by Rebecca Lang
‘Is he…is he out of hospital?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I know it isn’t any of my business, but I felt very…sorry when you told me about him.’ She was also wondering too how much Mark missed his mother at Christmas. That was something she could not ask right now.
‘Yes. He’s going back on an outpatient basis, which seems to be working well for him,’ Shay said, as he ate quickly. ‘He still needs counselling for the loss of his mother, as well as for the drug thing.’
‘Does his mother write to him?’ she enquired, unable to resist the question.
‘Oh, yes. They write to each other,’ he said. ‘And unlike the wicked parents one reads about in fact and fiction, I do not confiscate her letters before he can get his hands on them.’ Shay smiled ruefully at her. ‘I know that happens.’
‘I’d certainly like to meet him,’ Deirdre said. ‘Thank you for the invitation. I’ll sound out the children tonight.’
‘And the children’s stepfather?’ he queried.
‘He’s going to be out of the country over Christmas and New Year. He doesn’t like Christmas.’
Shay took a lined card out of his pocket and wrote his home address on it, and simple instructions about how to get there. ‘Here,’ he said, passing it over to her. ‘Not much time now before Christmas. Give me a call, Deirdre.’ He chomped on the last of his sandwich and took a swallow of coffee.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s all right,’ she said.
‘Yes. Call me at home. You can leave a message if I’m not in.’ He reached across the small table and squeezed her hand briefly as it lay on the top. ‘I’d really like you to come,’ he said. ‘And I’m glad you’re working here. Good luck.’ He stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Bye for now, Deirdre.’
‘Thank you,’ she said shyly. ‘Bye.’
Then he was gone, taking the tray with him, and for a few seconds she had the odd feeling that he had been a figment of her imagination, her wishes and desires. Then she saw him going out. He raised a hand to her as he went out of the main door and she waved back tentatively. She was falling for him, falling in love with him. Was it genuine? she agonized. Or was it just that she was so starved for attention from an attractive, good man? In some ways it frightened her, the growing intensity of her feelings. For a long time she had led a rather circumscribed life, which was not good for anyone. She had needed someone like him, and then suddenly there he had been. The situation was not perfect but, then, what was? They both had difficulties in their lives.
Soon she would be going for a second session with a counsellor, whom she had found through her GP. The counsellor was helping her to sort out her worry about being a mother to someone else’s children, of being so emotionally attached to them that she could never treat the relationship like a job from which she could give notice. You could not dice with people’s lives in that way, with their emotional needs. She needed help with her depression which had resulted from the impasse she was in.
The counsellor had informed her that she would essentially cure herself by talking about herself and her feelings, by gaining insight into her situation, which would in turn help her to see the way forward. The counsellor was a facilitator, asking the right questions, steering her in the right direction, taking the cues from her, so that she was in control. That was important at a time when she felt that she did not have any control. Already she was feeling that a load was being lifted from her.
As she ate the last of her sandwich and sipped the juice, she wondered why she had not gone to see someone before. Basically, the question answered itself—she knew that when you were depressed, things seemed hopeless, and you lacked the mental energy, the positive mind-set necessary to put the process of help in motion.
What a relief it was when that process started. Shay had had a lot to do with that start. Now she wondered about falling for him. Would that add to or detract from the healing process? All was positive so far, but if he did not return her feelings, where would she be then? As each day went by, she wanted him more and more to return her feelings. And, of course, she could not presume that he would, now or ever. She felt that she had to hide her feelings from him.
Maybe the last thing he wanted now was to get involved with another woman, unless on a superficial basis. She knew that he found her attractive from the way he looked at her, spoke to her. There were vibes between them that were unmistakable. No doubt he would not say no to her becoming his lover if she were to offer or indicate that she was interested. But as for something more, something more permanent, it was too soon for any of that. Not that she was about to offer herself to him. She smiled to herself at the thought. For one thing, her confidence was at a low ebb. Risking rejection was not on the agenda right now. Take it a day at a time, the counsellor had told her. The future would gradually become clearer when her mood lifted.
Back in the operating suite, meeting up with the small group again, she was able to put most of that out of her mind, which was one of the benefits of an absorbing job.
‘Now, we’re going to have a talk about the protocols that are part of the set-up in this particular hospital, in this particular department,’ the tutor said. ‘They are protocols for patient safety and staff safety to cut down on the numbers of mistakes that get made in hospitals, an attempt to think ahead instead of in retrospect.’
The afternoon went by quickly, filled with absorbing tasks and information imparted by the tutor. Deirdre felt her mind buzzing with the unfamiliar stimulation, of having to think about things that she had almost forgotten. It made her realize that her world had narrowed down, even though in her other job she had learned different and useful skills. Operating room nursing would reintroduce her to a different kind of stress, a stress that could only be controlled when you were very good at your job, well trained, well organized, up to date, when you knew what you were capable of doing and what you were not. Once she had been very good at her job—she would be again.
CHAPTER SIX
THE HOUSE WAS old, very beautiful, set in its own grounds, and much too big for two people, Deirdre had thought when she and the children had driven up to Shay’s house on Boxing Day afternoon.
It was a sprawling building, covered with cedar shingles that had been painted a dark purple-blue colour after the local heritage fashion. It stood in a lovely garden, which looked inviting even in winter, on the edge of Prospect Bay, where both farmland and forest encroached on the dwelling places of humans, exerting the influence of nature. Or perhaps it was really the other way round, she had thought as they had driven up the circular driveway, that humans had encroached on the natural habitat of animals and birds and were themselves the aliens.
Now, with dinner over, Deirdre and Shay sat in a spacious sitting room in front of a roaring log fire. The room extended the whole depth of the house, with large windows at either end. Floodlights at back and front outside illuminated a few snowflakes falling to the ground against a backdrop of very tall fir trees, which made the inside seem very warm and protected. The room was panelled in dark golden-coloured wood and the large fireplace was built of local stone. There was a magical feeling to the whole scene. Although she knew Prospect Bay well, she had seldom been out to the more rural residential areas, although she supposed this could hardly be called rural. As far as she was concerned, she could have been in a foreign country. Shay had told her that he also owned an apartment not far from the hospital.
Deirdre and Shay were drinking coffee and she was also sipping Grand Marnier between mouthfuls of coffee. Shay had a glass of brandy on the table beside him. For the first time in a long time she was conscious of being overwhelmingly happy—it seemed to flow though her like a warm tide. Whenever she looked at him, he also seemed more relaxed and happier than she had seen him in the short time of their acquaintance. They sat opposite each other, he in a chair and she on a wide sofa.
‘Dad, could you give us a hand with the computer, please?’ Mark stood in the doorway and then advanced into th
e room. ‘We’re having a bit of trouble with one of the new games.’ He was a tall, thin boy, very much like Shay, Deirdre thought again as she turned to look at him.
When they had first met, before dinner, he had seemed serious and shy, then he had relaxed more as Fleur and Mungo had talked to him at the dinner table. Both ‘her’ children, Deirdre thought, could be very sociable and charming, good conversationalists, when they wanted to be. In Mark they seemed to sense a loneliness, and they had risen to the occasion, with the result that the three of them now seemed to be on the way to becoming friends. Mark had warmed to her as well over the course of dinner, as she had striven to be as natural with him as possible, not to let her feelings for his father influence her attitude to him, not trying to impress him or make him like her. If he did like her, she would be gratified, but she wasn’t going out of her way to force anything.
Shay had given Mark some new computer games for Christmas, and the three children had gone up to his room to try them out.
Shay stood up. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Excuse me for about five minutes, Deirdre.’
‘Yes, excuse me for taking him away from you,’ Mark said to her politely. ‘He’s something of a computer whiz, so I expect he’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘That’s all right,’ she said.
She took the opportunity to go to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water onto her heated face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were soft and expectant, instead of having the usual tense look of worry that stared back at her habitually from mirrors these days. Usually she tried to avoid looking at her reflection. She applied a little lip gloss and eye shadow, then brushed her hair.
As she pushed the half-open sitting-room door, it was suddenly pulled open and she almost fell against Shay, who was coming out.
‘Oh…sorry,’ she said, coming up close to him.
‘It didn’t take long,’ he said. ‘I thought I would get some more hot coffee…’ His voice trailed off as his eyes locked with hers and she felt her lips part of their own volition in expectation. ‘Would you like some?’
‘I…um…’ she said.
When his hand grasped her upper arm and pulled her into the room, up against his body, she did not protest. Then when he kicked the door closed, gently, she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers, demandingly, his arms around her, holding her tightly against the length of his body. With a sigh of capitulation she relaxed against him, putting up her arms to encircle his neck as a wave of heat and longing enveloped her like an electric current.
‘Deirdre…’ He whispered her name as he took his mouth from hers. ‘I thought I would go mad if I couldn’t kiss you. I’m just about out of my mind.’
Me, too, she said inwardly. ‘Oh…’ she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face up to him. Darling Shay, darling, darling… She wanted to say the words out loud but couldn’t. Then speech was not possible as his mouth crushed hers hungrily, as though he had not kissed a woman for a very long time, and she responded like a person in a desert when they saw water. That thought came to her, so that a delirious desire to laugh welled up in her…a happiness that she had not known existed.
His hand stroked down over her hip, then up to her breast, his palm moving gently over the soft, yielding flesh, the movement bringing such pleasure to her that she felt her knees go weak, and she leaned her weight against him.
Shay pulled back from her, supporting her weight against his body. The expression of intense desire and warmth in his expression told her all that she needed to know of what he was feeling, and she did not feel surprise when he said huskily, ‘I wish I could take you to bed.’ He smiled down at her, so that she felt as though she were melting into him, with no vestiges of will left. I love you, she wanted to say. Instead, she stared back at him mutely, a half-smile on her face, knowing that she must look as dazed as she felt.
‘That’s…rather difficult right now,’ she said. Having had the obvious stated, they both began to laugh, so that in a moment they were laughing helplessly.
Shay turned the large key that was in the lock of the heavy wood door to the room. ‘Am I to take that,’ he said, grinning down at her as he grasped her upper arms, ‘as wholehearted consent, Ms Warwick?’
‘I…well…’ she said. ‘I would rather not commit myself at this moment. What I mean is…it is not outside the realms of possibility…but, please, do not take that as actual consent…’ She began to laugh again, moved by the comic expression on his face as he took her hand and walked with her to the very large sofa that flanked one side of the fireplace.
‘I can see that you are very adept at prevarication, Ms Warwick,’ he said mockingly, as he sat down and pulled her down beside him.
‘Just being practical,’ she answered back. ‘And, please, don’t tease me by calling me Ms Warwick, because I shall have to retaliate by calling you sir, and that would completely destroy the mood, which I’m rather enjoying.’
‘Very well,’ he said, stroking her face, holding her cheek with his hand, moving his thumb sensually over her parted lips. Then very slowly he brought his face down to hers, while he held her still in his grasp, so that she felt herself trembling inside with anticipation, her lips parting to receive him.
Gently he moved his mouth on hers as she fell against him. Then she knew that she did not have to tell him how she felt. Her body was giving her away, with every responsive move that she made. Indeed, she was a person in a desert dying of thirst, in sight of that which could save her.
Abruptly she moved back from him, jumped to her feet and looked down at him. With her back to the fireplace, they looked at each other for a long moment while she tried to get her breathing to a normal rate and to find her voice.
‘I…think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, Shay,’ she said. Although she desperately wanted to be in his arms, she had the feeling that this was too soon. Besides, she felt she was somewhat out of her depth and did not know how to proceed.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Perhaps not. I want you. I prefer to be honest.’
‘Tell me that on a freezing, wet Monday morning when work is hectic, you’ve arrived late, been up most of the night working and you have a cold,’ she said, more agitated by his words than she wanted to admit. She wanted to take him with open arms, yet something held her back. Perhaps it was that he had told her he did not trust love. ‘We’ve had too much wine.’
He laughed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘That gives me plenty of opportunity…the wet Monday thing.’
Deirdre smiled back, regaining some of the sense of fun that had been with them not long before, and went to unlock the door and open it. If Fleur and Mungo came down, she did not want them to find her behind a locked door. As she returned to the fireside, Shay stood up to meet her.
‘I will ask you, Deirdre,’ he said quietly, taking her hands. ‘I promise you that.’
‘I’ll deal with that when it arises,’ she said with dignity, so that he laughed again.
‘I shall look forward to the exchange,’ he said. ‘Now, how about that second cup of coffee that I was going to make?’
‘Yes, please. Let me help you.’
He took her hand and led her through the house to the kitchen, where she and the children had helped earlier to prepare the dinner, which had indeed been of leftover turkey in a delicious white sauce, served with Basmati rice and an assortment of fresh vegetables. Deirdre refrained from commenting on things she saw in the house, apart from her initial remark that it was a lovely place when they had arrived.
‘You could get the cups out,’ he said, indicating a cupboard. ‘Tell me how things are going with custody of the children.’ The last remark he added casually as he filled an electric kettle with water. ‘You told me that their grandmother wanted to make you guardian in the event of her death.’
‘Yes,’ Deirdre said, placing two cups and saucers on the counter top. ‘Anyway, I’ve agreed…because I don’t see what else I can do.�
�� She fumbled in a drawer for teaspoons, not sure how much more she should tell him of her private affairs, wanting to blurt it all out but wondering if he was just being polite in showing an interest. Her first instinct was that he genuinely wanted to know. Of course, she had already told him a lot.
There was a tension of awareness between them now, strong where it had been more tentative before. It was both physical and emotional. She sensed that when she looked at him her feelings would be there in her eyes.
‘Of course,’ she went on, ‘I may never need to take that on in actuality, because Fiona’s in good health, even though she’s in her mid-seventies, and Mungo’s almost fourteen and Fleur’s twelve…I expect I told you that before.’ Deirdre turned to face him, watching him spoon ground coffee into a glass coffee-maker.
‘Yes, but, please, go on,’ he said. ‘I want to know.’
‘Well, these days a child is adult at sixteen, can leave home—as you know,’ she went on. ‘If Mungo goes to university, that’s only four more years to go…six with Fleur. Of course, in terms of my own life, it’s a long time.’
Shay stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. To her he looked overwhelmingly attractive in the loose white shirt that he was wearing, unbuttoned at the neck, and black trousers that fitted his taut figure to perfection. Having been in his arms, she was having difficulty staying back from him. Of course, she didn’t have to. She had only to say the word… But there was little privacy for them.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. They looked at each other, attuned to the realization that she did not want to wait to have a life of her own. ‘I understand that the stepfather isn’t happy with that? You being the guardian?’
‘No,’ she said tensely, wishing he wouldn’t look at her so astutely. The colour was rising in her cheeks. ‘He isn’t. He’s fighting it. I…I feel so sad for the children because he doesn’t care about them. He pretends when he feels he has to, to keep up appearances or to impress someone. Not that the children want him to care, because they don’t like him, but you would hope that their mother’s husband would mean something.’ There was a catch in her voice.