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

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Really?’ She knelt back on her heels a mock frown in place. ‘I was sure one of you was Megan. Oh well, if she’d not here you’ll just have to share a present as I’ve only got one for Adele – Shame.’

  ‘I’m Megan.’ Shouted the girl on the left, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it. Now if you look in the hall you’ll find a couple of boxes that are in urgent need of ripping apart.’ She stood up and, rubbing her knees made her way into the kitchen to escape the eight other similarly clad four year olds wreaking havoc.

  ‘Hello girls. Isn’t it a little early for champagne?’

  ‘It’s never too early for champagne!’ Grainne pulled her into a brief hug before placing a full glass in her hands. ‘Although Liddy can’t.’ she added, stealing a smile across at her friend with a blond haired cherub clinging to her leg his face smeared with chocolate.

  ‘What? Not again. Three kids under five – Good on you, I always knew that Mitch was a hard worker but…’

  ‘That’s not very fair.’ Liddy retorted, but with a huge smile across her face. ‘Three is the perfect number, isn’t it Grainne?’

  ‘Mm – Although we were lucky last time; we can’t hope to be as lucky.’

  ‘I’m very pleased for you both.’ Mabel bent down and scooped up Padraig before heading towards the sink. ‘Alright champ? What about cleaning that face and then having a look in the bag in the hall – I think there’s something in there for good boys – Have you been a good boy?’

  Reaching up a chubby hand he tugged at the corner of her hair. ‘Good boy.’

  She suddenly found herself being grabbed around the waist and drawn back into a tight hug.

  ‘So how’s Mabel?’

  Turning within the circle of his arms she reached up and planted a kiss against his smooth cheek.

  ‘Hi Roar. I’m good, and you?’

  ‘Absolutely fantastic, life couldn’t be better – and you Mabel? How are you really?’

  ‘Oh, so so.’

  ‘Hmm – Come on champ, I hear there’s a present in the hall – Can’t let the girls have all the fun now can we?’ He manoeuvred Padraig upside down over his shoulder before setting him on his feet. ‘Have some more champagne; I’ll drive you back later.’

  ‘No, I need to get back to…’

  ‘No you don’t! I’ve arranged it with Mrs Friend and your dad. We’re putting the little ones to bed and then having pizza.’ He smiled across at her frown. ‘So how’s Henry keeping?’

  ‘Very well considering.’

  ‘What, considering he doesn’t look after himself and gets you to do everything for him even down to brushing his teeth – you’ve made a rod for your own back.’

  ‘I owe it to him.’

  ‘You owe him nothing.’ He sighed. ‘Okay, I won’t go over old ground.’ He added, cuddling up to his wife. ‘I promised Grainne I’d behave…’

  ‘That will be the first time in history.’ Grainne replied, but with a smile. ‘Come on gang, we can’t leave Mitch for too long looking after the tribe. There’s two hours left and then I’ve promised the girls Frozen.’

  What, again!’ Ruari groaned. ‘I’m praying for boys next time; then at least I’ll get some proper movies to watch.’

  ‘Yeah, right – Like Postman Pat?’

  ‘No, I was thinking more along the lines of Aliens v Predators.’

  ‘In your dreams!’

  Mabel flopped down on the sofa beside Ruari, tucking her feet underneath only to be jumped on by Miss Elizabeth Bennett, or Lizzie for short. ‘God almighty, while I love your girls to distraction they certainly know how to drag out bedtime.’ Resting her head back and closing her eyes she let Lizzie pummel her stomach before finding the most comfortable spot.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  She peered across at him. ‘Grainne told me you’re thinking of going for IVF again - what if its twins?’

  ‘What if it is?’ He lifted up her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘As long as they’re healthy, although I might balk at quads.’ He laughed, shoving his glasses up his nose. ‘I hope I’m not chancing fate. So how’s your dad doing, the operation’s next week?’

  ‘Oh, you know – very stoic and all that. It’s me that’s worried.’

  ‘Grainne says you know the surgeon,’ his voice holding a question.

  ‘Grainne speaks too much!’

  ‘She tells me everything – there’s nothing wrong with that.’ He poked her in the leg with his index finger. ‘So give.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell really. It was meant to be Mr Simkins we went to see and it turned out to be Professor Yeats...’

  ‘What – as in Derry? He never said anything.’

  ‘Well he wouldn’t would he – patient confidentiality and all that.’ She lifted her head and squinted across at him. ‘Of course, you work with him at the college, I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Not really work together, I only see him in the refectory occasionally – nice chap, very deep though.’

  ‘Deep?’ Her heart jumped while the rest of her stilled, her eyes resolutely glued to the pale pink and green rug strewn across the floor.

  ‘Mm you know; doesn’t say much but obviously thinks a lot – one of those cerebral people with a lot going on behind their eyes. By all accounts he leads a very solitary life, apart from that dog of his, which goes everywhere with him.’ She felt his eyes on her and tried to regulate her breathing. ‘Rumour has it he’s never gotten over losing the love of his life.’

  She didn’t say anything although inside she was smiling. It wasn’t true of course – gossip and supposition were as rife in universities as they were in hospitals. Her forehead pulled at the thought of him being lonely. All she ever wanted was for him to be happy: to move on and find happiness with someone else. There was nothing she could offer him and he wouldn’t be interested now anyway, her eyes dropping to her old jeans and pulled t-shirt. He might have been before but who’d be interested in her – She was like that old dress she’d ripped up earlier; an old worn out rag. She had nothing to offer, or at least nothing that an eminent heart specialist like him would want. But instead of taking up the gauntlet and running where her inclination led her she heaved a sigh of regret that had Ruari grabbing at her hand and gently massaging her work worn palm.

  ‘Now if only he were to meet that girl again I think everything would change.’ He tapped her wedding ring gently. ‘I never did ask you about that time you looked after him in Wales.’

  She met his gaze albeit briefly. ‘No, well – with Henry falling the way he did there was more important things to think about!’ She pulled her hand free and, gently moving Lizzie across to his lap stood up. ‘As much as I love you, I can’t talk about him to you. Derry is in the past – my dearest wish is he’ll meet a girl and finally find his Happy Ever After. He needs to forget about any wishy washy girl and do what I’m doing, focusing on the future.’ She made her way to the door. ‘I’ll just see where Grainne is with that coffee and then I’d better go.’

  ‘

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Like a concertina the coming week stretched out before him leaving him with feelings bordering on despair. He’d spent the last seven days seesawing between optimism and depression now that fate had chosen to intervene in his future. The only problem being he had no idea what fate had in store – a Happy Ever After, or just more of the same? Only time would tell but as it was now Friday time was up!

  He pulled into his parking place and, briefcase in hand hopped out of his 2 CV before slamming the door closed and locking it, his gaze carefully avoiding the row upon row of posh cars that filled the remaining slots. He’d never been one for fast motors and when his eyesight had been passed as good enough to drive he’d bought the first car he’d seen, a vintage smoky blue 1960’s 2CV advertised in the Doctor’s Mess by an impoverished med student trying to fund her last year in Uni. Five years, four new tyres and a new clutch later he still took
great enjoyment at the arrogant looks from his neighbours as he puttered down the road both windows flapping in the breeze. But in the summer with the roof down and the radio blaring he was king of the road with the wind in his hair; the sun beating down on top of his head.

  Patting the faded bonnet on the way past he was only thankful he could see to drive, or indeed that he was even here at all as he remembered his frame of mind before Mabel had come along to rescue him. She’d rescued him from far more than she’d ever know as he recalled his plan: a plan so stupid now as to be laughable, even though suicide was never something he’d laugh at. When he’d sat down to drink himself into oblivion all those years ago the plan hadn’t even occurred to him. It was only later as the room chilled and the bottle emptied that he’d come up with it – devilishly simply really as he already had the implement at hand: whiskey to anaesthetise and a shard of glass to cut. And then she came. She came with her forthright no nonsense manner to tell him he stank to high heaven. She’d saved him and now he had to save her father, then they’d be quits. Climbing up the steps he greeted the porters with a ready smile and a wave before making his way to the doctor’s mess to see just what state the coffee pot was in. Now he had the opportunity of seeing her every day at the hospital; he was perversely undecided whether to take advantage of his position. His ward round was always first in the morning, but it would be easy enough to nip back during visiting hours on one of a hundred pretexts. The nurses always had medication queries or tests they wanted to discuss so it wouldn’t be time wasted. But did he really want to put himself through the pain of rejection a second time? He settled his briefcase on the table and pulled out a copy of the theatre list he’d printed off earlier. He’d put him last on the list for a reason, a selfish one. When he’d finished in theatre he intended to make sure he was on hand when she visited because he had something to ask her.

  Leaning back from the operating table he stretched to his full length before turning to thank the staff for their hard work despite the fact they’d managed to squeeze in another couple of cases at the last minute. They were only minor but six hours crouched in the same position had left him tired to the bone. Six hours in anticipation of their next meeting had left him more than tired.

  He pulled off his gloves and, flinging them in the clinical waste bin headed for the row of sinks to start scrubbing his arms until they tingled. With Fergus safely in recovery he made his way to the office to scribble down the notes from the operation before making for the showers.

  Strolling into ICU an hour later his eyes deliberately stayed focused on the staff nurses huddled around the station having report, all the time aware of the pale girl sitting quietly in the corner.

  ‘How’s the Reverend doing?’

  ‘Holding his own Derry, should be able to return back to Nightingale Ward tomorrow I would have thought.’

  ‘Good, I’ll just go and have a word with his daughter.’ His voice already tailing off as he turned towards the bed, the force of six pairs of eyes warm on his back. He noted her blush with a raised eyebrow, but instead of the comment on his lips all he did was place a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘He’s doing fine Mabel. We should be able to return him back to the ward tomorrow,’ repeating the words of moments earlier.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed his eyes lingered briefly on the old faded jeans and tatty green jumper. Either she had no money, which was ridiculous considering Henry’s massive pay out or she had the worst taste imaginable. Probably the second he decided, his hand reaching for the notes attached to the end of the bed, more for something to do than anything. He didn’t care a fig about Henry and how much he was worth but he’d have had to have lived on a desert island not to hear about the fortune he’d been paid out by the ever reluctant insurance company. He couldn’t remember now exactly how many millions: it hadn’t really mattered at the time. All that had mattered, he reminded himself was how quickly she’d dropped him to return to her suddenly very rich husband. It was amazing the power of attraction a large bank balance had. But now staring at the charity cast offs and badly cut hair he wondered for the first time if he’d been wrong in calling her a mercenary gold digger. He remembered their last meeting and all the other names he’d called her, knowing full well her paralysed husband was holding on by a thread but he’d been angry. She’d run out on him with the promise of returning, he had every right to be angry - if it had been left up to her he’d still be waiting.

  He placed the chart back with a frown, his mind usually so crystal clear now a complete disaster zone. If she hadn’t stayed with Henry for the money then why had she?

  She finally met his gaze before returning her attention back to her dad. ‘Thank you…’ Her voice breaking, ‘I don’t know what else to say.’

  ‘Thank you is fine; I’m just pleased I could be of help.’ He pushed a box of tissues in her direction as he started on a carefully thought out monologue. ‘The operation was pretty straightforward and, for someone his age he seems to have recovered pretty well. All in all I’m cautiously optimistic for a full return to his previous health – with a bit of luck he should make 90.’

  She wiped her eyes before stuffing the tissue up her sleeve. ‘So’, what happens next?’

  ‘Next?’

  ‘You know, how long will they keep him, I...?’ She blushed again. ‘I need to… I have things to sort out before he comes home.’

  Fiddling with his cufflinks he wondered exactly what things, but all he said was, ‘he’ll be here a week to ten days. The physios will have to see him and the OT’s will want to make sure he’s able to make himself a cuppa.’

  ‘Ha! He’s never made a cuppa in his life and, at 62 it’s a bit late to start.’

  He smiled. ‘Well we might be able to skip that part.’ He glanced across at him. ‘He’ll sleep until the morning - I’ll drop you off on my way home.’

  She jumped up. ‘Oh, no that’s alright – I don’t need a lift or anything.’ She added, picking up her bag and coat in a rush before leaning forward and placing a kiss against her dad’s cheek. ‘See you tomorrow love.’

  Taking hold of her elbow he escorted her to the door. ‘Don’t argue Mabel, my car is outside and I pass by your door as near as damn it.’ Now that he had her to himself he was darned if he’d let her slip through his fingers for a second time. He didn’t quite know what he was doing kidnapping her off the ward like that but he needed to understand why she’d left him. If it wasn’t the money then just what the hell had happened all those years ago?

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The cold night air was a shock after the artificial warmth of ICU but she was determined not to let it show. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop her teeth chattering all the while aware of his hand through the thin fabric of her jacket - the same hand that had held her close, the same hand that had brushed her hair off her forehead. If she thought too much about him and his bloody hand she’d go mad.

  Wrapped up in her own misery she didn’t give more than a passing glance to his car. Instead of the wise crack comment he was probably expecting all she did was scoot under his arm into the seat and pull the seatbelt into position, her mock leather bag clutched across her lap.

  She turned her head resolutely towards the window and away from his hands gripping the steering wheel. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness but dark empty pavements and closed shops were eminently preferable to staring at his hands. He obviously wanted something; she could see it in the way he’d been staring at her moments before. It wasn’t going to be her body she reminded herself grimly.

  Time hadn’t treated her kindly, but then again she hadn’t expected it to. Until last week she’d given no thought to her looks or how they’d appear to someone like him; him in his smart suit and sexy glasses. He smelt delicious; he looked delicious and she looked like shit. No, he wasn’t after her body, maybe once and then he’d been blind laughter building up at the back of her throat. So just why had he offered her a lif
t home then, unless he was just being kind? No, kind wasn’t a word she’d ever associate with him: handsome, clever, serious, gentle, considerate at a push but never kind.

  Her thoughts stilled as she thought up one reason for him wanting to be with her. Whilst he wasn’t kind she’d never considered that he could ever be intentionally cruel but if her suspicion was right the only reason for her sitting next to him was for him to gloat. Oh well she probably deserved it, her fingers deliberately relaxing their grip on her bag. But if he thought she was going to allow him to revel in her misfortune he had another thing coming. Her life was rubbish – there was nothing he could say or do to make it any worse.

  ‘How’s Curly Wurly?’ she asked, deciding to break into the lengthy oppressive silence.

  ‘A man’s best friend Mabel.’ She tried not to flinch when he touched her knee but she mustn’t have managed the way his hand retreated back to the safety of the gear stick. ‘I leave him with Michele on operating days; it’s too long for him otherwise.’

  ‘Ever the gentleman,’ she replied as she tried to work out just who Michele was: His wife probably, her eyes snapping back to his hand, his ring-less hand. Although that didn’t mean anything these days: wife, girlfriend, lover – It didn’t matter in the scheme of things for, after all wasn’t she the one with the unbreakable marriage vows.

  ‘No, although manners are important I can’t say I’m always the most gentlemanly. For instance I wouldn’t think twice of taking another man’s wife off him if there was good reason…’

  ‘Derry please…’

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten my name, well at least that’s a blessing.’ He turned to look at her while waiting for the traffic lights to change. ‘As I was saying I wouldn’t think twice of taking a man’s wife off him if he didn’t deserve her. The only problem being of course the sense of confusion, or should that be betrayal?’ He paused, putting the car into first to pull away from the lights, ‘when she hi-tails it back to a man she doesn’t love.’