Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2)

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Well I must get back to me hammering.’ Heading back inside he paused. ‘Oh, thanks for the flowers mate – the wife is partial to a few roses.’

  ‘And violets…’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘The roses were from Simon, mine were the violets and I’m pleased your wife’s enjoying them.’ He walked towards his bike because he had to get away. He had nowhere to go, but he couldn’t stay – he wouldn’t stay if he wasn’t needed.

  ‘Hey up, hold on a minute.’

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned.

  ‘I hope I’m doing right. But there weren’t any violets, only roses. If she’d hated you too there’d have been violets. Oh bugger it.’ He held out his hand. ‘Davey Ryan at your service. Our Grainne spends a lot of time out at Summer Cove. It’s right pretty around there. Just take the first turning on the left and follow the signs, it’s not far.’

  She was sitting on a large grey rock staring out to sea, her hands lying loosely on her lap. He followed her line of vision but there was nothing to see other than miles and miles of open water. Now he was here he didn’t know what to say. Oh he knew what he wanted to say but that was very different, especially after yesterday, especially after Simon’s words.

  He didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe a word than came out of that slime-ball’s mouth, but that hadn’t stopped the words from invading his brain like a virus. What was that saying – ‘there’s no smoke without fire.’ Grainne was no fool – Simon had to have said something to cause her such abject distress.

  Sitting down beside her he was careful not to touch her even though the need to feel her skin next to his was almost unbearable.

  ‘Hello there.’

  She didn’t reply other than to place her hand within his, but that was enough. Sitting together, a gentle breeze surrounding them in its net they looked out towards the horizon together. He knew she’d speak. He had time; all the time in the world.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to gran.’ Her voice flat almost.’ You’ll think I’m mad of course…’

  ‘No nooo….’ He tried to speak, but really there was no answer to that.

  ‘She’s out there somewhere, playing in the waves with my grandfather. They’re both out there.’ She turned but only briefly, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘I come here a lot, it’s better than some creepy graveyard or staring at an urn on top of the mantelpiece.’

  ‘She sounds like an amazing woman.’

  ‘You have no idea….’ She withdrew her hand and standing up brushed off her trousers before looking at him.

  ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘No, no you don’t.’ He knew he couldn’t touch her: Not yet, maybe not at all. Instead, curling his hands into tight balls well hidden in the pocket of his old jacket he continued softly. ‘Remember – you never have to apologise to me.’

  ‘Even if I lied? A lie by omission is a lie, isn’t it: a falsehood even? I didn’t want to look bad in your eyes so I made myself into this make-believe character. The truth is an awful lot more sordid I’m afraid.’

  ‘Grainne you don’t have to tell me.’

  She turned on him then and met his eyes, hers glistening with annoyance. ‘I have to tell you and then you can leave – you can leave without feeling guilty. You can leave and never come back.’

  He was losing her. He was losing her and there was nothing he could do or say to prevent it. It wasn’t the time for anger but that’s what welled up inside him all the same. Anger, pity and regret – regret for the fairy-tale that was about to be shattered.

  ‘You know some of it, but not the best bit, not the important bit.’ She collapsed down onto the grass, and clasping her knees stared out to sea as if searching for strength, as if trying to get courage from its waves.

  ‘I’m infertile.’

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The words caught at the back of her throat, threads of tears hampering their progress, but she knew she had to continue. He deserved to know why their future ended here. He deserved to know so he could get on with his life. He deserved better than she could ever give him - he deserved the best, not some broken damaged half woman.

  ‘I was so happy being pregnant,’ her fingers clutching at the grass beneath her hand. ‘And I was a healthy mum-to-be: No morning sickness or anything, everyone said how much it suited me. It didn’t matter Simon didn’t want the baby; all that mattered was the life growing inside me and the future I was going to give him.’ She plucked out a solitary daisy and started picking off the petals. ‘I had it all planned you know. I was going stay at the cottage and find some work where I could have him with me - It was going to be a boy, you know. A bright blond haired blue eyed boy with the sweetest smile.’ She added, dismantling the flower petal by petal, until all that remained was a bare stem. ‘I thought child-minding would probably be the best, I even started making some enquiries. I wanted to see everything - his first smile, his first step, his first “mama.” And then the pain came.’ Lifting her hand she brushed it across her forehead. ‘I thought I was going to die, but I didn’t care – as long as my baby was alright. I didn’t give a toss about anything else. If it hadn’t been for Davey finding me collapsed on the doorstep I probably would have. They said it was an ectopic. They had to operate on me to remove….’ She blinked rapidly but continued with her sentence.’ To remove my son.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Shush my love.’ She reached out and traced a finger over his lips. ‘You need to wait for me to finish.’

  He lifted his hand and imprisoned hers with a curled palm, his warmth helping her to say the rest of it.

  ‘I was lying back in my regulation hospital bed listening to the cries from all those new-borns when….’ She paused to look across at him. ‘Why did they do that? Did they not realise what torture it was hearing their healthy cries when I knew my baby was lying somewh…?’

  She felt his hand move to around her shoulders, drawing her into the protection of his arms. She didn’t protest. She needed his strength if she was going to be able to finish her story.

  ‘The consultant came to see me. I should have suspected something as he didn’t have the usual possy of med-students hanging onto his coattails. He’d arranged for me to have immediate IV antibiotics. He said it was the worst case of chlamydia he’d ever dealt with and I’d need to inform all my sexual partners.’ Turning her head into his coat her voice now muffled through the fabric. ‘He made me feel so dirty; as if it was my fault somehow that I’d lost my baby; that I’d lost one tube and the other one was now less than useless.’

  Pulling away she tilted her head to look at him. ‘Simon was lying – you do believe me don’t you? I only ever slept with him and it was only the once.’

  He framed her face with his hands smoothing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. ‘You don’t need to ask that.’

  The tears burst forth then; fat tears rolling down her cheeks as if they too had to escape the pain and distress coming from deep within. She cried as she did everything else. There was no gulping breaths or hiccups. There was no hysterics or histrionics. There was only the odd discreet barely audible sniffle and then nothing but silence - The tears fading out into oblivion as if they’d never occurred.

  She stood up and stuffed her hands into her pockets her face a stiff mask.

  ‘So you see – I’m not prepared to let you throw away your life on me.’

  ‘And I’m not prepared to let you go, so live with it Grainne!’ He replied, dragging her back into his arms and raining kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin obliterating every last trace of her tears with his lips. ‘I love you and I’m not letting you run away again.’ He planted a final kiss against her lips. ‘There are other ways, we’ll adopt. We’ll adopt some poor child in need of loving parents and a loving home.’

  ‘Do you know just how long it takes to adopt? Do you know about the endless interviews, the interfering busy body do-gooders intruding on all aspect
s of our lives?’ She shook her head in despair. ‘I’ve been there Ruari. Do you know the struggle my grandmother had to keep me? They thought her too old, too frail, too eccentric to have a child and I was her granddaughter.’

  ‘What about IVF?’ The words were thrown into the conversation without thought, without feeling – with only desperation as their friend.

  ‘What, all that money and who’s to say it would work?’

  ‘Who’s to say it wouldn’t?’ He took hold of her shoulders, ensuring she kept eye contact. ‘If IVF is the only way you’ll consent to marry me I’ll sign myself up for the works.’

  ‘Marry you?’

  Those special, magical words dropped into the conservation as if he was haggling over the price of sprouts. She knew his plan, for hadn’t she overhead him discussing as much with Mitch, but marriage? Her mind flicked back to the last time she’d heard those words; the same words from a very different mouth – a weak meagre mouth, belonging to a weak meagre man. She closed her eyes on the memory. Then there’d been flowers and champagne – masses of hothouse flowers and vintage champers: Only the best for his girl. His words were cheap, his actions even cheaper. She’d prefer a weed gifted in love than all the flowers in Ireland – a weed like the carpet of daisies at her feet.

  ‘If that’s a proposal I’ve heard better!’

  She watched the blush streak up his face. She didn’t think he had it in him but shades reminiscent of overripe tomatoes invaded his neck to creep over his jawline like some deadly virus. She watched transfixed as he dropped to one knee, the other fumbling in his pocket – for what: Presumably a ring?

  Her eyes widened as he cracked open the box.

  God, was she worth that much? It was enormous, almost filling the sides of the velvet interior with its brilliance.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ There was a pause. ‘What is it exactly?’

  ‘Tanzanite.’ He managed a grin. ‘It reminds me of you: rare, unique and…’ throwing a look at her florescent pink jacket. ‘Colourful!’

  Taking her hand, his blush faded to pale. ‘Grainne, you’d be doing me the greatest honour if you’d agree to be my wife?’

  Snapping the box closed she pushed it back into his hands. ‘I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be your girl.’ She lifted her eyes to his; not soft yielding eyes – stubborn immoveable ones. ‘I’m not even going to sleep with you, but I’ll go along with your plan.’

  ‘That’s bloody stupid!’ He exploded.

  ‘Take it or leave it. In fact I retract my offer, that way you can’t hurt me.’

  ‘I’ve never hurt you.’

  ‘No?’ She shook her head slightly. ‘Perhaps not intentionally….’

  ’Just hold on a minute.’ He interrupted. ‘So you’re expecting me to go through with IVF with a woman I haven’t even slept with? Bloody ridiculous…’ He handed her his glasses before slumping back down on the grass. ‘Can you at least wear my ring?’ He said, running his hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be a bloody laughing stock!’

  She knew when she was beaten, and after all wearing such a beautiful item wouldn’t be such a hardship.

  ‘No you won’t my love, because I’m not telling anyone and neither should you.’ Reaching out she took his hand within hers. ‘Suddenly I’m starving, what about I buy you lunch as a thank you for…The ring! ‘She looked around, her eyes wild. ‘Oh my God, where’s my ring?’

  ‘Here.’ Turning over her hand he planted a kiss in the middle of her palm, before sliding the ring in place. ‘So what was that about food?’

  Chapter Thirty Six

  The dark haired man stood up and made his way around the desk with an outstretched hand. She hadn’t known what to expect but a young Robert De Niro sprang to mind. He looked smart, professional and eminently successful, probably because he was. Ruari had told her over fish and chips at The Bulman Bar that he was the best in the whole of Ireland and now she believed him.

  ‘Hello Roar, long time no see me ole fruit. What, it must be three years since Orla’s wedding – time flies when you’re having fun.’ He took his hand in a two handed grip before turning towards her. ‘And this must be Grainne? I’m Professor Jones, but call me Pat. It’s lovely to meet you, although what you’re doing with this old reprobate….’

  ‘Hey, that’s my fiancé you’re talking to.’ His face creased up with laughter.

  Settling themselves around the small informal table set away from the desk he spread out the contents of a brand new folder before selecting a couple of letters. He squinted over the writing for a couple of minutes before returning them both to the file.

  ‘I’m sure the writing on these bloody things is getting smaller.’ He said, meeting Grainne’s gaze. ‘So you’ve been having a few problems I see?’ His face serious all of a sudden. ‘I’ve had a chat with your GP and the consultant back in Cork. You’re right of course. IVF is the only course open to you at present, but…’ He threw her a quick smile. ‘You’re young and healthy so it should be pretty straightforward.’ Crossing his legs he picked up a small pile of blue forms before pinning his gaze to Ruari. ‘I’m afraid it’s not such good news for you my old friend. Your sperm count is abysmal and the little critters are in desperate need of some swimming lessons.’

  ‘What?’ The face he turned to Grainne now desperately pale. ‘How many?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Five million?’

  ‘No, just five.’

  ‘No way!’ he spluttered, leaping to his feet.

  ‘Sorry?’ Grainne interrupted, suddenly confused. ‘What’s the average…’

  ‘Fifteen million.’ They replied in unison.

  ‘So that means….’

  ‘So that means I’ve just paid Ruari back for that chilli he made me in Fresher’s Week, I wasn’t able to leave the bathroom for a week.’ He added, pushing the form across the table with a smile. ‘Consider it a draw.’

  Ruari heaved a sigh, a bright grin spreading across his face. ‘You really had me going there for a minute.’ He said handing the form back to him.

  ‘You lucky bugger! I’ve never seen a higher sperm count, apart from mine of course.’ He turned back to Grainne. ‘Sorry about that my dear, but I’ve been waiting a long time to see Roar here squirm. So…’ He glanced at her notes again.’ I can see you’re getting on to the right time in your cycle so I can slot you in for just before Christmas. I’ll just need to give you a little examination, but it’s pretty straightforward as I have your last scan results here. After I’ll give you a prescription and set you up with one of our counsellors - Hopefully I’ll be able to harvest enough eggs for a few rounds.’

  ‘One’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’m only having one round.’

  He raised his eyebrow. ‘Well let’s do one and see where we are shall we?’

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Christmas Eve

  Grainne picked up her wicker shopping basket and headed out of the cottage her mood desperate. She had to get away, if only for a couple of hours. She had to get away from the oppressive distempered walls of the lounge or she’d suffocate. She couldn’t bear even one more minute stuck cooped up with only Lizzie and all that miserable uninspiring white for company. Pulling the door closed on the wearisome room she only wished she could shut the door on her wearisome thoughts. She felt drained of everything including the only thing they seemed to have left: Hope. Now that D Day was fast approaching the confidence she’d been feeling had deserted her. She’d tried to concentrate on something else and a new colour scheme for the lounge seemed top of the list. She wanted something bright and cheerful like daffodil yellow with perhaps one feature wall in sky blue but she couldn’t be bothered to do more than think about it.

  Ruari had been able to escape from the oppressive silence. Just like a man to go off fishing at the first opportunity, not that she wanted to go fishing. She didn’t know what she wanted, but whatever it was a day’s fishing on Davey’s
smelly old tug wasn’t it! But with the promise of a lobster for his tea Ruari was out of the house at the crack of dawn with a brief kiss and even briefer goodbye.

  Making her way along the pavement to the village she couldn’t really blame him for wanting some time away from her. She’d been a real cow over the last few weeks, but for some reason she couldn’t help it. The last month had steamed by on a wave of emotional angst. She didn’t have time to pause and she certainly didn’t have time to think about being nice to anyone, even herself.

  She hadn’t gone back to the cottage after working her notice. Instead she’d retraced her steps back to Sandy Cove and to all intents and purposed moved in with him, but of course she hadn’t. She moved into the white room, as she called it and struggled to maintain a surreal brother/sister type of relationship, while juggling an alarming array of appointments.

  If it wasn’t counselling sessions with Corinne, it was blood tests or follow-up medical appointments for check-ups and scans. She’d written out the enormous cheque with a laugh, not finding it in the least funny. If it didn’t work she’d be well and truly poor with no nest egg to act as a buffer. She’d meant it when she said there’d be just one cycle - she’d use the money her gran had left her, but that was all there was. If she went for any more she’d have to sell the cottage, something she would never do.

  She hadn’t even mentioned the drugs - two weeks of nasal sprays followed by two weeks of injections when she hadn’t touched more than a paracetamol in months. She had a sore nose from the sprays and a stomach that resembled a well-used dart board. Her nose ached, her stomach ached and her mood…. If she wasn’t crying she was huddled up in the corner of the sitting room feeling sorry for herself: She missed her home, she missed her friends, she even missed her work. Poor Ruari, trying to find his feet in his new job came home each night with teaching sessions to prep and an empty kitchen, but she couldn’t be bothered to do more than lift her head from the view from the lounge window at the ever changing sea now winter was upon them. Corinne had described IVF as an emotional rollercoaster full of highs and lows made worst by the side effects of the drugs. She felt like a stroppy teenager whose parents had grounded her for two months in some stranger’s home; some stranger’s home where she was meant to act all grown-up and in control. And now, with the end just appearing on the horizon she was falling apart at the seams. She had three days left of holding it all together. Three days left of wearying worry. Three days left and then she’d be saying goodbye forever.