over Sister Jenkins. Which was true enough; Jilly Jenkins was a small sweet person and a splendid nurse, but she could be bullied…
Julie Friend was a different kettle of fish entirely. Katrina gave her a wide smile as she came in with the tea tray and put it on the desk, and Julie returned it. She was a pretty girl, good at her job and popular, and saving hard to get married. Katrina, in her rare fits of depression, envied her wholeheartedly; Julie’s Bill was a nice young man, a chemist in the hospital pharmacy and neither he nor Julie had any doubts about their future together, whereas Katrina had to admit to herself that she had any number of doubts about her own. She had had the opportunity enough to marry; she was a striking-looking girl and besides that, she had a little money of her own, a wide circle of the right kind of friends, and a comfortable home. She was quite a catch; it was a pity that those who had wanted to catch her were all small men. She hadn’t had deep feelings about any of them, but she wondered from time to time if one of them had looked down at her instead of up, if she would have accepted him.
She poured their tea and listened to Julie’s careful report, and after that, as Julie tactfully put it, there were one or two things…
They took half an hour to sort out: the laundry cutting up rough about extra sheets; the pharmacy being nasty about a prescription they couldn’t read, the CSU calling down doom upon her head because a pair of forceps were missing from one of the dressing packs, and one of the part-time nurses unable to come because of measles at home. Katrina dealt with them all in a calm manner and turned her attention to Julie’s report again. Old Mr Crewe, who had been admitted as an emergency hernia four days ago and not quite himself after the operation, had been making both day and night hideous with his noisy demands for beer. Julie had reported that she had allowed him one with his lunch and been told, for her pains, that he had three or four pints at midday and the same again in the evening. Katrina chuckled and then frowned; she would have to think of something. She twitched her cap straight and got up to do a round.
It was one of the quietest times of the day; dinners were over and visitors wouldn’t be coming just yet, the men were dozing or reading their papers or carrying on desultory conversations. Katrina went from bed to bed, stopping to chat with their occupants, filling in a pools coupon for a young man who had his right arm heavily bandaged, listening with patience and every appearance of interest while someone read her a long account of startling goings-on as reported in one of the more sensational newspapers; some of the patients were sleeping and two were still not quite round from anaesthetics. She checked their conditions carefully, gave soft-voiced instructions to one of the student nurses, and went on her way unhurriedly. She never appeared to hurry, and yet, as one nurse had observed to another, she was always there when she was needed.
Her round almost over, she tackled Mr Crewe, eyeing her belligerently from his bed. ‘And what’s all this about beer?’ she asked composedly.
She let the old man have his say and then said reasonably: ‘Well, you know if you have eight or nine pints of beer each day, we simply can’t afford to keep you here. Have you anyone at home to look after you?’
‘Me wife.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘I’ve got a daughter lives close by. Sensible she is, not like the old girl.’
Katrina thought for a bit. ‘Look, let’s make a bargain; you can have a pint at dinner time and another with your supper and I’ll see if we can get you home a couple of days earlier. Mind you, you’ll have to behave yourself.’
His promise was of the piecrust variety, she knew that, but at least it meant temporary peace.
A peace they needed during the next few days; it seemed as though everyone in the vicinity of the hospital was bent on falling off ladders, tripping over pavements or being nudged by buses. Usually there were broken bones involved, but for some reason this week it was cuts and bruises and concussion, so that none of the victims went to the orthopaedic block but arrived with monotonous regularity in the surgical ward.
It was on the last day on take-in, with the cheering prospect of Mr Crewe going home very shortly and a hard week’s work behind them all, when things began to go wrong. Julie went off sick for a start, which meant that Katrina wouldn’t be able to have her days off and Moira Adams, taking advantage of Julie’s absence and Katrina’s preoccupation with her patients, began chivvying the junior nurses. Katrina, coming upon a tearful girl behind the sluice door, had to take Moira into her office and rake her down, pointing out as she did so that she was having to waste time which could have been spent to much greater advantage on the patients. Moira pouted and argued until Katrina said sharply, ‘That’s enough, Staff, you should know better, and you’ll never get anyone to work for you if you bully them.’ She glanced at her watch and saw with relief that it was after five o’clock and Moira was due off duty—better still, she had days off as well. Katrina felt relief flood through her, but none of it showed; she said with quiet authority: ‘Go off duty, Staff.’
It was lucky that she had two second-year student nurses on duty, both good hard-working girls, as well as the tearful little creature who was still apparently in the sluice. Katrina swept through the ward, her eyes everywhere; nothing seemed amiss. She reached the sluice and found Nurse James, washing a red, puffy face under the cold water tap. ‘The thing is,’ began Katrina without preamble, ‘you have to learn not to mind, Nurse James. There’ll always be someone you can’t see eye to eye with, someone who’ll try and upset you. Well, don’t let them—you’re a very junior nurse at present, but if you work hard you’ll be a good one one day and these upsets will have been worth while. Now come into the ward with me; we’re going to do the medicine round together.’
The evening went swiftly after that, there was so much to do: cases from the morning’s list needing to be settled; dressed in their own pyjamas again, given drinks, gently washed and when they could be, sat up. The four of them had to work hard but by first supper, Katrina was able to send the two senior girls to their meal; there was only one case which bothered her and she had already sent a message to the registrar to come and see the man the moment that he was free. The man had been admitted that morning after an accident in which he had had an arm crushed so badly that it had been amputated. He had come round nicely from the an-aesthetic and the surgeon had seen him and pronounced himself satisfied, and although Katrina could see nothing wrong she thought that the man looked far more poorly than he should. It was no joke, losing an arm, but he was a powerfully built young man and healthy. They had settled him nicely against his pillows and he had had a cup of tea and the drip was running well. All the same she was uneasy. Leaving Nurse James to trot round the ward, making sure that the men were comfortable, she went along to write the report in her office, only to go back again to the man’s bedside on the pretext of checking his chart. He looked worse, so much so that she drew the curtains around the bed and bent over him with a cheerful: ‘Sorry to disturb you, I just want to make sure that your dressing’s nice and firm, still.’
The dressing was all right, but there was an ominous red stain seeping through the bandage. There was a tray on the locker by the bed with everything needed for just such a happening. Katrina put on a pad and bandage, binding it firmly and pretended to adjust the drip while she watched. Something was very wrong; already the blood was oozing through the package she had only just put on.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked the man. ‘There’s a little bleeding and you may feel a bit faint, but it’s nothing to worry about.’ She smiled reassuringly at him and called softly: ‘Nurse James!’
She was busy re-packing yet again when she heard the girl behind her. ‘Go to the office, please, Nurse,’ she said in her usual unhurried manner, ‘and tell the porter to get Mr Reynolds at once. He must come here immediately. Tell them it’s urgent. If he’s not available then any house surgeon will do. Be quick and come back
