red-cheeked ambulance man came running, the other more slowly, with a face that had seen everything.
The morning shift of Samaritans had arrived. In the bunk room, Victoria had changed into a dress, and was trying to make something out of her face in a two-inch square of mirror propped on the bookcase. Long greenish eyes that looked sleepy until half-way through the morning, her grandmother’s nose, which had been the only classy thing about her, a pale mouth that looked sad if she caught its reflection unawares.
‘You look as if you knew this had to end,’ Sam had once said. ‘Do you?’
‘No.’
But she did. They had both known. Sometimes now when she caught herself looking sad in a shop window or in a mirror at the turn of the cinema staircase, she noted: There is a woman who has lost her love.
Andrew, who was a student at the University, put his shaggy head round the door. ‘Someone called Billie wants to know if you’re still here. Are you?’
‘Oh yes.’ She had untied the green scarf and she went downstairs with her hair hanging round her shoulders. ‘How are you, Billie?’
‘How do you expect?’
‘Didn’t you sleep?’
‘Yeah, but there’s such a thing as a hangover, dear heart.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Serves me right.’
‘Are you going to the cafeteria?’
‘After a night like that? Hell, no. I’ll tell you something, Victoria. I had a full bottle of aspirin in the drawer by my bed.’
‘So have lots of people.’
‘You know what’s very annoying about you? You won’t get excited. I was going to take the lot.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
Billie’s jeer, a noise between expectoration and vomit.
‘I’ll be here on Sunday. Why don’t you come in and have a chat?’
‘Might. Might not. I’ll see what — you know — what develops.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Ta.’
Victoria went back to the mirror on the bookcase.
‘Why bother?’ Helen came in with her coat on. ‘Aren’t you going home?’
‘I’m going to get some breakfast and then go to work.’
‘No sleep?’
‘It’s press day.’
‘You told me you needn’t go to the paper this morning. Why?’
‘Oh — I don’t know.’ Victoria told quite a lot of lies, sometimes to fend off solicitude.
‘If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have asked if you could do the extra night duty,’ Helen said.
‘I know.’ Victoria gathered up her long sandy red hair and began to wind it smoothly round her tired head. ‘That’s why I didn’t.’
‘Yes. I see.’
They felt easy and honest together after their shared night. To work as a Samaritan was an intensification of the focus of living, direct and clear. You knew what you had to do. You knew why you were there. Could even sometimes begin to grope towards an idea of who you were, as the pretence and defences fell away before the urgent truth of human contact.
Paul stayed at the hospital until the boy’s arm had been sewn up. He had severed a tendon, and they put the arm in plaster to the elbow. A splint was bandaged to the other arm where the needle of the blood-drip went in. After they had taken him up to the ward, Paul waited outside until a staff nurse with a waist girthed in between bosom and swinging hips came out and headed for the kitchen, mouth working importantly.
‘The boy with the wrist — could I see him for a moment before I go?’
‘In the middle of my bedpan round? You must be mad.’ She went into the kitchen and poured tea out of a great metal pot that stood stewing on the stove.
Paul wanted to ask, ‘Can I have a cup?’ but she had her back turned, looking out of the window in a sudden daydream, the calm eye of her storm of early morning activity. Through the glass of the ward door, Paul could see nurses panting round with shrouded bedpans. A few patients shuffled about in dressing-gowns collecting bottles from old men who drew them brimming forthfrom under the bedclothes where they had secreted them all night. By the far
The morning shift of Samaritans had arrived. In the bunk room, Victoria had changed into a dress, and was trying to make something out of her face in a two-inch square of mirror propped on the bookcase. Long greenish eyes that looked sleepy until half-way through the morning, her grandmother’s nose, which had been the only classy thing about her, a pale mouth that looked sad if she caught its reflection unawares.
‘You look as if you knew this had to end,’ Sam had once said. ‘Do you?’
‘No.’
But she did. They had both known. Sometimes now when she caught herself looking sad in a shop window or in a mirror at the turn of the cinema staircase, she noted: There is a woman who has lost her love.
Andrew, who was a student at the University, put his shaggy head round the door. ‘Someone called Billie wants to know if you’re still here. Are you?’
‘Oh yes.’ She had untied the green scarf and she went downstairs with her hair hanging round her shoulders. ‘How are you, Billie?’
‘How do you expect?’
‘Didn’t you sleep?’
‘Yeah, but there’s such a thing as a hangover, dear heart.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Serves me right.’
‘Are you going to the cafeteria?’
‘After a night like that? Hell, no. I’ll tell you something, Victoria. I had a full bottle of aspirin in the drawer by my bed.’
‘So have lots of people.’
‘You know what’s very annoying about you? You won’t get excited. I was going to take the lot.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
Billie’s jeer, a noise between expectoration and vomit.
‘I’ll be here on Sunday. Why don’t you come in and have a chat?’
‘Might. Might not. I’ll see what — you know — what develops.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Ta.’
Victoria went back to the mirror on the bookcase.
‘Why bother?’ Helen came in with her coat on. ‘Aren’t you going home?’
‘I’m going to get some breakfast and then go to work.’
‘No sleep?’
‘It’s press day.’
‘You told me you needn’t go to the paper this morning. Why?’
‘Oh — I don’t know.’ Victoria told quite a lot of lies, sometimes to fend off solicitude.
‘If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have asked if you could do the extra night duty,’ Helen said.
‘I know.’ Victoria gathered up her long sandy red hair and began to wind it smoothly round her tired head. ‘That’s why I didn’t.’
‘Yes. I see.’
They felt easy and honest together after their shared night. To work as a Samaritan was an intensification of the focus of living, direct and clear. You knew what you had to do. You knew why you were there. Could even sometimes begin to grope towards an idea of who you were, as the pretence and defences fell away before the urgent truth of human contact.
Paul stayed at the hospital until the boy’s arm had been sewn up. He had severed a tendon, and they put the arm in plaster to the elbow. A splint was bandaged to the other arm where the needle of the blood-drip went in. After they had taken him up to the ward, Paul waited outside until a staff nurse with a waist girthed in between bosom and swinging hips came out and headed for the kitchen, mouth working importantly.
‘The boy with the wrist — could I see him for a moment before I go?’
‘In the middle of my bedpan round? You must be mad.’ She went into the kitchen and poured tea out of a great metal pot that stood stewing on the stove.
Paul wanted to ask, ‘Can I have a cup?’ but she had her back turned, looking out of the window in a sudden daydream, the calm eye of her storm of early morning activity. Through the glass of the ward door, Paul could see nurses panting round with shrouded bedpans. A few patients shuffled about in dressing-gowns collecting bottles from old men who drew them brimming forthfrom under the bedclothes where they had secreted them all night. By the far
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