Cathy Sharp - The Little Runaways

‘So you gave it to him and he destroyed it.’ Mark frowned. ‘It was a shame after you’d had it all those years.’

‘It didn’t matter. I expect he is just upset. It may have reminded him of things he doesn’t want to remember.’

‘Very shrewd,’ Mark agreed. ‘Yes, Terry is extremely disturbed and at the moment refusing to accept what has happened. He doesn’t want to remember anything. I’m not sure why – though of course the fire was terrible and they’ve lost their parents, but …’ He shook his head. ‘It’s all rather troubling. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with my musings, Angela. It’s just that I wondered about the bear.’

‘I’m not upset, Mark. Perhaps he did it to see what I would do. Sort of testing me, so I thought it best not to mention it to him. Nancy apologised.’

‘Yes, well, I shall have to see how things go,’ Mark said, and then smiled at her. ‘You wanted to talk to me?’

‘Yes. Actually, it’s about Nancy.’ Angela hesitated, she felt a sudden urge to make things right between them and it seemed silly to be avoiding him. Her father was right: Mark always did things for the best of reasons, even if she didn’t like the outcome. ‘Perhaps not now, Mark … I wondered if you would like to come to the apartment for a drink one evening? Not this evening because I’m going out with Sally to the pictures – but perhaps tomorrow, before you go down to the country?’

‘I can’t manage it this weekend unfortunately,’ he said. ‘Friday next week would be perfect. I was going to ask you for dinner one day soon but I never seem to have time these days.’

‘Yes, lovely. We’ll talk about it on Friday week – about eight?’

‘Just right,’ he said as they arrived at her office. ‘Well, I need to speak to Sister Beatrice about those two. Do you think you could find them a small room to themselves somewhere? Have a think about it and tell Sister if you can work out where we could put them together.’

‘Yes, all right, I will,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll look forward to Friday then …’

She went into the office and closed the door. It was only as she sat down at the desk that she recalled the way Carole looked at her.

Carole glared as the door closed behind Angela and Mark Adderbury. She’d been getting on so well with the psychiatrist until Angela Morton turned up, breezing in on a cloud of fresh perfume – very expensive by the smell of it, her dress simple but well-cut and elegant, her shoes low-heeled patent leather. She looked confident and sure of herself – and of Mark Adderbury, smiling up at him in that guileless way of hers: the supercilious cat! Carole had decided she didn’t like the other woman, because she was too damned sure of herself and always looked as if she’d stepped out of a glossy magazine.

Carole felt a frump in her regulation uniform. Mark had been on the point of asking her to dinner, she was sure of it, before Angela Morton wafted in. Then there were all the questions concerning those two peculiar children. Neither of them was truly ill in Carole’s opinion. Nancy was putting on her headaches to get her own way, and the boy was just sullen. What they both needed was a good shake. Sister should put her foot down and make them separate into their various dorms. If she were in charge she wouldn’t take any nonsense.

Oh, well, it wasn’t part of her job to decide what happened to the children at St Saviour’s. All she was employed to do was to look after the sick ones.

Carole popped next door to the sick ward. Her patients were being served hot drinks by Jean Painter.

‘I’ve got some girls with sore throats to visit, Jean,’ she said to the young carer. ‘You can stay until I get back, can’t you? I don’t like to leave my patients alone – and the boy next door may start screaming. If he does just leave him to his sister. She can cope.’

‘Oh – if you’re sure,’ Jean said, and looked a bit nervous. ‘I haven’t been on sick ward duty alone before. Sally asked me to bring these drinks, because she was busy. It’s all right, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Carole said impatiently. The young carer was inexperienced and clearly unsure of herself, but she could manage for a while. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be long.’ She picked up a bag containing various bits and pieces she might need and took it with her. Nan had said it was the second room along the girl’s corridor. She was new here herself and it took time to find your way about, because the building was old-fashioned with unexpected staircases that led to different parts of the house. Completely unsuitable for its purpose in Carole’s opinion.

She took the lift up to the next floor and counted the rooms, but the sound of coughing from one of them would have told her where the girls were. She entered and saw they were all huddled in their beds, looking sorry for themselves.

‘Have you had anything for your sore throats?’ she asked, and got nothing but moans and complaints about aching limbs and feeling hot.

A brief examination of the girls told Carole that they had all gone down with a nasty bout of flu. Immediately, her training kicked in and she became the efficient and capable nurse she was when a patient was truly ill. These girls ought to be in the isolation ward so that she could keep an eye on them. It was so ridiculous that the brother and sister from the fire should be taking up much-needed beds.

‘How are they?’ Nan’s voice asked from behind her, and Carole turned with a frown.

‘They’re suffering from flu as you suspected. I can’t keep running up and down stairs. I must speak to Sister Beatrice about getting Terry and Nancy moved into the dorms.’

‘Let me speak to her. I quite agree that these children should be in the isolation ward – either that or we need another nurse on duty …’

‘Yes. It may come to that if more of the children go down with it.’

‘I’ll speak to Sister Beatrice now, but I know we don’t have much room.’

Nan went out and Carole checked the girl called Sarah’s temperature again. It was a little lower but she was still very flushed and moaned when Carole took her pulse, crying a little. She was certainly worse than the other two. Carole felt a little anxious about her, but she ought to go back and see how Jean was coping.

She was returning to the ward when she saw Sally Rush coming towards her and stopped her. ‘It’s Sally, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Sally Rush. Can I help you with anything?’

‘Are you very busy this morning?’

‘No more than usual,’ Sally said. ‘I’m just about to take my lunch break – but that doesn’t matter if I can help?’

‘Thanks.’ Carole felt relieved. ‘I know you’ve been here longer than most of the carers and I’ve got rather a lot to do. Could you give me a hand this afternoon?’