‘I reckon when you start a career as an adult, you’ve got more of an idea what you’re getting yourself into,’ he says, in his gruff Glaswegian burr. ‘I used to work in construction management,’ he continues.

‘Really?’ I ask, trying not to sound surprised. He doesn’t really look the type.

‘Aye. Gave it all up and went back to college when I was about the same age you are now. Everyone thought I was off my head.’

‘And no regrets?’

He gives a deep laugh. ‘I wouldnae mind doing a few less split shifts, but they come wi’ the job. I bet you’d no’ say no to a nine to five nursing job if one came up when you graduated.’

‘They’re rarer than hen’s teeth,’ I say.

‘Aye, exactly. But you wouldn’t give it up, would you?’

I shake my head again. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Weird, isn’t it? I guess that’s why they talk about vocations. You must’ve been born to it and it just took a while to find out.’

I think about the nurses in the hospital when Dad was sick, and the palliative care nurses in the day hospice in his final days: their kindness and the way they always seemed to hold it together no matter what was going on.

I recall a recent shift when I’d had a really hard night working as an HCA on a geriatric ward, doing a bit of agency work, and I’d been covered from head to toe in – well, let’s just say I pretty much had to hose myself down afterwards. One of the nurses had got wind of the fact that I was a career changer and she’d been pretty catty about it. I’d been given all the crappy jobs – literally – but there was no way I was being accused of being ‘too posh to wash’ by the others on shift. So, I rolled up my sleeves and got on with it. By the end of the evening, the entire ward had been given a personal hygiene wash – head to toe, and everything else in between – and the sarky nurse had buttoned it.

Rob’s right. Placements are long, the essays are never-ending, but I still don’t regret it one bit.

Becky pops her head round the door. She’s all dressed up, and tells us she’s off to meet some friends from work. The fact that it’s a Sunday night means nothing to her – she’s always up for a night out. I pick up my assignment and head upstairs, saying goodnight to Rob, quietly convinced that I’ve done the right thing. It’s a good feeling.

Chapter Fourteen: Jess

Chapter Fourteen

Jess

6th April

‘I’ve chosen a dress,’ says Sophie, brandishing a magazine at us.