Finally, it was his turn. Nurse Moore appeared with her trolley at the foot of his bed.

‘Good morning,’ she greeted him in her usual offhand way. ‘How are you today?’

Sam didn’t reply. She wasn’t listening anyway as she briskly pulled the curtains around his bed.

Sam eyed the bowl of water on the trolley, the soap, flannel, combs and razor lined up neatly beside it.

‘I’ll wash myself, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

She did not object like so many of the other nurses did. The earnest-looking VADs always looked positively offended, as if he had questioned the very purpose of their existence.

But not Nurse Moore. She simply lifted her shoulders in a little shrug and said, ‘If you want. But I’ll have to help you off with your gown.’

He had no choice but to allow her to help him; the wound made it nearly impossible for him to lift his arms. He was conscious of his once-powerful limbs, now so heavy and useless, as she eased off his sleeves, pulling the gown down around his waist.

He saw her avert her eyes from his wound, the way she always did. He didn’t blame her; he hated looking at it himself.

She arranged the soap, water and flannel within his reach, then stood back as he started to wash.

He was conscious of her watching him, and hated himself for his stiff, clumsy movements. He tried to shave himself, dipping his chin and turning his head awkwardly this way and that to reach. But he grew impatient with his slow efforts, tried to rush and nicked his jaw. Nurse Moore did not fuss over him, but silently handed him a cotton swab to wipe away the blood.

‘You’ve missed a bit,’ was all she said. ‘Up there, near your left ear.’

‘Thanks.’

He was rinsing away the last of the soap when she suddenly said, ‘I heard you had a nightmare last night?’

The question surprised him. But then he remembered Sister’s huddled pow-wow with the night nurse around her desk that morning. Of course, she would have told her every detail.

‘What’s it to you?’ he growled.

Another nurse might have blushed, but Nurse Moore didn’t have that delicacy.

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged. ‘But Sister told me to ask you about it.’

He didn’t reply, groping blindly for the towel. Nurse Moore handed it to him.

‘So what was it about?’ she asked.

‘I dreamed I was stuck here forever and you were the only nurse.’

‘That would be a nightmare for both of us, wouldn’t it?’

Sam buried his face in the towel so she wouldn’t see him smile.

Later, as she was helping him back into his gown, she asked, ‘Did it hurt?’

‘What?’

‘When the artillery shell hit you. Did it hurt?’

He looked down at the bloodstained dressing that bound his left side from his chest to his hip. Half his ribcage had been shattered, blown away by the blast, along with the lateral muscles, his spleen, and part of his stomach.