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

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Everything’s fine, super, fantastic, wonderful.’

  ‘Great - and you’re phoning me at ten o’clock to tell me – what? That everything’s fine...’

  He heard her light girlish laugh and smiled to himself at the sound.

  ‘Yes, no, I don’t know…’

  For someone usually as efficient, and aloof as Miss Turner her manner was an epiphany – he had no idea of what but he was pretty sure she’d tell him in due course.

  ‘I’ve just come back from seeing Reverend Frederick.’

  ‘What, at this time! Surely I don’t work you that hard?’

  ‘No, no. He, we – well he was eating alone and asked me to join him.’ The line fell silent for a moment. ‘I was wondering…’

  ‘Yes?’ He prompted. He was only half listening now, his mind a myriad of questions. Just where had she been then? He’d imagined them sitting around the table all evening playing happy families before a night in front of some banal programme or other. The truth was obviously something completely different. He tuned back into the conversation, keen now to end it.

  ‘Would there be any objection to me visiting the Reverend in hospital do you think?’

  ‘That’s all a bit sudden,’ his voice full of laughter. Well who’d have believed it? His Miss Turner, for in truth she’d always be that to him wasn’t such a closed book after all.

  ‘No, not really.’ She blustered.

  ‘Michele!’ He interrupted her babbling. ‘There’s no law against it, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.’

  ‘That poor daughter, he leads her a dog’s life.’

  ‘I thought you just said he was your friend? They seemed alright earlier.’

  ‘Not him, the husband.’

  The phone went silent, presumably while she waited for him to respond but he had no replies.

  ‘You’ll have to do something.’

  ‘Er Michele, I’m not in the habit of getting involved in other people’s marriages – She’s not even my patient.’

  ‘No. I didn’t mean that silly.’ He heard her sigh across the airwaves. ‘That poor wee man, just who’s going to look after him post-op. the son-in-law won’t let her lift a finger to help…’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘She’s his personal slave Derry. Such a pretty girl and he says jump, she asks how high. Fergus is pulling his hair out. He doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone, especially not her.’

  It was Derry’s turn to sigh. Reaching out a trainer clad foot he nudged Curly Wurly gently, more for something to do. Of course he’d have to do something but what? As much as he wanted to he couldn’t really afford to get involved – She’d broken his heart once; it was still broken.

  ‘Okay, leave it with me.’

  He ended the conversation, cutting off any further discourse with a curt good bye before flinging his phone on the table. A little bark alerted him to the little brown bundle waiting quietly by his feet.

  ‘Alright Curly, that’s another fine mess your mistress has gotten herself into.’ He said, staring into a fine pair of trusting eyes the colour of melting chocolate. ‘We’ll think about it on our walk hey?’ He added, half to himself as he grabbed his jacket and keys before heading out the front door.

  Turning right down the little lane bordering the church he made his way through Dartry Park before crossing the road and heading for the path beside the River Dodder, one of the reasons he’d purchased the house in the first place. Back in Dublin and in the unexpected possession of a dog he’d put his mews flat up for sale and looked around for somewhere on the outskirts. He wasn’t fussy where it was, just near enough to work and somewhere within walking distance of a pub. He’d fallen in love with the four bedroomed arts and crafts house along Temple Road, not least its perfect position between his favourite watering hole in Rathmines and his favourite restaurant in Milltown. He’d balked at the less than favourable price but, with the recession still having a stranglehold on the property market he was able to have his cheeky little offer accepted with a begrudging handshake. Of course living in the house with only Curly for company was like two peas rattling around in a tin. But, as he didn’t think any self-respecting au-pair, whatever their nationality would take him on, whatever the perks he was left with as much peace and quiet as a man could suffer.

  With Curly now off the lead and chasing ahead looking for invisible rabbits in the thick undergrowth bordering the river his mind, always the most disloyal of organs returned to its favourite subject – her.

  He’d never know what made her go back to him after the way she’d been treated, and he certainly never knew what made her stay. He’d thought at the time it must be something he’d said that made her run away with the devil at her heels, but he couldn’t remember saying anything. She obviously loved her husband, despite the protests - or why the hell would she stay? He pushed his hands deep within his pockets as his eyes caught hold of the twinkling lights of The Dropping Well. What he wouldn’t do for a beer right now, but alcohol wasn’t the answer. Alcohol wouldn’t remove the feeling of disquiet reaching deep within to run its cold finger of doubt across his soul. He doubted everything; everything apart from his feelings for her, which lingered stronger than ever. He’d do anything and everything for her and, it seemed he might very well have to.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  She didn’t want pity, but she found it all the same.

  It was there in the sly looks given by the ladies of the parish as they went round fulfilling their weekly flower rotas.

  It was there in the huffs and puffs emanating from Annie as she slammed dough down on the well-worn pine table before kneading it into submission and it was there in the quick glances thrown her direction by her dad - but only when he thought she wasn’t looking. The irony of course being she didn’t deserve any pity.

  Pity should be saved up for those truly deserving people for whom life had stood up and kicked them in the gut. She didn’t deserve their sentiments or good wishes – they were wasted on the likes of her for, after all hadn’t she asked for everything that had happened to her – hadn’t she deserved it? She was the one who’d run out on her holy vows, and if not actually deserting her beloved at the altar then as near as damn it!

  She couldn’t even boast a last minute change of heart when she’d boarded the boat for the return journey. There was no decency hidden under her pink woolly hat. There was no integrity packed in the bottom of her suitcase – she hadn’t planned to stay longer than it took for the ink to dry on the annulment papers before chasing back to Derry.

  No, she didn’t deserve pity – her life was of her own making and she was just trying to get on with it as best she could, or at least that’s what she told herself until she’d walked into that office and found him sitting across the desk from her.

  Banging the door of the washing machine closed on yet another load of soiled sheets she set the controls before lifting the basket of damp linen. Cradling it on her hip she made her way to the back door to her favourite chore of the day. There was nothing quite like the monotony of pegging out laundry on a blustery day for wool gathering and she certainly had a lot of thoughts that needed to be gathered. Quiet descended upon her like a welcome friend bringing contentment in its wake. But for once, the simple cathartic pleasure of lining up sheets, didn’t still her thoughts or provide a much needed respite from her feelings.

  She didn’t see the white Egyptian cotton sheets Henry favoured or the black silk pyjamas with the monogrammed pocket – all she saw was Derry. Derry, but not Derry: Derry five years older and twenty years more serious. If it hadn’t been for his eyes (God, how she loved his eyes) she probably wouldn’t have recognised him in his Harley Street suit and designer glasses. Lifting another plastic peg from the bag to pin a sock beside its mate she recalled the tasteful golden orb cuff links just peeking out from the sleeve of his muted grey jacket. She was having a great deal of difficulty in trying to equate the city slicker look
to that of scruffy ruffian although that hadn’t stopped her from nearly leaping across the desk and clamping her lips on to his. It was only the thought of her dad waiting patiently by her side that had caused her to pause. It was only the sight of his straight expressionless stare that had caused her to relegate any hopes of a reunion into the bin.

  Of course yesterday wasn’t the first time she’d seen him over the years. He was everywhere and nowhere. The tall dark stranger ahead in the supermarket that day, or at least he looked quite like him apart from his pointy chin and too close together eyes. The man last month who she’d found kneeling by the boiler in the scullery, only to be found in possession of an overlong red fringe. He was every man and no man she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. She was always disappointed, but that didn’t stop her from hoping all the more. She had no idea what she’d say to him if she ever did happen to bump into him, just as she didn’t know what to say yesterday. She’d been waiting for him, but now he’d arrived words had deserted her.

  Lifting up the empty basket she carried it back into the kitchen and then the tiny laundry room, which in truth was more cupboard than room being as it had one shelf above the washing machine and little room for anything else. She headed back into the kitchen and, sitting down on the nearest chair rested her head in her arms. She pictured herself as he surely must have seen her. Her second hand dress, so faded that no one else had wanted it at last year’s jumble sale. Her second rate haircut, or should that be no rate; certainly no cost as she’d cut it herself. She ran her hand through what was left, grimacing when she realised that it wasn’t just the laundry that had needed a wash, but there was never any time left for what she wanted.

  The sound of the front door banging alerted her to the arrival of Annie Friend and the start of another day, or at least the start of another day for most people. For her the day had started many hours earlier with another wet bed. He didn’t care what time it was or indeed who he woke with his shouts for clean sheets. He didn’t care about interrupting her night; in fact she couldn’t now remember the last time she’d slept more than a few hours without disturbance.

  Still yawning, she’d washed him and then made the early morning tea and toast he’d demanded before telling her to leave. With the six o’clock news blaring out from his latest toy, a sixty five inch curved screen TV she hadn’t bothered to go back to bed; he’d have only called her again if he’d thought she was doing anything as selfish as having a lie-in. Instead she muttered about sorting out the washing – she couldn’t leave it for Mrs Friend, as he insisted on calling her.

  ‘That woman…’

  ‘That woman is the only reason you get a proper cooked meal – you know I can’t cook.’

  ‘In fact there’s not much you can do is there.’ He replied on a laugh. ‘If I’d known what I know now my life would be very different.’

  She turned away, her arms full of stinking sheets and headed for the door. They’d been through this conversation too many times before for it to upset her anymore, so why was it she felt her eyes prick with tears for the first time in years. She was a scrawny bitch with no presence, no breeding and of no use except in the middle of the night when there was no one else around to answer his demands.

  ‘Close the door as you leave and keep the noise down below. You know how I can’t abide noise first thing in the morning.’

  Her hand itched to bang the door so hard it shook in its frame; instead she pulled it too with barely a click before making her way out of the room silent tears of self-pity tracking down her cheeks to mingle with the soiled sheets.

  Picking up the mug of tea Annie had set down in front of her Mabel wondered not for the first time what Iris was up to. Iris: now why had she thought of her? There were a million better things to think about than that woman but slamming her mind closed on the image of that woman was easier said than done. She knew she was just around the next corner lurking in the shadows. Iris knew she wasn’t welcome and, at the moment with a rich boyfriend to pander to she stayed out of the way. There were surely plenty of fish in the sea to make running after Henry unnecessary. Taking a sip of her tea she settled the mug back on the table her fingers still linked around the cherry red china. It felt very much as if Henry was her contingency plan and why wouldn’t he be - money made the best bed fellow of all.

  ‘Why the serious face?’

  ‘Oh, no reason Annie.’

  ‘Harrumph! Has his lordship been annoying you again then love?’ She rested her hand briefly on her shoulder before turning towards the fridge.

  ‘No more than usual.’

  ‘Well you just stay there a while being as you look like something the cat dragged in. I’ll make you a nice fry up…’

  ‘Oh I’d better not – there’s all the ironing to…’

  ‘The devil has already found enough work for you I’ll be bound if the sheets on the line are anything to go by. So just how many times did he disconnect his catheter bag last night?’ She added, hands on her hips.

  ‘He can’t help it.’

  ‘Can’t he now! Well if he was my husband he’d help it alright.’ She lifted the heavy iron skillet off the shelf and placed it in the middle of the Aga. ‘How many eggs – one or two?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Yes you can! I’m cooking you breakfast and then I’ll see to his lordship – After; what about a nice soak in the bath?’

  ‘What if he calls me – It’s my duty…?’

  ‘Fiddlesticks! Slavery died out years ago. Anyway if he needs anything I’m perfectly able to sort him out.’

  ‘But he doesn’t…’ Mabel couldn’t finish the sentence. Saying he didn’t like Annie was putting it mildly. If it wasn’t for the fact she’d kick up a ruckus if he told her to leave he’d have given her the sack years ago, not that it was up to him - but interfering in other people’s business was what Henry did best.

  Later lying in the bath she forced herself to close her eyes and ignore the sound of the hand bell Iris had sent by express delivery from India a couple of years back. She let the water lap over her tired limbs allowing its weight to pin her against the cool ceramic and, with ears submerged it was easy to ignore the frantic clanging of clapper against engraved copper. When she closed her eyes too it was easy to drift into that semi-somnolent state where thoughts of the present were overpowered by dreams.

  It had taken one look, one word from him to rekindle what in truth had never been extinguished. All the repressions and tyrannies of the last few years were forgotten as she wove herself an intricate present with him at its centre. As an alternative reality it was far from exciting. In fact all she craved was the kind of life her friends Liddy and Grainne had; busy frantic lives where she would still be putting the needs of others first, the only difference being it would be a life of her own choosing.

  The frantic trilling of the telephone punctuated her thoughts followed by intermittent shouts so loud as to infiltrate twelve inch Victorian brickwork. She was already standing by the side of the bath encased in a random bath towel when Annie knocked on the door.

  ‘It’s alright Annie – Come in, you’ve seen me in a lot less.’

  ‘But you were only about six.’ The door pushed open slowly to reveal an anxious frown. ‘I can’t get him to stop ringing that ruddy bell! Next time I see that red haired tart of his I’m going to shove it up her…’

  ‘Annie!’

  ‘Well, honestly.’ She brushed her thick fringe off her forehead in frustration. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered you but he told me to tell you he’d let the cat out of the bag if you didn’t do your wifely duty.’

  Mabel nearly dropped the towel at her words. She’d always known the moment would come for him to carry out his threat but talk about timing. ‘It’s alright, I’m finished here,’ was all she could manage as she pulled her dress across still damp skin. ‘I’ll go to him.’

  ‘And when you’ve finished my girl that was Grainne on the phone to remind you about the twins�
� birthday…’

  ‘Oh God, I’d forgotten!’ She turned, one hand on the side of the door. ‘What with my dad and all it went straight out of my head.’

  ‘Apparently you’re in charge of face painting and not to be late.’

  ‘She was always a bossy so and so.’ She glanced down at her frock in disgust. ‘I suppose it will have to be my old jeans, I’m certainly not going out in this rag – in fact that’s exactly what I’m going to do – cut it up for rags.’

  ‘Why you don’t spend any of that carer allowance on anything for yourself is beyond me, you earn that and more.’ She sniffed, her resentment stamped across her face in triplicate.

  ‘Because it’s his.’

  ‘And that’s another thing - The way he’s going through that pay-out from the insurance he’ll need it before long.’

  ‘There’s that too.’ She threw her a brief smile. Annie more than anyone knew exactly what she had to put up with. There were no secrets between them except one, and it seemed that Henry was finally showing his true colours and even now threatening to tell everyone.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  ‘Well look at you two.’ Mabel said, hugging an identical redhead in each arm. ‘You get more alike each time I visit.’ Her head tilted to one side as she took her time to examine each girl in turn. Red hair pulled away from heart shaped faces in identical plaits. Pale skin the colour of alabaster pierced with two pairs of startling eyes the exact colour as their dad’s. She looked at the cute tartan pinafores with a smile. She couldn’t have been more pleased when Grainne had told her in no uncertain terms that she’d never allow them to wear the exact same outfits – So whilst the little outfits looked the same one was in bright pink and the other blue. There was of course one huge problem.

  ‘Now which one is Adele then?’

  ‘She is.’ They said in unison, their plumb hands pointing in opposite directions.