Never While the Grass Grows. Betty Neels
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least they could have done would have been to try and get him fixed up with someone else, or even taken him with them—I mean, after fifteen years working for them,’ she paused. ‘I’m not sure what a handyman does…’
‘Makes himself handy,’ and then more seriously: ‘I agree with you, Octavia, and he hasn’t much chance of getting any work—I suppose he would be unskilled labour, and he’s getting on.’ John finished the notes he was writing up and looked up at her. ‘Are you off this evening? How about a film?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m off…’ she glanced at the clock, ‘now, then I’m on until nine and I’ll be fit for nothing by then.’
‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘Lovely—but aren’t you on call?’
He grinned at her. ‘I’ll get someone to stand in for me.’
A nice boy, she reflected as she went through the hospital on her way to lunch and off duty. She had been out with him several times, indeed she had been out with most of the housemen in St Maud’s at one time or another, for she was popular with everyone and as pretty as a picture to boot, but although a surprisingly large percentage of them had wanted to marry her, she had remained heartwhole. By the time she had reached the canteen and joined her friends at table, she had forgotten all about John Waring.
She returned to Casualty just before six o’clock, to find it almost as full as when she had left it and Sister Moody waiting impatiently for her.
‘There’s a query appendix in the end bay,’ she was told swiftly, ‘a scalp wound next to it, and then a Colles fracture…’ she was ticking the cases off on her fingers, ‘a crushed thumb, septic foot…the rest haven’t been seen yet. Nurse Barnes is taking their names now—John Waring will be down presently. We had a couple of RTAs in—they’re warded—oh, and a BID I’ve had no time to make up the book.’ She was already half way through the door as she spoke and now, with a briefly muttered goodnight, she was gone.
There were two student nurses on duty as well as Mrs Taylor, a reliable nursing aide who had been in Casualty for so long that no one could remember when she had first come; she was elderly now and not able to lift or do any heavy work, but she was invaluable because she knew where everything was and fetched it at the drop of a hat. Octavia sent her to help the senior of the student nurses to marshall the remainder of the patients ready for John Waring and took the other nurse with her to deal with the appendix first and then, seeing that the man was resting comfortably, to get the scalp wound cleaned up, something Sister Moody might have done and hadn’t.
It was almost nine o’clock, after a steady stream of patients had been dealt with, that the street entrance was flung open and a tall man with wide shoulders and a giant’s stride came in. He was carrying a little old lady in his arms and rather to Octavia’s surprise, walked across the department to deposit her carefully on a couch in one of the bays. Only then did he turn to address her. ‘Mugged,’ his voice was deep and unhurried. ‘You’re in charge? Well, get the Casualty Officer here at once, will you?’
Octavia, bending over the small figure, paused for a moment to look up at the man. She said evenly: ‘Thanks for bringing her in, you can safely leave the rest to us now.’
He was a handsome man, with fair hair liberally sprinkled with grey, looking down his high-bridged nose with cold blue eyes. He looked, she realised suddenly, as though he didn’t like her. With something of an effort she clung to her professional calm and then found it in shreds when he went on: ‘I shall remain until she has received adequate treatment.’
Octavia let out an indignant snort and managed to hold her tongue. She could deal with the tiresome man presently, but now she bent to her patient, taking off the battered felt hat to search for head wounds, taking her pulse moving her arms gently and when the old lady opened her eyes, asked quietly: ‘Can you tell me where it hurts, my dear? You’re quite safe now, in hospital, but I don’t want to move you too much until we know what the damage is.’
The old eyes studied her wearily. ‘I aches all over, but there ain’t much sense in bothering over me, I ’aven’t got a soul ter mind if I snuffs it.’
‘I for one shall mind,’ Octavia assured her warmly. She ignored the large man looming over her and told the student nurse hovering to telephone Doctor Waring.
‘Tell him it’s a mugging, an elderly lady, no visible fractures, contusion on temple, cut eye, cut lip, not yet fully examined, rather shocked. Ask him to come at once, please.’
She began very gently to take off the old lady’s coat, a shockingly shabby garment, now freshly torn and ruined for ever. Octavia got out her scissors. ‘Look, my dear, I’m going to cut your coat so that I can get it off without hurting you; we’ll replace it for you.’
She had been busy cutting up one sleeve, and now when she went to do the same with the other, the patient’s rescuer took the scissors from her. It was then that she saw that his knuckles were bleeding and that there was a small cut across the back of one hand, the blood congealing now.
‘Oh, you’re hurt!’ She added forcefully: ‘I hope you knocked them down and jumped on them!’
Her companion continued his steady plying of the scissors. ‘I knocked them down—they—er—hardly needed to be jumped on, I fancy.’
She was easing the old lady’s jumper and put out her hand for the scissors again. ‘Good for you,’ said Octavia, ‘now if you wouldn’t mind just going into the next cubicle, Nurse will clean that hand up and the doctor can take a look at it. You’ll need ATS too—a knife, I imagine?’
‘You imagine correctly, Sister.’
She nodded without looking at him. ‘I’m going to telephone the police very shortly, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling them just what happened? This little lady is hardly fit to be questioned just yet. We shall need your name and address too… Nurse will see to it.’ She turned as she heard John Waring’s step. ‘Hullo, again.’ She flashed him a tired smile. ‘I’ve not done too much—I thought you’d better take a quick look first. There’s a small wound here…’ They bent over the patient together, everything else forgotten for the moment.
It was some time later, when Octavia had discovered her patient’s name, wrapped her in a dressing gown, Mr Waring had dealt with her injuries, and she had taken her to X-ray and finally seen her safely off to one of the women’s wards, that she discovered that the man who had brought her in was still there. The police had come and gone, John Waring had disappeared too and she had sent the two nurses and Mrs Taylor off duty. It was ten o’clock by now and she had started to tidy up the cubicle before writing up the Casualty Book. Snoopy Kate hadn’t been near—typical, thought Octavia, racing round the little room transforming it to its usual spick and span appearance; when there was nothing to do, she would bustle around, picking holes in things that didn’t matter at all, but when the day staff were delayed by a case, Snoopy Kate kept well away until everything was quiet again. Octavia shot the last receiver into its allotted space and nipped across to the office to be brought to a halt by a voice behind her.
‘This place is very inefficiently run,’ remarked the big man coolly. ‘You send your nurses off duty and remain behind to do work which is theirs; and apparently there is no one to take over—just when do you go yourself?’
Octavia, quite short-tempered by now, answered him snappily: ‘I might ask the same question of you. Doctor Waring saw you, didn’t he? and Nurse told me that your hand had been attended to. And really it is no concern of yours as to when I go off duty.’ She was about to wish him goodnight and show him the door when she was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Did you have your ATS?’
‘Ah—I wondered when someone would give it a thought,’ he told her nastily.
She whisked back to the trolley she had just tidied so carefully and found syringe, needle and ampoule. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him contritely, ‘you should have said sooner, but I quite see that you wouldn’t want