Call Me Sister (25 page)

It was such a perfect summer's evening Molly had even jettisoned her coat and headsquare.

‘That looks remarkably like a twin-set. Pale green suits you. Are you going somewhere nice?'

‘The Women's Guild have a meeting tonight and I'm hoping that between them and the vet we'll find homes for all the cats,' she said. ‘Even if the manse is a barn of a place, the minister's beginning to protest at so many of them.'

‘So it'll no longer be a case of the minister's cats then?' I was laughing now. Molly's brisk take on life always made me feel better.

As it was such a pleasant evening, I could maybe prise my guests off their beloved sofa and get them to sit outside. I'd buy them a fish and chip supper from the cheerful Italians round the corner and we could eat them in my sheltered little garden at the back of the house.

Johnny came out of his pick-up van as soon as he saw me. He looked distracted.

‘I'm not staying.' The words came tumbling out. ‘Lorn's in hospital. She went last night. I had to take her, Sister.' He buried his face in his hands. ‘It was awful. I've never seen so much blood. It was everywhere.'

I was too shocked to say anything. Only the call of a gull setting up the chorus of others filled the silence between us. Johnny took a huge sighing breath then continued, ‘I knew there was something no right but I never thought she'd try and take her life.'

‘Was it Raigmore you took her?' It was all I could think to say.

‘Aye.' Johnny looked around before he whispered, ‘But she's been transferred to Craig Dunain.' He said it as if the name of the Inverness psychiatric hospital was a disease in itself.

Once I'd taken him into the house and calmed him as best I could, Johnny went on. ‘She was awful bad-used when she was a bairn. She was in a foster home with others and it was a terrible place. She wouldn't speak about it much but when she did, I'd see the bandage back on her arm afterwards.'

‘You're not to blame,' I said. ‘Look! I'm a nurse and I should have spotted something was wrong. I knew she wasn't happy but it never dawned on me that she would be so completely depressed. Have you heard how she is now?'

‘Well, she's alive and the hospital says that physically she'll soon get better.' Johnny lifted his head and spoke in a broken voice, ‘But to tell you the truth, I've had enough. I was never able to make her happy and I know I never will. Anyway, she says she doesn't want to see anybody but you.'

‘Me?' I was astonished.

‘Yes, says you're her best friend.' He rose and put out his hand. ‘I'm not having her back with me so, if you do go and see her, will you tell her that?'

‘Johnny—'

I tried to stop him, but he was already out the door and climbing into his truck. With a tentative wave of his hand, he was gone.

Craig Dunain Hospital was built in days when it was all right to call it a lunatic asylum. In 1969, vestiges of a grim past still remained, with Victorian turrets, towers and mean-looking windows making the hospital look like something out of a gothic horror movie. The surrounding grounds, however, were attractive and well-tended, and I wondered if the people I saw working in them were patients. Whoever they were, they were totally absorbed in their work, and doing a good job.

Following directions to Lorn’s ward, I walked along a corridor where highly polished floor surfaces spoke of hard labour. Had the wood panelled walls been capable of words, I imagined they’d have told dark stories.

I was so lost in the past that for a split second I imagined a ghost was coming towards me.

‘Ah, Mrs Reid!’ A nurse came flying out of a ward. ‘You wee rascal. How did you get out?’

Without the name, I might not have recognised the little sprite with the scrubbed face and pure white hair. She was wearing a towelled striped dressing gown. Only the fact that it swamped her stopped her from doing a healthy sprint.

‘How dare you speak to me like that, you common sort of girrul!’ Mrs Reid’s voice was best Edinburgh-Morningside. Then, putting her hands together in a pleading gesture, she switched to a Highland singsong. ‘Please don’t put me away. Haff you no mercy?’

She steered a little to the side and leant against the wall for balance. The nurse moved to support her, ducking to avoid her patient’s swipe.

‘I’ll show ye nay tae meddle wi’ me, ye cat,’ she cackled, then meekly she linked arms with the nurse. ‘Aright, hen?’

‘Yes. Let’s go back to the ward,’ said the nurse.

‘All right.’

I’d never seen anything like it in my life. Unlike psychiatric nurses who were given nursing experience in a general hospital as part of their training, ours hadn’t reciprocated. Mental health was such an unknown specialism I’m ashamed to admit that had Mrs Reid been bigger, I might have been scared of her. She’d recovered from her pneumonia, the Ross Memorial matron told us, but was now in Craig Dunain. I could see why. Physically, at least, she appeared to have fully recovered, but I couldn’t imagine that she’d ever get back home again.

I assumed it would be different for Lorn.

After that visit, I drove to Chanonry Point. It’s a spit of land between Fortrose and Rosemarkie and dabbles its feet in the Moray Firth.

Today, it’s a mecca for tourists looking for dolphins leaping in the waters there, but in those distant days when they were all labelled porpoises the beach was a deserted spot. I’d go there sometimes and think about my patients, wondering if what I was doing was the best way to help them. The combination of the song of waves breaking on the shore, the sight of a wide sky and a sea which only spoke of freedom might not give an answer, but when I went home it was always with a clearer mind.

‘This is my home. I don’t want ever to leave here,’ Lorn had said, looking round a ward where people were held fast in their beds. ‘It’s where I feel safe.’

No matter how hard I’d tried to convince her that there was a life outside the hospital walls, with people like Johnny to share their lives with her, she was adamant.

‘Thanks for coming. I’ll always remember you did that. But don’t come back,’ she said. ‘You’d just remind me of another life I can’t imagine me living now. It’s not for the likes of me. I know I failed Johnny.’ She looked at her bandaged wrists and shook her head. ‘Poor bloke. I couldn’t make him happy. But this is where I belong. The nurses are kind and nobody can touch me.’ She hunched her back and turned to the wall.

I never knew her history. It might have been good to talk, but at the time I thought that Miss Macleod’s new mantra on that theme was meant only for her staff.

As I wandered along the beach, Lorn’s sad shadow stalked me until a leaping shape caught my eye. A porpoise? A sound like a creaking sail came from above. Looking up, I saw a swan flying in the direction of Inverness and wondered if it was heading home. Maybe I should do the same.

The next day promised to be a brighter one, especially as I’d be attending one of my newer patients. She made such light of a colostomy operation she was a joy to visit. It was disappointing that she hadn’t fully recovered, but the skin surrounding the stoma had been refusing to heal.

She, however, was determinedly optimistic. After I’d visited a couple of times, she’d cried, ‘Look! It’s much better now. Thanks to your gentle touch and soothing cream, that awful red-raw area’s on the mend.’

Like dear Mrs Henderson, she’d been far more interested in my life than hers. One day, she had fixed me with a bright gaze and mused, ‘I used to know someone from your part of the world. He was a commercial traveller until he bought a hotel in Forres. He’d an unusual name for this part of the world, two sons and a daughter, and I’m sure one of them was called David.’

I grinned, fancying that the Fortrose nurse’s home might provide better hospitality than Edinburgh’s 29 Castle Terrace. Then I said, ‘That’s a coincidence. One of my good friend’s families owns a hotel there. The name wouldn’t be Yeadon, would it?’

Also available from Black & White Publishing by Jane Yeadon

IT WON’T HURT A BIT!
IT SHOULDN’T HAPPEN TO A MIDWIFE!

First published 2013
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This electronic edition published in 2013

ISBN: 978 1 84502734 6 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 84502639 4 in paperback format

Copyright © Jane Yeadon 2013
Poem “Doorstep” © Helen Addy

The right of Jane Yeadon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This book is a work of non-fiction, based on the life, experiences and recollections of Jane Yeadon. In most cases names have been changed solely to protect the privacy of others. The author has stated to the publishers that, except in minor respects not affecting the substantial accuracy of the work, the contents of this book are true.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk