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

‘One more week.’
    What’s in a week? I had known longer minutes.
    ‘Don’t tell me they’re making you do the washing on your last day!’ Henry, hedge clippers in hand, watched as I pegged it out in his prescribed way. ‘You’ve certainly learnt a thing or two. That’s a perfect line,’ a light breeze got up and made the washing move and dip as if in acknowledgement, ‘and now you’re going and I’m going to have to train someone new. Me and Sister Gordon.’ He scissored the air by way of exercise.
    ‘I’d prefer you any day, Henry,’ I said and went to say goodbye to the patients.

9
NEW ARRIVALS
    It was different coming to Aberdeen this time. Had I not been a Grantown sophisticate with a doctorate in cleaning I’d have jumped for joy. Instead, I was cool and soignée, assuring Beth that I’d easily find my own way to the Nurses’ Home.
    ‘We can catch up at the weekend then,’ she said. ‘We’re thinking of having a party.’
    This time I didn’t need to be told I’d arrived. Up a small incline offering an easy view over the hospital, the Home had lost nothing of its barrack-like exterior but as I’d already learnt, outward appearances can be deceptive.
    Some yards away was a tennis court disused except by seagulls for target practice. A keen wind whistled through the rusting mesh with a monotonous whine and so chilling to the backbone, I rang the bell fast.
    To my surprise, the door immediately burst open and a girl carrying suitcases tumbled out.
    ‘My mind’s made up and I’m never coming back!’ she called to someone over her shoulder. She was tall but with the defeated slump of a hockey captain whose team had just lost.
    ‘Why won’t you give it one more go?’
    ‘No. And it’s no good you trying.’ The girl’s tone softened, and she paused for a moment, the wind tugging at her skirt as if trying to hold her back. ‘Sister Cameron, you’ve been a wonderful support and done your best, but if I did stay,’ she thought for a moment then grimaced, ‘I’d murder Sister Gorightly, and she’s ruined enough of my time already.’
    She had startled the gulls into flight, their cries echoing her distress. They wheeled high above as she ran down the stone steps oblivious to the bulk of her luggage.
    ‘Wait!’
    But she’d fled, going so fast I thought she might overtake my taxi. Her heels clattered down the road until the noise faded into the distance.
    ‘Yes – well, well – by Jove! Not quite the welcome you expected. I hope you don’t think this happens every day. A clash of personalities – that’s all.’ There was concern in the voice of the small trig woman presumably Sister Cameron though her badge only said Home Sister. She held up the oiling can in her hand. ‘Maybe I should have used this on the lassie instead of the door,’ she sounded rueful, ‘but och, don’t you be looking so worried. Yon nurse was always homesick and I’m thinking Sister Gorightly was a grand excuse.’ She twinkled a welcome and held open the door. ‘Come away, come away.’
    I stepped in and the door slammed behind as if on a spring.
    ‘At least the oil’s worked there then. Now what would be your name?’
    The big entrance hall was imposing, impersonal and empty with a bust of Florence Nightingale dead-eyeing proceedings. Sister Cameron’s shoes clicked on the marble floor as she went to her glass-fronted office, like a jailer’s headquarters with all its keys.
    She picked one out and ticked a list.
    ‘Nurse Macpherson!’ She handed over a key marked 321. ‘That should be easy to remember,’ she chuckled as if numbers were hilarious. She picked up a suitcase. ‘Here give me one. I’ll take you up to your room and because you’ve luggage we’ll take the lift.’
    There was a classroom and a cloakroom area aggressively bristling with coat pegs nearby. ‘You’ll be there for the first three months. It’s the P.T.S., short for Preliminary Training School. You see they