Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  The staff had been like a second family, kind and caring, and had always been there for her, through the good times and bad, although mostly bad. Sharing details of the intervening years was the one positive of visiting the unit, but so far, she had not seen anyone who was recognisable, and she felt a tad disappointed.

  But then, as her dwindling hope encouraged her to turn away, a familiar face caught her eye. It was Dr O’Riordan, the Senior Consultant Nephrologist, and he was heading along the corridor. She rushed over to greet him.

  ‘Dr O’Riordan, it’s Brittany Handley.’

  His puzzled gaze swiftly melted. ‘How are you doing? Is your transplant okay?’

  ‘It seems to be. I’m just here for an injection.’

  ‘That’s good. I hope it carries on going well for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How’s your mother doing?’

  Brittany tensed. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I hope she’s finally come to terms with what happened. We should all put the past behind us and move on.’

  We? ‘Do you know something?’

  He gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘Did you know why she killed Scott Cole?’

  A flicker of anxiety crossed his face. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to dash. I’ve been beeped. Nice to see you doing so well.’

  The nurse appeared at her rear. ‘He’s a lovely man. Were you a patient?’

  ‘Yes, many years ago.’

  ‘He’s been heading a local charity to persuade more people to become living donors. I don’t know where he finds the time. He’s one of the best in the field . . . very passionate about giving back life. We’re lucky to have him.’

  ‘I did used to like him.’

  ‘All the children do. He seems to know just what to say.’

  The nurse tapped something into the computer and then told her she could leave. Brittany was still puzzling over her conversation with Dr O’Riordan, and the fact he appeared he knew more than he let on, when Jason called her to him. Ethan was absent.

  ‘I just wanted to apologise for Ethan. I hope he didn’t offend you by asking personal questions.’

  ‘No, of course not. He’s a lovely boy.’

  ‘He’s very forthright.’

  ‘And very positive too. I wish I’d had his attitude when I was his age.’

  ‘You’ve had a transplant then.’

  She steadied her breath. ‘Many moons ago. I actually thought it was failing, but I’ve just find out it’s not.’

  ‘That’s great news.’

  Their eyes locked. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I don’t know how he stays so upbeat,’ Jason said, ‘I do my best to stay positive, but inside I’m falling apart.’

  ‘So long as you don’t show him that’s how you feel, you’ll both do okay.’

  ‘That sounds like solid advice.’

  ‘It worked for us, at least until I had a transplant and then my mother . . . well, that’s another story.’ Brittany averted her gaze, wanting to withdraw her words.

  ‘It’s good to meet someone who has come through the other side.’

  ‘Ethan seems like quite a fighter. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  Jason dropped his gaze. ‘He’s all I have. He has to survive.’ He looked up. ‘I try to paint a positive picture for him, but it’s hard, really, really hard. I had to give up my job so I can look after him.’

  ‘I don’t think people necessarily appreciate it’s not just the illness that throws you it’s everything else too. Nothing in your life is ever the same again. My mother had to give up working too. I’m not sure it was right decision. She struggled with the stress.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Long story. Just make sure you look after yourself. You need to always be there for Ethan, and that means after he has had a transplant too.’

  He nodded, thoughtful.

  ‘Maybe you should get a part-time job, or even see if you could start a small business, such as doing odd jobs for people. You need time out.’

  Jason stared, thoughtful.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not trying to preach.’

  ‘Not at all. You know,’ Jason said with smiling eyes, ‘you’re absolutely right, and we certainly need the money.’

  ‘If you’re happier, Ethan will be too.’

  ‘Wise words.’

  ‘I learned the hard way.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ Jason asked. ‘Just to say thanks.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  The café was situated at the rear of the hospital, overlooking a lawn, trees and shrubs, and flowerbeds. There were windows around the perimeter, six long rows of tables, and a row of counters providing the food. It was clean and plainly decorated, with bright, unobtrusive lighting and friendly staff. Tea in hand, Brittany led the way to a table.

  They sat on opposite sides. Jason had a soft rosy complexion, lengthy dark eyelashes, and beautiful hands. His fingers were slender and long, like those of a pianist, and his nails were perfectly formed, without white spots and broken bits. She curled her fingers, removing them from view.

  ‘What caused your kidney to fail?’ Jason asked.

  ‘Polycystic Kidney Disease. Cysts in the kidneys.’

  ‘That’s what Ethan has. Was it diagnosed early?’

  ‘I didn’t have any symptoms when I was very young, but then, when I was about Ethan’s age I started with urinary infections and kidney stones. They managed to control it with medications for a while. Unfortunately it didn’t last. What about Ethan?’

  ‘We knew before he was born.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  ‘It was. We were in turmoil, Holly particularly. She never handled stressful situations very well. It was the fear of the unknown that was the worst. How bad would it be? How soon would he get ill? Etcetera, etcetera.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  Jason wiped his hand across his face. ‘She had an embolism about a year ago. It was horribly sudden.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ve had a tough time.’

  ‘It’s not been all bad. Ethan is a great little guy. He’s my best buddy and we’ve had some great times.’

  Brittany smiled. ‘Well he’s in good hands. Dr O’Riordan is one of the best. One of the nurses was just telling me he’s involved in a charity to promote living donors.’

  Jason shuffled and his eyes flitted. It was clear she had touched on something he would rather not discuss.

  ‘Don’t you like him?’ she asked.

  ‘Ethan loves him.’

  ‘From what I remember, I did too. He has a great manner. And he’s very passionate about his work.’

  Jason stared into his half-drunk mug of coffee.

  ‘It’s good that he’s trying to encourage living donors, but I’m not sure he’s going to gain many customers that way. I’m not sure I could be that altruistic. It’s a big ask.’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you know if he has attracted anyone to the unit?’

  ‘There have been a few over the years, or so I’ve been told.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. Then maybe it is something I should get involved with. I’d assumed it was a lost cause.’

  Jason looked to her, hesitant. She waited for a while, but it soon became clear he did not intend to voice his concerns. Curious, she asked him his problem.

  ‘Are you sure you’d want to do something like that?’ he questioned.

  ‘I think I might.’

  He stared into his coffee, chewing his lip. Something bothered him, and she was sure it wasn’t a general concern regarding how she spent her spare time. It seemed more likely that he had doubts about the charity, but that seemed equally bizarre. Unsure of how she should pursue it and with the awkward silence lingering, she decided a change of subject was for the best.

  ‘Are you into music?’

  ‘I play the keyboard.’

  Brittany smiled. ‘You have pianist’s fingers. What do you play?’
r />   ‘Classical mainly, and a bit of show music. I find it very therapeutic.’

  As he told her about the pieces he played, he leaned back into the chair and drummed his fingers on the table. It was a complete transformation. Even his voice was more animated and no longer quiet and monotone. Drawn in by his enthusiasm, she found herself warming to a subject she knew little about, and her questions eased from her lips.

  Jason spoke extensively telling her about a wide range of things, from the hours he spent learning difficult pieces to the concerts he had experienced in Europe. He was far from boring, and spoke with a passion she admired. She could tell music allowed him to drift into another time, another place, and was envious of the fact that a hobby could generate such a wondrous sensation.

  ‘I’d love to hear you play. Maybe you could put on a performance for me some time,’ she said.

  His body tightened and he averted his gaze. It was totally out of the blue, and shocked her back into reality. She searched for something to say, a distraction or a change of subject, and watched his lips linger on the near empty mug of coffee. He was stalling, and she wished she could retract her words and folded her arms and looked away. It could be that he didn’t like performing in front of people, but her theory didn’t feel at all convincing and an awkward silence ensued. She felt as though she had just received a major body blow and wondered if his reason was more personal.

  ‘Give me your number and I’ll give you a call,’ he said quietly.

  He sounded half-hearted and she sensed a brush off. Nonetheless, and not wanting to embarrass herself further, they exchanged numbers, and at the same time she battled with her disappointment. He was gorgeous, sensitive, and when he wasn’t talking about the living donor charity, he was great company. She did not want to lose this opportunity.

  Trying to stay upbeat, she tried to discard her doubts. Maybe she was reading too much into his aloofness, after all, she didn’t know him at all, or his quirks. There could be any number of reasons for his strange behaviour, and not all would be detrimental to their budding relationship. Perhaps he was shy or over-thought things, or perhaps he felt his house was scruffy and wanted to keep her away.

  She caught his eye and smiled, and her heartbeat quickened. He was staring, analysing, his anxieties apparently forgotten. But then, as the clipping sound of heels grew more distinctive, she realised he was looking to someone at her rear.

  ‘Brittany?’ a voice said.

  She spun around. It was Jenny Roberts, her favourite nurse during her stay in hospital. They greeted each other with a friendly hug.

  ‘Jerry, Dr O’Riordan said he’d seen you. You’re looking well.’

  ‘I’m doing okay.’ She tapped her kidney. ‘Still going strong.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. Your mother must be glad to be out. You too.’

  Her heart pounded. ‘What?’

  ‘She has been given parole hasn’t she? That’s what the papers said.’

  ‘When did you see that?’

  ‘Oh, a little while ago. Jerry mentioned it.’

  Brittany’s colour faded. Why hadn’t her mother said anything?

  ‘You must be thrilled. It was terrible situation. After everything you’d both been through. We were all devastated . . . couldn’t work out what happened or why.’

  Brittany gawped.

  ‘She knew Scott, did she not?’

  ‘I . . . I think so.’

  ‘Thought so. I said to Jerry I’d seen them together. Not that I’m insinuating anything you understand, it’s just that . . .’

  Her words faded. Her mother was out of prison. How could she be so callous as to keep the parole private? Brittany stood up, grabbed her bag, and scurried away, ignoring the concerned cries of her name.

  Chapter 4

  Brittany leaned into the park bench and was drawn to the swathes of crocus, polyanthus and daffodils unfurling in the weak morning sunshine. Spread across several beds, and regimented to produce a uniform display, the plants grew to perfection. There were no weeds, no crinkling flower heads, and each plant was rich with colour. It was a beautiful spring sight, peaceful and inspiring.

  Raucous laughter shattered her solitude. At the far side, a group of teenage boys headed through the gardens, legs apart and with exaggerated swaggers. They were jostling and joking, and drowning out the gentle sounds of early morning life. Frowning, she held her focus. One boy pushed another onto the flowerbed, crushing the small plants, and a chase ensued; across the lawn, nipping between bushes, and jumping the beds. They showed so little regard for the efforts of the gardener and the pleasure it provided for others that her body tensed.

  All around the gardens were signs, clearly positioned. Do not walk on the grass. Do not pick the flowers. She despised their blatant lack of heed, and was considering saying something when the gardener appeared pushing a wheelbarrow from around the other side of the greenhouse. He did not have to say anything; they instantly fled.

  Rules were there to be obeyed, like it or not. It was the price paid for civilisation. She de-tensed her arms, resting one on the arm of the bench, and tried to slip back into a pleasurable moment of solitude.

  Songbirds tweeted in the hedge close to her rear, blackbirds hopped across the grass, and pigeons rested on the roof of the greenhouse. It aided the relaxing ambience, and along with the stimulating air and caressing nature of the sun, she felt her energy levels lift. It was wonderful, just for once, not to feel sapped of life.

  A movement caught her eye. Across the other side of the garden was a jogger. It was Erin, and as she turned a corner, their eyes locked. Maintaining a natural rhythm, and with her ponytail swaying, Erin weaved around the flowerbeds and passed along the side of the greenhouse. Moments later, she arrived at her side.

  ‘Beautiful day,’ Erin said, ‘Taking a walk?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been around much . . . had a few extra clients. How did your hospital appointment the other day go?’

  ‘He thinks I have an infection.’

  ‘That’s great news . . . isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why the long face? I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘I am. This is my happy face.’

  Erin chuckled and sat beside her. Her skin was slimy and the heat radiated from her, yet she still smelled gorgeous. Brittany knew if she had been running, even if she had applied a bottle of antiperspirant, she would still smell rancid.

  ‘You should start a fitness regime. You’ll feel much better.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m up to it.’

  ‘Of course you are . . . at least when you’re energy levels are back up. Did they give you anything for that?’

  Brittany nodded. ‘He says I’m a little anaemic, so he gave me an injection.’

  ‘EPO?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘That should help.’

  ‘I had to go to renal for it.’ She caught Erin’s gaze and her eyes twinkled. ‘I met a man there. He has a lovely little boy but the poor little mite has kidney failure. He only looks about six years old.

  ‘Do I detect a love interest?’

  Brittany grinned. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m reading! When are you seeing him again?’

  ‘I’m not interested!’

  ‘Now come on, I recognise love when I see it.’

  ‘Okay, so he’s hot. He has the most adorable brown eyes, and he thinks the world of his little boy. His wife died about a year ago.’

  ‘Did you get his number?’

  She nodded. ‘We had a drink at the hospital. He plays the piano. He is very nice . . . understanding, gentle, passionate about music. He’s very easy to talk to.’

  ‘You obviously like him but you don’t want to see him again. What am I missing?’

  Brittany wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Why eve
r not? If you exchanged numbers he must like you too.’

  ‘I don’t think he wants a relationship. He seemed a bit reluctant. As soon as I mentioned wanting to hear him play he went odd. I . . . I wasn’t sure if it was me or something else.’

  ‘Why would it be you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Erin stared, waiting.

  ‘I wasn’t imagining it,’ Brittany said.

  ‘I shouldn’t give up, not yet.’

  ‘I don’t want to push him. Ethan is sick. It must be very draining.’

  ‘You might be just what he needs. You’ve been there . . . you understand his situation.’

  Brittany reluctantly agreed.

  ‘And it could work both ways. I take it he knows about your transplant?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘Then he’ll help you too . . . if and when you need it.’

  Erin held her gaze, causing Brittany’s guilt to surge. Uneasy, she stood up, suggested they walked back home and searched for excuses. She had never made a deliberate decision to keep the transplant secret from Erin, it had just happened, and as time past, it became more difficult to broach the subject. Her medications were always out of view and her scar was always covered.

  ‘I’m sorry I never told you about my condition.’

  Erin raised her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I feel awful. I should have said something.’

  ‘Forget it. Now, about this chap. What’s his name?’

  ‘Jason.’

  ‘Well, I say you only live once. What’s there to lose? Contact him and see what he says.’

  ‘You really think I should?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  Maybe Erin was right. They had had a good time, and he could only say no. Tingling with her decision, they walked around the perimeter, passing through a row of trees that were yet to leaf, and to a basketball court, a green bowling, and a children’s play area.

  ‘You should send him a text,’ Erin said, ‘thank him for the drink and the chat.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘I’m full of them. Pity you didn’t manage to get a photo. I’d love to see him, especially since you say he’s hot.’