‘Probationers are warned not to indulge in gossip,’ our lecturer continued. ‘You will avoid leaning against the furniture or idling on patients’ beds as if catching up with an old friend. Nothing gives the impression of slovenliness more than allowing oneself to become over-familiar with a patient or indeed a colleague. We are professionals, and we are on duty. Have I made myself clear?’
There was a chorus of acknowledgement, and Aisling was ushered in and told to take a seat. There were spaces here and there, but she took the one next to me. I edged further away and didn’t dare look at her.
We sat next to each other, in those same seats, for three weeks before I managed to summon the courage to say anything beyond the obligatory greeting. Though we exchanged barely any words, I looked forward to those classes with stomach-churning anticipation, hoping she’d speak to me or look at me and throw me that smile again, which had felt like bubbles bursting all over my skin. I could think of nothing to say: words were thick as porridge in my mind. But then one day, when we’d been left to finish taking notes, she spoke to me out of the blue.
‘Can I ask your name?’ she whispered.
I was so taken aback, I didn’t understand the words. I was mesmerised by the pinkness of her lips, how indescribably soft they looked, how the points in the centre formed a defiant bow curving up towards her nose.
‘What?’
‘Your name?’ she whispered again, leaning forward, her eyebrows raised as if she worried she was speaking to an idiot. ‘I might save you by calling it, if I should see you about to be crushed by a carriage on the Whitechapel Road.’
‘I’m Sister Chapman,’ I said, smiling my best smile.
She looked at me a little strangely, and replied, ‘I’m Aisling.’
‘Oh!’ I understood. ‘I’m Susannah.’
‘I am fond of that name.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I had a horse called Susannah, when I was a child.’
‘Oh.’
‘Where are you from, Susannah?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Where are you from?’
‘I’m from… places, I think.’
‘I see,’ she said, then turned back to her notes as if that was the end of it.
I was desperate to continue, and to not come across so foolish. In the absence of anything meaningful, I gabbled away at the first thing that came into my head.
‘I was born in these parts. I lived with my parents until they died of scarlet fever.’
‘What! The both of them? What a terrible misfortune. Do you have brothers and sisters?’
‘No, none. Yes. I mean, no brothers or sisters, and yes, they both died. I was extremely lucky; I was taken in by my mother’s parents. They raised me, in Reading. That’s where I lived before here.’
‘So you’re from Reading.’
‘I suppose I am. You’re Irish.’
‘I know.’
‘No, I know you know. I meant only to observe the fact.’
‘Yes, and you are English.’
‘Yes, but we’re in London, so that’s a very ordinary thing, isn’t it?’
‘I’m quite sure half of London is Irish, or will be at this rate. I’ll wager you can’t throw a stone without hitting an Irishman wherever you are in the world these days. We’re restless types.’
‘Is that because of the potatoes?’ I asked.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Aisling. It was not a question, and she gasped as she said it. This had gone horribly wrong.
We didn’t speak again for at least another three weeks, maybe four. The training schedule was so gruelling, there wasn’t much opportunity for recreation. The only places for casual conversation were the nurses’ lounge and the dormitory, but we were all so shattered, we craved sleep above all else. Besides, I had never had a close friendship and had no idea how to go about forging one. Other people’s friendships seemed to sprout into existence like weeds, without effort, when they weren’t looking, whereas I kept staring at them and willing them to grow. Then one day Aisling just came out with another question, picking up where we’d left off.
‘What about your grandparents?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your grandparents. Your parents died of scarlet fever and you were raised in Reading by your grandparents. Are they very proud of you becoming a nurse?’
‘Oh no, my grandmother thought the idea abhorrent! A disgusting concept. They’re dead.’
‘Who are?’
‘My grandparents.’
‘Jesus! Both parents dead, and grandparents, and no brothers or sisters! What about cousins?’
‘No, none.’
‘Shocking! I have a million. That’s why I’m over here. You are welcome to a few of mine.’
‘Really?’
‘No. I was exaggerating.’
‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
‘I was trying to make a joke,’ she said. ‘I only meant to ask a question to get to know you, but so far everyone I’ve asked about is dead, so I wanted to lighten the mood.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t tell. I’m sorry.’
‘No, my family are all still alive, so it’s I who should be apologising, in more ways than one.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Kildare. It’s in Ireland, but then you knew that, as you’re so very clever.’
‘There’s no need to be rude.’
‘I was doing it again,’ she said.
The sister supervising the class shot us a stern look and held a rigid finger in front of her dry lips. ‘Sshhhhhh!’
‘Doing what?’ I whispered.
‘Joking,’ Aisling whispered back.
‘You shouldn’t do that, you know,’ I said.
‘Do what? I’m sure I haven’t done a thing.’
‘Make fun of me. It’s very confusing.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
The next lesson I didn’t say much, and Aisling didn’t either. But the one after that I thought I would be the braver person and ask her about herself. My grandfather had
