Blue-Eyed Nurses

The priest ran through his rituals solemnly, in a dignified manner and left after he had anointed my father and completed his ministrations. A peace was descending on me during the process that, as a lifelong unbeliever, I felt I hardly deserved, but I appreciated the calming atmosphere that affected Mary and I, while I was not sure that Dad was even aware of.

Dad was failing fast now, with me holding his right hand on one side of the bed and Mary holding his left on the opposite side. Soon he slipped completely away, quietly and painlessly, and Mary automatically switched off the monitors and covered Dad's face with the bed sheet after kissing him gently on the forehead. Mary wiped tears from her eyes and said goodbye to us both.

I pulled her to me and kissed her thick blond hair on the top of her head. Mary had spent a lot of her night shift with us and I told her I appreciated her efforts and hoped she wouldn't be in trouble with the other nurses or her boss Maureen. She smiled and left us then, I guessed she had gone well beyond the bounds of her duty and therefore would have a lot of work to catch up on during what remained of her shift.

I sat alone in the room with the body, I really didn't think of it as being Dad any more. I felt he had gone and that he was indeed at peace. I am not a religious person, never have been, but I got the distinct feeling that he had departed to a better place.

Perhaps Mary had realised that the priest was there more for my spiritual wellbeing than for Dad. I did feel a certain ease of mind. I had regrets that we had carried our little differences on for far too long, but that we were finally father and son again, at least briefly at the end when it really counted for something. Maybe having the priest perform that ancient rite was part of it but mainly I realised the reason for my ease of mind was Mary. The perfect nurse, caring enough for my father that she was prepared to devote her time to make his transition painless and quite beautiful. Mary was really wonderful. I felt there was something more than simply nurse-patient relationship here between her and my father, but a kind of love that transcended the sixty years plus that separated them, an impossible relationship but wonderful to behold nonetheless.

I rang Mum, at that time of night it was daylight in Australia and she received the news of my father's passing tearfully. In fact Cliff answered the phone in the first instance and spoke to me for a moment before calling Mum to the phone. He had never met my Dad, but he knew the love that my parents once had for each other. It was a tempestuous relationship, but love was ever-present. Cliff landed the love of my mother only because of perfect timing and placing, he told me.

When Mum came onto the line she had heard most of what Cliff had said and she added her explanation. It was while their marriage was in trouble that she met Cliff, who was in England studying for an agricultural degree. Although she divorced Dad and subsequently married Cliff, that didn't mean she ever completely stopped loving Dad, just the same as she never stopped loving me after leaving me behind. Cliff was also in his 80s and currently rather unwell, so he couldn't travel but Ma felt compelled to come over. She said she would make sure that Bobby and his partner would come over from Canada for the funeral too.

I expressed surprise that Bobby had a partner, I thought he was a confirmed bachelor and commented so. She tut-tutted and said Bobby and I had to have a talk when he was here with me, and not before time. Bobby was 38 and had been living with his partner and lover, Jonathan, for over twenty years, ever since they were both beaten up together by homophobes who raided and attacked the occupants of a gay bar in the capital city. Dad knew all about the relationship, Mum informed me. Apparently the couple had stayed with Frank during their recovery and the subsequent court case and had helped financially to set them up in the restaurant business together.

Families, I am such a loosely-fitting member of mine that nobody ever tells me anything.

I didn't want to leave Dad's body all alone in the dark, so I sat back in the chair and pulled my coat up to my throat and dozed the remaining few hours until dawn and the usual noisy daily bustle and business began. One of the day shift nurses came through, sympathised with me for my loss and said she would sort out my father's effects and have them ready at the nurses' station in fifteen to twenty minutes. It only occurred to me then that I needed Dad's house keys if I was going to check out of the hotel and move back into my old home.

CHAPTER 2

It was with surprisingly mixed feelings that I left that side ward, which had become my little world for the last three days. I thought I would make my way down towards the hospital café for a much-needed coffee before coming back to collect Dad's effects and then walk down to the hotel. I planned to check out immediately and move into Dad's house, to start sorting out what to keep and what to clear. I wanted to be kept busy until Mum, Bobby and probably his partner Jonathan showed up for the funeral. I wasn't sure if Dad still had a car at home. If he had, I would need to sort out the insurance and change of ownership, unless of course it was owned by the garage. That was another job to do: let the garage staff know about Dad's passing. I hadn't seen anyone from the business visiting him in hospital, so I assumed they weren't even aware he was so ill.

As I approached the nurses' station I noticed that the day staff had completely taken over from the night nurses, who had already left, to sleep in the comfort of their homes, while I had dozed the night away in the chair. I would have liked to have seen nurse Mary before I left.

There was another nurse there I hadn't seen before, an older one, in her late-thirties, early-forties I guessed. All the nurses I had seen so far appeared to be in their twenties. She had her coat over her arm, the straps of her bag over her shoulder and a carrier bag in one hand, so she looked like she was either just coming in or just going out. The other two nurses were embracing her in turn, whispering and looking tearful.

I was going to speak to them about my father and to pass on my thanks but didn't want to interrupt them, after all it could wait until I came back after my coffee. As I passed them by, they hadn't really noticed me as they were so engrossed in their own conversation. I was trying to ignore them, until I heard one nurse beg the older one to "Go home, Maureen" in a slightly more forceful tone than the rest of the conversation. That pricked up my ears.

I turned back to face them over the counter and cleared my throat. The nurses turned as one to attend to me in their usual professional manner.

"Sorry to hear about your loss, Mr Bird," said one young nurse, sympathetically, before I could speak, "Your father was a real gentleman. We are going to miss him around here."

"Thank you, thank you for comforting him through these last few weeks and days, I know he appreciated you all as I do very much."

All three clucked like mother hens, their own mutual sadness pushed to the background as they switched their caring towards me in my moment of grief.

"I wanted to have a quiet word with you, Maureen, if that is all right?" I said to the older nurse.

"Er, yes of course," she said, looking at the other two, before turning back to me, "It looks like I am not needed here today, anyway."

"Would you care to join me for a tea or coffee?"

"I t'hink I could really do wit'h a cup o' tea, Mr Bird," she agreed, smiling at me for the first time. Another nurse with a charming Irish accent, I thought, much more pronounced than Mary's hinted undertones.

"Call me Roger, please," I said, "My father was always Mr Bird."

"Not while he was here, Roger, he was simply Frank to us, a wonderful old gentleman. We all loved him. That's why we kept him here with us until the end," she lowered her voice as we walked together through the door exiting her section, "Some of the other wards are less, well, just less prepared to look after their own, even unto the end."

"That's one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you particularly about."

She looked up sharply, a frown on her face.

"No criticism," I assured her, "I have nothing but praise for your wonderful staff. And I also need to thank you for allowing me day and night access, it has meant everything both to me and my father."

Maureen smiled again. I thought she looked a very handsome woman, now that she allowed a smile to decorate her face. She had one of those faces that had a natural propensity to be cheerful, with large clear blue eyes, a fresh face with rosy cheeks and subtle freckles, with no hint of make-up. She was quite short about five-two or -three, to my five-eleven, and equally petite in build. Her thick hair was fair, with subtle hints of grey in it and kept quite short and neat. She was a very natural and beautiful rose. I lost track of my thoughts somewhat and I think I repeated myself nervously.

"I just wanted to thank you for the visitor's pass and what I think of your marvellous nurses," I gushed as we walked down two flights of stairs to the reception area where the café was situated.

I wasn't used to speaking to pretty nurses that weren't young enough to be granddaughters. I couldn't fail to notice that Maureen wore a set of wedding and engagement rings, so she was clearly spoken for, not that I had any intentions in that direction, despite the increasing awareness of my loneliness. I certainly didn't wish to complicate my life at this transitional point. Right now I was a stranger in a strange land. If I was going to stay here and work at my father's business, I would have a considerable amount of adjusting to do, long before I could even think about introducing anything or anyone more important into my life.

Just as we reached the final few steps of the stairs, I checked with Maureen what type of tea she preferred. A breakfast tea would be perfect, she replied and pointed out the far corner of the restaurant where she would find a seat for us. I grabbed a tray and got in line. I glanced over in her direction while I was waiting to be served and one of the doctors, who I had seen on the morning rounds a day or so earlier, was cuddling Maureen. They sure were really friendly in this hospital.

I took the tray of drinks to the table in the corner. It was right next to a small garden. I was amazed it was sunny out and ... actually warm in the sun shining through the window, Spring was here at last. I might finally start to feel comfortable back in my native environment.

She was holding and reading a nameplate in her hand as I approached the table. She looked up and smiled when I sat down and she popped the nameplate into the carrier bag resting in her lap and put it on the floor, before she helped empty the tray contents onto our table.

"It is very nice over this side of the restaurant, overlooking the garden, I hadn't ventured this far over before," I commented as I sat down, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I was wondering why everyone keeps coming up and comforting you."

"My daughter Rosemary died just three nights ago," she replied slowly. "it was a shock and I am still coming to terms with it."

She looked up from her cup to look me in the eye, her eyes were watery. I held her hands across the table.

"I'm so sorry, Maureen, I knew that something really terrible must've happened. Would you rather I leave or do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm supposed to be comforting you, you know, Roger, for your loss, not the other way around," she smiled wanly, a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. We released our hands as I took a paper tissue out of my pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed away at her cheek as she nodded her thanks.

"It is a lot easier for me," I said, "My father was 87 and had a full and relatively successful life. Also, I've had some time to prepare for this eventuality. No parent can be prepared for losing a child. Was this a sudden loss?"

"You're right, you can't, you just can't prepare, even with all the training we get. It was so sudden, an accident, she was hit by a bus."

"Will it help to talk to me about her?" I asked, "About Rosemary, was it?"

"Rosemary was all I had, Roger, she was everyt'hing to me. Rosemary was still single and had lived with me all of her young life. And she was so full of life, too. You have a family don't you? Sorry, I am prying, but Frank did mention he had a grandson."

I nodded. "I understand, there are no secrets to my relationship. I don't have a normal joined-up family, my ex-wife and I were together for a matter of months and we would never have married if she hadn't fallen for the baby. My son lives in Canada, we exchange the odd email from time to time; my ex-wife lives in New York and I only contact her through lawyers." We both managed to smile at that. "My mother lives in Australia, and that is about that. She's coming back in the next few days for the funeral, as is my son and his partner."

"We lost Rosemary's father to cancer, ten years ago, so there's just me on my own now. He was a policeman, a Scot originally but worked around here for over twenty years. He never could stop smoking, although he tried time and time again. Rosemary used to get on his back too, and she took it very badly when he died. She was such a great kid and I am really going to miss her."

I reached across and squeezed one of her hands, she thanked me with a mouthed "thank you". We sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping her tea or my coffee.

"Maureen, you remember I mentioned earlier that I thought your staff were absolutely brilliant with my father?"

"Even the night staff?" she smiled.

"Especially the night staff, although of course I have no complaints about the day shift either. In your absence they were a great help and comfort to me and ... Frank. Last night, though, one of the nurses dedicated herself to stay with my father for more than half the night as he slipped away. She was perfectly wonderful and I wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble over it."

"No, of course not, I am sure she would have been freed up by her partners to help you both through the ordeal. Was it Petra, by any chance?"

"No, it was Mary. She was absolutely marvellous. She went way beyond the call, not just last night but the previous two nights, too. I missed seeing her to thank her again before she left this morning. Could you please pass on my sincerest thanks?"

"Oh! Really?!" Maureen's eyebrows had shot up early in my statement, as if surprised. I suppose Mary was very young and perhaps not considered as comfortably assured and experienced as she appeared to me to be, "Well, I am very glad that Mar...ry came through for you."

"She was simply wonderful and my father and were both very grateful for her gracious, caring presence right to the end."

"I'll make sure she hears from me how grateful you are. She ... well, she's not me most experienced nurse, and I hope she may benefit from the sincerity of your praise, Roger."

We lapsed into silence again while we finished our drinks, then we rose together and made our way to Reception, where we stood to say our farewells.

"What are you going to do now, Roger?"

"I have to collect my father's effects from one of the nurses upstairs. She undertook to put them together for me. For one thing I need his door key to get into the house. Then I have to find an undertaker. I suppose I am going to have to organise a car to get about in, as well," I smiled, "I flew in from Chile the other night with only a light suitcase."

"Do you need a lift?" Maureen asked, "I'm ... I'm really at a loose end at the moment and I would like to help. In fact I need to keep myself busy and I really don't want to be alone either. If you don't mind my company, of course."

"Yes, I would like that very much," I said, "I need to find an undertaker, too, have you arranged anything for Rosemary yet?"

"Yes, there is a good one in Smiths Street, who have already got my Rosemary in their care. I'll come upstairs to the ward with you and we can arrange for your father to be collected by them, if you wish."

We collected a plastic carrier bag of my father's belongings, just like the one Maureen carried, which included his house keys. Meanwhile Maureen arranged everything with the undertakers over the phone, which I was grateful for.

Maureen drove me the short hop to the hotel in her little car, where she helped me to pack my one suitcase. It didn't take us long. Then we drove to Dad's house via a small supermarket, where we picked up sufficient groceries to tide us over for lunch and tea. Maureen suggested buying some cleaning fluids and disinfectant, as they were probably required, and a roll of bin bags. I agreed. It was so long since I had driven in my home town that I would have found it difficult to find the house without Maureen leading the way.

She knew her way round the town, having lived there the whole time since she moved from Southern Ireland twenty years ago, after she qualified as a nurse in Dublin, she told me, filling the car with cheerful chatter as she drove.

Dad's house had been closed up for about three weeks, ever since Dad was admitted to hospital with the stroke. He had been in hospital for a week or so before his grave prognosis led to Mum's call through to me. She was still down as his next of kin as I was usually more difficult to get hold of. Once more I was amazed at the bond between my parents, fifty years since their marriage broke up, a testimony to both the complexities and endurance of love.

I opened the fridge and nearly gagged. Maureen matter-of-factly pushed me out of the way and shooed me out of the kitchen. She would deal with it, she insisted, and suggested I go up to Frank's bedroom and look out a suit that the undertakers said they needed.

The bedroom curtains were pulled shut, so I opened them up and released the catch on a window to let some air in. I hadn't been in that bedroom for nigh on 40 years. I don't really know what I expected to see in there but I can guarantee that what I did see was the very last object I would have anticipated.

There on his bedside table, was a photograph of a pretty young woman with a gorgeous little girl aged maybe two or three at the most.

There was only one person that the young woman in the photo could possibly be, a much younger-looking Maureen. And the little girl with her must have been her Rosemary.

CHAPTER 3

I sat on the bed for a few minutes, my mind in absolute turmoil. My Dad must have once been in love with Maureen. Why else would he have her photo by his bedside? Why would he include her daughter Rosemary? And why would Maureen not say anything to me before sending me up to my Dad's room? What was she trying to say to me? Surely if she was aware that the photo was there, she would have said something earlier, to mitigate the shock.

This raised another question. If Maureen was my father's lover, was Rosemary my half-sister? I had always considered myself an only son of my father, despite the fact that my mother had three boys with Cliff, giving me three half-brothers. I had never really considered them part of my family in the same way. Now did I have a half-sister as well?

I pulled the sheets and pillowcases off the bed. I found fresh linen in the airing cupboard on the landing and remade the bed, using hospital corners I noted with amusement. Then I looked through Dad's wardrobe and found a smart but sombre-looking suit and took that downstairs, wondering how to go about asking Maureen about her photograph while avoiding upsetting her over it.