A Nightingale Christmas Wish (13 page)

‘Very well. Put her on the bed.’ Dr Ross didn’t hide his annoyance as he gestured to Helen. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care if she spent the whole of Christmas Day explaining herself to Matron, so long as he saved the little girl.

But as soon as she laid the child down on the bed she realised it was too late. The little chest was still, and her breath no longer rattled in her throat.

Dr Ross gave her a cursory glance. ‘She’s dead,’ he said flatly.

‘No!’ Helen heard the patient he was treating cry out. But she couldn’t react. All she could do was stare at Dr Ross.

‘Well, don’t just stand there, Sister. Take her away.’

Helen didn’t move. She stood, rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but stare at him.

Something in her eyes must have unnerved Dr Ross, because when he spoke again his tone was gentler.

‘I’ll fetch a porter,’ he said, moving towards the door. ‘I suggest you go outside and get some air, Sister. You look quite pale.’

But Helen didn’t take his advice. She straightened her cap and smoothed down her apron and went back to work, calming and soothing and applying compresses and hot-water bottles and blankets, moving like an automaton until the porters took the last of the patients up to the ward.

Only then did she go outside and sit on the bench in the middle of the courtyard. It was a beautiful, sharp winter’s night and the bare black branches of the plane trees sparkled with frost. She’d left her cloak behind but hardly noticed the cold as she sat there, trying to make sense of the terrible events she had witnessed.

The courtyard was silent, but Helen could still hear the screams of the afflicted echoing around her head, and the painful rasping of the poor little girl’s chest as she’d desperately sucked air into her smoke-clogged lungs.

On the other side of the courtyard, through the lighted windows of the dining room, she could see families huddled around tables, anxiously waiting for news. Somewhere among them was the child’s family. Someone would have to tell them, to break the news that their little girl had died on Christmas Eve.

A tremor of emotion went through her, and she shuddered violently. A second later she felt the warm weight of a jacket being placed gently around her shoulders.

Helen looked up and found herself staring into Dr McKay’s surprisingly kind brown eyes.

‘I thought you might be cold,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ She started to her feet, steeling herself for the inevitable criticism. ‘I must get back, everyone will be wondering where I am.’

‘I’m sure they can spare you for a few minutes.’

‘But I need to make sure everything is all right—’

‘For God’s sake, Sister Dawson, sit down before you fall down. You haven’t stopped for hours.’

Helen hesitated, then sank back down on the bench.

Dr McKay pointed to the seat next to her. ‘May I?’

‘Of course.’

He sat down heavily beside her and stared up at the sky. ‘It’s been a hellish evening,’ he commented.

‘Yes, it has.’

They sat in silence for a moment. ‘Ross told me what happened,’ Dr McKay said. ‘He couldn’t have saved her, you know.’

‘But she wasn’t even hurt. Hardly a burn on her.’

‘That’s the awful thing about fire. It can kill in ways we can’t see. The smoke would have badly damaged her lungs.’ He paused. ‘I know young Ross has his faults, and he can be arrogant, but he feels wretched about this.’

‘I know he’s not to blame really,’ Helen said. ‘But I just wanted it to be someone’s fault. Otherwise it seems so cruel and unfair . . .’

‘Life is cruel and unfair sometimes.’

Helen turned her gaze back to the dining room. Light streamed from the windows, and she could see the outline of people sitting, standing and pacing, waiting anxiously for news of their loved ones.

Dr McKay was right, life could be cruel. She knew what it was like to lose someone she loved. And tonight someone else would know it too. This would be a Christmas they would never forget, and for all the wrong reasons.

‘Those poor people,’ she said.

‘I know,’ Dr McKay agreed heavily. ‘But don’t forget, we saved some lives tonight, too.’

‘I suppose so. But I can’t really think about them at the moment. It all just seems so horrible and sad . . .’

She broke off, turning her face towards a curious sound. The sound of singing. At that moment the doors to the ward block swung open and a group of nurses came out, their dark cloaks turned inside out to reveal the scarlet lining. They held jam-jar lanterns, and the dim light bathed their faces as they sang in the frosty moonlight.

‘Silent night, Holy Night . . . All is calm, all is bright . . .’

It was all too much for Helen. The sweet poignancy of their song, their clear, beautiful voices, was too much of a contrast with the awful sights she’d witnessed that night. The smell of smoke, the charred skin, the screams of agony. A little girl in a scorched pink party dress, struggling to breathe . . .

Helen started to cry, and suddenly she couldn’t stop. Juddering sobs shook her whole body and she doubled over, roaring with pain.

‘Sister Dawson . . . Helen . . .’ She felt Dr McKay’s arms around her, pulling her close to him. She allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder, feeling the smooth warmth of his cotton shirt against her cheek. He smelled faintly of smoke and cologne.

‘There . . . it’s all right . . .’ he whispered, stroking her back. She felt the tension melt from her body as she was drawn against him, reassured and protected. Their faces were only inches apart. If she turned towards him just a fraction, their lips would almost touch.

And suddenly she badly wanted to kiss him.

But as she shifted towards him he stiffened and pulled away, and the spell was broken.

Dr McKay shot to his feet as if he needed to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘I’d better go back inside,’ he said.

Helen could feel him watching her in the darkness. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Quite all right, thank you.’ She couldn’t look at him.

‘Good . . . good. Then I’ll be off.’

He was already on his way, walking briskly back across the yard towards the Casualty hall.

EFFIE ALWAYS LOOKED
forward to Christmas on the ward. Lots of the nurses moaned about being away from their families on Christmas Day, but much as she missed her mother and father back in Ireland, Effie loved the festive atmosphere at the hospital.

And it was especially festive in Male Orthopaedics. The high-ceilinged ward was festooned with decorations, swags of paper chains hanging down from the light fittings. The towering Christmas tree stood beside Sister’s desk, weighed down with so much tinsel and so many baubles it was difficult to see the green branches beneath.

The patients on Blake weren’t as poorly as those in Medical and Surgical, so they were able to join in with the fun. There was much laughter as Sister Blake handed out small gifts to each of them.

‘A handkerchief?’ Mr Carson, an amputee, mocked as he unwrapped his package. ‘You might have got me a bottle of brandy, Sister.’

‘Could have been worse, mate. She could have got you socks!’ the man in the next bed shot back, and they both roared with laughter.

After the beds and backs had been done and the patients were all washed and comfortable, the nurses crowded into Sister’s tiny office for coffee. She presented them each with a gift. Effie got a small bottle of scent, Californian Poppy, which she dabbed on to her wrists when no one was looking.

They also presented Sister Blake with the gift they’d clubbed together to buy. Effie steeled herself as she watched her unfasten the wrapping paper, knowing her sister Bridget had chosen it for her.

Sure enough, it was a suitably improving book.

‘
Reflections on the New Testament
. Oh, how thoughtful.’ Effie could see Sister Blake putting on her best smile as she read the cover. She knew how the poor woman felt. She’d worn the very same expression herself many times when she received her sister’s gifts.

‘Told you she’d prefer a cigarette case,’ Katie muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Later, Christmas dinner was served. The turkey was brought to the ward amid much ceremony by Mr Hopkins, then Mr Hobbs the Orthopaedic Consultant came up to do the honours and carve the bird, much to the amusement of the patients.

‘Blimey, I know how that poor bird feels,’ Mr Maudsley groaned as he watched Mr Hobbs struggling inexpertly with a wing. ‘He did the same thing to my hip!’

After dinner, the nurses hurried to clear everything away and get the ward straight again before visiting time.

It meant a great deal to the families to be able to spend at least part of Christmas Day with their loved ones. Effie could see the children’s faces shining with excitement as they crowded outside with their mothers and grandparents, waiting for the doors to open.

As usual, she found herself watching Adam Campbell. He was propped up, his eyes fixed avidly on the doors. Effie knew who he was waiting for. She wondered if the mysterious Adeline would finally answer his plea and come today. Surely she couldn’t abandon him on Christmas Day?

But it seemed she could. As the doors opened and the visitors streamed in, Effie watched Adam’s hopeful expression slowly fade. Her own hopes began to fade with them.

‘She’s not coming,’ she said to Katie.

‘Hmm? Who are you talking about?’

‘Adeline. Mr Campbell’s mystery girlfriend.’

‘Oh, her.’ Katie shrugged. ‘I expect she’s ditched him and found someone else by now.’

‘No!’

‘It happens all the time,’ her sister said airily. ‘Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. Go and put the kettle on, will you? Sister wants us to serve tea to the visitors.’

Sister Blake also produced a tin of shortbread biscuits her mother had sent her, much to Bridget’s dismay.

‘Biscuits, Sister?’ Effie’s sister frowned, as if she had never heard the word. ‘We don’t usually offer the visitors biscuits.’

‘Yes, well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it? Don’t look so worried, O’Hara,’ Sister Blake grinned. ‘One tin of biscuits isn’t going to turn the ward into Sodom and Gomorrah!’

Effie was glad of the excuse to go over to Adam Campbell. She parked her trolley at the end of his bed. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked.

She half expected him to snap her head off as usual, but all she got was a listless, ‘No, thank you, Nurse.’

‘Are you sure? I can make coffee for you, if you prefer? And there are biscuits, look.’ She proffered the tin.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Effie looked at her watch. ‘You never know, she might still come.’

‘She won’t.’

‘How do you know? It’s only a quarter-past two.’

‘She won’t come,’ Adam repeated, more firmly this time.

Effie stared helplessly at him. She wished she had the power to make him feel better, but all the splints and poultices in the world couldn’t mend a broken heart.

‘You did post the letter, didn’t you?’ he asked.

‘I put it in the postbox myself,’ Effie said. He’d asked her that question so many times, she was tired of hearing it.

‘I’m sorry.’ Adam gave her a sad little smile.

Just then the doors opened and they both looked up sharply. But it was only Adam’s father. He came down the ward, smiling hopefully, a brightly wrapped parcel tucked under one arm.

‘At least you have a visitor,’ Effie said brightly.

It was a relief to be able to leave Adam with his father. But his depression seemed to hang over her as she pushed her tea trolley around the rest of the ward.

‘Why are you so long-faced?’ Katie accused when she found Effie washing up in the kitchen later.

‘I feel sorry for Mr Campbell, that’s all.’

‘Well, don’t,’ Katie said. ‘It’s none of your business. And you’d better not even think about making it your business, Euphemia.’ She pointed a warning finger at her sister. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t get involved.’

‘I won’t,’ Effie muttered, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water so Katie wouldn’t see her crossed fingers.

‘You do understand, don’t you?’ William said.

He was giving Helen his big puppy-dog eyes look again, but even he knew that didn’t make up for the fact that he’d left her in the lurch.

‘Understand? Oh, I understand, all right,’ she snapped. ‘I understand I gave up Christmas at home so I could be here to help you, and now you’re telling me you don’t need me after all.’

‘I know, Hels.’ William tried his best to look wretched. ‘And I’m truly sorry. But I couldn’t say no, could I? The situation is far too – delicate.’

The ‘situation’ was that William and his erstwhile girlfriend had kissed and made up the night before, and now she was insisting on taking back her part in their Christmas show duet. Mainly, Helen suspected, to prove a point to her love rival in Male Medical.

‘I don’t want to let Sue down,’ he said piously.

‘But you don’t mind letting me down, is that it?’

William looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll have a word with Sister Blake for you, if you like?’ he offered. ‘I’m sure she could find another part for you somewhere in the show . . .’

‘I don’t want a part in the show! I didn’t want to be in it in the first place, if you recall. That’s the point, William. I could have been at home in Richmond, and instead I’m stuck here at a loose end for the rest of Christmas Day. What am I supposed to do now?’

‘You could always come and watch the show?’ he suggested.

Helen glared at him. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do at the moment, thank you very much.’

She rubbed her eyes, which were still stinging from lack of sleep. William regarded her sympathetically.

‘Are you all right, Hels? I heard you had a bad time on Casualty last night?’

‘It wasn’t the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever spent.’ Her whole body felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool.

‘Poor Helen. I’m so sorry.’ William put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

‘I tried that. I couldn’t sleep.’ Every time she closed her eyes, her head filled with horrible visions of charred flesh and blackened, blistering skin. She constantly jerked awake, with screams of agony echoing inside her head.