiach! She’s one girl. She’ll know what to do. Did she not deliver all our children, Hugh?’ With the inference that my mentor couldn’t have had a better qualification or the world to be in better hands, the woman relaxed and leant against the door jamb. As if to illustrate her point, two sturdy-looking youngsters joined her and beamed up at me. They had a well-fed look and confident way that I would have loved Bell’s Shirl to have had.

Meanwhile, Hugh, perhaps more attuned to anxiety, came to the door and beckoned me in, saying to his wife, ‘Och, stop your blethering. Can’t you see the lassie needs the phone? Once she’s spoken to Sister then we’ll help as best we can. Come on, Nurse, it’s in the kitchen, and so are we. Oh, sorry, Hugh Campbell,’ he added, sticking out his hand.

He didn’t say, but it was obvious from the half-empty plates that they were in the middle of their tea. The lingering smell of bacon made me feel hungry and my fingers tingled, registering that frostbite had moved from probable to less likely. The family made light of my apologies for interrupting, showed me the phone then sat down to listen with friendly interest.

Sister Shiach answered the phone on the first ring. Once I’d finished, she was matter-of-fact. ‘Well it’s good that his temp’s going up. You’ve done fine, but it sounds as if he’d be the better of a right thaw-out so he’s probably best in hospital. He won’t want to go, of course but he’s in no position to object. Once he is there, he’ll get a good chance to be built up as well. I’ll call the doctor, tell him Willie needs to be admitted to the Ross Memorial.

‘Yes, it’s great that Dingwall’s got a hospital.’

‘Uh-huh, and you’ll need to go with him in the ambulance you’re about to call. Once you’ve done that, get back to the boys. Stay with them and keep warm yourself. Their neighbours are good folk, really helpful. They’re always fretting about the Duthies so if they want to help, you could ask them if they’ve any spare soup. Jock could probably do with some.’ She added, ‘I expect the boys have plenty firewood. They must. From time to time, they give some to the Campbells. I’ll let you get on to make that ambulance call now but,’ she dropped her voice, ‘you’ll already know you’ve got a bit of an emergency on your hands.’

I’d never dialled 999 before and the watching family was plainly impressed when I did.

‘Thanks for that,’ I said, replacing the receiver, ‘but now I have to get back. They say they’re on their way.’

‘Right, I’ll come with you to make sure you manage on the road,’ said Hugh, grabbing a huge overcoat. ‘I’ll go and start the Land Rover.’

Mrs Campbell, who must have heard the phone conversation, put in, ‘And I’ll give you some soup. It’s lucky you called when you did. We had some for tea. It’s lentil. I know the boys like that. Sometimes they’ll accept something, but only if we take some of their sticks. They’re far too proud for their own good. Look!’ She brandished a thermos. ‘I’ll fill this and there’ll be some for you too. You must be perishing. The Duthies’ house is like an ice block. We do worry about them. It’s good to get this chance to really help them.’

I nearly told her not to hurry. The warm kitchen with its comfortable furnishings and kindly folk made the idea of returning to an igloo an even chillier prospect than it already was.

I said, ‘I’m torn between worrying that I’ve left the Duthies with such a big blaze, it’s put the house on fire or,’ I leant against the Rayburn cooker’s rail, ‘it’s gone out. In which case, I’ll be glad of this warm up.’

Mrs Campbell was bustling about with the briskness of a woman on a mission. She was reassuring. ‘We’d have seen the flames if it had. Anyway, Hugh will go with you, make sure you get back quickly and safely. The farm road can be tricky. Well done for getting here in one bit. You could easily have landed in a ditch.’ Handing over the thermos she said, ‘See you, and have some of that now and I’d advise using the cap. You might not survive eating from a Duthie plate.’

I was moved by her kindness. What with herself and her husband so enthusiastically helping, I went out into the night feeling that, from one minute of being on my own, I’d now got a committed team on side. Added to that was the Campbells’ Land Rover. With its throaty roar bellowing into the night, the engine was a reassuringly powerful sound.

Hugh had brought it to the house and, opening the door, shouted above the racket, ‘I’ll go first and you follow my tracks. But mind how you go. I don’t want to have to pull you out. Not with the Duthies needing us so urgently.’ He had the easy manner of someone who’d consider this an insignificant but unnecessary interruption.

Diligently, I maintained a steady course behind him, trying not to be hypnotised by our car lights. Their beams occasionally streaming up into the sky were like spotlights, merging and crossing as if in some strange angular dance. I had to remind myself that they weren’t giving a display, merely highlighting the road’s hidden bumps.

The Morris Minor, instead of behaving like a skittish colt, became strangely biddable. You’d never have thought the wretch ever had an independent thought. I’d have a word with her when we got home. She was lucky my boots were too flimsy to give her a sharp kick.

For now, however, we’d arrived at the Duthie house. At least it hadn’t gone on fire. It was a relief too when Jock came to meet us. Giving Hugh a cursory nod, he said in a complaining sort of way, ‘I couldna sleep. Willie’s got awful restless. He never did like sharing a bed.’ He patted an old beret, last seen covering the bicycle seat and now on his head. ‘And he’s saying awful daft things, daft things.’

‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear that’s good news,’ I said heartily. ‘It means he’s coming back to us. We’ve organised an ambulance to take him to hospital just to make sure he gets on the mend as quickly as possible.’

‘He won’t like that, like that, but it’s maybe for the best.’ Jock wiped his brow and shook his head. ‘Forbye that I’d like to sleep in my own bed too, too.’

A siren wailed in the distance.

‘That’s Willie’s taxi,’ said Hugh, who was either stamping his feet clear of snow or avoiding frostbite. ‘And I know at least one person who’ll be pleased to see it, eh, Nurse?’

The long johns were beginning to take on a personality. They were now on my own washing line and dancing in the wind as if to a jig. I’d taken them home after my trip to the hospital with Willie.

Getting him ready, I’d presumed his underwear was limited to the one garment meantime freezing on the Duthie washing line. Jock was stressed enough without me asking for pyjamas so I’d grabbed an old jacket off a peg on the back of the bedroom door and used it to cover Willie as best I could.

The Ross Memorial Hospital ran with such a smooth and kind efficiency, the staff seemed unsurprised at a patient arriving and wearing something more suitable for his top half than the bottom. They changed him into more conventional wear. When I got back to Jock I told him that Willie was in safe hands, rapidly thawing and very smart in striped flannelette pyjamas.

He scratched his brow and said, ‘He wisna very respectable when he left here. He’ll no be right till he gets these back on, back on.’ He’d nodded at the long johns now draped over Willie’s chair and steaming gently. There was a worrying human smell coming from them.

I’d suggested I could take them home. ‘They could probably do with a wee rinse,’ I said, and thought Willie might get a surprise when he recovered consciousness. He was such a private, shy man I hoped that dressed in brightly coloured pyjamas might not be as big a shock to his system as waking up in a hospital bed.

As Jock chewed over my offer, I continued, ‘We’re lucky, you know. The nurses’ houses are so well equipped we’ve even got washing machines.’ Looking round the Duthie’s ill-furnished house, I thought guiltily about my own little cottage. I was sure Miss Macleod had had a hand in its well-appointed, carpeted and snug comfort.

As soon as I said I was going home, Jock looked pleased. He rubbed his hands and nodded his head. ‘Yes! That’s best. With my brother out of the house and your car outside late, we wouldn’t want people to start speaking, speaking.’

Last night’s red sky had been an accurate sign that better weather was on its way. In the morning, with the wind promising a drying day and shifting the snow into piebald patches, I’d pinned out the long johns before heading for work.

Driving towards Dingwall, I thought about Captain Saunders-Hewitt’s alleged fruitiness. In my hospital experience, I’d found a slight slap with a wet facecloth usually cured the ailment. I just hoped he didn’t use a sponge. That would be hopeless.

The Saunders-Hewitts lived in a quiet cul-de-sac very different from Bell’s street. Their house, standing in huge grounds taken over by rhododendrons, may have had a more glorious past, but it still looked imposing.

‘A local lady goes in every day to help but the Captain’s a bit of a lad. Thinks he’s above personal hygiene,’ Sister Shiach had explained. ‘Both the Saunders-Hewitts are getting a bit frail now and if we didn’t go in, his wife might give up on him – and maybe herself as well. Personally, I think they could manage fine with a little encouragement. And they have their little indulgences.’ She mimed someone emptying a glass. ‘I’m never sure what to expect from a visit but don’t you take any nonsense from him. Stick him in the bath and make sure he scrubs his back.
Himself
.’

There was no reply when I hammered on the big brass doorknocker but the creak as I opened the door would have wakened the dead. Yet still there was no answer. I listened hard. There was the occasional creak and groan of an old house in failing health but if there were any ghosts, I figured that they should be of animals killed for sport. Trophies of them were everywhere.