‘Not – not really,’ I mumbled.
‘You said that leather thing was rubbing you raw!’ said Mum. ‘You take a look, Nurse.’
‘I’m Sister Baker, Miss Kettle,’ the Sister said, still carefully pleasant and polite, though the look on her face made me shiver. She pulled back my blankets and examined my poorly leg, running her finger expertly underneath the leather. ‘Is this where it’s sore, Elsie?’ she asked.
‘Yes. No. I don’t know,’ I gabbled, in a cold sweat.
‘It’s too tight, that’s what it is,’ said Mum. ‘Can’t you unbuckle it a bit?’
‘The splint has to be reasonably tight to be effective,’ said Sister Baker. ‘But we examine it scrupulously every four hours, checking for any discomfort. Which nurse last washed your leg, Elsie?’
‘Nurse Patterson,’ I whispered, truthfully enough.
‘Well, your leg feels a little damp. Perhaps she didn’t dry you properly. I’ll have a word with her,’ said Sister Baker.
She took the towel from my locker, and dried and powdered my sweaty leg. ‘There now. Is that more comfortable?’ she said.
‘Yes – yes it is,’ I said eagerly.
Mum nodded, tossing her long hair, pleased that she’d fought for her daughter and obtained satisfaction.
‘There you are!’ she said, when Sister had marched off purposefully. ‘Happy, now? Your old mum’s fixed it.’
I wasn’t at all sure I was happy. My tummy was in a tight little knot of anxiety. I’d more or less told a lie – and even Nan hated liars: ‘You can be as naughty as you like, Elsie, so long as you own up to it. I can’t stomach liars,’ she always said.
I told endless stories but I never told downright lies – at least not to anyone that mattered. I hadn’t intended to lie to Mum. It just slipped out of my mouth without me thinking properly.
‘What’s up now?’ Mum said, frowning at me. ‘Why the long face?’
‘I – I’m a bit scared, Mum. My leg wasn’t really that sore. I shouldn’t have made a fuss,’ I said in a sudden burst.
‘Of course it was sore. Any fool could see it was rubbing. Like that Sister said, it hadn’t been dried properly,’ she said. ‘I hope she gives that nurse a right ticking off!’
‘I don’t want anyone to get into trouble,’ I said.
‘Nonsense – that’s how all them nurses learn. They can’t get away with shoddy treatment, especially when they’re dealing with little kiddies. Don’t you worry, Elsie, I’ll see you’re all right. You tell your mum if you’re sore anywhere else, right?’
I felt rubbed raw all over right that minute, but I kept quiet. I hardly said a word the rest of the visit, and Mum got bored and started chatting to Martin’s dad again. At the end of visiting time she went off with Martin’s parents, very chipper because she was getting a lift.
‘Toodle-oo, little darling,’ she said to me, blowing me a kiss.
‘Your mum doesn’t half pong,’ said Martin as all the parents disappeared. ‘I can still smell all her flowery scent stuff.’
‘It’s Californian Poppy,’ I said. ‘My uncle gave her a big bottle.’
‘Fancy your mum going and getting Sister!’ said Gillian. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Oh, she was worried about my splint,’ I mumbled.
‘You said your leg was all sore and it was Nurse Patterson’s fault!’ said Martin, who had sharp ears.
There was a collective gasp and a lot of giggling.
‘I didn’t say it like that exactly. I won’t get into trouble, will I?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Nurse Patterson will!’ said Gillian. ‘I bet Sister Baker is laying into her right this minute.’
‘Oh no,’ I said.
‘Sister Baker can get ever so cross if she thinks the nurses aren’t doing their job properly. Remember that time she caught Nurse Johnson pinching a sweet out of the tin, Rita? She really hit the roof,’ said Gillian.
‘She went absolutely nuts,’ said Rita. ‘Nurse Johnson cried buckets.’
‘I didn’t mean for Nurse Patterson to get into trouble,’ I said, nibbling my sore lip.
‘Don’t worry, Elsie. Who cares about Nurse Patterson?’ said Angus. ‘She’s not very nice to us, is she?’
‘I know, but I still didn’t mean her to get into trouble with Sister.’
I waited in dread for the nurses to come bustling in. Nurse Curtis came along at last, very pink in the face, her lips pressed tightly together. There was no sign of Nurse Patterson.
‘Right, we’d better get you indoors,’ she said, seizing hold of Babette’s bed and trundling her off. Maureen started wailing. Babette and Maureen loved to be pushed along together, the nurses working in tandem while the little girls played they were in cars and turned imaginary steering wheels, racing each other. There was obviously going to be no fun or games this afternoon. Nurse Curtis trundled backwards and forwards by herself, her face getting pinker and pinker.
‘Where’s Nurse Patterson, Nurse Curtis?’ Gillian dared ask.
‘She’s . . . not very well,’ said Nurse Curtis. She looked straight at me and gave a sniff of disgust.
I didn’t risk saying a word to Nurse Curtis when she pushed me back to the ward. I didn’t even speak when she pushed me right past my usual bed-space, down to the end of the room – out into the corridor and straight into the little bathroom. It was clear that I was in total disgrace.
I waited fearfully to see what would happen next. I waited and waited and waited, with only a dripping tap and a stack of bedpans for company. I wondered if I was going to miss out on supper, but Nurse Curtis brought me a tray of tomato soup with an egg sandwich. I looked at it doubtfully, wondering if she might have spat in the soup.
‘What’s the matter, your ladyship?’ she said snippily. ‘Isn’t the food up to scratch? Are you going to complain about that too?’
‘I didn’t complain, not really. Mum misunderstood,’ I said.
‘Well, you and your blessed mum have scuppered poor Patterson good and proper,’ said Nurse Curtis.
‘Oh dear, has she got into trouble with Sister?’
‘Oh, you make me sick, acting so naïve. Of course she’s in trouble. You’ve only gone and accused her of negligent nursing, and that’s the one thing Sister Baker will never forgive. You could come on the ward with your apron on backwards and a potty on your head, and Sister would tick you off and tell you not to be such a silly fool – but she wouldn’t hold it against you for long. But if she thinks you’re not giving proper nursing care to all you kiddies, then, oh my goodness, you’re for it, good and proper. How could you be so wicked, Elsie? You know full well we all wash and powder your wretched leg with scrupulous care – and Patterson always takes particular pains.’
‘I know, I know,’ I said, cowering under my covers. I accidentally spilled tomato soup all over my tray. ‘I’m sorry!’ I was scared she might think that was deliberate too.
She just sniffed at me again and flounced off. I was left with my unappetizing tray. The soup pooled in a corner, looking unpleasantly bloody. It had even spattered the egg sandwich. I left it altogether and nibbled round the edge of the sandwich. Nobody came to take the tray away when I was finished. With my leg stuck up to my hip in a splint, I couldn’t manoeuvre the tray off my chest onto the floor. I didn’t dare throw it off. So I had to lie there with the soup congealing in front of my nose, its scent so powerful I felt I was swimming in it.
I heard footsteps – Nurse Curtis’s light tread, but then a heavier march on thickly soled rubber heels. Nurse Patterson! But neither came into the bathroom.
I heard the rattle of the washing trolley, but no one came to wash me. Then the ward went quiet, except for the faint buzz of Nurse Patterson’s over-emphatic voice. She was telling them all the bedtime story.
Well, I didn’t care. I could make up my own story. I tried to make one up there and then. I took myself up the tree, climbed the little ladder through the clouds and stepped out int
o . . .Grandma Land. It was peopled with hundreds of soft, sweet, grey-haired grandmas, all living in separate tiny thatched cottages, all loving and all very lonely because there didn’t seem to be any children in Grandma Land.
‘Oh, come and be my little grand-daughter, Elsie,’ each grandma begged. ‘I’d give anything to have a little girl just like you.’
They tried to clutch hold of me with their knobbly little fingers to give me a hug. They shook toffee tins at me and tried to adorn me with hand-knitted cardies and mittens and bobble hats. I was very gentle and grateful with all of them, but I carried on along the twisting path that connected all the cottages until I reached the very last house up a little hill. It was especially lovely, with roses and honeysuckle growing round the door, and a big white cat like Queenie sunning herself on the doormat. I knocked on the yellow door and the grandma inside opened it. She was my own dear nan in her best beaded black dress, her china rose brooch pinned to her chest.
‘Oh Nan!’ I cried.
‘Oh Elsie, my own Elsie!’ said Nan, and she hugged me so tight the china rose stuck straight into my cheek, but I didn’t care because I was just so happy to be with her at last.
I closed my eyes to keep the image of Nan and me together safe in my head.
‘Oh, so we’re asleep, are we?’ It was Nurse Patterson looming over me, her sticking-out ears in alarming silhouette.
I jumped, and my tray slid dangerously sideways.
‘We’ve taken to spilling all our food now, have we?’ said Nurse Patterson. ‘I suppose that’s my fault too?’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do anything,’ I said. ‘I just said to Mum . . .but she took it the wrong way . . .and then Sister came . . .’
‘Yes, Sister came, and you told her I didn’t wash and powder you properly under your splint,’ said Nurse Patterson, stepping backwards, her arms folded. I could see her eyes were very red now, the lids puffy.
‘I didn’t say that, exactly,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry. It was all a mistake.’
‘You’re the mistake, Elsie Kettle,’ said Nurse Patterson. ‘A great big mistake.’
I hated the way she said it. People sometimes called me a mistake when they wanted to be nasty to me. They meant I was a mistake because Mum hadn’t been married to my dad. Mum herself called me that, ‘My little mistake’ – as if she’d much sooner I hadn’t happened.
I felt my eyes filling with tears.
‘Oh, that’s right, start boo-hooing, you little cry-baby,’ said Nurse Patterson, snatching the tray from me and seizing a towel. She dabbed at my face fiercely. ‘Better dry you quick before you say your face is sore.’ She wiped so hard she nearly knocked my nose off.
‘You’re a cry-baby too!’ I said, struggling to turn my head away from her.
‘Yes, and no wonder! Sister said such dreadful things to me. She’ll hold it against me for ever. God knows what she’ll put on my report. And it’s so unfair. I’m a good nurse, I know I am. I’m especially good with children. I take such pains to jolly you all along. I even read you a special bedtime story! I’m scrupulously careful when I wash you, you know I am. I’ve tried particularly hard with you, Elsie.’
I wriggled. I knew it was true. But I also knew it was all pretend. She didn’t truly like any of us children – and she especially didn’t like me.
‘I’m going to wash you now, and don’t you dare say I don’t do it properly,’ she said.
She washed me thoroughly, rubbing a little too hard, as if I were a dirty mark and she wanted to get rid of me altogether.
‘Now for your wretched leg . . .’ She spent a good ten minutes soaping and rinsing and wiping and powdering. ‘There – is that good enough for Madam Muck?’ she said at last.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. I was trying to be polite, but it seemed to infuriate her further.
I had to endure the whole toileting process, and then she powdered my bottom too, as if I were a little baby.
‘Why are you doing that?’ I asked.
‘Because madam’s clearly got such sensitive skin. We don’t want any sores whatsoever,’ said Nurse Patterson. ‘If Sister sees so much as a spot on you, it’s clear I’ll get the blame. She could get me referred. I could even be thrown out altogether, when I’ve wanted to be a nurse ever since I was six years old.’ She looked as if she might burst out crying again.
I squirmed in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,’ I mumbled.
‘Yes, well, it’s easy enough to say sorry, but it’s too late,’ said Nurse Patterson, and she switched off the light and flounced off.
I was left lying in the dark. I wondered if Nurse Curtis might come and trundle me back to the ward, but she didn’t come near me.
‘I don’t care,’ I said aloud, in case Nurse Patterson was listening. ‘I like it here all by myself.’
But it was very dark and very lonely and very quiet, apart from the steady drip of the tap. I had always found the snores and sighs from the other sleeping children irritating, but now I longed to hear them.
I tried to imagine myself back into Grandma Land, but I couldn’t do it properly any more, and the thought of Nan herself made me cry now. I told myself to hang on. The nurses changed shifts soon. When my dear Nurse Gabriel found me lying there, all forlorn, she’d be kind and comfort me.
I waited and waited and waited. At last I heard more footsteps and murmurings. Thump thump thump, patter patter patter – ‘Goodbye, Nurse Patterson’ . . . ‘Hello, Nurse Gabriel’! She’d give me a cuddle, let me have a private little weep, and then wrap me up tenderly and push me back to the ward with all the others. Yes, she’d put her head round the door . . .There she was! She’d shake her head at me sorrowfully – yes! And then – and then . . .
‘Oh Elsie!’ she said softly, and she walked straight out again. She left me on my own, in disgrace.
I couldn’t bear it. I thought she might come back in five minutes, or maybe ten, just to teach me a little lesson. Maybe she’d come back when she’d checked on everyone else. She didn’t. Nurse Johnson didn’t come either.
I cried and cried so the tears dripped into my ears. And then someone pattered ever so lightly across the floor, steadied herself, and leaped onto my bed.
‘Oh Queenie, it’s you!’ I said.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ she purred, and she walked delicately up my covers until she got to my face. She put her own soft head down, nuzzled under my chin, and felt my wet tears.
‘Dear dear dear,’ she purred sympathetically, and she put out her pink tongue and carefully licked my salty skin to give me a wash. Her tongue was a little raspy and tickled, but I lay there gratefully, still as a statue. Then she rubbed the top of her head against me, acting like the softest towel, and settled herself around my neck like a white fur stole.
‘Oh Queenie, you darling,’ I whispered. ‘You’re the best little cat in all the world.’
‘And you’re the best little girl,’ she purred. ‘Take no notice of those silly nurses. We’ll be fine together, just you and me, my Elsie.’
‘My Queenie,’ I said.
I whispered and she purred long into the night. A nurse might have looked in on us once or twice, but we took no notice. We had our eyes shut, fast asleep.
NURSE GABRIEL WAS still a little cool with me in the morning.
‘Poor Patterson. She was distraught. You probably didn’t mean her to get into serious trouble, Elsie, but it’s very naughty to complain like that, especially when you know it isn’t true,’ she said reproachfully as she pushed me back to the ward.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I said. I meant to sound sorry but it came out sounding sulky.
‘Now then, missy,’ said Nurse Gabriel, making little tutting sounds as she slotted my bed back between Martin’s and Michael’s.
‘I say, you’re in serious disgrace,’ Martin told me, sounding awed.
‘You’ve certainly got them all in a tizz,’ said Gillian. ‘Nurse Patterson was b
ooing her eyes out.’
‘Good,’ said Angus. ‘Serves her right. She acts all nicey-nicey but she’s horribly mean in lots of little ways. It was horrid of her to shut you away in that scary bathroom all night long.’
‘I didn’t mind,’ I said. ‘I had company.’
‘You what?’ asked Martin.
‘Queenie,’ I said proudly. ‘She’s my friend.’
‘She’s friends with all of us,’ said Gillian.
‘Yeah. Queenie comes to Gillian whenever she calls her, so ya boo sucks to you,’ said Rita.
‘You wait. Queenie will come to me,’ I said. ‘So ya boo double sucks to you, Rita Rubbish.’
Queenie was out on her morning round of the garden, threading her way stealthily through the shrubberies and lying down for a little snooze under a peony bush. But she wandered back at lunch time, lured by the smell of food. She wasn’t really supposed to have any lunch – just a dish of mashed-up whiting for breakfast and again for supper. Queenie clearly felt that this wasn’t enough and came on the scrounge.
We only had fish for lunch once a week, but Queenie wasn’t too faddy an eater. She was partial to boiled egg or a little liver, and she loved milky puddings. I leaned as far out of bed as I could with my splinted leg and enticed her with titbits. Soon she came running straight to me even if I had only bubble and squeak to offer her, a dish we both detested.
She didn’t talk to me in front of the others, but when she lay on my pillow, she rubbed her soft head against my ear and purred gently. It was plain as can be that she was saying, I love you.
‘And I love you too, dearest Queenie,’ I said, stroking each of her ears and tickling her neck so that she wriggled with pleasure.
Sometimes I carefully raked her furry back with my fingers, pretending to be a brush, and she purred so loudly then that my whole bed vibrated.
I tried using my real brush, but Nurse Patterson swiped it from me.
‘Stop that, you stupid little girl. Do you want to get fleas?’ she said.
‘Queenie doesn’t have fleas, she’s absolutely squeaky clean,’ I said indignantly.