I struggled to know what I should do. I wanted to go and see Thomas, since ignoring someone who had made such an effort to be friendly seemed indifferent and cruel, but I was too shy. Instead, I took to walking past his ward pretending I was heading somewhere else. It took me three days of these engineered laps to build up the confidence to go and see him. I waited until my evening shift had finished. It was quiet in the ward and dark. I nodded at the ward sister on night duty, who smiled knowingly, nodded back and then carried on working at her desk.
Thomas looked the picture of tranquillity lying there, and with no obnoxious teeth on show. He seemed very young like that, and I felt embarrassed at being there, so I went to sneak away.
‘The lengths a man will go to simply to discover a nurse’s name,’ he said.
When I turned back, his eyes were wide open and he had that broad smile again, the one that said he had rarely been told ‘no’.
‘That was a joke, of course,’ he said, leaning up on one elbow. ‘Only a madman would set himself on fire to gain a woman’s attention. You may be intriguing, but you’re not Helen of Troy.’
I found this funny habit he had of insulting me most charming in the beginning. It made me laugh, and certainly caught my attention, but he would use this in the months to come to confuse me and deny that he had been cruel.
‘Does it hurt?’ I asked.
‘Well, you can tell that witches were women! All that fuss about being burned at the stake – it’s really not half as bad as they made out.’
He was in obvious agony; he was sweating and the ward was cool.
‘At least with your strange idea of humour you can amuse yourself,’ I said.
‘My father was a collector: antiques, mementoes, art, anything he could bring back from his travels. At home in the main hall there’s an old cracked vase from Ancient Greece, and on it there’s a chorus-line of girls, for lack of a better description. There’s a girl at the back, taller than the rest, with long black hair and dark eyes, and she’s carrying a water jug on her shoulder. The others are smiling, ambling gaily among the reeds, happy in their mundane work, but my girl is serious, as if she’s annoyed at finding herself stuck at the back, tripping over the others who are in her way. I could swear it’s you, Sister Chapman – an exact likeness. I wish I could show you. My father said he would thrash me if I broke it, but I’ve always been drawn to it, ever since I was a boy, and now I know why.’
Not knowing what to say or do, I smiled back, an imbecilic smile, awkward and clumsy, but I needn’t have worried, because Thomas knew how to steer an empty vessel.
‘Come sit with me, will you, Sister Chapman?’ he said. ‘I would be most grateful, because I don’t think I’ll be sleeping any time soon.’
*
I was beyond caring about anything when Thomas intruded into my life. I had let my heart take the lead in a fit of optimism, and look where that had found me: I was near broken. I had been raised to believe that hard work and good behaviour would be rewarded, but I had learned that being kind, forgiving and well behaved, living in denial of one’s desires and impulses so as not to offend came with no reward at all, except for martyrs who subscribed to their pain. I would not wait until I died to find out if blind obedience would earn me a place in heaven. I had wasted enough time, now I would do what I wanted – within reason, of course. This new rule applied to Thomas, and we did what we wanted indecently quickly. I even shocked him with my newfound eagerness.
It all started while he was still in hospital, when I had gone to sit with him again. He pulled me towards him and kissed me and I let him. It might not have happened if he’d chosen a different time or day. I might have screamed or pulled back and run away, but I didn’t. I would be lying if I said I felt passion when his wet squirming tongue forced its way into my mouth, but I didn’t stop him. Soon, I did everything but lie under him – I had no intention of repeating my mother’s mistakes. Not that he didn’t try, with the frenzied begging of a spoiled schoolboy who wanted to open his presents on Christmas Eve. He would sneak me into his house in Chelsea and hide me in his bedroom, where we drank brandy. The first time he offered me laudanum I refused, but next time I tried it and made a good friend. It would help me relax, he said. It did more than that. It made me forget, stopped me thinking with such clear edges; it was like breathing in a dream.
I asked him how many nurses he had spirited away to his bedroom before me.
‘None,’ he replied.
‘I don’t believe you. You think me a fool.’
‘All right… None to this house, from this hospital… Does that answer suit you better?’
‘That’s more like it,’ I said. ‘You needn’t furnish me with the details, but please don’t presume me an idiot. I’ve seen too much to pretend men are not painfully predictable when it comes to their urges.’
‘You shouldn’t base your expectations
