The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,34

Tremayne. Sister Holmes says it’s nearly time for Sunday prayers.’ Amy shot them both a dirty look and then moved on.

‘It wouldn’t hurt her to crack a smile, would it?’ Charlie said.

‘I told you, she’s had bad news.’

‘All the more reason to do it. It makes you feel better, doesn’t it?’ He looked at Helen consideringly. ‘Like you. You’re always smiling. And yet I can see you don’t feel like it half the time.’

‘I don’t know what makes you say that.’ Flustered, Helen tidied her trolley. ‘Anyway, Nurse Hollins is right about one thing, I can’t sit here all day. I’ve got to get on if we’re going to have this ward ready for visitors.’

‘Quite right.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I need a wash and brush up if I’m going to be seeing my Sal. She doesn’t like a man looking scruffy. Don’t want her to think I can’t look after myself, do I?’

After they had said Sunday prayers and sung a hymn with the patients, the rest of the morning was spent cleaning the ward, changing beds and smartening up the patients ready for visiting hour. By two o’clock, the visitors had started to arrive. Wives, girlfriends, mothers, fathers, friends, all gathered outside the closed doors, their faces pressed eagerly against the glass, smiling and waving at their loved ones inside the ward. Sister Holmes was on the other side of the doors, checking her watch and ignoring the imploring looks of the people outside.

‘Still three minutes until two o’clock.’ She looked up and down the ward, satisfying herself that everything was as it should be, and that both ward and patients were ready to receive visitors.

It should be, Helen thought. The floors shone, the windows sparkled and the beds were all neatly made, with each sheet folded down exactly ten inches, thanks to Sister Holmes and her tape measure. The whole ward smelt of polish and disinfectant. The patients had all been scrubbed and polished ready for inspection too. They were sitting up in bed in their fresh pyjamas, hair neatly combed, waiting for their visitors to arrive.

If they ever arrived. Sister Holmes took great pride in her ward and was fussy about who came in. She insisted on inspecting every visitor as they walked in. If they were too scruffy, they had a whiff of alcohol about them or she didn’t feel they had a good enough reason to be there, she would send them away.

‘Now remember, Nurses,’ she warned them. ‘You must be on your guard and vigilant at all times. No more than two visitors’ to a patient, and if you see anyone sitting on a bed, they must be ejected at once.’

The clock struck two. With obvious reluctance, Sister Holmes opened up the doors and began issuing the visitors’ cards. Each patient had two cards; if more than two visitors had the audacity to turn up, one had to wait outside until another came and handed over their card, like a relay race. Helen had known fights to break out in the corridor when one loved one felt another had overstayed their time.

There were also nurses strategically placed up and down the ward to spy on the patients and make sure the rules were kept. They had to keep an especially careful eye out for any food being handed over. Fruit and sweets were allowed, unless the patient’s diet forbade it – and it was amazing how many soft-hearted friends and relatives tried to bring them in anyway, thinking they were doing them a kindness – but other food had to be taken straight to the ward kitchen. If not it would end up rotting, and Helen had scraped mould out of patients’ lockers too often to want that to happen.

She was told to station herself at the linen cupboard. As she headed up the ward, Charlie called her over.

‘Nurse! Sorry to trouble you, but could you do me a favour?’

‘What is it, Mr Denton?’ Helen approached, praying he wouldn’t ask for a bottle or a bedpan. Sister Holmes expressly forbade any to be given out during the two-hour visiting period, because it made the ward look untidy. Poor patients who missed her strict deadline had to cross their legs and hope for the best.

‘Could you help me sort these covers out, please? I want them arranged to hide – you know, make it less obvious. Could you do that?’ He looked at her pleadingly.

‘Of course I can.’ Helen carefully arranged the covers around him to