The Nightingale Girls (8 page)

‘Today we will be teaching you how to make a bed, with and without a patient in it,’ Sister Parker announced.

Sister Sutton will be pleased, Millie thought. Maybe if I learn to make my bed properly this time she’ll stop stripping it off every day.

She watched carefully as Sister Parker placed two chairs at the end of the bed. Then she and her assistant began to strip the bed, taking off the sheets and blankets one at a time, folding them in three and draping them carefully over the chairs. As they worked, she kept up a running commentary.

‘You notice how we shake the sheets and blankets as little as possible? That is to avoid creating dust in the air and spreading infection.’ She placed the last blanket over the chairs and surveyed the stripped bed with satisfaction. ‘Now we will show you how to make it,’ she said.

Once again, she and her assistant moved in perfect time with one another, like partners in a graceful dance, drawing the sheet tight, tucking in perfect corners and turning down the counterpane so that it was completely even.

‘You see how we are pulling the sheet tight, so there are no wrinkles?’ She demonstrated with a sweep of her hand. ‘Does anyone know why we need to do this?’

‘So it looks tidy?’ one of the students ventured.

‘Because it prevents pressure sores,’ Lucy piped up.

‘Very good, Lane. Pressure sores are the result of bad nursing, nothing else. While on the wards, we expect you to be absolutely vigilant.’

After the demonstration, the Sister Tutor paired the students up to try it for themselves. Naturally, Lucy Lane put herself forward first. She looked annoyed when Sister Parker paired her with Jennifer Bradley.

‘Poor girl,’ Millie whispered to Dora. ‘I wouldn’t like to be Lane’s partner.’

‘Really? I thought you two were the best of friends,’ Dora replied coldly.

‘Shhh! Quiet, Nurses! You should be watching and taking notes, not gossiping!’ Sister Parker frowned at them.

Lucy already looked every inch the professional nurse in her immaculate uniform, her cap set straight on her smooth chestnut-brown hair. And she performed the whole procedure perfectly, her movements brisk and assured.

Unfortunately she was let down by her partner. Jennifer Bradley was a bag of nerves. Sweat gleamed on her brow as she struggled to keep up with Lane’s fast, fluid movements. By the time they’d finished, it looked as if they’d been fighting on the bed, not making it.

‘Hardly a good first effort,’ Sister Parker tutted. ‘You should learn to work together. It is not only easier on your back, it will also make the whole process much faster and smoother.’

‘That was all your fault,’ Lucy hissed as they rejoined the group and another pair took their place.

‘I – I’m sorry.’ Jennifer’s lip trembled.

‘Leave her alone,’ Millie said.

‘But she was useless!’

‘She was doing her best. You can see she’s nervous.’

‘She shouldn’t be here if she’s not up to it.’

‘If it was up to you, none of us would be here,’ Dora muttered.

‘Nurses, please!’ Sister Parker shot them a warning look. ‘If I hear another word you will all be going to explain yourselves to Matron.’

Lucy glared at Dora, but said nothing.

Sister Parker and her assistant then demonstrated how to make a bed with a patient in it, using Mrs Jones, the life-sized dummy. Millie groaned. She had done battle with Mrs Jones during her previous stint in PTS, and always came off worst.

Sister Parker knew it too. ‘Benedict, you can go first. As you’ve already spent three months training, you should be able to show everyone how to do it.’ Her eyes gleamed with malice behind her pebble spectacles. ‘Doyle, you can be her partner.’

‘Look, about earlier . . .’ Millie tried to say as they took their places, but Dora cut her dead.

‘We’re supposed to be getting on with this, remember?’ she hissed back.

They faced each other across the bed, ready to begin.

‘Remember to speak to the patient,’ Sister Parker reminded them. ‘You must explain every procedure as you do it.’

Millie eyed Mrs Jones apprehensively. She seemed decidedly uninterested in what was about to happen to her.

She took a deep breath. ‘Now, Mrs Jones, Nurse Doyle and I are going to change your bed for you,’ she said brightly. ‘So if you could just move your arms and legs
for me . . . that’s wonderful.’ So far so good, Mrs Jones seemed to be co-operating for once, her limbs tucking in nicely around her. Encouraged, Millie grasped her shoulders. ‘Right, now I’m going to turn you on to your side towards me – oh, bugger!’

Just as it all seemed to be going so well, Mrs Jones took on a life of her own. Millie made a lunge for her as her dead weight tipped forward, slipped out of her grasp and started to roll off the bed. It was only Millie’s knee catching the dummy under the chin that stopped her from hitting the ground head first.

She froze there, legs buckling under Mrs Jones’ weight, still propping her up by one knee. She looked across the bed and saw Dora standing there frozen with the draw sheet in her hands.

For a second they stared at each other in horror. Then the corners of Dora’s mouth began to twitch.

‘No, Benedict, that isn’t the way to do it,’ Sister Parker sighed. ‘Try it again, only please avoid kicking the patient in the face this time. And no profanity!’

Millie heard a snort from the other side of the bed. When she looked up, Dora was busily tucking in the sheet, her head down. But her shoulders were shaking. Millie desperately tried to hold in her own laughter, but when she looked down and saw Mrs Jones staring up at her, her glassy smile still in place, she broke down.

‘Are you quite all right, Benedict?’ Sister Parker asked.

‘Sorry, Sister . . . choking fit . . . be all right in a minute.’

‘Really, Nurse, I hardly think it’s appropriate to cough all over the patient, do you?’ Sister Parker frowned. ‘Go to the sluice and fetch a glass of water. Go with her, Doyle.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

They didn’t dare look at each other until they were safely in the sluice. Then they both burst into fits of laughter.

‘Oh, my God.’ Millie leant against the door, holding on to her aching stomach. ‘I think I’ve given myself an internal haemorrhage.’

‘That’s nothing to what you’ve done to poor Mrs Jones,’ Dora replied.

‘It’ll take more than a clean sheet to put her right, that’s for sure!’

They doubled up, helpless with laughter, hands over their mouths so no one would hear their muffled shrieks. They were still giggling five minutes later when Katie O’Hara knocked on the door.

‘Sister Tutor wants to know if you’ve choked to death?’ she called out.

At least the disaster helped break the ice. As they filed off to the dining room for their tea break, Millie made sure she gave Lucy Lane the slip and joined Dora instead. A few of the pros from her previous PTS set had come down for their tea, and Millie felt a twinge of envy as she listened to them swapping excited stories about their first day on the wards.

‘Don’t you wish you were with that lot?’ Dora asked, helping herself to a slice of bread and jam.

Millie nodded. ‘I feel such a fool, having to repeat PTS. I haven’t even dared tell my family yet.’ She could guess what her grandmother would say about it. ‘It isn’t fair. I could have passed if only it hadn’t been for . . .’

‘What?’ Dora asked.

‘I can’t tell you. It’s too awful.’ Millie shook her head, trying to suppress the memory. ‘It was the worst moment of my life.’

‘Oh, go on. You can’t leave me in suspense!’

Millie hesitated. If she didn’t tell Dora herself, she was bound to hear it from someone else. Like so many of her mishaps, it had already passed into hospital legend.

‘During the final practical test, I had to demonstrate a soap enema solution,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘And I did it very well. I got it all right until the last minute, and then—’

‘Go on.’

She closed her eyes, shuddering at the memory. ‘It wasn’t my fault. The wretched syringe just sort of exploded in my hands. It went off all over the place. The poor examiner was covered.’

‘You didn’t!’ Dora put her hand over her mouth.

‘I did.’ Millie nodded. ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if the examiner hadn’t been Sister Hyde.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘She runs the Female Chronic ward here. A real dragon, everyone is simply terrified of her. And with good reason, too. If it had been down to her, I would have been straight out of Nightingale’s after that exam. But luckily Matron gave me another chance. I don’t think Sister Hyde was very pleased about it.’

Dora laughed. ‘You’re a card, d’you know that?’

Millie smiled back. She was used to people laughing at her. And she didn’t mind Dora doing it if it meant they could be friends.

As they walked back to the practical room, Dora said suddenly, ‘I don’t mind, you know. If you want me to swap with her?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend Lane. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ She didn’t look at Millie as she spoke. ‘You two have got such a lot in common—’

‘Are you saying I’m a horrible little snob? Thanks a lot!’

‘No, but—’

Millie stopped in the corridor, forcing Dora to turn and look at her. ‘Promise me you won’t even think about leaving me with her?’ she said solemnly. ‘I don’t think I could cope with her droning on about how rich and clever she is.’

Dora didn’t say any more until they’d reached the practical room. ‘So you don’t mind sharing a room with me, then?’

‘That depends,’ Millie said.

‘On what?’

‘On whether you’re going to give me the silent treatment like Tremayne all the time.’

Dora smiled reluctantly. ‘I’ll try not to. Although it’s difficult to get a word in edgeways with you!’

‘I know,’ Millie sighed. ‘My grandmother always says I should try to maintain a dignified silence, but I can’t.’

They made sure they sat together at supper. Grey mince and hard-boiled potatoes again, Millie thought. She tried not to imagine the succulent roast her father and grandmother would be sitting down to at Billinghurst.

A group of second-year students were whispering at the next table. Planning a party, Millie guessed, smiling to herself. Sister Sutton might think she had them all under control, raiding their rooms and prowling the corridors with that wretched dog of hers, sniffing out their misdeeds. Not to mention Mr Hopkins and his army of porters standing guard at the hospital gates. But they would have been astonished at how much mischief went on right under their noses.

‘But it seems so mean not to ask her,’ one of the students was saying.

‘If you ask her, no one else will come,’ another said.
‘They’ll all be too scared she’ll tell her mother. She wouldn’t come anyway. She never joins in with anything. All she ever wants to do is stay in her room and study.’

‘It sounds as if they’re talking about Tremayne?’ Millie said to Dora.

‘That girl Hollins warned me about her last night,’ Dora said, refilling her mug with cocoa. ‘She said she wasn’t to be trusted. But she seems all right to me. A bit quiet, but there’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘Oh, she’s not bad. I feel sorry for her actually.’ No matter how hard training might be, Millie had made some very good friends at Nightingale’s. They gathered in each other’s rooms to gossip and study, took trips to the cinema and treated themselves to tea in the local cafe if they were feeling flush.

But as far as she knew, Helen Tremayne had no friends. Millie had done her best to include her, inviting her on various outings. But Helen had said no so often she had given up asking.

After supper they went back to their room. Millie had arranged to go out with some of her friends to hear how they had got on during their first day on the wards.

‘Why don’t you come with us?’ she asked Dora, pulling the pins out of her hair and enjoying the blissful freedom of it tumbling around her face.

‘Thanks, but I’d rather stay here. Anyway, I’m a bit short until we get paid.’

‘I’ll treat you,’ Millie offered.

Dora’s smile tightened. ‘No, thanks,’ she refused politely.

Millie watched her unlacing her shoes. She had been thinking about what Lucy had said all afternoon, and knew she had to speak up.

‘Look here – about your books.’ She saw Dora’s shoulders stiffen but carried on. ‘I know you’re a bit short of
money, so I was thinking – what if I gave you mine? I could easily order some more, and we could share until they arrive . . .’

She hadn’t expected any thanks for her offer, but she certainly didn’t expect Dora’s stony expression as she turned around to face her.

‘Do you think I’m a charity case?’ she said coldly.

‘No, not at all. I just thought—’

‘You thought because you’re rich and I’m poor, I’d be grateful for your cast-offs? Well, let me tell you something. My family have never accepted charity in our lives and we’re not going to start now.’

Dora turned away to finish unlacing her shoes. Millie felt hot shame wash over her.

‘I – I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. She’d put her foot in it as usual. How could she be so stupid? Dora was right, it was very high-handed of her to go around bestowing her bounty on all and sundry. She was as bad as her grandmother, ordering their kitchen scraps to be distributed among the estate workers and then expecting them to be grateful.

Millie got changed in silence. She felt so wretched, she couldn’t even summon up any anger when she realised Sister Sutton had been in her drawers again and confiscated her lipstick. She was leaning on the chest of drawers, trying to dab some powder on her face, when she heard the creak of floorboards behind her and saw Dora’s face reflected behind her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

Millie met her eyes in the mirror. ‘So am I. I didn’t mean to offend you, truly.’

‘I know. You only wanted to help, and I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.’ Dora smiled sheepishly. ‘Can we start again? Be friends?’

She held out her hand. Millie took it gratefully. ‘Yes, please. And I promise I won’t ever try to offer you anything again.’

‘Oh.’ Dora’s mouth twisted. ‘Well, that’s a shame, because I wouldn’t say no to borrowing those books? Just a loan, mind, when you’re not using them?’ she added hastily.