Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3)

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘No thanks.’

  God almighty wasn’t he the fit one she continued to muse. She’d never been one for male model types and, no disrespect to Henry or anything but her husband was a bit of a dweeb: all those poncy ties and silk waistcoats indeed. Give her a man in a scruffy pair of jeans and an old jumper with more holes than a Swiss Gouda any day. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about wrinkling his silk shirt if he had to rescue any maidens in distress. She allowed her gaze to drift up to his bent head only to find a smattering of grey hairs just appearing at his temples, only a few but there all the same. Somehow they only added to his overall rumpled distinguished look, a look she was finding increasingly sexy even as part of her wondered if they were new? God love him, what a time he must have had. There was a hidden vulnerability about him. A hidden vulnerability about the way he cradled his tea in both hands, elbows resting on the table as he stared into the middle distance. She mused how she’d feel if she wasn’t able to see; if her world was as dark as his. She was used to dealing with the visually impaired but not the blind – they were usually attended to before it reached that final ignominy. Her world may have fallen around her ears but at least she’d been able to see the pitfalls. It had just been her misfortune to ignore them. The worst part of course must be the total reliance on someone else; on a stranger – a stranger he couldn’t see and by inference couldn’t trust. There was no body language to guide him only his instincts. For all he knew she could be telling him a whole pack of lies about who she was and what she was.

  Pulling herself back into the conversation was difficult – in truth all she wanted to do was drool. ‘I’ll just finish these and then it’s time for your eye care.’ She added. She needed something to do with both hands unless she wasn’t going to embarrass both of them with her silly musings and what better way to reinforce the nurse patient relationship? As his nurse she had a duty of care and it would be a very good thing if she remembered it.

  With a quick burst of activity that made him jerk his head in her direction she headed to the sink to wash her hands before grabbing together a handful of swabs and sterile water she’d had the foresightedness to pick up earlier. ‘Right, all this tea drinking isn’t getting your eyes sorted and after - how about a walk to the shops to pick up some more supplies, I had my hands full this morning and I wasn’t sure what you like to eat?’

  She started ripping open packets and then filling her galley pot up to the brim. ‘I have to warn you I’m no cook, so if you’re looking for Cordon Bleu I think I can just about manage prawn cocktail and pizza.’

  ‘What, no cheese soufflé and strawberry pavlova?’

  ‘That depends on what the Spar has in their chiller cabinet.’ Placing her hand on his forehead and tilting it back she spent a moment inspecting the lower eyelids for any sign of redness. ‘Anyway you can talk, what’s with all the baked beans?’

  ‘Baked beans are good for you.’

  ‘Yeah, right - Not 24/7 they’re not.’

  ‘Come now Mabel.’ She watched him open his eyes and try and focus on her. ‘You know that old saying:-

  ‘Beans beans

  Good for the heart

  The more you eat

  The more you fa..’

  ‘That’s enough!’ You’re making my hand shake.’ She said on a laugh. ‘So I take it I won’t be asking you how your bowels are?’

  ‘Er no, anything below my chin is off limits.’

  ‘Okeydokey; not that I’m interested mind.’

  ‘Being as you’re a married woman?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘With an open marriage.’ he added, almost to himself.

  ‘Not that open!’ Grabbing a swab and dipping it into the galley pot. ‘Right, this will be cold.’

  ‘Ouch, it’s bloody freezing.’ He blinked rapidly as the swab touched his eyelids.

  ‘Mind your language in front of a lady!’

  ‘I can’t see any lady.’ She felt him move his head from side to side searching.

  ‘Behave yourself.’ She repositioned his head, resisting the urge to run her hand across his bristly chin. She’d never been one for the designer stubble look. In her book it was more the dirty dropout look, or probably more likely ‘Can’t be bothered to get out of bed in time to shave look.’ But in his case she’d make an exception – that is until she had the time to look for his shaver. There was no way someone on her watch was going to look anything less than as perfect as she could get him – she’d even run to aftershave if he had any. She was going to take her duty of care seriously from now on and Professor Derry Yeats wasn’t going to know what hit him.

  ‘I did warn you it’d be cold.’ She reminded him, ‘and your eye drops have to be kept in the fridge so they’re going to be even colder. Now I’m just going to shine a torch into the back of your eyes to check everything’s as it should be.’

  The silence was palpable. There was no noise to be heard in the room apart from the faint rustle of the wind outside. She could feel his anxiety as clearly as if he was shouting it from the rooftops. It could be found in the sudden stillness of his head and the sudden stillness of his chest as he stopped breathing and waited as the torch flickered in and out as she first tested his pupil reactions and then examined the back of his eyes. She tried to relieve his stress as best she could, even so it wasn’t enough.

  ‘So how long have you had cataracts then, it's not usual in someone your…?’ He stopped her voice with his own.

  ‘For God’s sake woman, stop babbling and tell me what’s wrong?’

  This time she heard the sharp intake of breath as well as felt it. Snapping off the torch with a slight click she placed it back on the table and then, leaning across patted the back of his hand.

  ‘Everything’s fine. There’s nothing wrong.’

  ‘You’re sure? I was certain there must be something wrong the length…’ He twisted his wrist and grasped her hand gently before resting it on the table next to his - if he had but known the tips of his fingers only a whisper from her own. She was mesmerised by those fingers, those long tapering fingers so near and yet so far, just as she’d been mesmerised by his eyes seconds before. It had only taken a moment to see that all was fine following the surgery, the rest of the time she’d been caught up examining the pure sea blue of his iris surrounded by thick dark lashes any girl would be proud of.

  She was the world’s expert on eye colour, sure hadn’t she examined thousands in her years at St Justin’s eye clinic. But she’d never come across such a piercing intense blue before – it was as if someone had scooped up a dollop of Mediterranean ocean from their colour palette and filled them in just like those painting by numbers kits she used to love as a child.

  ‘Mabel?’

  With a start she realised she was doing it again, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Pulling her eyes away from his face she caught sight of his hand again – so close… If she reached out that last millimetre what would he do? Oh, she knew what he’d do; the thought of which made her jerk her own clean away and start busying herself clearing the table. He’d take full advantage and it would be entirely her fault. Just what had she been thinking saying she had an open marriage? There was nothing open about her marriage.

  Her marriage was closed: closed as in finished - caput - over. She’d made a dreadful mistake. There was no going back. The only problem was there was also no going forward. She was left treading water in the present with Derry – this quiet surly enigmatic stranger who was proving to be increasingly dangerous to her peace of mind.

  He must have called her again by the way he pronounced her name – she liked the way he pronounced her name with the emphasise on the bel – May Belle. To make a name like Mabel sound exotic was surely an achievement. She shook her head, struggling to find the words he was waiting for: difficult as she had no idea what he expected her to say. Back to plan B and their shopping trip then.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Opening the front door the
first thing that hit her was the intense cold. The temperature must have plummeted overnight and a thin sheen of ice had overtaken either side of the path. She was glad now of the hat and scarf Liddy had lent her but even so the biting wind inveigled its way through all her layers leaving her chilled to the bone – and with her only still on the doorstep! If she hadn’t needed to go out she’d have turned on the heel of her old faithful Uggs to spend the rest of the day huddled in front of the fire.

  Throwing a glance at Derry’s bare head she grabbed a woolly hat and mismatched scarf from the pile scattered across the floor.

  ‘I don’t need…’ He grumbled.

  ‘Yes you do, no arguments – I can’t have you getting pneumonia on me now can I?’ She hooked her arm through his and, pushing him out of the door paused to turn the key in the lock before stuffing it in the pocket of her black padded anorak.

  Pulling the gate open she noticed a lone wolf guarding the entrance of the house, his stone teeth forever bared in an evil grin.

  ‘So tell me about your uncle then?’ She said, walking in the direction of the bridge she’d already traipsed across twice that morning.

  ‘What’s to tell - he died a few months ago and left the house to me and my sister.’

  ‘Mind your step here; it’s a little uneven on the bridge.’

  ‘It’s alright Mabel, I know this bridge well - we used to come here for the summer holidays when my father died.’

  ‘Oh.’ She raised her eyebrows. Surely he’d have known the house better if he’d spent so much time here. ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘Well how could you! There wasn’t a lot of room for two bouncing babies and then terrible toddlers at his house so mum used to hole up at the Four Oakes just down the road.’

  ‘So you and your sister are you…?’

  ‘Twins? That’s right. She’d be here now fussing over me if she wasn’t living it up in New York.’

  ‘I always wanted a sister.’ She sighed, squeezing his arm briefly. ‘Even a brother would have done.’ She looked at him staring down at her to all intents and purposes as if he could see her, but of course that was ridiculous. ‘My mum died when I was seven.’

  ‘I managed to get to the grand old age of ten when we lost my dad.’

  They continued on their way to The Spar in silence; a silence punctuated by the sound of their footsteps beating in unison against the pavement.

  Inside she left him standing by the counter chatting to the woman behind the till while she skirted around the shop and came back with quite a few packets of mince, chicken and cook in sauces for a variety of meals. She hadn’t been lying when she said she couldn’t cook. She couldn’t cook and more to the point she hated it too. So this afternoon she planned to turn up the radio and fill the freezer with enough meals to last them the week. All she had to do was brown the meat, add the different jars and a few chopped vegetables and hey presto. She threw in packets of rice and pasta as well as a large bag of potatoes and, finally a few bars of chocolate – she wouldn’t tell him about those!

  He was still exactly where she’d left him chatting in full flow about the weather of all things.

  ‘Yes, we could have snow by tonight – its forecast.’ On hearing those words she did an about turn and threw in a few more packets of chicken legs and finally a couple of candles just in case. The cooker was gas so that was okay and, with a little bit of luck she’d be able to master the wood burner – she was a dab hand at coal fires and it couldn’t be that difficult. She’d seen a shed out back when she’d thrown out left-over crusts for the birds – she’d go and investigate after lunch.

  ‘I’m about done.’ She said pulling at his sleeve to get his attention. ‘So what do you fancy for lunch then – cheese and French bread?’ She added, eyeing the rack of freshly baked baguettes with a gleam in her eye.

  ‘Oggies.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said oggies. Mabel, if you haven’t tried them you haven’t lived.’ He smiled in the general direction of the till. ‘They’re the Welsh version of Cornish Pasties but a thousand times better.’

  ‘Okay - two oggies please.’ She started unloading her shopping before rooting around in her rucksack for her shopping bags.

  ‘Put your money away, I’ll get this.’ He took out an old leather wallet from his back pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘So how are you going to type in your number then, clever clogs?’

  ‘You’re going to do it for me, that is if you can lend me your ear?’

  ‘Shakespeare is it!’ She laughed, lifting his hand so he could feel the side of her head.

  ‘God, so much hair Mabel.’ His fingers grazing the side of her neck as he whispered in the code.

  ‘Not for much longer – I’m cutting it.’ She jerked her head out of his grasp and, smiling across at the lady tapped in the digits before handing him the card and the receipt.

  ‘That would be a shame.’

  ‘Well it’s not up to you now is it,’ or anyone else for that matter her mind skittering back to the sight of Henry’s eyes glued to Iris’s pixie cut. She’d always wanted short hair but, in deference to her dad and then Henry she’d never got around to it. There was no way any man was going to tell her how to look, or indeed how to live her life again. In fact, as soon as she found a hairdresser or alternatively a decent pair of scissors she was going to cut the whole lot off.

  ‘So what did you buy then – a whole cow?’ He asked, one hand bowed down with shopping, the other holding on to her arm for direction.

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. I told you before - I don’t like cooking so, this afternoon its kitchen duty for both of us so we can fill the freezer.’

  ‘If you hadn’t noticed Mabel, I can’t see. What do you want – me to chop my fingers off. That would be really clever considering my job.’

  ‘No, you’re on spud washing duty.’

  As she waited for the sink to fill for the mammoth washing up duty following the mammoth cooking fest she reflected on all the foil containers piled up on the table waiting to cool. From bolognaise sauce to chicken curries and cottage pies not to mention the beef and onion pie she had browning in the oven she was right to feel proud of her efforts. No; their efforts she corrected, remembering how Derry had helped with the vegetables and had even turned out to be a dab hand at pastry. They’d laughed and joked through the afternoon like old friends with the radio burbling away in the background.

  She set the table and then set about trying to rehash Grainne’s recipe for emergency chocolate pudding. She’d seen her make it often enough when they’d both had rough days with wine and chocolate being the only answer. Mixing the flour and cocoa powder she’d found in one of the cupboards she quickly threw in eggs and butter before popping it in the microwave for a couple of minutes and going in search of Derry.

  She found him in the garden and, heart in her mouth ran across the yard just in time to stop him chopping the wooden block and presumably his hand in the process.

  ‘You’re bloody mad – What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘You said we needed kindling…’ ’

  ‘Yes.’ She yanked the hatchet from his grip. ‘I also said I’d do it in a minute.’

  ‘I’m not completely useless Mabel.’ She watched him run his hand across his chin, the frown she hadn’t seen since this morning back in place. Putting the axe carefully on the ground she wrapped him in a brief hug.

  Men and their bloody ego’s! That’s all she needed, especially at a time like this throwing a worried look at the grey clouds scurrying overhead. If the weather forecast, blaring out every hour on the hour was right they were in for the snow storm of all snow storms. After the couple of days she’d had she really wasn’t in the mood to be doing any male pampering sessions, but if she didn’t think of anything positive to say he’d probably go in search of the whiskey. Not that he’d find it, she thought with a smirk unless he had an urgent need for clean bed linen that is. She’d emp
tied a couple of shelves while he’d been in the bath and now, all the spare sheets and pillow cases were neatly stacked in the bottom of her wardrobe instead.

  Strangely reluctant to let him go she placed her hand on his arm and pulled him gently in the direction of the coal shed.

  ‘Derry, I’m perfectly able to wield an axe or whatever it’s called when it’s at home, but I’m not able to lift coal bags.’ She pulled the latch back and, directing his hands to a bulging sack led him back into the kitchen. ‘Come on, I’m not that house proud at having bags of coal and logs in the corner – it will be a darn sight more convenient than having to risk life and limb if it does snow. You lift and I’ll direct and then.’ She patted his hand gently. ‘You’ll have to instruct me on how to get the wood burner going; I’m pretty rubbish at lighting fires.’ She added crossing her fingers.

  Hanging up the tea towel she turned to survey the four bags of coal and six of logs with a frown – would it be enough? She had no idea how long snow lasted, but the roads around here were tiny on a good day so as sure as eggs broke they’d be unpassable by tomorrow. She’d managed to chop a bag of kindling and had found a whole stack of newspapers dating right back to the 1970’s in the corner, which she’d managed to smuggle in right under his nose. Oh well it was too late to worry now, she told herself locking and bolting the back door before walking across the hall and giving the front one the same treatment. She went back into the kitchen and, turning off the oven fetched the cream cleaner from under the sink before pouring Derry a glass of wine. She’d promised him a treat later; not the one he was probably expecting she thought on a blush but the only one he was getting. She was filthy after struggling to light the wood burner even with him directing every move so now she intended a long soak and he could do what he liked, as long as it didn’t entail joining her.

  Supper was a success. With her pie filling curtesy of Mr Coleman and the pie crust curtesy of Derry, not to mention the burgundy curtesy of Uncle Ivan they scarcely had room left for the chocolate pudding. She hadn’t bothered with getting dressed again, instead of which she’d donned one of the nighties and socks all topped off by the towelling robe he’d worn last night – he’d never know! She looked a sight but, as there was nobody to see her it didn’t really matter. Curled up in front of the fire they sat in companionable silence listening to the wind hurtle its way against the windows before dying down to make way for the first flurries of snow. Apart from the odd comment about the escalating weather conditions little was said. Finally with the temperature suddenly plummeting common sense finally took over and led her to pull the thick velvet curtains against the chill.