A Sister's War by Molly Green (best books to read for self improvement TXT) 📗

didn’t,’ he said, switching on the ignition key. ‘I just guessed you might use the pub to phone the hospital.’

‘So Dora let you off then?’ he said when he’d started the engine. He glanced at her.

‘Reluctantly,’ Ronnie said.

‘Has she spotted the cat yet?’ He turned his focus to the road.

‘No, and she’s not going to, if I can help it. And it’s not “the cat”,’ she added. ‘It’s a “she” called Lucky – just as you told her she was.’

Michael Scott smiled. Even in profile he had a nice face, she thought. Actually, when he had his helmet off so you could see his face, he was rather good-looking.

‘What did the hospital say when you rang them this morning?’ Ronnie asked, thankful he couldn’t read her last thought.

‘Not much. I’m not a relative but when I mentioned “police” Sister said Margaret definitely wouldn’t be coming out today.’

‘I’ve just thought – do you think they’ll allow me to visit her when I’m not a relative?’

‘We’ll have to play it by ear,’ he said. ‘It probably depends on her condition.’

The seat was well padded and clean but she couldn’t get comfortable worrying about Margaret.

As though he understood, he patted her arm briefly. ‘Try not to worry until we find out exactly what the situation is. And by the way,’ he added, ‘there’s no need to call me Constable Scott when I’m not in uniform. I’m just about to go off-duty for the day, so you can call me Michael.’

She nodded.

At the hospital Michael strode up to one of the receptionists.

‘Constable Scott.’ He handed her his identification and she glanced at it, then waited. ‘I telephoned this morning about Margaret Webb. We brought her in last night – the young lady who’d fallen into the canal. Is it possible to see her?’

‘Visiting hours are strictly two ’til four every afternoon.’

‘We can’t come then,’ Ronnie said, standing near Michael. ‘Margaret and I are trainees for the Grand Union Canal Carrying Company. I know she’d like to see us, if possible.’

The receptionist put her glasses on and ran her finger down a page from an open book.

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘Margaret Webb.’ She stopped a passing young student nurse. ‘Nurse Brown, could you go upstairs and speak to Sister Harris in Ward 6. Tell her it’s a police officer who wants to see her patient, Margaret Webb.’

‘And her fellow crew member, Ronnie,’ Ronnie added quickly.

The young nurse nodded and hurried away. She was back in no time.

‘You may both go up but Sister Harris is very strict. She’s given you no more than five minutes.’

‘Thank you.’ Michael turned to Ronnie. ‘Shall we go?’

His expression was calm. He was certainly the kind of person to be around in an emergency, Ronnie thought, as she allowed him to guide her down a long dreary corridor, the lower half of the walls olive green and the upper half what may have once been cream. Michael’s steady but swift footsteps squeaked on the linoleum and she had to take little skips to keep pace.

They walked through the door of Ward 6 to see a line of patients on both sides – maybe fifteen apiece. Ronnie’s heartbeat quickened with anticipation that her fears would soon be alleviated. A brisk plump woman with grey hair tucked under her cap came towards them and Ronnie saw her badge: Sister Harris.

‘We’ve come to see Margaret Webb,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve allowed us a few minutes.’

‘That’s right,’ Sister Harris said in clipped tones. ‘The patients in here must be kept very quiet. They are seriously ill.’

Ronnie’s stomach lurched.

‘Do you mean—?’ Her words choked.

‘Yes. Miss Webb is very poorly. I’m afraid she has pneumonia.’

Michael took Ronnie’s hand but she scarcely noticed. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, she looked directly at the Sister. It couldn’t be true. Margaret was only twenty.

‘Isn’t pneumonia something that only happens to older people?’ she asked, her voice tremulous.

‘No, I’m afraid not. Babies can get it.’

‘She won’t die, will she?’ Ronnie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

‘She’s young,’ the Sister said, unknowingly repeating Michael Scott’s words. ‘That’s in her favour.’

Margaret’s eyes were closed as Ronnie, her insides quivering, tiptoed over to her bed, Michael a few paces behind. Her friend’s face was as pale as the stark white of the pillow. Ronnie sucked in a breath. She looked so small and frail. Pneumonia. Was it really possible? Margaret’s hand was outside the bedcover and Ronnie gently took it. Instantly, Margaret’s eyes opened and when she saw who it was she smiled.

‘Ronnie. How did you know where I was?’

Dear God, her voice was so weak.

‘Constable Scott told me. Do you remember he found us last night?’

‘Oh, yes. Is he—?’

‘He’s right here,’ Ronnie said, letting go Margaret’s hand and moving aside. Michael shook his head.

‘Let me thank him,’ Margaret said, trying to raise herself.

Michael stepped into view. ‘Don’t try to move, Margaret,’ he said. ‘We’re only allowed a few minutes as we’re not relatives.’ He paused. ‘Before I left the station this morning they said they’d received contact details for your parents, so by now they will have let them know where you are.’

‘Thank you.’ Margaret scrunched the corner of her sheet with her restless fingers. ‘Mum and Graham are going to be so upset. They thought I was going home today. That’s what I told them. But now …’ She closed her eyes, exhausted with the effort of speaking.

‘Is there anything you want, Margaret?’ Ronnie said, desperate to do something for the sick girl.

‘Nothing.’ Then Margaret’s eyes opened. ‘Just one thing. Please look after the little cat or it would have been in vain.’

Ronnie’s eyes pricked with tears.

‘I’ve thought of a name for him,’ Margaret said, turning her head to look directly at Ronnie with her cornflower-blue eyes.

‘He’s actually a “she”,’ Ronnie said, managing to stop herself from blurting out that the cat had already been given a name. ‘What do you want to call her?’

‘Lucky,’ Margaret said. ‘Because black cats are lucky – and she