the thought of Mr Spence standing with scalpel at the ready made her feel a little sick.
Mr van Houben was in the anaesthetic room, somehow managing to look distinguished in his Theatre kit—a loose pale blue smock and trousers topped by a cap which would have done very nicely to have covered a steamed pudding. He was joined by Mr Spence and then by his registrar and all three men held a muttered conversation while Caroline stood patiently by the bed, admiring the back of Mr van Houben’s head, never mind the cap.
It was a disappointment to her that presently one of the staff nurses from Theatre took her place and she was dismissed with a laconic, ‘Thanks, Nurse.’
She went back to the ward and made up the bed and checked the equipment and was then sent to her supper. ‘They’ll send down one of the ITC nurses,’ Sister Crump told her, ‘but you’d better be there to fetch and carry.’
The day staff were going off duty when Caroline went back; the children were sleeping as Sister Crump did a round with the night nurses, and paused to speak to Caroline as she went. ‘I’ll be back presently,’ she told her.
It was after ten o’clock when Marc came back to his little room. Once he was again in his own bed, it was just a question of his being linked up with the apparatus around him and a careful check made as to his condition. Sister Crump had appeared silently to see things for herself and presently Mr Spence and Mr van Houben came in. The little room was full of people, and Caroline, feeling unnecessary, tucked herself away in a corner. Sister Crump caught her eye presently. ‘Go off duty, Nurse,’ she said briskly. ‘Come on at ten o’clock tomorrow.’
Caroline went, feeling anxious about little Marc and rather put out since her off duty had been changed—and she had agreed to go to the pictures on the following evening with Janey and several other of her friends.
She yawned her way into a bath and, despite her concern for the little boy, went to sleep at once.
Marc was still there when she went on duty in the morning; she had been half afraid that he wouldn’t have survived the night but there he lay, looking just as before, with Mr van Houben checking the tangle of tubes around the bed, calculating the drip and then taking a sample of blood from the small hand lying so still on the very white coverlet. He turned to look at Caroline as she went in. ‘Ask Sister Crump to come here, will you, Nurse? You’re taking over here?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She sped away to fetch Sister Crump and then con the charts with the nurse she was to relieve. He had looked at her, she thought sadly, as though he had never seen her before.
It was two days later, halfway through the morning, that Marc’s hand, lying in Caroline’s, curled gently over. For a moment she couldn’t believe it and then she wanted to shout for someone to come, press the panic bell, do a dance for joy… Her training took over; she sat quietly and waited and sure enough within a minute or so his hand turned again, a graceful languid movement as though it were returning to life. Which of course it was.
She did press the panic bell then. Sister Crump got there first.
‘He moved his hand in mine—twice,’ said Caroline.
‘The good Lord be thanked,’ said Sister Crump. The two other nurses had arrived. ‘One of you ring Mr Spence or his registrar—one or other is to come at once. The other nurse to go back to the ward.’
The nurses went and Caroline said softly, ‘Look, Sister.’
The small hand was moving again, curling round her thumb.
Mr Spence had just finished his list in Theatre and he still wore his Theatre kit as he came soft-footed to stand by the bed, followed by his registrar.
‘Give your report, Nurse,’ said Sister Crump.
Which Caroline did, trying to keep the quiver of excitement out of her voice. Put into a few sparse words it didn’t sound much, but as she spoke Marc lifted his arm very slightly as though he wanted to make himself more comfortable. ‘Eureka,’ said Mr Spence softly. ‘Someone get hold of Mr van Houben.’
He wasn’t in the hospital, although he had left a phone number where he could be reached. It was two or three hours later by the time he entered the room, looking calm and unflustered, giving no indication that he had been driving hell-for-leather down the M1 from Birmingham where he had gone to give his opinion concerning the anaesthetising of a patient with a collapsed lung and a tracheotomy into the bargain.
It was at that moment that Marc opened his eyes, blinked and closed them again.
‘Too soon to carry out any tests,’ said Mr Spence. ‘Another three or four hours—do you agree?’ When Mr van Houben nodded, he added, ‘We’ll be back around four o’clock, Sister.’ His eye lighted on Caroline, sitting like a small statue, not moving. ‘You are to stay with Marc, Nurse.’
Which made sense; she had seen the very first movements, and she was in a better position to gauge his progress or deterioration than anyone else coming fresh to the scene. All the same, she hoped that someone would bring her a cup of coffee before Mr Spence returned.
They did better than that. A tray of tea and sandwiches was brought and arranged where she could get at it without disturbing the child, and, besides, Sister Crump was in and out every hour or so. Marc hadn’t moved again; Caroline had charted his movements carefully, noting with delight that his temperature had come down a little. Certainly his pulse was steady.
She was stiff and cramped by the time the men came back. Mr Spence said, ‘Good—take over, Sister, will you?’ And watched while Caroline withdrew her hand, only to have it clutched again.
‘You’d better stay; we don’t want him disturbed in any way.’
A silly remark, thought Caroline, watching the gentle poking and prodding, the tickling of the small feet with a pin, the meticulous examination for pupil reaction, for Marc was disturbed, making small fretful movements and wriggling at the touch of a pin. But of course that was what they had hoped for: all the signs of a return to consciousness. The three men and Sister Crump bent over the bed and Caroline sat on a hard chair out of their way. She was happy about little Marc; it was the nicest thing which had happened to her for a long time. Mr van Houben must be over the moon, she reflected, although it was too early to tell if there would be lasting damage to little Marc; he had a long way to go still… Feeling selfish and uncaring, she longed for a cup of tea. At such dramatic moments cups of tea and feeling tired were not to be considered.
Little Marc had fallen asleep again—natural sleep now, not a coma—and the men were still discussing further treatment. It was Sister Crump, her eyes lighting upon Caroline’s small person in a corner, who exclaimed, ‘Go off duty, Nurse, I’m sorry you’re late. You’ve missed your tea—go to the canteen and see if they’ll boil you an egg or let you have your supper early. You missed your lunch?’
Caroline nodded and stood up. The men were writing now, absorbed in their problems. She whispered, ‘Good evening, Sister,’ and slipped out of the room and down the ward and out on to the landing beyond before anyone had a chance to say anything to her. Presumably the nurse to relieve her was already waiting; Sister Crump would be there to brief her. She made her way down to the canteen and found no one there, something she had half expected, for tea had been finished hours ago and first supper wasn’t until seven o’clock. All the same she went up to the counter in case there was someone beyond it in the serving-room.
‘No good your coming in here, Nurse. You know as well as I do that
