Ideal Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 1)

by Jenny O'Brien

  Shrugging off his grey jacket and throwing it across the bannisters he headed upstairs, shouting for Lucky as he went. Entering his bedroom, empty apart from the built-in wardrobes and king size bed with Lucky fast asleep on his pillow.

  ‘Well you’re going to be a great mouser - not,’ he said, his voice echoing across the empty room. ‘Trust you to find the most comfortable spot in the house. If you think you’re staying there tonight you’ve another thing coming.’ But he was just ignored, the only sign he’d even entered the room being a low rumbling purr of contentment.

  Trying to stifle a sneeze he walked over to the built-in wardrobe and pulled out a clean cotton shirt and some jeans before heading for the shower. With the hot jets of water beating down on his chest and helping to wash away the stress of the last few hours he could have stayed in there for ever, excepting that he kept seeing how vulnerable Liddy had looked.

  Before he left he gave Lucky a stroke, telling him to mind the house before running outside to his car. Arriving at the hospital for the third time that day he checked his watch and noticed he’d managed the round trip in just under an hour - an all-time record!

  He entered the dimly lit room feeling all of his thirty six years and some. The air was thick with the smell of excitement and sweat intermingled with the odd whiff of cigarette smoke. There were people everywhere: intertwined on the dance floor swaying to the beat or slouched up against bare walls, beer cans at the ready.

  He suddenly remembered why he’d avoided these bashes like the plague as they were the same the world over. Overworked health care professionals, living on the edge with stress and Starbucks as their only companion, partied as they worked; hard. It was a young person’s game and he couldn’t cope with the hangovers anymore.

  Scanning the room for a pale girl with dark curls, his heart dropped when he realised she wasn’t there, and neither was her friend. Manoeuvring himself expertly through the cavorting masses he headed in the direction of an open door on the left. This revealed a small kitchen with grimy surfaces and a sink piled high with dishes.

  Nothing changes; he thought to himself idly, half tempted to call in the infection control team to swab the place. Although calling in the army of mothers to read them the riot act would probably be less controversial and more successful at sorting out their hygiene shortfalls. He glanced around, relieved to observe Liddy’s friend talking intently to Archie, the new A&E doctor. She looked up and held his gaze briefly, the befuddled look of someone who’d been hitting the punch too hard stamped across her face.

  ‘Hi there er..…’ He mumbled, embarrassed for having forgotten her name, although the way he’d been feeling recently he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d forgotten who he was, let alone the name of someone he’d only met. Fancy telling a cat to mind the house, he really was losing it!

  ‘Sorcha,’ she finished kindly. ‘So you made it back then - like the shirt.’ She said, her eyes scrolling downwards to take in the washed denims fastened with a leather belt and coordinating brown boots, only to pause at the belt. She only looked up again when he called her by name.

  ‘Sorcha, have you seen Liddy about? She doesn’t appear to be anywhere?’

  He watched as she turned her head wildly from side to side as if expecting to see her.

  ‘She was here a minute or so ago, wasn’t she Archie?’

  ‘Liddy who?’

  ‘Oh shut up Archie, you’re useless.’ She looked over his shoulder only to shout out over the din. ‘Hey Don, have you seen Lids about? Mitch is looking for her.’

  Donal threw a quick glance at the prof and placed his hands nonchalantly in his pockets, always a good trick to provide thinking time. He liked Liddy; he liked her a lot – too much for this smug git to get his clumsy mitts on her. He’d just about resigned himself to the fact he’d be laid to rest before ever getting laid. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some harmless fun in the meantime. Getting the glorious professor to think that he was getting his leg over with Liddy was surely the next best thing to actually carrying out the deed. It was just a shame he wouldn’t be able to see the results of his evil machinations, but he’d keep his ears open for any tittle tackle on the grapevine.

  ‘Well, yes I’ve just left her powdering her nose. She’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘There you go Mitch, problem solved.’ Sorcha took a long swig from the apple filled liquid in the bottom of her glass. ‘In fact I’ll just go and hurry her up.’ She added, resting her glass carefully on the corner of the cluttered table and heading out the door.

  Donal pulled out a packet of fags and proceeded to remove one. ‘Tell Lids I’ll wait for her outside would you mate?’ He glanced up. ‘I’m not one for parties and two is such a cosy number, don’t you think. Good job my flat’s within walking distance - that punch sure has a kick in it. What we both need is an early night! See you later.’

  He left Mitch standing alone in a room full of people, his head starting to thump. How could he feel so isolated, so utterly alone, surrounded as he was by a room full of friends and colleagues? He felt an angry blush course up his face as he remembered how she’d strained herself against him to plant that kiss against his lips. She wasn’t playing at dressing up; she wasn’t playing childish games. She was kitted out for a night of hot steamy passion, and that’s exactly what she was going to get. He took a quick swig from the can of lager Archie had handed him, before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. It was beyond him why she couldn’t have waited half an hour for him. She must have known he fancied her; girls knew about such things. It was only blokes that didn’t have a clue what went on in a woman’s head.

  ‘Are you all right, Sir?’

  ‘Don’t call me Sir! I’ve never felt less like a “Sir” in all my life.’ He tried to hand the can back.’

  ‘No, you keep it. You look like you need a drink.’

  He threw him a brief look of thanks. ‘Have you ever been stood up, er Archie?’

  ‘Me, stood up? All the bleedin time! I’ve been stood up more times than a stand-up comic. In fact I’m the dump expert of the world, that’s me.’

  The glimmer of a smile pulled at his lips despite the aching sadness. ‘So what’s your strategy then – you know, how do you cope?’

  ‘What me? Well that’s easy. I just go on to the next one and hope for the best.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the problem.’ Mitch replied before draining the rest of the warm acidic lager that would need a box of antacids later. ‘I’ve just realised I’ve fallen over the precipice and there’s no way of scrabbling back up this time. Thanks for the beer and the chat, but I have a cat to feed.’

  He passed Sorcha in the doorway but, apart from a brief smile didn’t pause on his way out of the halls of residence.

  ‘Where’s he going? I couldn’t find Liddy anywhere.’

  ‘I dunno do I? He may be a Prof and all that but he’s a bit bonkers if you ask me - all he could talk about was being dumped and falling off precipices. Positively barking!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Mitch picked up his bleep from reception the following morning it squealed to life in his hands and it had been like that all day. Initially he’d been called to review a middle aged builder, Mickey Foyle who’d slipped off some scaffolding whilst eating a rasher butty. He’d sustained a simple compound fracture to his right leg, which in itself wasn’t too serious, but the surgical registrar had picked up his unequal pupils and increasing confusion as indicated by his deteriorating Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS). When Mitch strolled into the department he observed it took two nurses to prevent him from hurting himself, or others for that matter - all due to his increasing levels of agitation.

  ‘Good work, Liam.’ He said to the beaming doctor. ‘More experienced staff’ miss the signs of an intracranial haemorrhage. He needs an urgent MRI scan as of yesterday and then we’ll decide what to do. Also can you cannulate him and send some blood for group and save in case he needs surgery.’
He turned in the direction of the nurse in the corner, her head bent as she updated the patient’s records.

  ‘Nurse, if you could keep him on fifteen minute head injury obs please and bleep me if his GCS falls - also it’s likely we’ll have to operate so make him nil orally.’ She lifted her eyes to meet his and he was unsettled to notice it was Sorcha.

  ‘Oh, hello again Sorcha.’

  ‘Hello Professor. Did you catch up with Liddy in the end?’

  ‘Er, no. she went back to Donal’s.’ He said, his voice devoid of all expression.

  ‘Bloody Drippy Donal – no way! I don’t believe it!’ A look of pure disbelief etched across her face. ‘She wouldn’t go back to his pad if he was the last man in Ireland.’

  ‘What! Drippy who?’ He watched and saw she had the grace to blush.

  ‘Sorry. It’s just…. never mind. It’s his nickname is all – everyone calls him that.’

  ‘Oh really! I’m not going to ask. I can probably guess.’ He said, the first smile appearing on his lips since yesterday evening.

  ‘Well let’s put it this way. He would be a good chap to have around if ever there was a water shortage. Poor old Donal – he’s not a bad bloke, just a bit WET!’ She added, as she moved across the room to check the leads from the cardiac monitor. ‘He’s so desperate to get his leg over: if it moves and has boobs he’ll take a pot at it. I knew there was something wrong last night when she disappeared like that – he must have just given her a lift home, or something. Believe me, there is no way Liddy would touch him with a five foot barge pole – not now anyway.’

  He looked up from the notes he was scribbling in. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes Really!’ Sorcha let out a brief laugh. ‘If you must know it’s because of you. Although you’d better be quick as we leave in a few weeks. It’s our last placement before we graduate.’

  ‘Oh when’s that?’

  ‘Well, we don’t actually have our graduation until the summer, but come New Year’s Eve we’re all free men and women - I’ll be out of here quicker than a lightning strike.’

  ‘So Liddy’s leaving too is she?’

  ‘Yep, her mum lives in France so she’s going over there for a bit to decide if she likes it. Look, what about if I find out what really happened to Lids last night and text you later?’

  ‘If you don’t mind that would be brilliant.’

  ‘No, I’d do anything for her. But treat her right, mind or you’ll come up against me. Here write your number on the back of my notebook.’ She said, holding out a pen, ‘and don’t nick my pen – I know what you doctors are like.’

  ‘Thanks Sorcha.’ He said, with a sheepish smile. He had a drawer full of the ruddy things in his kitchen. Every day it seemed he picked up another dozen or so. But even as he started to write down the number his bleeper switched itself back on with a screech loud enough to waken the dead.

  Excusing himself, he headed to the nearest phone, which sent him up six flights of stairs to ITU in order to review a pyrexial ninety year old following the removal of a brain tumour. After writing him up for intravenous antibiotics it was time to track back down to A&E to catch up with the radiologist for the results of Mickey’s brain scan, which confirmed a sub-dural haematoma. That meant speaking to the anaesthetist and the rest of his surgical team in order to reschedule his operation list. Finally he had to meet with Mickey’s distraught wife to explain the seriousness of the surgery, whilst still trying to offer some degree of hope. It was days like these he wished he’d chosen accountancy!

  He just ignored his rumbling insides. He hadn’t felt up to breakfast and it looked like lunch was going to be postponed almost indefinitely unless he could persuade the honey of a theatre manager to rustle up some toast.

  Hours later he found himself sitting alone in the ever increasing darkness of his lounge. He was too lethargic to do more than lift a lazy hand, and then only at the persistent head butting from Lucky. At least Sorcha had texted him.

  Bloody Donal Cartright! Although he couldn’t blame him really – if the positions had been reversed he’d have been tempted to pull the same stunt. He’d spent all day imagining them in all the positions known to man, when in reality she’d had to stay up all night looking after a ward full of patients. He’d bide his time and get his own back on Drippy Donal.

  ‘Well what would you do fella?’ he asked absentmindedly, as his hand tickled the ecstatic cat behind his ears. ‘What about that cute tortoiseshell down the road? I’ve seen you watching her from the safety of the top of the fence. What, if there was another cool dude after her; what then? Would you believe it if her best friend told you she fancied you rotten, or would you feel the way I feel – utterly confused?’ He paused briefly to shift gently in the chair and felt ten claws immediately dig into his chest.

  ‘It would be so much easier if there was some outward sign if someone fancied you. You have it made in the animal kingdom, let me tell you – you see something you fancy and then proceed to shag it rotten. There’s no repercussions, there no recriminations, except for satisfying sex and the furthering of the species. But if we make a wrong move, or say the wrong thing they won’t even speak to us for a week and as for sex – that’s the first thing to go by the wayside, especially if she’s in a bad mood. No, all us poor blokes have to go on is guesswork and body language.’

  He moved his hand across the fur and felt the rumbling increase if that was possible. ‘How the hell are you meant to tell if a girl fancies you unless she tells you? And when did a woman ever say what she meant? Yeah and those cute nipple things are as good as useless. Have you tried to checkout boobs, let alone nipples in mid-winter when anything worth looking at is shrouded in acres of woollies and miles of scarf? Next time I’m in church I’m going to make a few suggestions I can tell you!’ He tilted his head in thought. What if it wasn’t just cats that purred when they were happy, but girls when they wanted to get laid? Now that would solve most of my problems at the moment. Although it would probably be better if her ears changed colour as well - Just in case she had a cold or something and us poor blokes mistook a sniffle for a purr – that could get us into all sorts of trouble.’

  He leaned back and stretched, before carefully lowering Lucky to the floor. At least he wouldn’t have long to wait until he saw her again, he remembered with a smile. It would soon be Monday and that meant the trip to Rathcoole Rehabilitation Centre. Not the most romantic of settings, but he’d manage - he’d managed in worse. If all else failed he could always invite her back to check on Lucky. His smile changed into a grin. He’d ask Mrs O’Shea to change the sheets and to give the shower an extra going over. Yes indeedy - He had plans for Monday.

  ‘All this thinking and I’m starving, what about you?’ He glanced down to catch Lucky’s unblinking stare. ‘I’m having a beer, fancy some milk, or I think there’s some of the special cat cream left in the tub? Oh, and I popped into the fish shop on the way home so, plaice or cod? If you think you’re having any of my turbot you can think again!’

  Lucky followed him out of the room purring all the way – he was partial to a nice bit of turbot!

  If only cats could talk he would tell him that he didn’t need any help with his love life thank you very much. What the hell did he think he was doing last night anyway, rooting around in bins when Mitch was spoiling him rotten with food fit for a King? I don’t think so. No, he’d found his way through a certain little cat flap and spent all night in cat heaven.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Knock knock, anyone home?’ Mitch pushed open the door to find her standing in the middle of the lounge in the cutest looking PJ’s he’d ever seen. He smiled at the image of Winnie the Pooh’s head as it stretched across her chest – He’d never be able to think of Winnie the Pooh in exactly the same light!

  ‘Er do you need a hand or anything?’

  ‘I can’t find my keys anywhere.’ She turned around the room, her eyes flickering across every surface, although how she could
find anything in the all this mess was beyond him. There were clothes and discarded newspapers strewn across every surface, not to mention what looked like the remains of her breakfast on the little table tucked away in the corner.

  ‘Have you tried the door?’

  ‘What?’ She looked up from running her hands down the side of the sofa.

  ‘Liddy, you really do need to be more careful.’ He added, returning to the door he’d just walked through and removing the keys that were still hanging on the outside. ’A pretty girl like you, living alone….’ He threw her a concerned smile before putting the keys in his pocket and walking to the table to start gathering up the dishes. ‘You go and sort yourself out and I’ll go and make us a cuppa.’

  ‘There’s no need to….’

  ‘Don’t worry, we won’t be late.’ He paused to throw her another look. ‘Unless that is you want a hand in the bedroom, then we might be very late?’ He held his breath for a reply, any reply. He hadn’t meant to be quite so direct, but in truth he’d only said what he’d wanted to say ever since he’d seen her straining against the buttons of that top – Lucky Winnie!

  She blushed scarlet and nearly ran to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a firm click.

  ‘I take it that’s a no then.’ He said on a laugh as he went to put the kettle on. That was a reply of sorts, not the reply he wanted but the one he’d expected all the same.