Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2)

by Jenny O'Brien

  Over a pot of tea they skirted around Ruari; Freddie instinctively knowing it was Grainne’s time to leave. She knew about the miscarriage. She knew about the broken engagement. What she didn’t know about was his proposal, but to be fair he hadn’t actually proposed.

  With a final hug on the doorstep Freddie promised to keep an eye on Norm while Grainne promised to keep an eye on Lizzie. She’d been reluctant to accept her but Henry was allergic – well he would be!

  Poking her fingers through the side of the basket she felt herself on the receiving end of a rough lick. ‘It’s alright little one. I’ll look after you and you’ll look after me - we’ll be known as the mad cat pair of Worlds End and everyone will leave us alone to grow old together.’

  With her car full of fuel she headed towards Cork, the first leg of her journey. It was only a little under three hours, but she wanted to arrive in time to sort out the house, or that’s what she told herself. The reality was she was too scared to be there when he called. Instead she’d decided on a compromise. She wasn’t prepared to speak to him again. Call her weak. Call her a coward. Call her what you like - she just couldn’t afford to meet him face to face for fear she’d give in and then never forgive herself. Better be thought a coward than have to see his face every time they walked past a pram or a push chair. Better be though a heartless bitch for messing him about than have him realise he could never be the one thing he craved the most – a father.

  So instead of setting the satnav for home she made her way to Sandycove: One last journey to drop off the carefully worded letter that had taken five minutes to pen and hours to word. It said nothing and everything. She had to leave. She was sorry for everything. She wished him all the happiness in the world.

  It was raining when she left. Big fat raindrops streamed down the windscreen as if in sympathy, as if they too were grieving for what she’d just lost - for what might have been. Setting the wipers to fast she thumped her hands on the wheel, annoyed she hadn’t left sooner at the sight of the early morning rush hour traffic already building up ahead. Now she’d made her mind up she couldn’t wait to be home.

  Once outside the city the road to Cork was clear and quiet even if the car wasn’t. Lizzie wasn’t happy, but eventually after gentle words and a chewed finger she turned herself into a little black ball of the softest fluff and snoozed. It was nearly ten o’clock when she arrived in Cork, but instead of stopping she turned onto the R600 and headed towards Riverstock and then Belgooly. She had one thought in mind, the sight of the Old Mill straddling the side of the road in all its majestic glory. It might not be as important to Irish history as that statue plonked in the middle of O’Connell Street but to her it was everything. It spelt out the last leg of her journey. It pointed towards Kinsale and home.

  The sight of water nestling by The Huntsman brought a lump to her throat. It only took moments to find herself pulling up outside Lobster Cottage, her little piece of paradise situated along the conveniently named Worlds End. She was so tired all she wanted to do was rest her forehead against the steering wheel and sleep awhile, but Lizzie had other plans.

  With her meowing quickly turning into a screech the urgency of her cry dawned on Grainne and, with a spurt of speed she was out of the car and in the house before she had time to think about the last time the door had creaked its familiar serenade. She couldn’t get over how home felt completely different: Smaller somehow and definitely empty. She’d lived alone for a number of months following her grandmother’s death and it had never felt so hollow.

  Later sitting with a throw wrapped around her knees she found it hard to believe the sudden drop in temperature. A fierce wind had blown up during the day which, along with the rain lashing against the windows made a mockery of her beach time amblings with Ruari, but still it suited her mood exactly. She’d have felt very different if the weather had compounded to remind her of what she’d just thrown away.

  Picking up her laptop from the table where she’d abandoned it all those weeks ago she flipped it open - anything to keep her occupied, anything to keep her mind away from the place it was determined to drag her. She sent an apologetic email to the nursing agency first, citing unexpected family circumstances. They weren’t to know it was a lie. They weren’t to know the only family she had she’d scattered across the winds on Belgooly Gallop. Granny had always wanted to be scattered across this, one of the most beautiful spots in Ireland in the middle of a hurricane. She’d wanted to spread herself across the seas she’d loved, but she’d had to do with a light gale in the end. Standing alone her hair whipping across her cheek Grainne had flung her ashes as far as she could and, watching them lift and disperse raised one foot off the edge of the path as if to follow them. She didn’t know what had stopped her and even now she wondered if she shouldn’t have taken that second step.

  She set about deleting what was left of her in-box. They were all from Simon and he still had nothing worthwhile to say. Sorry just wasn’t good enough being as he was the cause of all her current unhappiness.

  Lifting Lizzie up on to her lap and with feet resting against the edge of the coffee table she set about the difficult task of deciding what she was going to do with the rest of her life. One hand idly stroking the now quiet kitten she made plans to do something she’d been putting off for months – the clearing out of her Grandmother’s personal possessions. There wasn’t much, just clothes really but each one with an invisible bond of memory that was going to make the task almost impossible. However she needed to keep busy. She closed her eyes against the future. She’d start by getting the cottage sorted and then think again. The one thing she knew was she had to keep busy, so busy that she’d fall to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She had no control over her dreams. She had no control over her past: Now it was time to take control of her future.

  Surprisingly she woke with bright sunshine beaming shards of light through the window and Lizzie pawing her head. She hadn’t expected the luxury of sleep and certainly not one free from dreams, or at least dreams she couldn’t remember. Lifting a hand to placate the furry head she relished the last couple of minutes cocooned like a caterpillar in the same duvet she’d had since she qualified. It wasn’t as comfortable as Ruari’s, being as it was man-made fibre and not goose down, but in a way she preferred it – it was hers for a start.

  Downstairs she forced herself to eat a sustaining bowl of steaming porridge reminiscent of glue until she remembered the pot of blackcurrant jam in the back of the cupboard. Feeling full for the first time since the dinner party she made herself set about the task in hand with a sense of immediacy. Pushing sentiment aside she grabbed a roll of bin bags from the cupboard under the sink and headed upstairs to her grandmother’s bedroom, the largest and lightest by far. Soon she had bags of clothes and shoes sorted into throw away and give away piles as well as a couple of boxes of personal possessions that she’d tackle later. Standing in the now bereft room she decided the next job on the ‘Keep Grainne Busy’ list was a room repaint. The furniture was all hand me downs and tatty at best. She’d get a skip and bin the lot she decided, looking at the broken chest of drawers and chipboard wardrobe circa 1970.

  The one thing she had was time and what better way to spend it than on a room make-over? She was only sentimental up to a point. Her new life threatened to be an imitation of Miss Havisham’s unless she took it in hand.

  She’d drive into the village the following morning, drop off the bags to Oxfam and pick up some painting supplies. She quite fancied cranberry and cream instead of the daffodil yellow wallpaper that had inhabited the room for as long as she could remember. She could pick up a newspaper and some nursing magazines at the same time. A job wasn’t an immediate financial necessity but she did need to keep busy and work was one way.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Ruari collapsed into his office chair and pulled the first set of patient records towards him. His mind wasn’t focused. All he could think about was Grainne, but s
he’d have to wait. Taking a large sip from his mug before pushing it aside he opened the first brown cover and tried to concentrate on the job in hand. There was nothing he could do until he’d finished for the day. She wasn’t answering her phone and he hadn’t been able to contact Freddie as it was theatre day at the eye clinic. He’d have to wait, something he’d never been good at. He patted his back pocket, taking comfort in the outline of the box still nestling within the confines of his scrubs.

  ‘How’s Grainne? How’s her headache?’

  He’d scarcely hopped off his bike, securing it against the back wall of Freddie’s house before launching into a string of questions.

  He didn’t notice her distress until she encased his arm within her hands.

  ‘What? What is it? Is she sick? Tell me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. She’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean she’s gone?’

  ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘She can’t be gone. I… we….’ Ramming his glasses up his nose he headed blindly for the sitting room before throwing himself onto the nearest seat. She couldn’t have gone, could she?

  She was looking at him, her eyes glued to his face. She was looking nervous. Why was she nervous, he wondered? What wasn’t she telling him?

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He stared into the empty grate, looking at the dried up ash smearing the floor of the hearth. She needed to clean it but he wasn’t in the mood to point out her housekeeping deficits. She obviously knew more than she was telling, but what was there to know? They loved each other didn’t they, or had his mind being playing tricks on him last night? Questions, so many questions – what he needed was answers and by God he was going to get them.

  ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’ His voice deceptively soft.

  ‘I….I can’t tell you because I don’t know.’

  ‘Freddie, I’ll get it out of you….’

  ‘Don’t you threaten me Ruari Kelly! I’ve known you since you were a spotty med student.’ Standing up she made her way to the makeshift drinks table in the corner and, choosing a bottle poured out a couple of measures before thrusting a glass into his hand.

  ‘Here, you need this.’

  ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘It’s only coating the bottom of the glass, you’ll be fine and if you have any more you can stay over.’ She flung back her head, tossing the smooth brown liquid down her neck with a smack of her lips.

  ‘Where is she, Freddie? I need to know?’ He asked, taking a cautious sip from the side of his glass. He watched a frown play around her forehead in the fast dimming light.

  ‘I don’t know – I told you already. She didn’t do a runner or anything.’ She added, pulling her chair nearer and patting him on the knee. ‘Just let her go, that’s what she wants.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what she wants Freddie. I can’t go on without her.’

  Her laughter filled the room like a welcome stranger gate crashing one of those boring parties he had to attend at Christmas. He managed a brief smile in return.

  ‘What! A big fella like you, don’t be silly. There are plenty of girls out there that would love to….’

  ‘They can love all they want.’ He said, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He was tired all of a sudden. He wanted to ask more, so much more. He wanted to ask if she knew why Grainne had left but he couldn’t – he was too scared of the answer. Instead he rested his head back and closed his eyes, only to open them seconds later.

  ‘Where’s Lizzie?’ His eyes roaming the room.

  ‘She took her. I’ll miss the little minx but she was always more hers than mine and I’ll be leaving here in a few months.’ She looked at him, her expression stubborn. ‘Henry’s allergic.’

  Ruari raised his eyebrows but said nothing. She already knew what he thought of her fiancé.

  ‘So what about an omelette and oven ready chips then - I’m no cook but I should be able to manage that without too much trouble?’

  He just nodded his head before resting back against the sofa. There was nothing he could do tonight. In fact there was nothing he could do for a few days as he was now on a ten day stretch, but then he’d find her and this time he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

  Chapter Thirty

  She was nowhere to be found.

  He’d lost count of the number of trips he’d made to Cork; mindless senseless fruitless trips that weakened his spirit but strengthened his resolve. He’d find her if it was the last thing he ever did. He’d find her because he had to. He’d find her because it was all he had left, apart from his memories; memories that dominated everything.

  He had a week off before he started his new job. A whole week instead of the odd snatched days he’d had to fit in between shifts. He was going to spend it trawling the streets of Cork as Freddie had let slip she’d gone home, but even she didn’t know exactly where home was. He’d scanned his memory banks and all he could come up with was a sketchy drawing of a chocolate box cottage somewhere near the sea.

  He’d asked everyone he knew who’d come into contact with her from Sorcha to the housekeeping staff but nobody knew where she lived. The hospital management were less than useless whilst the nursing agency that had employed her were no better than a brick wall.

  Revving up his motorbike he had one last hope. He’d been to see Norm the week after she’d disappeared and he’d been evasive at best, obdurate at worst. Like Grainne he had a soft spot for the old man but he was pretty sure he knew more than he was telling.

  ‘Hello Norm. How’s life treating you?’

  ‘Oh, so so. Come in young man. I’ve just boiled the kettle and Mrs Jason from number one has just dropped off some jam tarts straight from the oven.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Ruari, walking into the lounge strolled straight to the fireplace and, lifting up the silver frame stared at the happy photo of Norm and Mairead on their wedding day just as Grainne had done months before. They looked just like he wanted to look – happy. It must have been taken in the seventies from the cut of Norm’s wide lapelled brown pin stripe and broad tie, but Mairead had done him proud decked out in head to foot heavy figure hugging cream lace.

  ‘We made a grand couple.’

  Ruari jumped, a guilty look brushing across his face as he settled the frame back in place.

  ‘You certainly did, although I’m not so sure about the tie.’ A smile pulling at his lips. ‘You’d have made a kipper proud.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger!’ Lifting his finger and running it across Mairead’s hair. ‘She was beautiful, my girl. She made that dress herself you know. Ever so proud of it she was.’ He added, inviting Ruari to take the seat opposite before handing him a mug and a plate piled high with cakes. ‘She was a seamstress. You’d never guess that dress started its life as a couple of antique lace tablecloths?’

  Ruari, struggling not to laugh shook his head with a wry grin. ‘There are enough tarts here to feed an army. I’d be careful her in number one doesn’t have a thing for you.’

  ‘Mm I’ve been wondering that myself.’ His face beaming. ‘I’m in a very tricky position you know lad. I don’t want to stop the cakes but I’m not interested. Mairead can’t be replaced by a cheap imitation.’

  ‘Neither can Grainne!’ He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped together to stop them shaking. ‘I don’t expect you to break her confidence but I’m pleading with you – where is she?’

  Norm stood up and, wandering over to the mantelpiece picked up a postcard half hidden behind a ghastly gilt ormolu clock. He pinned him with his faded blue eyes before handing him the card. ‘I don’t know where she is lad, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t break promises like that. This arrived last week though.’

  Ruari examined the commercially produced card with a frown before turning it over in his hands – it was blank.

  ‘Ah, it’s not that easy. There’s no postmark to go on.’ Norm sat down again and, hand hovering over the plate took his time
in choosing between a blackberry and strawberry tart before taking an enormous bite. ‘She phoned me a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘How is….?’ He started to speak only to be interrupted by a raised hand.

  ‘She sounded fine. She’s been sorting out that cottage of hers and she’s got a job – night duty in some old people’s home but that’s not going to help you.’ He glanced at the card now dangling from Ruari’s fingers. ‘She knows I’m interested in art so she sent me one of her Grandmother’s cards, if you turn it over her name’s on the back – Mary Noelle O’Reilly and…..’

  ‘And I’ll be able to find her through her death certificate or cottage ownership or something.’ Leaping to his feet he nearly tipped the pile of cakes all over the floor. ‘Sorry… Norm, I could kiss you.’

  ‘Er, a hand shake will suffice and…’ The grin back on his face, ‘an invite to the wedding.’

  ‘You can have two, just to keep her in number one sweet – you can always dump her after the reception.’

  Chapter Thirty One

  The hours merged into days, the days into weeks. Before she knew it she was doing a hasty last minute shop at the local supermarket for Halloween. They’d learnt the hard way a few years back about treats being a lot cheaper than tricks. Having your house egged was wrong on so many levels, although it wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t thrown a can of paint on top afterwards.

  With her basket loaded with sweets and apples she headed to the checkout, keen to get back to light the fire. The days were shortening and all she wanted to do was sneak back into her little haven and close the door on the world. She was on nights off now for three days: Three whole days and nights where she was going to sleep around the clock if she felt like it. She wouldn’t of course. She’d taken to spending her spare time taking long walks by the sea, the same walks she’d taken with her grandmother. ‘Blowing away the cobwebs’ she’d used to say in her soft burr. She was more than blowing them away she was trying to eradicate them under a blanket of concrete - it wasn’t working. He was there every waking moment just out of sight, skulking around on the edge of her vision; niggling, nagging, reminding. He’d started to evade her dreams too, to haunt them as if some part of him was trying to reach out to her from across the miles.