‘Come on Curly, I know you don’t really want to go outside but.’ She glanced across at Derry with a wry grin. ‘I’d better take him for a walk.’
‘I think you’ll find he won’t want to go far.’ He replied, before making his way to the door and pulling it open. ‘I’ve cleared the path to the shed but be careful, it’s icy.’
He was right. One sniff of the air outside and Curly almost ran to the side of the shed to relieve himself before making his way back into the warmth.
‘That’s a good boy.’ Kneeling on the ground she wrapped him in an old towel before giving him a quick dry.
‘I can see you’re going to spoil him.’
‘Me? I don’t think I’ll be able to keep him, not where I’m going.’
‘That bad hey?’ He said, placing the teapot on the table and pulling out a couple of chairs.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Me? I live in a service flat in Dublin with no garden to speak of. What about your husband?’
Her hand paused, suspended over the table as she reached for the teapot her eyes now fixed on the earthenware pot as if her life depended on it. What could she say to make him accept Curly without question – to accept a dog, which after all she’d rescued? There was nothing to say except perhaps the truth. He’d probably guessed most of it anyway if he’d been rooting around in her bag. Her fingers grazed the handle briefly before gripping it in an iron like hold – Perhaps he’d even consider letting her stay a few days until she had somewhere else to go – another job, another country: it didn’t matter.
‘We’re separated.’
The words were out and it hadn’t been that difficult. She continued to fill up the mugs before reaching for the milk.
‘Were you ever really together?’
Her hand shook causing her to slop milk over the table. ‘There, look what you’ve made me do.’
‘Me?’ Reaching across he wiped the mess up before aiming the dishcloth back into the sink. ‘I did nothing.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Cradling her mug between her hands she relished the heat burning through her palms, after all it didn’t really matter to her what happened: hand, life, future – it was all the same to her.
Eyes still trained on the dark tea brimming over the edge of the mug she started to speak.’ So what do you know, or think you know then?’
She felt the mug removed from her grip, his hands replacing it.
‘I don’t know anything for sure, and certainly nothing you don’t want to tell me.’
‘It’s not a fairy tale Derry – far from it.’
‘Whose life is?’
She heard the crack in his voice and suddenly remembered it wasn’t all about her. Look what he’d been through. Her mess was all of her own making, whilst his…’
Squeezing his hand she heaved a little breath.
‘The wedding…’ Her eyes flickered to his before returning to her hands, his hands. ‘My wedding was on Saturday…’
‘What, as in three days ago?’
She knew he’d have leapt to his feet but her hands held on – she needed his hands if she was to continue.
‘I didn’t lie when I said I was married, but just the…’
‘Open marriage part.’ His voice interrupted. He pulled his hands away to run his own across his jaw. ‘God, do you know how close I came to sleeping with you and all because I thought it wouldn’t matter to someone like you.’
‘Someone like me…?’ She spat the words out and would have leapt up except he’d grabbed her hands again.
‘Don’t be like that Mabel, You know exactly what I mean – you can’t be that innocent surely?’ She felt his eyes bore down on her, presumably tracking the tell-tale blush race across her cheeks.
‘Oh bloody hell Mabel, you are aren’t you – innocent that is?’
She attempted a laugh although it screeched out of her lungs like an express train breaking at speed.
‘That’s not the usual employer - employee question now is it and anyway it’s not relevant. My sexual…’ She stuttered briefly before continuing. ‘My sexual habits are on a need to know basis and as I’m not going to sleep with you…’
‘Okay, okay! You don’t have to labour the point.’ He didn’t exactly drop her hands as if she had the plague, instead laying them gently on the table - but that’s what it felt like. ‘I know I’m a short sighted bad tempered git…’
She stood up and strolled to look out of the window her voice low. ‘Why do men always think it has to be about them? This has nothing to do with you.’
He crossed the room his arms around her back, his hands biting into her shoulders. ‘So who is it to do with then – tell me so I can understand Mabel, because from where I’m looking all I can see is a selfish young girl that’s run out on her marriage because…what…it all got a bit too serious for her? Life isn’t a game you know – there’s some poor man out there breaking his heart over you while you decide to play Florence bloody Nightingale.’
She hadn’t cried when she’d realised just what a prat her husband was. She hadn’t cried when she’d found out about Iris. She’d remained resolutely dry eyed until he’d decided to shout at her and all because she wouldn’t sleep with him. Just like a man to take another man’s side over something he knew absolutely nothing about. She stood there, his fingers curled around her shoulders his thumbs starting to massage in what – comfort? More likely in an attempt to stop the tears, which had now taken on a life of their own – she couldn’t stop them if her life depended on it.
Jerking backwards out of his hands she stood back, her gaze never wavering from his the stream of tears turning into a torrent, but she let them fall. It was her right to cry if and when she felt like it, just as it was her right not to wipe her hand across her face.
‘My husband, the man I married – the man I thought loved me turned out to be nothing more than an overbearing sanctimonious little git who decided…
‘It’s alright Mabel, I didn’t mean to…’
‘I don’t care what you meant…’ She shouted back.
‘Hush love, you’re scaring the dog.’ He added, reaching out to touch her arm, his eyes flickering to Curly hiding under the table.
‘I’m not your love – I’m not anyone’s love, and don’t you dare try and touch me!’ She watched him drop his hand before crouching down to pat Curly.
‘I’ll pack my bag.’
‘And just where do you think you’re going? We’re snowed in or hadn’t you been listening.’
There’s that hotel, The Royal Oak – I’ll stay there…’
‘I don’t reckon on your chances Mabel. The bridge will be impassable by now.’
Well, I can’t stay here with someone that thinks I…’
‘I don’t think anything – I’m not here to judge you.’ He smiled, albeit briefly leaning back on his heels his hand still stroking Curly. ‘So this er husband of yours then – you called him a prat was it?’
Shoulders slumped, head slumped she swayed as his words infiltrated her core shutting everything down – shutting everything down except the need to tell him everything. Even the anger; so fierce seconds before oozed away at his words, replaced only by an intense cold causing her to wrap her arms around her body.
‘Come on – let’s go into the lounge.’ He said. ‘It’s freezing in here and I’ve got the stove going.’ He led her by the arm to the sofa and draped a throw around her shoulders. ‘You’ll be lucky not to catch a chill after last night.’
Settled on the couch her gaze fixed on the flames as they stormed across the glass in shafts of light. She wondered about him then. He’d been through at least one failed relationship that she knew of – possibly many more. He’d be sympathetic wouldn’t he? Somewhere under that smooth profile he’d have suffered at the hands of another, or was he another Henry? Had he been the one so tied up in his work, or perhaps he’d even been the one to stray?
‘Derry, how long were you married befor
e..?’
‘Before..,’ his voice deceptively soft.
‘Before one or other of you strayed.’
‘Now just hang on a minute… Just who said anything about straying?’
‘Well that’s the usual reason, isn’t it?’ Her eyes brushing over his briefly before returning back to the flames.
She felt him shift beside her, his hands placed on his knees. ‘Six months, and it was her that did the straying – I never even looked at…’
‘So, what if…’ She turned to look at him briefly before returning her gaze to the fire. ‘What was her name again?’
‘Claudette.’
‘So what if Claudette didn’t wait for the reception to be over before…’ She reached down to pick up Curly and secure him beside her, his head resting on her lap before continuing. ‘Would you have stayed around to play happy families or would you have done what I did?’
‘Oh Mabel…’ But she raised a hand to stop him. She didn’t want his sympathy or indeed his kindness. If he was kind she’d be back in floods of tears and she already looked a mess. She hadn’t brushed her hair since last night, it still hung down her back in a messy ponytail and her face must be a disaster zone. She longed to wipe the last vestiges of lingering tears off her cheeks but not in front of him – He’d seen her cry; that was enough.
‘Neither – I’d have shamed her in front of all the guests.’ He leant forward to take her hand but she jerked it out of the way.
‘Easy for a man to say.’
She felt his eyes on her but she strove to keep her own trained on the fire.
‘I didn’t know what to do so I left. It was better that way. Everyone respected Henry. I respected Henry - now I can’t even bear to think about him.’ Her eyes met his, the full force of his concern clearly etched across his face. ‘I don’t know what to do now. I don’t have a job to go back to. I don’t have a home – I don’t have a life and I don’t have the energy to think about starting again. That’s why coming here, looking after you was such a godsend. Ruari…’
‘Ruari?’
‘You know.’ Her eyes met his. ‘He’s just joined the emergency medicine team?’
‘Oh, the new boy - I’ve heard about him.’
She smiled at the thought of someone Ruari’s size being termed a boy. ‘Well Ruari’s my best friend…’
‘I didn’t think women could be best friends with men without sex mudding the waters?’
‘Well, you’d be wrong. Roar’s like a brother and a best friend rolled into one. Anyway, that’s beside the point. He rescued me after the wedding and arranged with the college to come over to look after you.’ She rested her head back against the sofa with a sigh, her head for some reason suddenly splitting.
‘The rest, as they say is history.’ She added, closing her eyes against the light, only to open them at the touch of his hand.
‘Mabel?’ His voice suddenly full of concern.
‘I’ll be fine; I’ve just got a headache.’
She found herself swept in his arms and carried up the stairs but she was suddenly too weary to protest. She didn’t even blink an eye when he lowered her on to the bed before making her swallow a handful of tablets. She’d had enough of today.
Chapter Eighteen
Waking up she reached for her glasses on the bedside cabinet, the remains of her headache lingering just behind her eyes like someone twisting a sharp blade. She needed tea and paracetamol and, at the sound of Derry’s heavy footfall on the stairs hopefully she’d get them.
‘Morning princess, how’s the head,’ his voice gentle.
She allowed her eyes to open, but only slightly the sunlight streaming through the curtains starting the hammering afresh. He was standing in the doorway a mug in one hand and a strip of tablets in the other, but it wasn’t his hands she focused on before shutting her eyes again and resting her head back against the pillows. Up until now all she’d seen him in were jeans and t-shirts but today he was looking more wolf-like than anything decked out in a black polo neck jumper and black jeans. The realisation that she was all alone; stranded even with someone who looked a cross between a Mafia terrorist and Zorro, minus the poncho that is, had her snuggling back under the blanket. It wasn’t much but at least it offered a shade of protection against his eyes.
‘Not good. I’m hoping that’s paracetamol in there?’
‘How ever did you guess,’ his voice dry.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Come on now, head up and mouth open and I’ll pop them in – no need to open your eyes.’
She did what he asked before resting back against the pillow. ‘You know Derry; you’d make a great nurse.’
He laughed, turning towards the door. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m going to run you a bath in half an hour and then cook breakfast, but in the meantime just lie still so the tablets can work their magic.
Curling up on her side she heaved a little sigh; a sigh of regret. It was a long time since anyone had actually taken the time to care for her, probably not since her mum had died and she’d forgotten just how good it felt. It wouldn’t last of course. As soon as the thaw set in she’d have to leave, and that was the next problem because she had nowhere to go. Her dad still thought her in Spain, while Grainne and Ruari were up to their neck in their own wedding plans. She’d have to get another job and somewhere to live. She squeezed her eyes tighter, pleased her headache was receding to a dull ache. She’d manage - the snow was a Godsend in a way. It was giving her a respite from having to make any decisions other than whether to wear leggings or jeans.
A little over an hour later pottering about the kitchen in companionable silence it very much felt as if they were an old married couple instead of virtual strangers thrown together by a set of circumstances worthy of one of her mum’s old romance’s still housed in the old mahogany bookcase beside her bed. They worked in harmony as he grilled succulent Metcalfe sausages while she pattered around on the cold stone tiles while making toast and tea. She’d decided on the jeans and a t-shirt, but with no slippers opted for her thickest socks pulled up over the end of her jeans to stop the wind from creeping up. Her hair trailed down her back in a messy damp plait and she hadn’t bothered with any make-up, not that she wore much anyway. With skin as clear as a child’s all she ever did was smother whatever moisturiser there was available to hand and leave the rest to luck.
Later, sitting around the table with a jar of thick cut marmalade plonked in the centre they argued gently over the last of the bread, finally deciding to cut it down the middle, a job Derry carried out with all the precision of his chosen profession.
She watched him making sure the triangles were exactly the same, a laugh hampering her words. ‘If I’m ever in need of a heart transplant I’ll know where to come.’
His hand paused in the process of passing her a slice, his eyes scrolling up to touch her face. ‘I’d have to refuse you know.’
She felt a blush stain her face, as his eyes continued to meet hers reading something in them she wasn’t really surprised to see, for after all hadn’t she felt it herself the first time she’d seen him shouting at her on the doorstep. There was something between them; an undercurrent of something left unsaid, which with just a little stoking would burst into a torrent.
She looked away on the pretext of giving Curly a sliver of crust.
‘That’s not very friendly Curly, now is it?’ She said, unwilling or unable to direct her words at him.
‘It’s the truth though. If you needed a heart transplant I’d be a nervous wreck and, the one thing a surgeon needs is a steady hand.’ He jumped up and started gathering together plates and mugs. ‘Enough serious talk for now, fancy a walk? I’m sure the Spar will be open for a couple of hours and as we’ve run out of bread.’
She let out a sigh of relief. If he was happy to ignore the je ne sais quoi between them she wasn’t going to stop him. That’s all her life needed; the added complication of mutual attraction.
‘There, just like we’re heading to the Pally to catch the late night showing,’ his eyes meeting hers in the arts and crafts copper mirror that graced the hall.
‘I don’t know what kind of show that would be? You look like something from a 1940’s gangster movie while I …’ She fingered the coat between gloved fingers. ‘I resemble a tramp.’
‘A warm tramp, and that’s all that counts.’ He bent down to attach the lead to a prancing Curly before pulling the door open to the wind. ‘At least it’s stopped snowing.’ They stood on the step watching as Curly tried and failed to find a snow free patch to tread on.
‘I’m going to have to carry you aren’t I?’ Mabel said, lifting him up and tucking his thin body under her arm. ‘Let’s see if we can’t find a free patch under those trees.’ She added, gingerly placing her borrowed boot on the ground, and heading to the bottom of the garden where there was a clear spot under the pine trees; the icy wind getting in her eyes and on her cheeks with a stinging frenzy only plummeting temperatures could bring.
‘You’re sure this is a good idea; you only out of hospital and all?’
‘Sure it is.’ He spread his arms wide; his palms turned outwards embracing the winter white wonderland that only a couple of days ago would have been a dull grass wasteland garden with no beauty to speak of. ‘Just look at the view Mabel and think how glad you are to be here. People pay a fortune to experience this and here you are being paid for the privilege…’
‘You don’t have to pay me now you know.’ She interrupted. ‘It’s not as if you need a nurse or anything.’
Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3) Page 10