The Story of Danny Dunn (36 page)

‘Better be off, darling,' Helen whispered.

Danny rose and began to unbutton the front of Helen's maternity dress. ‘Won't be a moment, sister,' he said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘No, no, this simply won't do. Your wife is in our care now!' The sister had drawn the bed curtains so that only the triangle formed by her veil and her head protruded into the space around the bed. Danny noticed that the bright-red lipstick she wore had started to leak into the heavy face powder, giving her mouth a distinctly bloody appearance. In his mind he dubbed her Sister Dracula. ‘You'll have to leave at once, Mr Dunn,' she insisted. Then she pulled her head back and gave the curtain a sharp tug to indicate her annoyance.

‘My wife . . . I can't leave her . . . what if . . . ?' Danny called in a panicked voice. ‘It won't take long. I know where everything is – 
I packed it myself,' he added lamely.

‘Better get along, darling,' Helen said, attempting a reassuring smile that was suddenly cut short by a fresh contraction.

Sister Dracula's voice called from beyond the curtain. ‘At once please, Mr Dunn! This is a maternity ward and no place for a husband! Your wife is going into labour!'

Danny, not wanting to upset Helen, knew he was beaten. ‘See you soon, darling,' he said, kissing her tenderly on the lips. ‘Just going downstairs. Be back in a moment,' he whispered.

Helen grabbed him by the wrist. ‘Danny, please! Don't do anything foolish,' she hissed.

Danny grinned and gave her a thumbs-up sign, showing an assurance he didn't feel. Then, turning, he parted the curtains to see the sister with her bloodied lips drawn tight in obvious disapproval, holding the clipboard and waiting impatiently at the entrance to the ward. She began to walk down the corridor immediately he appeared, her back rigid with censure. Danny followed her, his footsteps making a soft squeak on the linoleum
floor, never quite catching up to her until they'd reached the lift, where they waited in silence. On the way down Danny asked, ‘Will you direct me to the waiting room, please, sister?' adding hopefully, ‘Perhaps someone will call me when the baby arrives?'

‘No, no, Mr Dunn. Please understand. You have to go home now. Your doctor will contact you by telephone after his rounds tomorrow.'

‘No waiting room?' Danny asked, dismayed.

‘It is not hospital policy to allow relatives to stay overnight, Mr Dunn.' She sighed, thoroughly fed up with him. ‘Really! I should have thought you'd understand that much. I must remind you that this is a busy maternity hospital. We simply can't have people – men – hanging about!'

‘I'm not “people” or “men”, sister! I'm an expectant father. I'd like to stay,' Danny persisted, a hard edge to his voice.

The lift arrived and opened on the ground floor and Sister Dracula strode out, not answering or waiting for him to leave. ‘Please go to the admissions window,' she called, then, all sharp, starched white angles from the back as she slipped through one of two doors leading from the foyer and closed it somewhat too firmly behind her.

Danny walked over to the reception window. He was becoming more agitated by the moment, expecting to see his nemesis appear before him, but there was no sign of Sister Dracula or, for that matter, the original clerk. Instead, a very thin, weary-looking woman looked up at him, sighed audibly, then rose slowly from her desk and approached him. Danny assumed she must be the cashier he had to see. She appeared to be in her forties or early fifties but it was clear that life hadn't been kind to her and she had come to expect nothing good. The only colour that showed on her sallow oily face was two rosy-red circles of rouge on her cheeks and a thin line of orange lipstick, the two colours incongruously bright on her pale, forlorn face. She was dressed in a navy-blue serge skirt with an uneven hem that shone from frequent ironing and, despite the spring weather, a cheap brown machine-knitted cardigan buttoned all the way up. Her ratty hennaed hair was drawn back in a scrappy bun with strands of hair sticking out at every angle. A pair of frameless glasses hung from a cheap anodised chain around her neck. She too held a clipboard and Danny noticed that her fingernails were broken or chewed but retained traces of crimson nail varnish.

‘I have to check your details and you'll need to pay the hospital costs,' the clerk said automatically. ‘I see you have Dr Leader. You will have to make separate arrangements to pay him.' She paused then asked, ‘Will that be cheque or cash?' When Danny didn't answer immediately she added, ‘Or do you wish to undertake an instalment plan where we make arrangements with your employer to garnishee your pay?' All this was said in a monotone, a litany she had obviously performed a thousand times before.

‘Cheque,' Danny replied, grateful to be able to assume some sense of control.

‘The name of your bank, Mr Dunn?'

‘It won't bounce, madam,' Danny replied.

The clerk sighed. ‘It's purely routine, sir.'

‘Bank of New South Wales, Balmain. The manager's name is Harry Farmer.'

The clerk wrote this down on the clipboard, then slid a slip of paper across to Danny. ‘Please make your cheque out for this amount. That will be your deposit on account and you will need to pay any extra costs over and above that amount before your wife and baby leave the hospital.'

Danny wondered momentarily what might happen if a family was unable to pay the bill. Did the hospital keep the baby? He wrote out the cheque, grateful that Brenda had insisted on topping up his bank account.

‘I'll need your home and business phone numbers to contact you in case of emergencies. I take it your doctor has these as well?' She gave him a wan smile. ‘To let you have the good news.'

‘Sure, but in both instances that won't be necessary. I'll be waiting right here in the hospital.'

The clerk looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, no, sir! That won't be possible. We'll . . . your doctor will inform you . . . telephone you at home some time tomorrow.'

‘What if the birth occurs during the night, madam?'

‘Some time tomorrow morning, after he's done his rounds.'

‘No, no, you don't understand. It's essential I know the very moment my child is born. What if there are complications? I'll have to be here,' Danny insisted.

The clerk sighed. ‘Dr Leader could be busy. This is not his only hospital.'

‘All the more reason to stay,' Danny cried, knowing he was rapidly losing control.

‘We don't have suitable . . . er, facilities. The waiting room is only open until six; it's already been locked for the night.'

‘Have you got a public toilet?'

‘Yes.'

‘And a spare chair?' Danny turned and indicated the foyer behind him. ‘I could put a chair somewhere here. There's plenty of room.'

‘I don't have that authority, sir.'

‘What? To lend me a chair?'

‘No, to allow you to remain in the foyer. It must remain clear at all times, for emergencies.'

‘Then who has?' Danny could hear his voice beginning to rise.

‘That would be the superintendent, and he's gone home,' the woman replied.

‘Who is in charge then?'

‘Miss Kirk, Miss Alison Kirk, the night-duty matron.'

Danny pointed to the phone on a nearby desk. ‘Will you call her, please?'

This last request proved too much for the weary clerk. ‘I am permitted to call only in an emergency, Mr Dunn.'

‘But this
is
an emergency!' Danny insisted.

‘I don't think so, sir.'

Danny was suddenly back in the camp facing Colonel Mori. He knew shouting at her was pointless, though that was exactly what he itched to do: to wreck the joint, make someone listen, reach though the window and grab this poor scrawny bitch and shake some sense into her, even though he was aware that she was only doing her job. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn't care. He had to be near Helen in case something happened, something untoward. Everyone knew it happened all the time; you were always hearing about mothers dying in childbirth, and Helen was huge, almost twice normal size. People kept observing that she might be having twins. If so, this gave her twice the chance of dying in childbirth, didn't it? Oh, Jesus! He had to be near, near enough to get to her bedside if something happened during the night.

Danny composed himself, smiled, and said in his Colonel Mori voice, ‘Your name, please, madam?'

‘Mrs Gibson.'

‘Mrs Gibson,' Danny began, ‘I'm a lawyer, and a hospital is a public building, and this is one where the public come to have babies. Now a baby isn't simply one parent's responsibility but both, and although of course my wife has to do the lion's share, I am an expectant father and naturally I am very, very concerned and consider myself directly involved. There are especially good reasons for my request, though I won't go into them here, but I'm sure the legal implications of a public hospital denying a husband the right to remain in a designated waiting room, which has been deliberately locked, while his wife gives birth, or could possibly be dying,' he added darkly, ‘will not serve this particular hospital well in a court of law or in the newspapers.'

Mrs Gibson looked thoroughly confused, as Danny had expected she might. He hoped to hell he'd guessed right about her and that she wouldn't call his ridiculous bluff. He'd laid it on pretty thick and he knew that Helen would have practically killed him if she'd witnessed this ridiculous melodrama. Anyone with half a brain would know his words were an idle threat.

‘Mr Dunn, you'll have to speak to the matron; this has nothing to do with me,' the clerk said.

‘Of course, Mrs Gibson. I understand your position and that you
would
help if you could,' Danny said soothingly, adding, ‘I know you're only following instructions. As you say, I need to speak to the night matron.' Danny gave her a forlorn look. ‘But without your help, I can't think how I can possibly gain her attention.' He grinned. ‘Without picking up that vase of dead flowers and hurling it through a window.'

It was a ridiculous threat and Danny intended it to be funny – but then he thought that perhaps she was responsible for the foyer flowers – so he was pleased to observe that Mrs Gibson, despite herself, smiled, breaking the tension between them.

‘I'd like to help you, Mr Dunn. I truly would. People – husbands anyway – should be allowed to wait at night. Some travel up from the country and can't afford a hotel, and often the Salvation Army hostel down the hill is full, so they have to sit on a bench at Central Railway Station until the morning – that is, if the railway police don't move them on – and then they have to walk the streets all night.'

‘If matron will give me just five minutes of her time I won't ask for a second more,' Danny said quickly. ‘I understand you are not permitted to call her directly. Perhaps you could simply leave the list of hospital extension telephone numbers here on this ledge for ten seconds? Then, if you are questioned later you can deny either telling me, writing down or giving me the number. You can swear on a stack of Bibles in a court of law you didn't give me her extension number. I should know – I'm a lawyer,' Danny said soothingly, adding, ‘I promise I won't ever mention your name.'

To his surprise she smiled. ‘I only wish my husband had cared this much about me, Mr Dunn.' She turned and unhooked a phone list and placed it on the ledge. ‘First line, second page, Alison Kirk.' She smiled again, seeming to enjoy the conspiracy.

Danny flicked to the page and memorised the number. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gibson,' he said quietly, pushing the list back through the window. ‘Now, pink or red roses?' he asked.

‘I beg yours?' Mrs Gibson asked, surprised.

‘You've been very kind. Pink or red . . . or white, for that matter?'

‘Oh, red, please. I've never been given roses before.'

‘And I've never had a baby!' Danny said, laughing.

‘There's a phone box on the pavement directly outside,' Mrs Gibson offered. ‘The hospital one next to the lift is padlocked after six and the superintendent has the key.'

Danny had no idea what he was going to say to Miss Alison Kirk, the night matron. When Danny was a kid, Half Dunn had once advised him on what to do when he found himself in an awkward situation. ‘Talking's always better than not talking, son, then just trust your Irish luck; the gift of the gab will usually get you through a crisis.' Danny dialled the hospital number and, when the switchboard answered, said in an authoritative voice, ‘Dunn here. Matron, please, extension 151. Has she come on duty yet?'

‘Yes, doctor,' came the cheery operator's reply. ‘She came on half an hour ago. I'll put you through.'

‘Thank you,' Danny said in the distracted professional manner he'd heard some of his older legal colleagues use when calling from the public phones at the courts. Even in the army, where as a Sergeant Major he could command instant obedience, he'd learned that authority works best not when obedience is demanded but when it is simply assumed.