The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,109
pillow and looked at Helen with such intensity that for a moment it was as if she could really see her.
Her gaping, toothless mouth broke into a smile. ‘Gwen,’ she said. ‘You’ve come at last.’
She gave a sigh of contentment, turned her face away, and was gone.
Helen put her fingers to Mrs Rodgers’ throat to satisfy herself there was no pulse. Then she calmly got up and pulled the screens around the bed.
Amy was very put out when she emerged from the kitchen, where she had been buttering bread for breakfast.
‘Typical!’ she snorted. ‘Why couldn’t she have hung on an hour longer? Now we’re going to have to deal with it ourselves before the day staff come on.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Helen said.
‘Really?’ Amy looked relieved. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said, although it was obvious she wasn’t going to volunteer to help.
Helen sent the runner to fetch the Night Sister, who in turn informed the Duty Registrar. He arrived, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and declared what everyone already knew, that cancer had eaten its way into Mrs Rodgers’ bones, brain and every organ in her body. The porters arrived and transferred her body to the side room while Helen gathered everything she needed on the trolley, washed her hands and donned gloves and a clean apron.
She took her time, washing the old lady with care and respect. Mrs Rodgers was no bigger than a child, her wrinkled skin hanging loosely from thin bones. Helen was astonished she had managed to keep death at bay for as long as she had, when there was no strength left in her frail, emaciated body.
Sister Hyde came in as Helen was fastening the shroud. She was the most fearsome of all the sisters at the Nightingale, bristling efficiency in her immaculate grey uniform, her cap fastened in a crisp bow under her square chin. Helen fought the urge to jump to attention.
‘Good gracious, Nurse, what are you doing here? Hollins went off duty fifteen minutes ago.’
‘I wanted to finish preparing Mrs Rodgers before I left, Sister. Hollins offered to stay and help me,’ she lied quickly.
‘Did she indeed? That hardly sounds like Hollins.’ Sister Hyde looked down at Mrs Rodgers’ face, encircled by the white shroud. ‘So she’s gone at last. I hope it was peaceful?’
‘Yes, Sister. Quite peaceful.’
‘I’m glad. She suffered quite dreadfully towards the end.’ Sister Hyde sighed, and for a moment her face lost its severe expression. Then she recollected herself and said, ‘Tonight is your last night on this ward, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Do you know where you will be sent next?’
‘Wren, Sister.’
‘Gynae? That will make a change for you. Rather a lively ward, so I’m told.’ Sister Hyde looked thoughtful. ‘It’s very commendable that you should want to stay and do this. I wish all students were as conscientious as you. I shall certainly mention you in the ward report.’
‘Thank you, Sister.’
It was almost half-past eight when the porter came to escort Mrs Rodgers down to the mortuary. Helen had missed breakfast, so she headed straight to bed in the night corridor. But it wasn’t easy to sleep with the maid clattering noisily outside the door with her broom, and Miss Hanley stomping to and fro down the corridor to the staff linen room.
She slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of Mrs Rodgers clawing at her hands and calling out to her. She woke up at midday, stiff and aching, foggy-headed with lack of sleep. Wearily she got up and dragged on her dressing gown.
Opening her door, she didn’t see the figure sitting on the floor outside her room until she fell over them.
‘Oops, sorry, I didn’t – Benedict?’ Helen rubbed her gritty eyes. ‘What are you doing down there?’
‘Waiting for you.’ Millie clambered to her feet, brushing herself down. ‘I’m supposed to be at dinner but I wanted to see you before I went back on duty.’
Helen’s heart sank. ‘I’m not in the mood for another argument,’ she sighed, shouldering past her.
‘I don’t want to argue. I just wanted to say I was sorry,’ Millie said.
Helen stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face her.
‘I know you didn’t sneak to Matron about me really. And even if you did, I probably deserved it.’ Millie was gabbling on, the words tumbling out so fast Helen could hardly keep up with them. ‘After all, I did break just about every rule in the book, stumbling around the ward like a drunken maniac . . .’