The Nurse(50)

On our return, I saw the medication trolley in the corridor and heard Jolene’s voice drifting from one of the resident’s bedrooms. I smirked. Mrs Downs was notoriously difficult especially when it came to her medication. She took several tablets, and liked to be told what each was for. Every time. And then she’d make a huge palaver of taking them, coughing and spluttering over each one. She’d been a resident for several years and had become more entrenched in her ways with every year. Jolene would be with her for a while.

Officially, nurses were supposed to bring the medication trolley with them. Not leave it sitting unattended. Officially, but mostly we did exactly what Jolene was doing, lock the trolley, leave it in the corridor and go into the resident’s room. Lock the trolley. She wouldn’t have left it open, would she? She couldn’t be that careless. I stopped the wheelchair beside it. I could see Jolene’s back. Her posture was slightly stooped as she bent over the tiny frame in her blanket-strewn armchair and she was speaking loudly, as if Mrs Downs was deaf rather than pedantic and stubborn.

I rested my hand flat on the lid of the trolley, then slid my fingers to the edge and curled them under. With my eyes fixed on Jolene, I pulled upward, unable to believe my luck when the lid lifted. A plan came to me then, fully formed, and foolproof.

I’d seen the open trolley often enough over the years and knew exactly how it was laid out. Most of the residents’ medication came in cards and these were hung on specially designed hangers in the medication room. There was a different hanger for each medication round, the nurse would take the correct one and put it into the trolley at the start. Some medication wasn’t suitable to be packed in this way and came in individual packets. It was these I wanted to reach. I didn’t need to open the lid all the way. Holding it open with one hand, my other slipped in, felt around and picked up a packet. It was easy to press one pill into my hand, return the packet and search for another. When I had three different tablets, I was happy and dropped the lid shut.

Back in Mother’s room, I helped her into her armchair, positioned the table in front of her and waited. Most of the other residents on this floor went to the dining room for lunch, so Jolene would be along soon. Worried she might recognise me and ruin my plan, I did my best to change my appearance. My hair, short though it was, was tied back with a band. I pulled it out and fluffed my hair. As disguises went, it wasn’t great, but my mobile phone would help. Its cover opened like a book and with it open and held in front of my ear, and my fingers spread, a large part of my face was hidden.

When I heard the trolley stop outside, I began an imaginary conversation. ‘No, that’s absolutely fine, I can go there directly from here.’ I nodded my head as if agreeing with whatever was being said. When I saw Jolene’s figure appear, I dropped my voice slightly. ‘No, that’s not a problem, honestly—’ I tapped a finger of my free hand on the table. ‘You can leave the medication here, nurse, thanks, I’m used to giving them to Mum.’ I spoke more rapidly into the phone. ‘Believe me, I can make it. No problem.’ I kept up my side of a ridiculously inane conversation – seriously I have no imagination – until I heard the trolley rattling away down the corridor.

I peered into the medicine cup she’d left on the table. Six tablets. The same ones every day. Three of which were supplied in packets, not on cards. I fished them out, replaced them with the three I had purloined earlier and sat back with a smile.

This was going to be perfect.

I still had about six minutes before supper arrived. Plenty of time to put the cat among the pigeons.





I was in luck and the manager, Stefan Albescu, was in his office. Through the open doorway, I could see his fingers flying over the keyboard, his forehead creased in a frown of concentration as he stared at the computer screen. If he was having a rough day, I was about to make it worse.

I rapped my knuckles against the door and when he looked up I smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Stefan, but I have a problem.’

‘A problem?’ His tone of voice inferred this was impossible, but then he smiled, shrugged and waved me to a seat. ‘It seems to have been a day for them.’

He’d been manager of the home for almost eight years. Efficient, supremely professional, kind to the residents, fair to the staff, he was the best manager the home had had in the years Mother had been there. We had a cordial relationship. It was easy: he ran a good home so I rarely had need to complain. That worked in my favour.

I put the medicine pot on his desk. ‘As you know I frequently visit at mealtimes and give Mum her meal and her medication. Being a nurse, it’s instinct to check them and,’ – I tilted my head at the container – ‘unless there’s been some major change in her medication since I saw her last two days ago, these aren’t correct.’

‘If there’d been any change, we’d have let you know,’ he said, reaching a hand out to pick up the container. He peered at them. ‘I’m not terribly au fait with your mother’s medication regime.’ His eyes met mine and I could see the cogs turning. ‘Give me a minute to see what’s what.’

He was on his feet and out the door before I had a chance to reply.

When there was no sign of his return several minutes later, I pushed the chair back and crossed to the door, ducking back behind it when I heard raised voices approach.