A Perfect Hero

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘You don’t sound very keen.’

  He sighed and put down the magazine. ‘I’m not. I don’t know if anyone else will be there—Ross’s sons, or other friends …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for socialising yet.’

  Clare lifted the receiver on the wall phone and punched in a number.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Finding out—hello, Lizzi, it’s Clare. I just wondered if there was anything you wanted us to bring with us—a salad, some wine, anything like that. I didn’t know how many you were going to be catering for.’

  ‘Just the four of us, the boys are with their mother, and no, don’t bring anything except Michael—how is he, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, getting to grips with his leg. The air was blue yesterday, but he’s trying to run before he can walk at the moment. He’ll be fine once he’s got it sussed. Are you sure you don’t want me to make a rice salad or anything?’

  ‘No, really—just come when you’re ready.’

  ‘Lovely. We’ll see you soon. Bye.’

  She replaced the receiver and turned to Michael.

  ‘Just us. You can relax.’

  He snorted, then sighed. ‘OK. I give in. I’ll go and shower and get ready—it takes bloody hours.’

  They left shortly before eleven, and all the way Clare was conscious of the tension in him. Despite the heat of the day, he was wearing jeans to cover his leg, although at home he had been happy in shorts. She wondered how difficult he would find taking off his leg and undressing to go in the pool with Lizzi around, but she knew there was nothing she could do to protect him from reality. He would have to find his own way of dealing with it.

  Ross greeted them at the car and walked with them round the side of the house to the pool. Lizzi was lying in the shade of a tree, reading a book, and looked up as they approached.

  ‘Hi, there. Drag up a chair—sun or shade?’

  They all opted for the shade, and Ross brought them tall, clinking glasses of fruit juice from the kitchen.

  Even so, the heat got to them. Ross lit the barbeque with a bit of help and advice from Michael in the way of good-natured abuse, and then they returned to the shade to flop on the cool grass.

  Conversation was minimal but comfortable, Clare and Lizzi talking about the book she was reading, and Ross and Michael—of course—talking shop. After half an hour Ross stood up and flapped his T-shirt. ‘Time for a swim,’ he said, and with swift economy of movement he stripped off his T-shirt and shorts to reveal sleek black trunks.

  ‘Michael, you coming in while the girls knock up some salad?’ he asked, and Lizzi and Clare took the hint and made their way to the kitchen.

  ‘I wondered how he would cope with that,’ Clare said. ‘I might have known Ross would work round it tactfully.’

  ‘Does it trouble him much?’ Lizzi asked.

  ‘I don’t know—he doesn’t really talk about it all that much. Lizzi, I’ve been meaning to tell you—we aren’t engaged any more.’

  ‘What?’ Lizzi put down the lettuce she was shredding and turned to Clare, her face touched with compassion. ‘Oh, Clare, I am sorry. What happened?’

  Clare sighed. ‘I wish I knew. It was about a week after the accident, but he’d been getting more and more distant ever since the accident happened. I thought at first he was just depressed, but then I realised he just didn’t want me around so much. Then he overheard me talking to his brother, and——’ She lifted her shoulders in a defeated little shrug.

  ‘Explain,’ Lizzi said firmly, leading her to the table and sitting her down.

  So she sat, and poured out all the happenings of the past three weeks, and Lizzi listened, her violet eyes troubled.

  ‘So that’s it,’ Clare concluded. ‘He doesn’t love me, and as soon as he doesn’t need me any more, I’ll be moving out.’

  ‘There’s a flat coming up in the hospital,’ Lizzi told her. ‘My staff nurse, Lucy Hallett, is moving in with Mitch Baker, Ross’s registrar, at the end of next week when Mitch gets his flat. They’re both in hospital accommodation at the moment, but I know Lucy’s got a nice little flat—would you like me to ask her what’s happening to it?’

  ‘Could you? I know the flat—it was near mine.’ She sighed. She had only been out of the flat a month. Why had they been so hasty? Perhaps Michael was right after all.

  They heard footsteps, and Ross appeared, his body glistening with water.

  ‘Nice swim?’ Lizzi asked him, accepting his damp kiss with a grimace.

  ‘Fabulous,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve come for the chicken pieces and the kebabs.’

  ‘In the fridge—where’s Michael?’

  ‘Still in the pool—he’s trying to swim eight hundred metres.’

  ‘He’ll kill himself,’ Clare said with a sigh.

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Ross assured her. ‘He’s as fit as a flea—he’s just a little out of condition at the moment, and hell bent on proving things to himself. He’ll be fine. Is this all?’

  He brandished the dish of kebabs and chicken pieces under Lizzi’s nose.

  ‘Oh, Ross, don’t,’ she said, turning away with her hand on her throat. ‘Yes, it is all. We’ll bring the salad down—is it OK for us to appear yet?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. He’s relaxed now, and having fun. If we ignore him he’ll be all right.’

  She tutted. ‘I was hardly going to stare at him!’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’ Ross grinned, a lop-sided, little-boy grin, and hugged Lizzi with his free hand.

  ‘Yuck, you’re all wet. Go away!’ she told him laughingly, and, picking up the salad dish, she followed him out. ‘Clare, can you manage that tray?’ she called over her shoulder.

  Clare could. She followed them out, envying their camaraderie and obvious affection. As she walked down the steps behind them, she could see Michael powering up and down the pool in a swift, no-nonsense crawl that ate up the water.

  Lizzi watched him for a second, and smiled. ‘He’s getting plenty of practice at tumble-turns, anyway.’

  Clare nodded, and allowed her eyes to feast on the sight of his smooth, well-muscled arms cleaving through the clear water. Ross and Lizzi were dealing with the food, bantering good-naturedly about the readiness of the charcoal and the cooking time of the chicken pieces, and were quite oblivious to her presence.

  Ross appeared at her elbow after a couple of minutes. ‘Do you want to go in?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not just yet. Perhaps later.’

  ‘I just wondered. You were staring at the water with such longing.’

  Lizzi took his arm. ‘I don’t think it was the water she was staring at,’ she told him as she towed him away.

  Clare closed her eyes. Was she so transparent? With a heavy sigh, she went into the shade and sat down, but it was still bakingly hot.

  Lizzi came over and flopped on to the sun lounger. ‘Why don’t you take some of those things off?’ she asked. ‘You look steamed.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ve got my costume on underneath. Perhaps when Michael’s finished his marathon I’ll go in and cool off.’

  She peeled off her T-shirt and shorts, and kicked off her canvas shoes, wriggling her toes in the cool grass.

  ‘That’s better,’ Ross said with obvious admiration.

  ‘Hey, that’s enough of that, you’re spoken for!’ Lizzi said laughingly.

  He grinned. ‘I can look, can’t I? Artistic appreciation.’

  She snorted. Clare bit her lip, and Lizzi tutted. ‘Now you’ve embarrassed her. Go and cool off in the water.’

  He laughed. ‘It was only appreciation, not outright lust! She’s a little too lush for me, I prefer my women rather more on the skinny side,’ he said, leeering at his slender wife.

  Lizzi hit him. ‘I’ll give you skinny, and less of the plural, please! Women, indeed—you are too old for that sort of thing!’

  He smiled tenderly and patted her tummy. ‘I’m evidently not,’ he said with undisg
uised pride.

  Lizzi flushed and shooed him off. ‘Go and turn the kebabs.’

  ‘Nag, nag, nag,’ he grumbled, but went anyway.

  Clare looked across at her friend. ‘Lizzi?’

  She smiled with deep contentment. ‘I’m pregnant—the baby’s due in February.’

  Emotion welled in her chest, and Clare reached out a hand blindly and grasped Lizzi’s. ‘Oh, Lizzi, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you …’

  She shut her eyes and tears welled over, splashing on to her bare legs.

  ‘Oh, Clare, don’t cry—I’m sorry, that was supremely tactless of us when you and Michael’

  ‘Clare and Michael what?’ said Ross, coming back.

  ‘Nothing, Ross. This is private.’

  ‘No, tell him.’ Clare struggled to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go for a stroll and have a look round your garden for a minute.’

  She walked away, her head bowed, giving up the effort of keeping her tears under control. Maybe it would be easier to leave the hospital altogether, get right away from him once he didn’t need her any more.

  She found a bench tucked in under a tree at the far end of the garden, and sat down, indifferent to the beauty of her surroundings, all her attention focused on the yawning void of the rest of her life, a life that would be empty and meaningless without Michael.

  A shadow fell on the grass in front of her, and she looked up to find him standing there, leaning on his crutches. He was still wet from the pool, the water making little rivers over his sleek skin.

  ‘Lunch is ready,’ he told her. He sounded concerned.

  ‘I’m not really hungry.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ he confessed, ‘but they’ve gone to a lot of trouble, and I think we should eat it. Come on, love. We don’t have to stay too long.’

  But it’s not them I don’t want to be with, she longed to tell him, it’s you, because every time I look at you my heart breaks a little more——

  ‘I’m coming.’ She stood up and waited while he turned round, and walked slowly back with him across the gently sloping grass to the pool.

  Despite her reservations she ate well, and so did Michael, and then after lunch they lay around for a while in the shade. Michael dozed, his arm flung up over his eyes, and then when he woke up they all went in the pool and played a rather wild game of individual water polo, with broken rules abounding.

  Once the ball came towards Clare and she seized it, only to find herself being tackled enthusiastically by Michael, his body hard and sinuous against hers as he laughingly reached round her and grabbed the ball. After that she lost her concentration and ended up with the lowest score.

  They left late in the day, after what had turned into a very enjoyable and relaxing afternoon.

  ‘They’re lovely people,’ Michael said on the way home. ‘They said if I could get over there, I could use the pool any time I wanted.’

  ‘I can bring you over,’ Clare found herself offering. He didn’t comment, but she noticed his hands clenched on the grip of his crutches. Was it her, or just that he hated to be dependent? She didn’t know.

  They had tuna and salad sandwiches for supper, and Michael went up to bed early, tired after his exertion in the pool. Clare tidied up the kitchen and was putting her uniform in the washing-machine when there was an almighty crash above her head.

  Dropping everything, she ran up the stairs and into Michael’s room. He was just picking himself up off the floor, and she caught the tail-end of a string of profanities. He straightened up, naked, and glared at her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody well all right! Damn it, woman, stop hovering!’

  ‘Don’t shout at me!’ she yelled. ‘I can’t help caring about you!’

  Suddenly it was all too much. Dropping her face into her hands, she burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, God, Clare, don’t cry,’ he pleaded gruffly. ‘I’m sorry. Ah, love, come here——’

  She somehow ended up in his arms, the steady beat of his heart under her ear, his back firm and warm beneath her hands. He pulled her down gently on to the bed and rocked her against his chest, murmuring soothingly as she cried out all her pain. Then he tipped her head back and stared down at her, his eyes dark with emotion.

  ‘God forgive me, Clare,’ he whispered raggedly. ‘I’ve tried—lord knows I’ve tried, but I can’t resist you …’

  He made love to her then, tenderly at first, and then with rising passion to match her own, clinging to her at the end as if he would never let her go.

  They slept tangled in each other’s arms, waking in the night to make love again slowly in the darkness.

  When she woke, it was with a feeling of contentment and well-being that had been absent for weeks. She stretched and opened her eyes, to find Michael propped up on one elbow, studying her with a haunted expression in his eyes.

  ‘Hi,’ she murmured, and reached up to touch him. He caught her wrist and held it, lowering it slowly to the bed.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean last night to happen. I’m not going to apologise, I had warned you, and I can’t lie and say I regret it, because I don’t, but we mustn’t let it happen again.’

  She closed her eyes and rolled away from him, numb with shock. She had thought last night changed everything, whereas, of course, it had changed nothing at all.

  ‘I’ll be moving out at the end of the week,’ she told him, and was appalled to find her voice shook. ‘Lizzi’s staff nurse is vacating her flat in the residence—I’ll see if I can get it.’

  ‘I think it would be as well,’ he said softly, and she was surprised to hear the tremor in his voice, too.

  She slid out of the side of the bed and picked up her clothes from the floor, then walked out of his room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  They avoided each other for the rest of the day. Lizzi rang to say that no one had taken Lucy’s flat and, provided she checked with the accommodation officer, there wouldn’t be a problem.

  So that was that. Clare spent the afternoon in her room drafting a letter of resignation, which she handed in to the chief nursing officer the following morning. She wasn’t surprised to be called in to see her later in the day.

  ‘Why, Staff? You’re one of our best nurses, and as far as we’ve been aware, you’ve been happy here.’

  ‘It’s personal,’ Clare told her, twisting her hands together in her lap.

  The CNO straightened the letter in front of her, and then looked up at Clare.

  ‘There were a lot of rumours about you and Mr Barrington, both before and after his tragic accident.’

  Clare looked away. ‘It didn’t work out.’

  ‘For him.’

  She nodded. ‘Please, I really don’t want to talk about it …’

  ‘How about if we moved you to a different department—perhaps out to the cottage hospital? There’s a vacancy there for a sister—you could apply for that.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘It’s not far enough.’

  The elderly woman behind the desk stood up and came round, laying her hand on Clare’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ll never outrun your memories, Clare, no matter how far you go.’

  She sighed. ‘I know that, but maybe if I get right away I’ll be able to forget him sooner—damn …’

  A tear splashed on to her hand, and another one. The CNO handed her a box of tissues and quietly left the room. After a few minutes Clare pulled herself together and returned to the ward, to find Mary O’Brien waiting for her.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said briskly, ‘but I think you’re right. It won’t do either of you any good to fall over each other all day long at work. Now, why don’t you go home? I can manage without you for the rest of the day, and you look as if you could do with some time to yourself.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘No, Mary, let me stay, please? I haven’t got anywhere to go except here.’

  ‘Sure?’

&nbs
p; ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Right, well, in that case you can give Deborah Lewis a hand with the post-ops that have come back from Recovery. There are two arthoscopies, and a hip replacement, and when she comes down there’s a young woman with bunions who’s had a bilateral metatarsal osteotomy.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get on. And Mary?’

  The sister looked up.

  ‘Thank you—for everything.’

  She smiled understandingly. ‘You’re welcome.’

  The day went quickly after that. Somehow, making the decision to leave and having it accepted made her feel more positive, although she was still dreading facing Michael again when she got home.

  She needn’t have worried. There was a note for her propped up on the kitchen table.

  Dear Clare, This isn’t working. If you need to contact me, I’m on Henrietta. Please feed O’Malley and let me know when you move. Michael.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LUCY HALLETT moved out of her flat on Friday afternoon, and Clare moved in on Saturday. It took a couple of trips in her little car—when she had moved in with Michael, they had used his Volvo estate, which had swallowed up all the boxes of bits and pieces and memorabilia with ridiculous ease.

  She was just standing in the kitchen indulging in a fit of nostalgia when there was a roaring and a spurt of gravel outside. Seconds later, Andrew strolled through the door.

  ‘Hi. How’s it going?’

  ‘I don’t know about it, but I’m going—I’ve got a flat and I’m moving out.’

  He swore, softly but succinctly. ‘He surely doesn’t still think we had an affair?’

  Clare sighed and sat down heavily. ‘Andrew, I don’t know what he thinks any more. He wouldn’t let me explain, wouldn’t talk about it. All he would say is that he doesn’t love me.’

  ‘So why are you still here?’

  ‘Because he needed looking after by someone, and I was the only one available.’

  ‘Damn.’ He dropped into another chair and leant on the table, propping his chin in his hand. ‘Clare, I’m sorry. I should have been here, but I was so mad with him—he’s always had this thing about me taking his women—’

  ‘And do you?’