‘It was. He had a chest infection and was very poorly but was supposed to make a full recovery from that.’ She put on her sad face again. ‘He’d been diagnosed with cancer a few years ago and had initially responded to chemo but after the chest infection, he started to deteriorate. The wife has been told he has months, maybe only weeks.’
‘Hard,’ I said, because I couldn’t think of anything more suitable to say. ‘Is it a good set up?’
‘Yes, it is. He’s a big man though and it takes two to sit him out of bed. I liaise with the agency, and they send a care assistant to help me. The wife is determined to look after him at home. She’s nice, but fussy about his care, wants everything done exactly as she wants.’ Carol shrugged again. ‘It’s okay with me, it’s what we’re paid for after all.’
I had to press my lips together to stop myself giving her a mouthful. She was the kind of nurse who would happily double as a servant if that’s what the punter wanted. The kind of nurse who would put on a martyred face and insist it was a vocation, not a job. Such crap is what kept nurses’ salaries so appallingly low.
‘I was supposed to be off today but the nurse doing the other shifts asked me to change a day so…’ Carol shrugged. ‘I’d nothing else planned for the day. I don’t start till nine thirty, so I was still able to meet you.’ Her mobile was sitting on the table, it buzzed as a call came through and she reached to answer it. ‘Hi.’
As she listened to whoever was speaking, I saw her usually genial expression harden and her fingers press the phone tighter to her cheek, as if she wanted to absorb the words, not just hear them. ‘And what am I supposed to do?’
This was followed by some grunts. Whether they were of agreement or not, it was impossible to tell. I was getting bored listening to half a conversation and would have knocked back the end of the orange stuff and left her to it, if she hadn’t finished the call and put the phone down with a decidedly grumpy snap.
I really hoped the man had died, that the job she was so happy about was over. I didn’t mind sacrificing the man – it sounded as if he wasn’t long for this world anyway and he might as well make himself useful. I adopted her sad expression. ‘Not bad news, I hope.’
Her lips had narrowed to two thin lines. They barely moved when she muttered a brief, ‘Yes.’ Then with a loud, long-suffering sigh, she explained. ‘That was the agency. The care assistant that was booked to come and help me get Mr Wallace out of bed this morning has had an accident and can’t come. They’ve tried, but they can’t find anyone else.’
It wasn’t unheard of that we were left high and dry this way. ‘What did they suggest you do then?’
‘Tell Mrs Wallace there’s been a problem and leave him in bed for the day.’
‘Can’t you ask the night nurse to stay and help you?’
‘No, she leaves at seven. Mrs Wallace gives him his breakfast, then sits with him until I arrive. Then she goes to play golf.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling dismissively. ‘She likes to have Mr Wallace sitting out by the time she returns.’
Twenty-four-hour nursing care was expensive. It appeared Mrs Wallace was cutting corners where she could. ‘The same in the evening, is it?’
Carol was lost in thought. Probably anticipating Mrs Wallace’s reaction. ‘Yes,’ she said, finally. ‘I finish at six, she gives him his evening meal and stays with him till the night nurse arrives at ten.’ She lifted her tea, took a sip, and put it down with a grimace. ‘She’s not going to be happy with him being left in bed all day.’
‘It doesn’t look as if you’ve much choice.’ If I sounded a little bored, it was because I was. Bored, tired and sorry I hadn’t gone straight home rather than wasting my time coming to meet Carol.
‘It’s not fair. He doesn’t have much time left; he should be getting all the care he needs.’
‘Are you getting him out of bed for his sake or the wife’s?’ My question was reasonable. So often, as nurses, we were forced to do things for the family’s sake rather than the patient’s welfare. I saw the question annoyed Carol and hid my smile.
‘Keeping Mrs Wallace happy, keeps him happy. Annoying her will stress him.’
And stress Carol. I drained the last of that awful juice and put my glass down. ‘Right, I’d better let you get on with your day. I’m off to my bed.’
‘Unless…’
I was gathering up my bag and jacket and wondering if I should wait for a bus or walk the three miles to Bathford, when I was conscious of a speculative light in Carol’s eyes.
She reached across and grabbed hold of the strap of my bag. ‘Unless you came and helped me. Ten minutes max, then you can buzz off. The care assistant that comes in the afternoon is different so will turn up okay. I just need to get Mr Wallace up.’
I laughed, thinking she was joking. When I saw she was serious, my laughter stopped abruptly. ‘The agency would never allow it. I’ve just done a twelve-hour shift.’
‘They wouldn’t need to know.’
‘Ah,’ I said, looking at her with sudden understanding. ‘You mean you want me to work for nothing, is that it?’
She looked taken aback. ‘It’s ten minutes to help a friend, that’s all.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘I suppose, I could pay you. It would be worth it.’
It was so tempting to say okay, that I’d do it for a full hour’s pay. I was almost that petty, but only almost. ‘Right, ten minutes of my time. You can have it for free.’
Lansdown Road, where the Wallaces lived, was a long road, rising from Bath and twisting and turning for miles. I’d been along the first stretch of it once, years before, when some idiot manager in the hospital had arranged a night out in the Charlcombe Inn. The Wallaces lived closer to the city, on one of the nicer parts a little past St Stephen’s Church.
Carol parked on the road outside a beautiful three-storey detached house. ‘Here we are,’ she said, as if perhaps I was wondering why she’d stopped.
I stepped out, looked back down the road we’d travelled and admired the view over the chimney pots to the green fields on the other side of the city. Carol, probably conscious of my ten-minute time frame, was already hurrying towards the stone steps that led up to the front door.
She needn’t have worried. Now that I’d seen the house, my weariness had taken a back seat to my curiosity, and I wasn’t in a rush to leave. I peered down at the ground-floor windows as I climbed the broad steps. ‘Servants’ quarters on the ground floor, are they?’
‘Probably in the past,’ Carol said. She fiddled with the bunch of keys she held before slotting a Yale key into the lock. ‘The kitchen is down there, and a big living room that opens out into the garden, that’s all I’ve seen. There’s no staff, apart from a cleaner who comes in two afternoons a week. Mrs Wallace does the cooking herself.’
I was amused by the way she’d said that, as if Mrs Wallace cooking for herself and her husband was such an extraordinary thing. Carol was incredibly servile. It wasn’t my nature.