Bridie Sweeney turned to me. Sister Luke’s after sending me to lend a hand.
So this was all the night nurse had managed to dig up for me—unqualified; uneducated, by the sounds of her accent; and with a clean, new-hatched look like nothing had ever happened to her. I could have slapped this Bridie Sweeney from sheer disappointment.
I said, The hospital has no funds left for casual staff. I hope Sister Luke told you there’s no pay?
I wasn’t expecting any.
She was the pale, freckle-dusted type of redhead, light blue eyes, brows almost invisible. Something childlike about her translucent ears; the one on the left angled a little forward, as if eager to catch every word. Thin coat, broken-down shoes; on an ordinary day, Matron would never have let her in the door.
Well, I said, I could do with a runner to fetch and carry, so I’m glad you’re here. This is Mrs. Garrett. Mrs. Noonan.
Good day, ladies, Bridie Sweeney said with a bob.
I took a folded apron down from the press.
The volunteer was a scrap and looked even thinner once she’d taken her coat off; she had to wrap the apron’s ties around her waist twice. With frank curiosity, she watched Ita Noonan rocking on the little chair by her cot, wheezing a song. She remarked, I’ve never been in a hospital.
By the way, Miss Sweeney, I assume you’re immune?
The young woman didn’t seem to know the word.
To the flu, the grippe. Since you’ve walked into a fever ward without a mask—
Oh, I’ve had the grippe.
But this year’s one, the bad one, I specified.
Got over it ages ago. Now, what do you want doing, Nurse Power?
It was a relief to be asked that. Let’s start by making up Mrs. Noonan’s bed.
I checked the base layers were all smooth, the wire-spring mattress in its canvas cover sitting just so on the boards, the hair mattress in its cotton one on top. A ruddy tan waterproof mackintosh base fitted tight, then an underblanket, then a sheet.
Aromatic with whiskey fumes, Ita Noonan tried to climb on.
Just another minute, I said as I blocked her gently with my arm.
I got a fresh drawsheet, under and upper sheets, and blankets from the bedding cupboard. I said, We pull every layer smooth and crisp, see, so there’ll be no wrinkles to hurt Mrs. Noonan’s skin.
Bridie Sweeney nodded.
As I helped Ita Noonan in, she heaved a breath and cried, Such malarkey!
The newcomer asked, What is?
I shook my head.
Her face froze. Sorry—am I not allowed to talk to them?
I smiled. I only meant, don’t worry if Mrs. Noonan makes odd remarks. I tapped my scalp and said, A high temperature can rattle the pot.
I wound one shawl around the sick woman’s shoulders and draped another over the back of her head to keep draughts off.
Ita Noonan swatted at the air with her sipping cup. Awful yahoos, left my delph in smithereens!
Did they now? Bridie Sweeney fixed the pillows.
The young woman had a nice bedside manner, I decided; that couldn’t be taught.
I pushed the ball of soiled bedding down into the laundry bucket and jerked my thumb towards the passage. This goes down the chute—the one marked Laundry, not Incinerator.
Bridie Sweeney hurried out with the bucket.
Delia Garrett asked, Did that girl just walk in here off the street?
Well, if Sister Luke recommended her…
A snort.
We’re so short-staffed that I’ll gladly accept any help, Mrs. Garrett.
She muttered into her magazine, I never said you shouldn’t.
When Bridie Sweeney came back in, I took her through the distinctions between various gauze dressings (squares, balls, six-foot strips in tins), flax-tow swabs, single-use cloths, ligatures, and catgut.
The actual guts of cats?
Sheep, actually. I don’t know why it’s called that, I admitted.
She beamed around her. So these ladies are here for you to cure their grippe?
I let out a breath. I only wish I knew how to do that, but there’s no cure as such. The thing has to run its course.
For how long?
Days or weeks. (I was trying not to think of those it killed with little warning, in the street or on their own floorboards.) Or it can linger for months, I admitted. To be perfectly frank, it’s a toss-up. All we can do is keep them warm and rested, fed and watered, so they can put what force they have into beating this flu.
My young helper seemed fascinated. She said under her breath, Why’s Mrs. Noonan that colour?
Ah, here was something simple I could teach. I told her, They go dark