It Won't Hurt a Bit by Jane Yeadon Read Free Book Online

sort of single parent way and, feeling disappointed in them, hung my children out on the washing line.
    ‘Well I see we’re in the pink.’ Evelyn had arrived and was rubbing her eyes. ‘I’ll say one thing about you, Jane, at least you bring a bit of colour to our lives but this is carrying things a bit far surely. Actually I came out to tell you we’ve managed to get bananas, and that Miss Kerr’s shouting for her tea but maybe I’ll get Irene to do the needful, give you time to hide that lot. If Gordie sees it, she’ll have a fit – and so will Miss Kerr.’
    With a sepulchral cough and sigh so big it should have dried everything, she went back inside whilst I shoved my problem children into a bag, stashed it under the sink, then went to get a good relaxing row from Sister Gordon because I hadn’t had one for a while.

    ‘Your trouble is you’ve no common sense,’ my mother sighed when I went home with a tale of laundry smuggling and a missing patient. ‘I suppose it’s all in there apart from the lady under the bed.’ She nodded at the poacher’s bag. ‘It’s a wonder you weren’t caught taking it out of the hospital.’
    I followed her into the scullery and watched her fill the Baby Burco recalled from its usual W.R.I. tea urn duty. ‘We’re not going to boil the dressing gown as well, are we? It might leave a horrible flavour.’
    ‘Watch and learn.’ Mum was testy. ‘The dressing gown should go on the pulley. It’ll be dry by tomorrow. I think it’ll be fine.’ She considered it thoughtfully. ‘Shabby chic actually. Now, hand me that other stuff.’ She threw it in, bringing the mixture to a nice rolling boil and stirring with an unusual cooking enthusiasm until at last the sheets gave up and went back to white.
    ‘That should do.’ She dried her hands on her apron. ‘You do the finishing off and then you can make the tea, but Jane, I hope to God you get accepted for your training soon, I’m not cut out to be a laundry maid and neither, obviously, are you.’

8
RESULTS!
    Miss Kerr had been reunited with her dressing gown and Mrs Davidson with her bell, but whilst Miss Kerr had begun to bloom, Mrs Davidson’s grip along with her speech, had gone, taken by a left-sided paralysis.
    Sister Gordon was brisk. ‘For goodness sake, Jane, don’t be so melodramatic. Her landing under the bed had nothing to do with you. She’s had a stroke and couldn’t help herself falling. One side of her body gave way. That’s all. Now that she actually needs nursing I must go and attend to her.’
    Personally, I’d rather be looked after by a piranha. No wonder I fretted, and even though my activities were confined to cleaning her room and she lay in bed so quietly, I was unhappy to see complaining Mrs Davidson reduced to a dumb impotence.
    Then, one morning, I went to clean the room and found it empty.
    ‘Gone,’ said Wilma on a floor-polishing constitutional. She switched off her machine, sighing at the interruption and my distress. ‘Went last night.’
    ‘The way you talk about her you’d think she was catching a train and surely somebody might at least have mentioned it at breakfast. The poor woman’s dead. I thought she’d have put up a better fight.’
    ‘I never get that involved with the patients,’ declared Wilma, pulling on the flex and looking righteous, ‘saves a lot of grief. Anyway, I expect the nurses discussed it at their report and that doesn’t include you, Jane.’
    ‘I suppose not but maybe one day.’
    Wilma was frosty. ‘There’s worse things than being a ward maid. Why don’t you look on the bright side? Without that damn bell ringing all the time, think how much more time we’ve got to get on with the real work. Here, pass me the floor polish and tell me what d’you think I should wear tonight. Billy says he likes me in pink.’
    ‘You could ask Miss Kerr to leave you her dressing gown. She doesn’t like its colour – prefers grey I suppose.’
    ‘Well at