Call Me Sister Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the woods, we don’t have that many bairns under school age and it’s not that difficult to spot problems. Anyway, it’s really a matter of common sense and we all work closely with the doctors and you’ll have got to know the family through your ante and postnatal care.’ She’d sounded sanguine.
    Now, sharing the back of the car with an assortment of equipment, I considered her remarks. A card-holding box sat on top of some spare sheets, continence aids and a nursing bag. Added to this was a carrier bag full of children’s clothes with a navy blue duffle coat spread over it. Common sense told me Sister Shiach was in charge.
    She gestured with her thumb towards the clothes bag. ‘Grab that, will you? Then see if you can fish out the card with little Shirley McGlone’s name on it. If it’s kept out it’ll remind me to fill it in afterwards.’ She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Paperwork’s a pain. Still, the triple duties of nursing, midwifery and health visiting do give variety even if Bell here gives me a run for my money.’
    She stopped the car outside the house with the smoking chimney, got out and stretched her back. She nodded at the garden which was full of rusting vehicles. ‘You’ll see our family’s taken their old home with them. It seems it’s taking them longer to settle in the house than the garden. Anyway, let’s catch them before they pretend they’re not at home. Come on.’
    She pushed on the garden gate. ‘Blast!’
    The garden gate gave a warning creak. A small anxious face peered round a tattered net curtain and disappeared so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it. Then I heard a door slam.
    ‘Who’s she?’ A voice came through the letterbox.
    Sister Shiach bent down and spoke through it as if talking into a telephone receiver. ‘It’s okay, Bell. She’s new. I’m training her.’ She spoke in a wheedling way. ‘Come on now. Open the door. I’m so proud of the way you’re settling in. I’ve been telling her about you and know she’d like to meet you.’
    A tall girl with jet-black hair inched the door open. She said, ‘Spy on me, more like. Don’t you be giving me that stupid sweet talk.’ Despite the sour tone, she opened the door wider.
    She wore wellingtons, which as she grudgingly stepped back to allow us in left muddy tracks on the linoleum in the hallway. Her cardigan, worn over a washed-out pinafore apron, was full of holes and a dismal grey. Still, it couldn’t dim the sparkle of her brown eyes and her gold earrings. They danced as she shook her head. ‘It’s no worth you coming further, the wee one’s out playing.’
    ‘No, I’m not, Mam. I’m here.’
    The small child whose face I’d seen at the window came and stood beside us. ‘I camed round from the back door,’ she offered. She, too, was wearing wellies, but on the wrong feet, and a coat that even though someone had hacked a bit off, still trailed on the ground. She sneaked behind her mother, who put a protective hand round her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Shirl. It’s only the nurse and,’ she viewed me with narrowed eyes, ‘some other woman, and I suppose you’d better come on ben.’ In a combative way she added, ‘We’re not tidy.’
    ‘You’re fine. We came to see you, not the house,’ said Sister Shiach.
    We went into the living room where she steered a safe course past piles of Exchange and Mart magazines to car seats cosily arranged by a fire sulking in the grate. Covering it, more or less, was a battered-looking fireguard. To Bell’s evident surprise, her visitor admired it.
    ‘It’s grand you’ve got that,’ she said, nodding towards Shirley. ‘You wouldn’t want the wee one tripping and having an accident, would you?’
    ‘Course not,’ her mother sounded outraged. ‘I know how to look after my bairns.’
    ‘And the others’ll be at school?’ enquired Sister Shiach, looking into the flames.
    ‘Course.’ Bell’s voice carried less