City Girl (20 page)

Ten

A myriad emotions assailed her. Surely Marian wasn’t serious? They hadn’t even had a proper fight for God’s sake! Just a few home truths had been written and
what was a few home truths between friends?

Enough to end a friendship obviously! Well, if Marian was going to end every friendship she had because she couldn’t take a bit of straight talking, God help her, she’d never have
any real friends.

Nelsie hadn’t said much when Maggie told her, just hugged her daughter and said gently, ‘Maybe when Marian grows up a little bit she’ll realize what she has lost and get in
touch again. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t and you’ll have to accept it as part of life.’

It was a lonely Maggie who set off to Dublin to begin her nursing career. Her parents were dead set against the idea, Marian was gone and she began to wonder was she doing the right thing. Maybe
she should have married Joe. As she tried to brighten up her spartan room in the nurses’ home, the room that would be her home for the next twelve months, she felt uncharacteristically
heavy-hearted. She eyed the list of regulations on the back of her door, glumly.

No visitors in the rooms. Visitors to be received in the parlour. Probationers to be in by 11 p.m. Sure the crack would only be starting at 11 p.m! One late pass per week until 2.00 a.m. Big
deal! All rooms to be left tidy. Checks carried out twice a week. No jewellery or make up to be worn on duty. God! it was worse than being at school.

Still, the next morning when she donned her probationers uniform for the first time she felt invigorated and full of anticipation. Maggie was a natural for nursing. Her warmth and cheerfulness,
her intelligence and quick wit ensured that she encountered no difficulties with her training. The sight of her moving around the wards with her rangy long-limbed stride, tendrils of curly auburn
hair escaping from the confines of her starched white cap, her crisp white uniform hugging her lithe voluptuous body, caused many a man, patient and doctor, to pause and take a second long
look.

She made friends easily, and kept in contact with Annie Mary her old school pal who was doing law in UCD. It was Annie Mary who told her that she had seen Marian several times in the cafeteria.
Marian had made no mention of Maggie or the ‘row’ and Annie Mary couldn’t make head nor tail of her. ‘One bloody minded, stubborn mixed up girl,’ she said
reflectively, as she and Maggie enjoyed a glass of Guinness in Joxer Daly’s.

Coming up to Christmas, Maggie couldn’t get Marian out of her mind. Didn’t she miss the friendship the way Maggie did? Could she not make any move towards reconciliation? It hurt
Maggie that Marian had never contacted her since that awful phone call.

She’d been writing out her Christmas cards and had a list as long as her arm of friends all around the country. In previous years Marian would have been top of the list. Should she send
her a card? How would it be received? She didn’t know and that was worse than anything. What a shame that such a fine friendship should be reduced to this. With a set to her mouth, she took
her purse and went to the phone on the landing. She knew Marian was staying with her aunt in Ranelagh while she was studying. They had stayed with her several times when they were friends and had
come up to Dublin for the weekend so Maggie still had the phone number. Dialing the digits she smiled wryly to herself. This was worse than going with a fella. She actually felt nervous! A voice
answered, that old familiar well-loved voice. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi it’s me?’ Maggie said, unable to disguise the uncertainty in her voice.

‘Oh . . . Hello . . .’ Marian sounded equally uncertain.

‘I . . . ah . . . I was writing my Christmas cards and I just wanted so much to wish you a happy Christmas and I really mean it,’ she blurted out.

‘Thanks very much Maggie. I wish the same to you,’ Marian replied quietly. ‘How are things?’

‘Ah . . . you know yourself! I’m swotting my brains out at the moment.’

‘Me too,’ echoed her friend. And Maggie sensed that she was smiling. They chatted casually for a while, asking after each other’s families. It wasn’t strained, but it
wasn’t the same.

Finally Maggie said, ‘I’d better let you go. Take care!’

‘You too,’ said Marian. ‘And thanks for ringing!’

‘You’re welcome,’ Maggie responded warmly, glad that she had made the gesture. Replacing the receiver she walked back to her room.

It had been so nice to hear Marian’s voice again. If only they could get together and talk. Maggie sat at her desk, and a gleam came into her eye. What time was it? Nine thirty.
She’d make it to Ranelagh and back before eleven if she put the skids on and if she took a taxi over! Well, it would be worth it. Hastily running a comb through her hair, she grabbed her bag
and flew down to the lift. Within minutes, she had secured a taxi from the hospital rank and was on her way to Ranelagh.

‘Please God let Aunt Elizabeth be out,’ she prayed in the back seat. Aunt Elizabeth was out. And Marian’s jaw dropped in shock when she saw who was standing at her front door.
‘You’re as bad as Ma Clancy with your mouth open. Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ Maggie asked lightly.

‘Of . . . of course . . .’ stammered Marian.

They stared at each other. Marian looked weary and Maggie knew that she didn’t look much better herself.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Marian said finally. ‘After all I’ve done to you . . . it must have been a very hard thing.’

Maggie sighed. ‘It wasn’t hard at all, Marian. I really miss you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I don’t like not talking. When I heard you on the phone
tonight I just had to come over and see you. I mean, can’t we even talk about it? Isn’t that what friends are for?’

‘I’ve been some friend,’ Marian muttered miserably. Maggie gave her a hug.

‘Look it’s in the past, can’t we forget it? For heaven’s sake, Mar, would you put the kettle on, I’ve got to get back to the nurses’ home by eleven, and
I’ll have to go soon ’cos I can’t afford another taxi so I’ll have to get the bus.’

They had tea, caught up on some gossip, and arranged to meet after Christmas to talk things over. It had been a rushed visit but as Maggie left she hugged her friend. ‘I’m really
glad I came,’ she said happily, ‘I’ll see you after Christmas.’

Marian’s hug was less enthusiastic but Maggie thought no more about it until a letter arrived on her doorstep early in the New Year to say that Marian had thought the matter over and she
didn’t think things could ever be the same between them. In an almost theatrical vein she had written, ‘I’ll miss the fun and the chats and when you think of me think of the good
times. Let’s not hurt ourselves any more than we’ve been hurt already!’ How typical of Marian, melodramatic to the last. She couldn’t have a row like any normal person. No!
She had to end the friendship!

‘Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face,’ said Annie Mary when she heard the latest. ‘Look, Maggie,’ she had said firmly. ‘She’s not worth it.
Don’t waste your time upsetting yourself. I feel sorry for the girl. She’s obviously immature, probably the type that never grows up. Forget her!’

Maggie never heard from Marian again. She got over the hurt and sadness, and the irritation at such a needless waste of a friendship, but she never forgot Marian Gilhooley. She threw herself
into her studies, came top of her class in her first year and moved into a flat! She had found life in the nurses’ home so restrictive that she vowed once first year was finished she was
moving out. It might be more expensive, but at least she’d have her independence. God! they were treated like children. Each night, a member of the home staff would open the door to every
student’s bedroom and check that they were in for the night. Maggie used to sizzle with anger. It was such an invasion of privacy, and it was something she never got used to. The
authoritarian regime exercised by hospital management used to have the student nurses fuming. The common room used to be a forum for gripes and discussion.

‘For Christ’s sake! I’m past the age of consent, I can vote. I know how to act in an emergency. What the hell difference does it make if my tights are the wrong shade? Is the
colour of my tights going to affect someone who is in cardiac arrest?’ Barbara Reid spat as she told the others how she had been called up in front of the matron for wearing the wrong colour
tights with her uniform.

‘I think it’s something peculiarly Irish,’ another young nurse said reflectively ‘My sister works in a library and the wan in charge asked her if she’d obey a
direct order if it was given to her. I ask ya? And a queue out the door and this is all that’s worrying her! They’re obsessed with authority in this country. You’re not treated
like an adult. Take the divorce referendum. The church orders us to vote no. But for goodness sake, I’m a Catholic, I know I can’t have a divorce, but why the hell should I deprive
anyone else from having one just because of my beliefs. If you have to be led like sheep it’s a poor reflection on the maturity of the individual.’

‘Here, here,’ came a rousing chorus.

Maggie grinned at Barbara. ‘Well, I don’t know about you but I’m thirsty Hey sheep! Anybody like to come for a glass of Guinness?’

Maggie’s energy was boundless and after her hours on the wards she would need only a refreshing shower before she and her friends would hit Dublin’s nightlife. Dublin was a joy to
her after the sedate pace of life at home which might occasionally be enlivened by the odd little drama such as the time Don Joe O’Mahony’s goat had feasted extravagantly on Mary Ellen
Flaherty’s best pair of bloomers and Mary Ellen had shot him, the goat that is! There had been ructions; it had kept the village going for weeks.

Maggie moved in to a small bedsit at the beginning of her second year. The pleasure of being her own boss was a revelation. How blissful not to have to wash up after her dinner if she
didn’t feel like it. She would sit looking at her dirty dishes and decide that she was much too tired to wash them this evening. Twenty minutes later she’d be out the door and off to a
ballad session in Slattery’s pub in Capel Street, her favourite haunt. She thoroughly enjoyed the hot smoky friendly atmosphere where she and her friends would join in singing evocative
ballads, tales of Ireland past and present, until they were hoarse and dry-throated. Long draughts of rich creamy Guinness sliding down their throats would restore their vocal chords for the next
session. After closing time a ravenous hunger might set in and they would meander over to Baggot Street and devour one of Ishmael’s magnificent kebabs, the crisp tasty pitta bread filled to
overflowing with a heavenly sauce full of delicious spit-cooked meat. Fortified then for a night of dancing they would hit the nightclubs to bop till the early hours. Maggie lived life to the full,
eager to banish the memories of death and illness which were constant reminders to her that life was short and you just had one go at it.

Much as she loved city life, she did not forsake Wicklow entirely. After a hard, draining, exhausting Saturday night on Casualty, Maggie was more than ready for a large dose of tranquillity and
some fresh country air. Saturday nights on Casualty were dreaded by all, doctors and nurses alike. The drunks, the drug addicts, the brawlers, the broken-boned, bleeding, puking, roaring and raving
would arrive after the pubs closed while Maggie and her colleagues were trying to take care of the real emergencies, the heart attacks, the car crash victims, the distraught bewildered relatives.
She had seen it all but she never got used to it.

Once when she had pulled a white sheet over a young man who had died in her arms as a result of a motorbike accident, a petulant crabby little man who had broken his wrist while giving his wife
a clout snapped crossly, ‘D’ya have ta die here before ya get any attention?’ as Maggie prepared to ring down to the mortuary.

A red mist danced before her eyes and for the first time in her career she lost her temper. With eyes blazing she turned on him and said in a voice that was even more menacing because of its
quietness, ‘If you don’t shut your big mouth, you little gurrier, I’ll make sure you die roaring without a priest!’ Three hours later, though he was still unattended, there
wasn’t a peep out of him.

Maggie loved nursing. It wasn’t all blood and guts and trauma but it was people like him and times like these that made her ask herself why she hadn’t married Joe Conway. Almost two
years after she qualified, savage health cuts and the loss of eighty beds in the hospital where she worked caused her to become redundant.

A little unwillingly, because the choice was not hers, she joined the emigration trail and went to New York to nurse. Five of her class had gone and secured jobs easily. Irish nurses were in
demand world-wide and although Maggie had decided that she would eventually travel the world, having to do so because of redundancy left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. All the years of
training and hard work that she had put in had meant nothing to the politicians, nor had the protest marches to the Dail where thousands of health workers and union members had demonstrated their
anger and disgust. Maggie and her friends had still found themselves on the outward-bound Jumbo from Shannon and the sad thing was, they were the lucky ones. They at least had jobs to go to and the
green card that was more valuable than gold dust for anyone desiring to work in the States.

Eleven

Despite herself, Maggie took to New York as a duck takes to water and she gloried in the frenzied pace of life in the city that never sleeps. She loved the lights and the noise
and the traffic. It all made her feel gloriously alive and part of the racing thrusting pulse of the city. There was so much to do and so much to see.

At first she had lived in the nurses’ home of the hospital where she worked, and how different life was there from the regimented system she had been used to at home. There was no such
thing as signing in and signing out. Nobody shone flashlights into your room to check to see if you were in or out. Boyfriends or girlfriends or relatives were allowed to stay the night – in
short, people were treated as mature adults and Maggie’s independent spirit thrived on such treatment. It was very much teamwork on the wards. Nurses were treated as equals by the doctors and
consultants, and their input was judged to have as much importance as that of the doctor. Life as a nurse in City General was challenging, rewarding – and exhausting. If Maggie thought
Saturday nights on Casualty in Dublin were bad, the tidal wave of trauma that confronted her on her first casualty night in New York was unbelievable. Suicides, potential suicides, drug-crazed,
wild-eyed addicts, AIDS sufferers, mugging victims, it was endless. Her abilities were stretched to the limit, but she coped and went to bed the following morning bone weary but exhilarated.