An Indecent Obsession by Colleen McCullough
‘What made you leave North Shore to go to Newcastle, Sally?’ she asked, puzzled as to why when Sister Dawkin had dreamed so of that deputy matronship she had been willing to let it go.
‘It’s my old father, actually,’ said Sister Dawkin miserably. ‘Atherosclerosis, senile dementia, cortical atrophy—same difference. I had to commit him this morning.’
‘Oh, Sally! I am so sorry! Where is he? Here?’
‘Yes, he’s here. I just hated to have to do it, and I did try not to, believe me. I came home to Newcastle hoping I’d be able to manage, but Mum’s well into her seventies, and she can’t cope with Dad piddling his pants and taking it into his head to trot down to the grocer’s without a stitch on. The only way I might have managed was to give up work entirely, but I’m the only one, there isn’t that sort of money, and I’m an old maid into the bargain. No husband to bring home the Dawkin bacon, worse luck.’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be all right,’ said Nurse Langtry, her voice strong with reassurance. ‘We’re good to our oldies here, and we’ve got lots of them. I’ll look in on him regularly. Is that how you found out I was here?’
‘No. I thought you were at Callan Park, so I tried desperately to get Dad in there rather than here. I even went to see Matron at Callan Park—thank God I’m on the inside of the profession, it makes such a difference!—and I found out from her that you were here. She remembered your interview with her at once. It isn’t often nurses with your kind of background front up to apply to train as mental nurses, I suppose. Well, as you can imagine, it was manna from heaven to find out you were here. I’ve been paddling around this place all day. Matron offered to call you off your ward to see me, but I didn’t like to do that, and anyway, I’m an awful coward. Lord, I don’t want to have to walk in tonight and face poor old Mum—’ She stopped for a moment to compose herself. ‘So I put the nasty deed off for a few hours, and here I am to cry on your shoulder.’
‘Always, Sally, you know that. I’ve cried on yours.’
Sister Dawkin brightened. ‘Yes, you certainly did, didn’t you? That bloody little bitch Pedder!’
‘I don’t suppose you know what’s happened to her?’
‘No, and what’s more, I don’t care. Oh, by now she’ll be married, I’d bet a year’s pay on it. Pedder wasn’t cut out to work for a living.’
‘Then let’s hope whoever her husband is, he’s comfortably off and sanguine by nature.’
‘Yes,’ said Sister Dawkin, but a little absently. She hesitated, drew a breath as if to embark upon something she found unpalatable, and spoke awkwardly. ‘Actually, Honour, there’s another reason besides Dad why I wanted to see you. When Matron at Callan Park told me where you were, a few pennies dropped. Do you by any chance read the Newcastle papers?’
Nurse Langtry looked blank but wary. ‘No.’
Sister Dawkin nodded. ‘Well, I knew you weren’t a Hunter Valley girl, and I just had an idea when I found out where you were that you couldn’t be reading anything out of Newcastle. Because if you did, I don’t think you’d still be here.’
Nurse Langtry flushed, but sat looking so proud and unapproachable that Sister Dawkin found it difficult to go on.
‘Your fondness for Michael Wilson was fairly obvious to me in Base Fifteen days, and I must confess I rather expected you and him to make a go of it after the war. But when I read the story in the Newcastle paper I knew you hadn’t made a go of it. Then when I found out you were here at Morisset, it looked to me as if you’d put yourself down somewhere close but not too close, maybe hoping to run into him, or planning to see him after the dust settled… Honour, you don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m talking about, do you?’
‘No,’ whispered Nurse Langtry numbly.
Sister Dawkin didn’t flinch; she had been dealing with situations akin to this for too many years to flinch, but she performed her duty with great kindness, understanding and directness. ‘My dear, Michael Wilson died over four months ago.’
Nurse Langtry’s face looked empty, featureless, lifeless.
‘I’m not a gossip-monger, and I’m not telling you all this just to watch you suffer. But I thought if you didn’t know, you ought to know. I was your age once, and I understand exactly what you’re going through. Hope can be the cruelest thing in the world, and there are times when the very best thing one can do for someone is to kill a hopeless hope. I decided if I told you now, you might want to do something different with your life before it’s too late, and you find yourself ingrained. Like me. And it’s better that it should come from me than from some Maitland shopkeeper one nice sunny day.’
‘Benedict killed him,’ said Nurse Langtry tonelessly.
‘No. He killed Benedict, and then he killed himself. It was all over a fool dog they owned that got in and played merry hell with another farmer bloke’s chooks. The farmer bloke drove over to Michael’s place hopping mad, and went for Michael. Then Benedict went for the farmer bloke, and if Michael hadn’t managed to hold Benedict off, the farmer bloke might have died too. He went to the police instead, but by the time the police got out to Michael’s place, it was all over. They were both dead. Michael had given Benedict an overdose of barbiturates, and then he shot himself. He didn’t suffer at all. He knew too much about where to aim.’
Nurse Langtry literally heaved her whole body away from Sister Dawkin, flopping, sagging limply, an old rag doll.
Oh, Michael, my Michael! All the buried love and need and hunger leaped fully armed into consciousness. She ran with pain, she rocked with it, she smothered in it. Oh, Michael! Never, never, never to see him again, and she had missed him so unbearably. All these months close enough to call in on him any off-duty day, and she had not. He was dead and she hadn’t even known it, hadn’t even felt it in the bones which missed him so much, so terribly.
The thing with Benedict had gone to its inevitable end. There was, she saw now, no other possible end for it. While he was there Benedict was safe; that was what he had to believe, for he had willingly shouldered the burden of caring for Benedict, and every duty must have its reward, in the knowledge of a job well done. So when he could no longer be sure, he had put Benedict down, quietly and kindly. After which he had no choice save to put himself down as well. No prison could hold Michael, even ward X, even Morisset. He was a bird, but the cage had to be one of his own making.
Oh, Michael, my Michael! A man is no more than he can be. Cut down like the grass.
She turned on Sister Dawkin fiercely. ‘Why didn’t he come to me?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t he come to me?’
Was there a way to deliver the truth without hurting? Sister Dawkin doubted it, but she tried. ‘Maybe he just forgot you. They do forget us, you know,’ she said gently.
That was unbearable. ‘They have no right to forget us!’ Nurse Langtry cried.
‘But they do forget. It’s their nature, Honour. It isn’t that they don’t love us. They move on! And we move on. None of us can afford to live in the past.’ Her hand swept, encompassing Morisset mental hospital. ‘If we did, we’d end up in here.’
One by one Nurse Langtry picked up the pieces, old and cold and lonely. ‘Yes, I suppose we would,’ she said slowly. ‘Still, I’m already in here.’
Sister Dawkin rose to her feet, slid into her shoes, held out her hand and pulled Nurse Langtry up out of the chair. ‘That’s right, you are in here. But you’re on the caring side of the fence. You’ve got to stay on the caring side, never forget that, no matter what you decide to do.’ She sighed. ‘I have to go. Mum’s still waiting.’
Oh, Sally, you’re the one with real troubles! thought Nurse Langtry, walking with her friend through the foyer of the nurses’ home. It was no way to end a life, too little money and aged parents and no hope of help. And eventual aloneness. All duty had bought for Sally Dawkin was more duty. Well, decided Nurse Langtry, I for one am fed up with duty. It has ruled my whole life. And it killed Michael.
They walked to where Sister D
‘Do take care of yourself, Sally, and don’t worry about your father. In here he’ll always be all right.’
‘I’ll take care, don’t worry. Today I’m down, but tomorrow, who knows? I might win the lottery. And Royal Newcastle’s not such a pipsqueak of a place. I might get to be matron instead of just one of her deputies.’ She clambered into the car. ‘If you ever decide to head north to Newcastle, give me a ring, and we’ll meet for a bite and a natter. It isn’t good to lose all contact with people, Honour. Besides, every time I come to see Dad I’m going to force my company on you.’
‘I’d love that, but I don’t think I’m going to be here very many days longer. There’s someone in Melbourne I intend to remind that I still exist before it’s too late,’ said Nurse Langtry.
Sister Dawkin beamed. ‘Good girl! You get on with your life the way you feel it ought to be lived.’ She let in the clutch, waved cheerfully, and kangaroo-hopped away.
Nurse Langtry stood watching for a moment, waving back, then turned to walk to the nurses’ home, head bent to let her eyes follow the alternating black blurs of her feet in the night.
Neil had said he would wait for her. It wasn’t very far to Melbourne if she flew. She could fly down on her next four days off. And if indeed he was still waiting, she need never come back to Morisset again. She was thirty-two years old, and what did she have to show for it? A few scraps of official paper, a few ribbons, a couple of medals. No husband, no babies, no life of her own. Just service to others, a memory, and a dead man. Nowhere near enough.
Her head lifted; she stared at the yellow squares of light all around her in this vast dumping ground for the hopeless and the destitute. When was she next due for four days off? She was on for three more days, had three days off, on for four days, then off for four days. About ten days away.
Oh, that worked out well! She wouldn’t have to go to Melbourne until after the big concert. It was going to be their best effort yet, if only poor old Marg could manage to remember the two words she had to say. But she had wanted so badly to be in it no one had the heart to say no. Everyone prayed a lot, that was all. What luck charge had found out Annie could sing! She was quite a pretty little soul when she was all done up, and some of the male patients in basketry were going to make a great big wicker cage, and paint it gold, and Annie would sing ‘I’m Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage’. The sketch about the cat and the mouse would bring the hugely uncritical house down, if only Su-Su could get through her part without falling over in a fit…
Nurse Langtry halted as if a giant hand had suddenly chopped down to bar her way. What on earth am I thinking of? I can’t abandon them! Who else have they got, if people like me go rushing off blindly chasing a dream? For it is a dream! A silly, immature girl’s dream. This is what my life is all about. This is what I served my apprenticeship for. Michael knew. And Sally Dawkin is right. The truth is cruel, yet there’s no escaping the truth forever, and if it hurts, one must simply bear the hurt. They forget us. Eighteen months without so much as a word from him. Neil too has quite forgotten. When I was the center of his universe he loved me and he needed me. What does he need me for now? And why should he love me now? I sent him on his way back to a different sort of life, bigger, more exciting, oh, yes, more exciting by far, and dewed with women. Why on earth should he remember a part of his life that gave him so much pain? More importantly, why do I expect him to remember? Michael was right. Michael knew. A strong bird needs lots of room to fly.
She had a duty here. How many people were equipped to do what she could do effortlessly? How many had the training, the knowledge, the inborn skill? For every mental nurse who had the stamina to last the three-year training period, ten didn’t last. She had the stamina. And she had the love. This wasn’t just a job—her heart was in it, fathoms deep in it! This was what she truly wanted. Her duty lay here among those the world had forgotten, or couldn’t use, or sometimes just plain couldn’t bear to look at.
Nurse Langtry began to walk again, briskly and without any fear, understanding herself at last. And understanding that duty, the most indecent of all obsessions, was only another name for love.
About this Book
The Second World War has just ended and Sister Honour Langtree, a caring and conscientious Army nurse, cares for a striking mixture of five battle-broken soldiers being treated in the psychiatric care ward of a hospital in the South Pacific. To the soldiers, Honour is a precious, adored reminder of the world before war – they are as devoted to her as she is to them.
Then Sergeant Michael Wilson arrives, disrupting her ward’s precarious harmony. A damaged and decorated hero, Wilson is a man of secrets and silent pain, and as Honour finds herself inexorably drawn to this tortured man, she discovers a love that will leave her torn between her duty to all her patients – and her love for one of them…
Reviews
“McCullough is terrific… Her characters quiver with life” —The New York Times Book Review
“A master storyteller” —Los Angeles Times
“A second bestseller” —The Times
“Leaves one’s pulse racing” —New York Times
“More intriguing, more provoking than The Thorn Birds” —Washington Post
Other Head of Zeus titles by Colleen McCullough
1. Tim
Forty-three-year-old Mary Horton lives in a quiet, middle-class suburb on Sydney’s North Shore. A straight-laced, emotionally distant spinster, Mary has worked hard to make a life for herself, but her idea of ‘life’ does not include personal relationships. With no partner and no friends, Mary has no plans to let anybody into her solitary life.
Tim Melville is a twenty-five-year-old labourer with the body and face of a Greek god, but the mind of a child. A gentle outcast in a cruel, unbending world, Tim has a loving family, but is often derided and taken advantage of by his so-called friends.
By chance, one summer morning Tim meets Mary and what begins as a day’s labour for the kind-hearted young man becomes a life-changing relationship for both of them.
Tim is available here.
2. The Thorn Birds
In the rugged Australian Outback, three generations of Cleary’s live through joy and sadness, bitter defeat and magnificent triumph. Driven by their dreams, sustained by remarkable strength of character… and torn by dark passions, violence and a scandalous family legacy of forbidden love.
It is a poignant love story, a powerful epic of struggle and sacrifice, a celebration of individuality and spirit. Most of all, it is the story of the Clearys’ only daughter, Meggie, who can never possess the man she so desperately adores –Ralph de Bricassart. Ralph will rise from parish priest to the inner circles of the Vatican… but his passion for Meggie will follow him all the days of his life.
The Thorn Birds is available here.
3. An Indecent Obsession
The Second World War has just ended and Sister Honour Langtree, a caring and conscientious Army nurse, cares for a striking mixture of five battle-broken soldiers being treated in the psychiatric care ward of a hospital in the South Pacific. To the soldiers, Honour is a precious, adored reminder of the world before war – they are as devoted to her as she is to them.
Then Sergeant Michael Wilson arrives, disrupting her ward’s precarious harmony. A damaged and decorated hero, Wilson is a man of secrets and silent pain, and as Honour finds herself inexorably drawn to this tortured man, she discovers a love that will leave her torn between her duty to all her patients – and her love for one of them…
An Indecent Obsession is available here.
About the Author
Colleen McCullough was born in Wellington, New South Wales in 1937. A neuroscientist by training, she worked in hospitals in Sydney and the UK before settling into ten years of research and teaching in the Department of Neurology at the
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First published in Great Britain by Macdonald & Co (Publishers) in 1981.
This edition first published in the UK in 2013 by Head of Zeus Ltd.
Copyright © Colleen McCullough, 1981
The moral right of Colleen McCullough to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781781852521
Head of Zeus Ltd
Clerkenwell House
45-47 Clerkenwell Green
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Contents
Cover
Welcome Page
Dedication