Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3)

by Jenny O'Brien

  Socks in place she hopped back into bed and, rubbing her feet together smiled at the sight of Lucky jumping on to her lap and settling down to sleep like a purring hot water bottle. One hand on her head, she remembered the only regret at leaving – her dad. She couldn’t leave without telling him, but that’s exactly what she’d done. She’d collected her suitcase from the hall all the while lying through her teeth about Henry’s absence. But he’d been happy enough with her excuse; after all he’d been a lad himself and could still remember the importance of finishing that last pint.

  Pulling the door closed her heart had dropped at the thought that this might be the last time she viewed the vicarage as home. Henry’s stuff already littered her room to such an extent she couldn’t even call it her own anymore.

  Lifting the somnolent cat further up under her chin she thought about what tomorrow would bring. She was meant to be catching the 09.30 plane from Dublin airport to Barcelona for, if not the honeymoon of a lifetime then at least a warm one. Instead Mitch had invited Grainne and Ruari around for a ‘sort out Mabel breakfast conflab.’

  ‘Right then, there’s extra rashers and sausages people, and what about more black pudding?’ Mitch placed the refilled teapot on the table, one hand gently brushing against Liddy’s cheek.

  ‘Yes please, apart from the bacon though.’ Ruari added, throwing Grainne a brief smile. ‘I’m a growing boy.’

  ‘Yeah, right - I don’t want a porker for an old man so its porridge for you for the rest of the week.’

  ‘I’m truly deprived.’ He turned towards Mitch, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a mock frown. ‘Fancy a swap mate? I’m sure Liddy knows all about how to look after a fella?’

  ‘Not bloody likely, and its porridge for me too – she only lets me eat sausages once a week.’

  ‘Oh, that’s bad! I don’t know why I’m marrying….’ He paused and, standing up went to hug Freddie, sitting silently at the end of the table munching on a bacon sandwich. ‘Sorry hun, me and my motor mouth.’

  Reaching up she grasped his arm in hers. ‘It’s fine, I’m enjoying the banter – It’s keeping my mind off things,’ her voice trailing off into thin air.

  The sound of Grainne’s mobile interrupted them and, rooting around in the pocket of her cardigan she pressed the phone up to her ear.

  ‘Hello,’ her eyes meeting Freddie’s, a frown hidden in their depths.

  ‘Oh, hello Henry - lovely wedding yesterday, didn’t Mabel look fantastic?’ She added, throwing her a wink as she held the now screaming phone away from her ear.

  ‘What – have I seen her? You haven’t gone and lost her already, it’s only been a few hours,’ her wink turning into a grin.

  ‘Really? That’s unfortunate but at least you had the church.’ Her eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘No, we left quite early being as I’m pregnant and all.’

  ‘Yes, okay. If I see her I’ll tell her you want to talk to her.’ Switching off the phone she returned it to the same pocket before speaking. ‘Henry would like you to give him a ring.’

  ‘He’s already given me one!’

  ‘Of all the nerve,’ Ruari interrupted. ‘What was that about the church?’

  She threw Freddie a quick look. ‘When you left your dad’s last night you must have pulled the door too; Henry doesn’t have a key.’ She glanced across the table. ‘He had to make do with the floor in the vestry.’

  ‘Oh dear, poor Henry.’ She replied sotto voice, an answering gleam in her eyes. ‘Anyone for another cuppa, and if anyone knows of a job for a highly experienced ophthalmological nurse…?’

  ‘Well actually,’ Ruari interrupted. ‘How do you fancy Wales?’

  She placed the brown earthenware teapot down on its little slate mat with extra care. ‘What, as in New South?’

  ‘No – sorry,’ his expression rueful. ‘As in cold damp, dark wet west coast of the UK Wales.’ He said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘One of the profs at Trinity is holed up in some God forsaken cottage over there following removal of his cataracts and…’

  ‘The poor wee man!’ Liddy interrupted, turning back to her. ‘They don’t do simultaneous cataract removal though, do they? What about the risk of infection?’

  ‘Not usually, unless there’s an anaesthetic risk of course that outweighs the one of infection.’ She replied, both girls looking at Ruari. ‘I can cope with Wales if there’s a job in it. What part, there’s a North and…?’

  ‘South, but I believe its North. Quite near Snowdonia – a little place called Betws-y-Coed.’

  ‘Betty what?’

  ‘Betws-y-Coed. It’s pronounced Betsy Coyed.’

  ‘Of course it is!’ Both eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘So that’s near Snowdonia, where presumably there’s…’

  ‘Lots of snow, right!’ He placed a hand on Liddy’s knee. ‘I’m sure my wife will lend you some of her jumpers, it’s not as if she’ll be needing any of them for quite some time,’ his hand moving softly to her tummy protruding out from under her t-shirt.

  She rested her hand on his, and Freddie’s heart twisted at the sight.

  ‘We’ll leave the boys to tidy up and us girls will go and have a rummage. I’ve promised to lend Grainne some things too, although I have found raiding Mitch’s wardrobe the most satisfying!’

  ‘Hey, you leave my wardrobe out of it!’

  ‘Hold on a mo.’ She interrupted, gathering together a couple of plates. ‘What about references and travel arrangements for a start?’ She rested her elbows on the table. ‘I’d also like to know exactly what’s meant to be wrong with him before I make any decisions.’

  Ruari laughed and, pouring out another mug of tea for them both sat down beside her.

  ‘Let the girls sort themselves out and us doctors will go all technical on you!’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Well his name’s Derry, Derry Yeats, as in WB! I don’t really know him, but they were talking about him yesterday at Trinity. He’s a cardiologist, but he’s been off sick for months.’ He picked up his tea and took a lengthy sip. ‘He’s blind – poor bugger: Hopefully only temporarily though following his surgery. I’m not sure of the ins and outs but I gather he had the first operation only to fall foul of an inflammation of his central retina.’ He glanced across at Mitch with a frown.

  ‘Don’t look at me mate, I only fix brains! I haven’t a clue when it comes to eyes. All I can remember is the op’s called Phaco something or other?’ They both stared across at Freddie’s smiling face.

  ‘It’s called Phacoemulsification boys.’ She looked into the middle distance before continuing. ‘It must be a cystoid macular oedema – He’ll be on steroid eye drops so. With a bit of luck and someone to nag him to prevent it worsening he should regain full sight.’ She slid her eyes back to Ruari’s. ‘So why is he in Wales then and with presumably no one to look after him?’

  ‘Now that I can’t tell you: all I know is they’re desperate to get him well again. He’s been working on some research project or other and without him regaining his sight…’ She watched him push his glasses up his nose again. ‘They were going to go to a nursing agency and just send someone to make sure he was behaving himself. The thing is…’ he stuttered to a halt before throwing her a small smile. ‘The thing is he won’t know you’re coming.’

  ‘Oh that’s just great!’ Placing both hands on the table she tried staring him out but, unlike Henry he didn’t look away.

  ‘As I see it Mabel, you can either go back to Henry or be doing the world a huge favour by trying to sort some “too clever for his own good” old boy out. The university is willing to pay going rates and travel expenses.’

  ‘And you know all this because…’

  ‘Because I’m a mate and we were all worried something like this would happen between you and…’

  She held up a hand. ‘Alright alright, I’ll do it. I don’t really have a choice now do I? There’s no time like the present
so book me on the next boat.’ Draining the rest of her tea she headed for the door, only to turn at the last minute. ‘And just for the record its Mabel from now on boys.’

  Part Two

  A girl called Mabel

  Chapter Eight

  It was already nine o’clock by the time she’d settled her suitcase on the luggage rack and finally collapsed into her seat, her head shifting to find a comfortable spot below the too high headrest. Looking out of the finger smeared window she was still able to see the sign for Llandudno Junction straddling the outside of the ticket office. If there was a Junction there must be a Llandudno, not that she’d probably get to see it of course. Caring for some old befuddled boy in his own home was going to be an around the clock exercise where any down time would have to be snatched as and when, if at all.

  She closed her eyes against the harsh electric light wishing it was as easy to shut her ears to the sound of carriage doors slamming and the wheels starting to engage with the track. At least the lumpy seat moulded itself around her jacket, acting like a buffer between her and the gentle chugging of the train as it pulled out of the station.

  She had nothing to do, with nothing to read and, glancing around the empty carriage, no one to speak to. The train was her captive audience and, bored to tears by unhappy thoughts she stared at the blackness streaming past the windows; blackness only interrupted by the odd light and even odder place names. But there was no shift in the monotony other than the pulling into another station shrouded in darkness: darkness as black as her thoughts. She was sick to death of running Henry’s words and actions back and forwards like a never ending merry-go-round, although there was nothing merry about it – It was all so desperately sad. Yesterday she’d been a happy bride and today…Today she was just another woman heading out on a journey into the unknown with no plans and, even more depressing no expectations.

  She stretched out her arm to stare at the two rings on her left hand as if she’d never seen them before. How could the plain gold band that had meant everything now represent less than nothing. With a sudden movement she dragged both rings off and, opening her handbag placed them in the zipped pocket under the flap. Lifting up her other hand she paused a moment, her gaze resting on the only ring she’d ever worn – before Henry’s that is. A ring so similar as to be almost identical to the one now lurking hidden and unseen in some dark corner of her mind as well as her bag.

  Her friends used to call her maudlin for wearing her dead mother’s troth but she didn’t care. She’d worn it every day since, if not on her finger then hidden on a chain under her school dress, her tunic, her t-shirts. She didn’t want to be reminded of Henry, but still some part of her felt the need to proclaim herself as a married woman for, she certainly wasn’t single anymore – far from it. With one decisive movement she pulled the ring off and placed it on her wedding finger before finally relaxing back in her seat and closing her eyes, only to open them with a start seconds later.

  They were pulling into another station, the one before Betws-y-Coed if the map above the window was accurate. Gathering together her suitcase she heaved it towards the doors and proceeded to zip her jacket up to her neck and pull on her matching bright pink gloves and beanie before gripping the handrail at the side of the wall; her mind moving away from the past and towards the future for the first time since the morning. She’d have to ask at the train station for the way to Cas-Blaidd Cottage but, pulling the scrap of paper out of her pocket and tucking it up her glove, at least she wouldn’t have to embarrass herself by having to try and pronounce it.

  ‘Ah it’s the Wolf’s Castle you’d be wanting, is it, and at this time of night too? Will he be expecting you then or should I phone ahead miss?’

  She stared open mouthed at the fast speaking station master in the throes of closing up for the night. She knew she was in a foreign country but it wasn’t looking good. It had just started to lash with rain for a start and for a second start who the hell called their home Wolf Castle apart from a wolf!

  ‘It’s alright cariad.’ He added, poking around in the back of the ticket office for a minute before flourishing a bright pink umbrella. Someone left it ages ago, and it matches your hat.’

  She smiled her thanks as he locked the door behind him and ushered her out the door.

  ‘It’s not far. Just up the road past the church and over Pont y Pair Bridge on your right…’

  ‘What about a taxi?’

  ‘There’s only Jimmy Jones and he knocked off ages ago.’ He said, shooing her ahead with a wave of his hand. ‘You’ll be quite safe, the only wolf around at this time of night lives at Cas Blaidd!’ He added on a laugh before turning away in the other direction.

  ‘Great, just bloody great,’ muttering under her breath she slung her bag over her shoulder and, with one hand outstretched behind her dragged her case while trying to balance the umbrella in the other. ‘Wolf indeed – what a joker!’ Barely sparing a glance at the posh shops straggling the road on the left her eyes squinted into the dark trying to locate the church. Churches spelled safety for her and, if the worst came to the worst she could always knock on the door of the vicarage asking for refuge – Refuge from exactly what she wasn’t quite sure. She’d come to look after some poor old soul following his operation, or at least that’s what Ruari had led her to believe. If he’d led her up the garden path she’d kill him.

  Chapter Nine

  Rat a tat tat.

  Derry heard the knock but decided to ignore it. He had much better things to do than answer the door. He had a half bottle of whiskey to finish and a shard of glass to dispose of – a shard of glass already cutting into his hand with a relentless determination he hadn’t quite decided what to do with. The coward in him wanted to drop it on the floor with the rest of the broken tumblers positioned by his feet – but the one thing he’d never been was a coward. He’d made himself a promise a few weeks ago; just before his surgery in fact. He’d promised that if he couldn’t continue leading the life he was made for then he’d opt out altogether – not in a cowardly way, that wasn’t it at all. No, in an honourable way: in a way where he’d never be a burden on anyone else. There was no way in hell he was prepared to live some half shadowy existence with a white stick tapping out his way. If he couldn’t have it all, he’d have none of it. That wasn’t cowardly. That was honest.

  He sighed as the knocking continued to interrupt his thoughts, the shard of glass now forgotten tumbling out of his hand to join its friends on the carpet by his feet.

  Those bloody kids from next door no doubt, banging on his door and dragging him away from his two bar electric fire to try and navigate the obstacle course to his uncle’s front door (He didn’t think he’d ever get used to thinking of it as his own). Their maniacal screams still hung in the air from earlier when he’d tripped over the coat stand, sending ancient hats and strong expletives storming across the hall. He thought he’d scared them off rushing out and waving his arms like a madman, but if that was them back he’d obviously lost his touch. He’d cursed them to hell later when, on the way to the loo he’d tripped over two hats, a smelly old jacket and a dog lead. He’d frowned at the lead dangling in his hand as he ran his hands over its length. Either it was a dog lead or his uncle had some weird whipping fetish going on, and at the risk of being ageist he was eighty eight when he’d died after all. So it was a dog lead, even more confusing as, to his knowledge he’d never even owned a cat let alone a dog. He’d been a reclusive type after he’d retired, preferring the company of the bottle to almost anything. Derry couldn’t imagine him having changed over the last couple of years but who could tell? Maybe he’d changed from a misogynist whiskey loving hermit to an animal loving vegetarian, but he very much doubted it.

  He scrubbed his hand across his bristly chin as his thoughts continued to meander away from the relentless knocking. They hadn’t even realised he’d been in hospital with a troublesome cough before they’d had that phone call from his cleaner to say
he’d been found dead in bed. It was an even greater surprise to discover he’d been left the cottage and, more importantly his stock of malt whiskey. He was all ready to put the house on the market (and ship the whiskey); for what good was a Welsh hideaway to a workaholic bachelor based in Dublin anyway, and then his surgery had been rescheduled.

  Moving his left hand six inches to the left he tentatively felt for the rim of his inherited crystal tumbler in an effort not to send this one in the same direction as the previous five - he had plans for that glass. The carpet must look like a vandal’s paradise but as he couldn’t see it…. He just had to remember to wear shoes or his feet would be toast! He could just about cope with being blind. No, that wasn’t true, his fingers gently examining the engraved crystal. Of all the things to happen he’d finally decided that being blind was the worst. But he didn’t think he’d get very far with glassed feet. Taking a sip he returned the glass to the table, pushing it back into exactly the same position while he tried to focus on the music humming away merrily in the background from the little radio he’d thrown into his backpack at the very last minute.

  He only moved at the sound of the door being thumped again and with enough pressure to jolt the glass in its frame too. Grabbing the wooded arms of the button back armchair he levered himself to standing, well aware of the noise of crunching glass being ground into the rug in front of the wood burner – the fire he’d dearly love to light excepting he’d probably set alight to himself in the process.

  Finding his way to the door wasn’t difficult. When he’d arrived yesterday he’d offered the taxi driver an extra tenner if he’d push all the furniture out of the way, except the chair he was sitting in and a little table for his whiskey – He had simple needs now he couldn’t even see the start of his nose let alone the end. Making his way back into the hall was a different matter and he suddenly decried as false economy not giving the man an extra twenty for sorting it out too. Apart from the hat stand, which he’d thrown out the door for him to trip over later there was the hall table and rush mats just waiting to nab him on the way past.