The Sunday Girls (36 page)

I sat down in the busy waiting room as a motley procession of injured people came and went. Most of these casualties were children who had obviously taken a few tumbles. Sitting amongst this childish mob were a few grey-faced and ill-looking adults who waited patiently for their turn in the queue.

I noticed the small boy who sat beside me. His harassed mother obviously knew this department well because I overheard her tell another worried-looking mother that this was her third visit to the hospital in a month. The boy had a gory-looking ring of dried blood around his throat that extended from ear to ear. It looked horrific and his mother was of the same opinion. ‘You wee besom,’ she said, ‘the nurses will think I’ve tried to throttle you. Playing cowboys and Indians with the greenie washing line. It’s a bloody wonder you didn’t strangle yourself.’

After about an hour and a half, a young nurse appeared and said, ‘Mrs Peters has had her leg set but we’re keeping her in the ward overnight. Depending on how she feels tomorrow, she may get home. But she’s comfortable at the moment.’

This was what we all expected. If Mrs Barrie hadn’t thought it as well, she would have insisted to Mr Roberts that he had to wait but, as it was, he had set off back to the Ferry the moment Jean was transferred to the hospital.

I left through the main door, leaving behind the human cargo of half-strangled little boys and broken legs. Then I suddenly remembered this was the place where Mum had died – in this lovely grey-bricked building with its shining windows and impressive appearance. The memory of that terrible day came flooding back and I had tears in my eyes as I ran down the steep hill to the bus stop. The tears were mostly for my mother but I shed a few for Jean too.

As it turned out, Jean didn’t get home the next day. In fact, she was in the ward for over a week before Mr Roberts was despatched again to bring her home. I missed her so much in the house. Even the kitchen had a forlorn atmosphere and I had no one to chat to. I had become so used to her company, telling her all my hopes and dreams for the future, but I also missed the friendly chitchat of everyday gossip.

Mrs Barrie hired a temporary cook – a brash young woman with a loud voice and extremely poor cooking skills. Even Miss Hood was affected by our loss. She said one day, ‘I’ll be so glad when Mrs Peters is back. She’s such a good cook and a wonderful baker. Not like …’ She shuddered and walked away.

One thing I did notice, however, was that this new cook stood no nonsense from the housekeeper and, once again, I was convinced it was me and only me that Miss Hood disliked.

I offered to stay at the house to cover for Jean but Mrs Barrie wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Not at all, Ann – your family need you more than we do. Lottie and I can live quite easily. The cook, although inadequate, makes reasonably edible food and Lottie can always make us a snack.’

I was packing my suitcase the following morning in preparation for my time off when I noticed my coat wasn’t hanging in the wardrobe. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had brought it with me but I knew I had. Granny was always frightened Hattie would secrete it away again so she was most insistent I took it away with me every week. But, because of the mild weather, I hadn’t worn it since arriving back at the Ferry a week ago. I was really worried as I searched every corner of my room. I even went through the lobby and bathroom with a fine-tooth comb but it had vanished into thin air.

I scanned my memory, wondering when I had last worn it. Did I wear it to the shops on one of my errands? Had Jean’s fall made me forget the last time I had it on? Maybe, I thought, it was in the kitchen, hanging on the coat hooks, but it wasn’t. I tried all the kitchen cupboards which I knew was stupid because there was no way I would leave my precious coat in the steamy kitchen but I was clutching at straws. Because of my agitation, I didn’t hear Miss Hood enter the kitchen. Although it was officially her time off, since Jean’s accident, she had forgone her days off. She stood quietly behind me until I turned and I almost passed out from fright at the sight of her silent figure. I gasped.

She looked at me. ‘Have you lost something?’

Although I’d felt sympathy for her on occasions, ever since Jean’s accident, her manner had been back to what it had been during my first few weeks in the house. It was as if she knew how much I relied on Jean for my support and, now that my ally and friend was no longer here, I was totally alone and at her mercy again.

I decided to stick up for myself as Jean had suggested to me away back in the beginning. ‘I’ve lost my coat, Miss Hood. I can’t find it anywhere.’

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. ‘You’ve lost your trench coat?’

‘No, it’s not my trench coat – it’s my good coat.’

She shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I’ve never seen you wearing a good coat.’ She emphasised the word ‘good’. ‘Forgive me for saying this but you’ve always worn that old trench coat. What good coat is this? Something you’ve bought for yourself?’ By now the eyebrows had almost disappeared into her hairline.

I hated to tell a lie but I nodded.

‘Well then,’ she said, ‘describe it to me and I’ll help you look for it.’

Much against my will, I said, ‘It’s a bonny russet-coloured coat with fur trimmings.’ I was beside myself with misery, having to stand here explaining everything but maybe she was just trying to be kind with her offer of help.

She cast her eyes around the kitchen. ‘Your coat sounds really grand and expensive. What a lucky girl you are to own such a coat. Now I’ve always wanted something like that but I couldn’t afford it.’

‘Pigs might fly,’ I thought, remembering Jean telling me Miss Hood was feathering her own nest whilst living here.

She smiled but as usual, the smile failed to reach her eyes.

I made a decision. ‘It’s all right, Miss Hood, don’t bother looking for it. Maybe I’ve left it at my Granny’s house. I’m sure that’s where it’ll be.’ Yet I knew with certainty that it wasn’t there but it also wasn’t here. The mystery was where was it?

She clasped her hands. ‘Are you sure? It won’t be a bother to me to help you in your search but let me know when you find it, won’t you? It will be interesting to see the odd spot in which you left it.’

On that note, she turned quietly and left the kitchen while I returned to my room to ponder over the missing coat.

Back home, Granny was as confused as I was. ‘I don’t think Hattie has anything to do with this, Ann,’ she said but she didn’t sound too sure.

‘No, Granny, I remember putting it my wardrobe. I do it every week. I know I haven’t worn it for a wee while because it’s been quite mild weather and it’s been over a week since I last saw it.’

She had another theory. ‘I don’t suppose the new cook has pinched it?’

I doubted it. Although she wasn’t like Jean, I got on all right with her. I hadn’t worn my coat in her company and she didn’t live in the house. Like Jean, she came in every day to work and I doubted if she knew the layout of the house. Another thing I was sure of was that she didn’t know where my room was.

Maddie had started her nursing training and she was full of enthusiasm when I met her on her day off.

‘I really enjoy the work, Ann, even although I only get one day off in the month and start at seven in the morning and work right through until early evening.’ She rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘Getting up at six o’clock in the morning is terrible, especially for a sleepyhead like me. The other morning I gave one old man the bedpan straight from the steriliser and it burned his backside.’

I looked shocked but she laughed. ‘Oh, I didn’t really burn him – I just gave him a hot bottom.’ She mimicked his voice. ‘“Ye’ve burned my erse, you silly wee bugger!”’

We both chuckled at this bit of hospital humour. I was also amused by Maddie’s interpretation of a long day. I thought it sounded quite normal and I worked hours like that day in and day out. Still there was no stopping her when she was in a chatty mood.

‘The patients sometimes bring in their own food. Mostly eggs. The other morning I put one on to boil for a patient and I forgot all about it. It was so hard-boiled that he couldn’t eat it with a spoon. “What am I supposed to do with this, nurse? Eat it or play a game of ruddy tennis with it?”’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I had got his egg mixed up with someone else’s but he shouted out, “No you’ve not – this egg’s still got my bloody name on it!”’ She laughed again. ‘We have to write the patient’s name on their egg before we cook it, just to make sure they get the egg that was brought in for them. I had to end up slicing his egg and putting it on his toast and even then he moaned all through breakfast time.’

‘Still, as long as you like the job, Maddie, that’s the main thing.’ Even as I said this, my mind was back at the Ferry. Life there was growing more unhappy every day and I couldn’t see a way out of this terrible situation with Miss Hood. Since Jean’s accident, she had picked on me every day and there was no pleasing her.

Maddie was chatting on about having to scrape the fluff from the legs of the beds in the ward – all forty of them – and how sore her poor knees were.

‘We also get semolina for dinner every day. It’s either thin and watery or thick and lumpy and the nurses have christened it 365 because it’s on the menu every day in the year.’ Suddenly she stopped and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Ann, will you do me a great favour?’

I was taken aback by this intensity and also a little bit unnerved. She wasn’t in the habit of asking anything from me. In fact, it was always me who was beholden to her and her family. ‘If I can, Maddie.’

‘There’s this poor man in the ward who never has a visitor. His family live miles and miles away on a hill farm near Trinafour, wherever that is.’ She stopped and gave me another searching look. ‘Will you visit him? Just out of the goodness of your heart and it’ll be your good deed for the week.’

I was taken aback. ‘I can’t possibly visit a total stranger, Maddie. What would I say to him? And have you thought that he might not want any visitors?’

She waved these worries away. ‘Of course he’ll enjoy a visit from you. He works in the library in Albert Square and I’ve told him how much you like books and he’s potty about books as well so you’ll get on like a house on fire.’

I shook my head. ‘No, Maddie, I can’t do it.’

She put on her pleading face. ‘Do it for me, Ann. His name is Gregor Borland and he’s quite old so you won’t have to worry about any romantic intentions.’

Oh thank you very much, Maddie, I thought. ‘All right, I’ll come but just for the one visit and no more.’

The following Sunday saw me standing in a queue by the side door of the Royal Infirmary. As the long queue moved slowly forwards, I was kicking myself for agreeing to come but Maddie was so persuasive. Also I felt I owed her a favour or four. As I walked along the long corridors and up endless stairs, I wished I was wearing my cashmere coat but it was still missing.

How Hattie had crowed when she heard the story. ‘Well, if you had exchanged it with me, it would still be here.’

Still, she had given me one of her cast-offs that she said she’d grown tired of and she told me I was welcome to it. It was an unflattering shade of grey and I felt it didn’t suit me but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The smell of floor polish and antiseptic hung in the air of this large building and, once again, I was reminded that my mother had died within these walls. I tried hard to shake off these sad thoughts but I was still feeling apprehensive when I reached Maddie’s ward. A nurse sat at a small table at the entrance. When I mentioned the man’s name, she pointed in the direction of a long row of identical beds that lined the wall. As she turned her head, I noticed that her stiffly starched cap crackled slightly with the movement.

The patient in the first bed was decrepit looking, with a toothless smile and a bald head. ‘Mr Borland?’ I asked, cursing Maddie for inflicting this on me.

The old man smiled again, showing a row of pink gums. ‘No, lass, you’ve got the wrong man. Try up the ward a bit.’

I suddenly spotted Maddie trying to attract my attention which wasn’t an easy feat because she was keeping an eye out for the ward sister. She pointed quickly to a bed before disappearing around a folded screen.

A fresh-faced man was in the bed, sitting upright with his hands on the smooth, wrinkle-free bedcover. He gave me a lovely smile.

‘Mr Borland?’

‘Call me Greg,’ he said, his face screwing up in a large grin. He wore a pair of vivid blue pyjamas and he had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. He had been lying against the pillows and his hair stood up in a thick brown thatch. ‘So you are Ann, the girl sent by the fair nurse Pringle?’

I nodded. ‘What are you in here for?’ I suddenly blushed at my faux pas – maybe it was something unmentionable.

He noticed my distress and laughed. ‘Oh, it’s nothing infectious. It’s my leg. I fell off a horse when I was a lad and I’ve got this slightly gammy leg and I’m left with a limp. Now and again I get pain in it and I’ve to spend a couple of days in hospital.’

I was alarmed by his mention of a horse. The image of one of the huge Clydesdale horses appeared in my mind. These strongly built horses were regularly to be seen on the streets of Dundee, pulling carts piled high with bales of jute. They made numerous trips between the mills and the warehouses every day. In fact, Henry, the coalman’s horse we had for our flitting, was one of this grand breed of horses.

As if reading my mind, he grinned. ‘It was just a pony but I fell off and broke my leg. Sadly it didn’t mend properly.’

Another picture flashed into my mind. I thought about Jean and her broken leg. She was recovering slowly and I promised myself I would go and see her some night after my chores were finished.

Greg mentioned his job in the library and I thought how lovely it would be to have such a great job. I said so.

His face lit up. ‘I really enjoy it very much and the customers are all friendly. One or two of the staff are a bit snooty and stand-offish but, on the whole, they are very helpful – especially to a country lad like myself.’