Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon

      I smile sheepishly. “You probably won’t believe this but I fell asleep.”

      “I find that very easy to believe. After the tonk-bonking I took from that white spade I felt pretty tired myself.”

      I shake my head and start getting ready for bed. “You don’t understand, Penny. I fell asleep before anything happened. I must have been completely exhausted.”

      Penny continues to smile and gazes pointedly at my panties. “Interesting. How come your knickers are on inside out?”

      “What?”

      “When you went out they said ‘Chase me Charley, I’m the last bus home’ or something like that. I noticed particularly. Now they say ‘YADSENDEW’.”

      What is she talking about? “Yadsendew”? I don’t have any Chinese panties. I have the ones with the days of the week on them that Geoffrey gave me but— then it dawns on me: ‘yadsendew’ is Wednesday spelt backwards. Oh dear, I do have my panties on inside out. How could that have happened? I must have gone to the loo in my sleep—I mean, I must have gone to the toilet and forgotten all about it because I was so sleepy.

      “Oh yes,” I say casually. “I expect it happened while I was spending a penny.”

      Penny looked puzzled. “Do you usually take your knickers off when you spend a penny?”

      “It depends on what kind of mood I’m in,” I say. “Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.”

      Penny shakes her head. “Thank you, and goodnight. I’m going back to sleep. Goodnight.”

      “Goodnight.”

      Penny turns her back on me and burrows into the pillows and I finish undressing and get into bed. It is as I am switching off the lamp that an unpleasant thought occurs to me. Is it possible that I could have been tampered with while I was asleep? I hardly like to think about it but the opportunity was there for someone unscrupulous enough to take it. Robert seemed such a gentleman but he had made love to Penny the previous evening. Perhaps he thought I was the same kind of girl. We did not have a lot of time to talk to each other.

      Anyhow, it can’t be helped and the main thing is that if anything happened it did so without my knowledge or consent. My virtue is still intact. Cheered by this thought, I fall into a deep and contented sleep.

      In the following days we divide our time between ward service and attending lectures.

      The lectures include such subjects as Anatomy, Hygiene, Nursing and Physiology and I soon realise that any State Registered Nurse must know as much about sewage and activated sludge as the average plumber. Certainly a knowledge of sewers would be a help when looking into the minds of some of the patients on Everard Hornbeam but I would have expected this to be covered under the heading of psychology. Our nursing lectures take the form of winding hundreds of miles of bandages round each other and Sister. Tutor goes spare when we successfully lash one of the class to a chair so that she cannot move.

      Some of the girls take it very seriously but Penny breezes through as if she does not have a care in the world—which of course she hasn’t. She calls us “The Bistoury Kids” and when asked by Sister Tutor why she is late for a lecture says that she got stuck in the service lift. She is also completely nuts. When S.T.—this is Penny’s name for Sister Tutor and stands for—well, you can guess what it stands for—starts talking about cells, Penny says “Stone walls do not a prison make nor iron bars a minute living organism consisting of a nucleus and protoplasm enclosed in a stroma or envelope.” She is mad, I tell you. Stark raving mad. Despite all the technical knowledge I am being exposed to, I still spend my time on Everard Hornbeam preparing diabetic feeds and checking the linen cupboard. I have yet to pluck a patient from the brink of death in typical Doctor Eradlik fashion. Mr Arkwright continues to try and play “naughty nanas” with me and I make tactful inquiries concerning his longevity. I am told that he is as well as can be expected which does not help very much.

      Taking Mr Arkwright’s pulse is always a problem unless you hold both wrists at once and this can prove confusing. I can also think of places other than his mouth in which I would like to stick a thermometer. Not that he is a bad old stick and it is nice to know that someone fancies you. I am very choked that Doctor Flash—I mean, Fishlock does not follow up our first meeting. He is probably frightened that I am going to fall asleep again. If only I had not been so tired. He does not keep in touch with Penny either and she says that he only makes a play for pros. I am a bit unhappy about this until I realise that she means probationers.

      My favourite times on the ward are visiting hours, both because they provide a breathing space and because I like matching the crowds milling outside the wards to the patients they have come to visit. Sister Bradley hates visiting hours because they make her ward untidy. I feel that she would like to be dashing around with a tin of furniture polish removing each scuff mark as it occurs.

      At five to six you can stand in the ward and see the faces pressed against the glass potholes in the closed doors like gold fish waiting for ants eggs. Sticky babies are being held up and tiny hands wave aimlessly.

      “Stand by for the stampede” says Nurse Wilson, grimly.

      “Spittoon mugs away, please, Mr Chapman,” says Nurse Martin sweetly.

      “Will somebody please wipe this locker. It’s got orange juice all over it,” says Sister, severely. “Sit up straight, Mr Homer. You don’t want your daughter to think there’s something wrong with you, do you?”

      “Bless the lord for sparing me for this day,” says Mr Buchanan who is being discharged on Monday. “It just proves that faith can move mountains.”

      “So can Senokot,” says Staff Wood who is not big on sentiment.

      “Have a wine gum, Nurse,” whispers Mr Evans. “They’re not habit forming.”

      “You are naughty, Mr Evans. You know you’re not allowed sweets.” I do not have time to say any more before Sister looks at her watch and nods at Staff Wood. Staff Wood raises an eyebrow to Nurse Wilson and Nurse Wilson inclines her head towards Nurse Martin. Now comes Nurse Martin’s biggest moment of the day. “Open the doors, Nurse,” she says to me.

      There is a ripple of excitement and I step forward and release the bolt. Nurse Wilson has suggested running a book on the first three patients to be touched by a relative but I think you would need a camera to separate them. They come through the door like the Grand National field and I am nearly squashed against the wall.

      Mr Chapman is a thin old man whose skin is stretched over his bones like paper over the fuselage of a model aeroplane and I am surprised to see him approached by a big-busted beauty wearing a suit that looks as if it was borrowed from her kid sister.

      I had thought that she must be the property of Jim North the ward wit. Jim is the youngest patient on the ward by ten years and spends his time combing his hair and making scandalous jokes. Nurse Wilson is rumoured to be bonkers about an Indian houseman called Singh and Jim is determined to squeeze every last ounce of amusement out of the situation. “Do you know what Nurse Wilson’s favourite song is?” He says. “‘Singh went the strings of my heart.’ She can’t help singhing it everywhere she goes. Do you get it? ‘Singhing it.’” Mr Chapman usually nods slowly and reaches for his head phones.

      Jim once confided to me that he had an audition for Opportunity Knocks. “It was won by a soprano from Leeds with big tits” he says. “Opportunity Knockers, that’s what I called her.”

      Mr Chapman’s visitor turns out to be his daughter who is a dancer. Nobody ever finds out what kind and when Nurse Martin suggests ballet, Staff Wood sniffs and says that she thinks it is bally unlikely. It is the first joke that any one can remember her making.

      Jim North has to make do with his Mum and Dad and a younger sister who brings a bunch of grapes every time she comes and leaves with a bag full of pips. I don’t think Jim ever has one of them.

      Sweet-toothed Mr Evans always has