Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse. Lily Harlem
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he’s in intensive care. Puts you off booze, though.’
‘Was he a soak?’
‘Yes, sixty units a week.’
‘Impressive by anyone’s standards.’ I glanced at my fob watch. ‘You got your car back yet?’
‘Yes, they managed to get the dink out of it without too much problem. Last time I go to the supermarket on a windy day, though. Bloody trolleys blowing about all over the place.’
‘You’ll be hungry then, this weather is set in for a few months. That’s how it is in the Dales.’ I tried and failed to stifle a yawn, waggling my hand in front of my mouth. ‘Sorry, I’m knackered, as usual.’
‘Me too, can’t wait for my days off. I’m just going to sleep.’
An image of him sprawled in bed, limbs tangled in sheets, hair messy, glasses off, came to my mind. I would eventually get into his bed with him, or have him up against a wall, over a trolley or even in a linen cupboard. Carl was a hottie in a nerdy-but-flirty kind of way, and we were playing an unspoken game of let’s-see-how-long-we-can-resist-banging-each-other-stupid. It was fun, this dancing around in a horny-doctor, sexy-nurse ritual. And let’s face it, he was fresh out of med school, five years of study, study, study, and now he’d been let loose in a hospital. He needed some action of the non-clinical variety and a lesson on how the land lay in the jungle.
A red light flashed on the dash screen, signalling a patient needed a nurse in bay four. Standing, I lightly pressed Carl’s shoulder. ‘See you later.’
He shoved his hand through his dark, slightly too-curly hair and looked up. ‘Hopefully not.’ He suddenly frowned. ‘Not that I don’t like seeing you, I do. But I really want to get some kip after this.’
‘I know what you mean, don’t worry.’
As I walked away I knew he was checking out my bum. His gaze was hot on my buttocks and had been getting hotter ever since I’d accidently-on-purpose shown him the top of my black stockings last week when helping a patient out of bed. Now I didn’t need to showcase my hosiery to get him worked up, he knew it was there; ten denier sheerness, then delicate lace that was strikingly dark against my pale, sun-starved flesh.
‘Hey, Mr …’ I glanced at the notes at the base of the bed. ‘… Watkins, did you need something?’
‘I don’t know you.’ Mr Watkins’ big blue eyes peered up at me and his gnarled fingers clutched a starched sheet beneath his chin.
‘I’m Sharon, one of the nurses looking after you.’
‘Where am I?’
‘On Bronte Ward.’
‘Bronte Ward, where’s that?’ His hold on the sheet tightened and the bulging blue veins that threaded over the backs of his hands twitched.
‘You’re in hospital, on Bronte Ward.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m waiting … for them.’ He narrowed his eyes, the skin at the corners pinching, as he darted his gaze left to right. ‘I have a weapon, you know.’
I flicked on the night light, hoping it would help orientate him, and glanced at my report card to see if he had dementia. No, just a urine infection which often made older people confused until the antibiotics kicked in. ‘Who is them?’ I asked, smiling down.
‘The Germans, they’re coming here, tonight.’
I rested my hand over one of his and noted how cool his flesh was. ‘No one is coming here tonight, especially not Germans,’ I said. ‘Everyone is tucked up in bed and you’re quite safe.’
He hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely, now how about I get you a nice cup of tea?’
‘Can you do that? Are you allowed? What if the Germans see the light of the fire?’
‘They won’t, I promise. Do you take sugar?’
‘Well, I would if it wasn’t rationed, six of the buggers. Nothing like sweet tea to get you through the night.’
I bit my lip to stop myself retorting that I enjoyed plenty of other sweet treats to get me through my working night. But I didn’t want to confuse Mr Watkins further.
‘Sharon, you said?’ He eyed me with a fraction less suspicion.
‘Sharon, that’s right. I’m here to look after you. Now how about that cup of tea?’ I straightened his pillow to support his neck better. ‘It will warm you up. You feel a bit chilly.’
‘Are you sure it’s safe to make tea?’
‘I’m sure.’ Not the first time in my career, I hated how those distant years affected soldiers when they reached their end days. ‘You really are safe here, nothing is going on tonight so I’ll go and put the kettle on and then maybe, in a little while, you’ll be able to settle down and get some rest.’ I reached for the blanket folded over the end of the bed, shook it out and laid it over him. ‘Is that OK?’
He studied my name badge with a lucidity in his expression I hadn’t seen a few moments ago. ‘Yes, that’s fine, Miss Sharon Roane.’
‘Great, I’ll be back in a jiffy with that tea and …’ I leaned in, conspirator-like, ‘I will make it as sweet as I can get away with.’
He twitched his mouth into a half smile. ‘You will?’
‘I will.’
‘Just …’ He licked his dry lips. ‘Be careful, you never know when they might jump out at you.’
The moment of clarity was slipping. ‘I’ll be careful, don’t you worry.’
‘Yes, keep low, stay in the shadows and don’t give them any clues to your whereabouts.’
Waiting for the kettle to boil, I plucked out my iPhone and whizzed off a message to Tom.
Got one for you. Midnight-ish.
As I shook three sachets of Silver Spoon into the tea my phone chirped a reply.
Thank fuck. I was losing the will to live – the company here is deathly dull!
I smiled and slipped my phone away. The thought of Tom always gave me a thrill of anticipation, not to mention that I liked to make the most of his impressive body, and all of its generous assets, while I could.
After dodging Germans to take Mr Watkins his tea and another, warmer, blanket, I helped an old guy onto a commode, replaced several urine bottles – which included a battle with a particularly onerous waste-masher in the sluice – and changed an insulin syringe with Tinkard.
‘You OK to take first break?’ she asked, signing the drug chart and shoving it back in the folder. Her tone implied I had no choice, despite the guise of a question.
But I was used to this. First break was the worst and as a bank nurse, going to whichever ward was short because of illness, holidays or lack of employable staff in the Dales, I always got stuck with it. The trouble with taking the first two hours was it was too early to crave sleep and too early to have the munchies so it made the rest of the shift so damn long. ‘Yeah, OK,’ I said with a shrug. I could have argued, made a fuss, but what was the point? Besides, tonight it might just work in my favour.
Mr Parslow was, of course, waiting when Annie, the auburn-haired staff nurse, and I finally headed into sideward six.
‘You want to wash or dry?’ she asked.
‘I’ll dry.’ May as well save my over-scrubbed hands from water time.
She set the soapy bowl on the table and wheeled it close. Dumped in a wad of disposable flannels.
I lifted the sheet from Mr Parslow. He wore a pair of stained pyjama bottoms and a white string vest. ‘Are