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

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘I take it he told you we used to know each other,’ fiddling with her seatbelt.

  ‘Well, I sort of asked, which I know was wrong, but I wanted to find out.’ She patted her hand briefly. ‘He may be my boss, but he’s like a son to me – the son I’ve never had and I want him to be happy.’

  ‘That’s all I want too, but he’s got to sort himself out. He must have girlfriends…’

  ‘Oh, plenty! There’s always someone or other sniffing about, but he rarely goes out with them. He’s the past master of thinking up plausible excuses I can tell you. All he says is he’s happiest with his dog - Curly means the world to him.’

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Walking into the café his gaze lit upon the couple of bent heads occupying a table in the corner before he turned away to catch the eye of the waitress. Part of him wanted to run out of the building back to the safety of his car while the other part asked for a table near to, but importantly not next to Mabel. He didn’t want to undo all Michele’s machinations after all with a sloppy ill thought out approach.

  Making his way between the packed tables he wondered, not for the first time, if it was possible to love someone too much. He was enchanted by the gamin tilt of her head capped in dark choppy locks just as he was mesmerised by the way her hand touched her wine glass before raising it to her lips to sip deeply. If anyone had asked him seconds before if it was possible to be jealous of a glass he’d have laughed – he wasn’t laughing now. In truth he couldn’t find a word to describe what he was feeling. He’d been in love with her five years ago and now… And now that love had matured and grown to something more than love. Was there a word for what he felt? No, there was no word to describe what he felt. No arrangement of letters was good enough to explain his strong unbreakable feelings; feelings that would last a lifetime - more than a lifetime.

  ‘Oh hello, what are you doing here?’ Michele’s features carefully schooled to register surprise.

  He let out his breath, not realising until that moment he’d stopped breathing. ‘Probably the same as you.’ He nodded across at Mabel before taking the seat he’d been shown. He could do nonchalant like the next man. The fact his heart felt as if it was trying to escape his chest the hard way was something he was prepared to ignore.

  ‘You might as well join us Derry.’

  ‘No - I don’t want to interrupt your girlie chit chat.’ He smiled briefly at them both before turning back to the menu.

  ‘Pah, I don’t know about Mabel but I’m way too old for girlie chat – don’t be such an old stick in the mud,’ she wheedled. ‘It’s not often I get the chance to have a meal with such a good looking bloke.’

  ‘Need I remind you I’m your boss,’ his voice belying his tone.

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’

  ‘Or the fact most days you end up sharing my lunch.’ He continued, standing up and slipping into the chair next to her.

  ‘He works me to the bone Mabel – there’s no time for anything but a quick sandwich in front of my pc.’

  ‘Yeah right!’ He felt her eyes on him but when he turned his head she’d already looked away. His first thoughts were how tired she looked, the pallor pronounced, the shadows etched deeper, the lines distinct on her forehead and around her eyes. There were things about her he’d forgotten that he noticed now; it had been five years after all. He’d forgotten the little mole in front of her left ear and the curve of her eyebrow – just as he’d forgotten the dimple that appeared when she smiled. He hoped he’d see more of that smile, just as he hoped he’d be able to alleviate her concern about her dad, if indeed her dad was the cause. But somehow he knew, as if she had it tattooed across her forehead that he was to blame. He was probably to blame for her wary expression too, something he was sorry for.

  He didn’t know what had come over him grabbing her like that. No, that wasn’t quite true, picking up the glass of lemonade he’d ordered and taking a sip. He’d been overwhelmed at the sight of her and, for the second time in his life he’d lost control – it wasn’t something he could ever allow to happen again.

  Setting down the glass on the table he found the courage to start a meandering conversation about just how well her father was doing and would continue to do over the coming weeks. He talked about the type of therapy sessions he’d go through, not forgetting the role of the cardiac nurse, who’d continue to visit him in the months following his discharge from Seaview. He wore the mantle of ‘professional man about town’ well and soon had her, if not exactly eating out of his hand at least willing to forgive and forget.

  She laughed when he mentioned the treadmill – it was a joyous sound. He’d forgotten just how much he loved the sound of her laughter and he couldn’t help joining in, much to the amusement of the waitress arriving to take their order.

  ‘He’ll be well chuffed, not!’ She said before turning back to the waitress, standing with her pen paused mid-air. ‘He’s never been to a gym in his life.’

  ‘Well at least he won’t have to pay – my membership costs me an arm and a leg.’ He added as he chose pan fried sea bream with saffron potatoes and golden beetroot.

  ’Hey, I was going to have that.’ Michele interrupted as the waitress left the table. ‘I just wasn’t quite so sure about the golden beetroot?’

  ‘It’s delic.’ He threw her a wink. ‘If you promise not to rearrange my desk again I’ll share?’

  ‘That’s a deal – You can try some of my vegan vegetable salad as trade.’

  His eyes widened in near disbelief. ‘I thought you’d have gone for the beef burger?’

  ‘Ah, yes, but now I’ve a wedding to plan I’m on a diet. But that’s what Mabel’s having, I’m sure you could…’

  ‘No, I’m fine with the fish; it’ll leave room for the trio of mini desserts…’

  ‘You rat, and just when I’ve told you I’m dieting too.’

  ‘You can diet tomorrow. After all,’ he smiled. ‘You might as well make the most of the handsome scenery and let yourself go.’

  ‘Very true.’ Michele turned to Mabel who was sitting quietly, her mouth slightly open. ‘Don’t worry, he always treats me like this – I don’t know whether to slap a sexual harassment notice on him or leap into his lap and smother him with kisses.’

  ‘I hope neither.’ He drawled, his eyes focused on the waitress bearing down on them with a tray piled high with food.

  ‘I’ll drop you home on my way past Mabel.’ Holding out his hand for the bill and casting a cursory eye as to its contents before paying.

  ‘No, I…’ She stuttered. ‘I’ll be fine, there always The Dart.’

  ‘It’s on my way.’

  ‘I thought you had to work?’

  He was helping Michele on with her coat. ‘It’s my half day.’

  She didn’t notice the way he squeezed Michele’s shoulders in warning, all of her attention on getting her own jacket from the back of the chair.

  ‘Here, let me help you with that.’

  ‘I’m quite warm actually,’ draping it over her arm.

  ‘Please yourself.’ He shouted his thanks to the man behind the counter before ushering them ahead.

  Outside it had started to rain and her top looked awfully thin but he just left her to get on with it. He’d offered her help - she’d declined.

  Saying goodbye to Michele, his hand leaning on the roof of her Skoda Octavia a gust of wind bashed into him, the smell of salt and seaweed so fresh he could almost taste it. He’d been going to drop her home. A decision the result of an internal argument he’d been carrying out all through lunch. She still needed space. She had an ill father and a disabled husband: what she didn’t need was a prospective boyfriend on the scene mudding the waters. He pushed his sleeve up to look at his watch. It was still only 2.30; still plenty of time to take Curly for a romp on the Promenade - still time for them to be together. Tapping the top of Michele’s car he gave her some final last minute instructions before turning back to Mabel.

>   Chapter Twenty Nine

  ‘Fancy a bit longer in my company or do you have to rush back to that husband of yours?’ He asked, helping her into the car before slamming the door shut and settling himself into the drivers’ seat.

  ‘What, you mean Henry?’

  ‘Unless you have more than one?’ He managed a laugh. ‘What I mean is, what time is he expecting you?’

  ‘I’m not at his complete beck and call.’ She replied, even though that’s exactly what she was. If Henry sneezed she passed the tissues. ‘He’s actually having lunch with a friend.’

  ‘Not Iris by any chance?’

  ‘Now how do you know about..?’ Her eyes wide, her mind rewinding to Betws-y-Coed in one clean swoop. If she closed her eyes she’d be back there in an instant: the sitting room with the old tatty sofa as clear in her mind as if it were only yesterday. They’d talked; they’d talked into the small hours, pouring out their souls in a splurge worthy of the hardiest spendthrift. But had she ever named Iris?

  ‘Iris, the girl he….’ His speech hitched and, was that a blush she could see snaking up his neck in a blast of colour reminiscent of her favourite pudding – Strawberry fool.

  How could she have forgotten just how clever he was - he wasn’t going to forget something like a name, unless it was unimportant that is. Her eyes softened. The obvious answer, the one she hadn’t dared to dwell on flashed up in front of her like one of those fairground fruit machines coming up trumps with three oranges, or should that be bananas? He’d remembered because, at the time she’d been important. She knew because he’d told her. But that had been five years ago. Iris’s name had endured; now she needed to know whether it was a shadow from the past or something more. How could she ask him? Simple answer – she couldn’t. There were too many ghosts lingering in their shared history to fill a cemetery. She had no rights over him anymore, even if at one time she’d thought her future lay within the circle of his arms. She’d left Betws-y-Coed briefly, only never to return. The life she’d thought within her grasp, snatched away by Henry and his never ending demands.

  Sitting there gripping her hands into fists she rooted around her mind for her dream: no, their dream. They’d decided on a cottage near the sea, a couple of cats to keep Curly on his toes and of course children. They couldn’t agree on how many, he’d only wanted a couple while she’d always hankered after a large family – and now here she was on the countdown to thirty with nothing but regrets. She shook her head briefly, tuning back into the conversation and realising she hadn’t replied. Twisting the knife in a festering wound was never going to be anything other than excruciating. It was best to move the conversation onto a less painful footing.

  ‘That’s right – Iris, I’m surprised you remember?’ A shot across his boughs; wide of the mark but all she could manage at such short notice. She waited; breath stacked up in her throat.

  ‘Not something I’m likely to forget now is it?’ He pulled out of the parking space and, heading left made his way towards Upper Dargle Road, along to Main Street and finally arriving at Bray Promenade.

  If unspoken words were an entity the car would have been a very crowded place. Thoughts screeched over then, under them, through them, but not a word was said. The car was thick with unsaid words trying and failing to burst forth.

  Sometimes words aren’t necessary. Sometimes a silence between couples can be companionable; a silence to reinforce, to cement – this wasn’t like that. This was uncomfortable, awkward and uneasy: a silence that screamed out to be broken.

  She watched him undo his seatbelt and then rest his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed. She wanted to speak. She wanted to say something to alleviate the tension that had suddenly descended around them like a thundercloud. She remained silent.

  After some minutes he finally spoke, his voice as soft as silk; so soft she had to strain to hear his words.

  ‘What happened to us Mabel?’

  ‘I don’t know what you…’

  ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want it.’ He was suddenly all energy, leaping out of the car and clicking Curly’s lead into place before she could even blink.

  ‘Derry?’

  ‘No, it’s alright - It’s a woman’s prerogative after all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Keep up Mabel.’ He flung over his shoulder, racing along after Curly who seemed to be on a mission all of his own.

  Putting her arms in her sleeves she finished off his sentence for him ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.’ If only it was that simple. She’d never changed her mind. It was unchanged now.

  She reached him where he’d stopped, hands thrust deep in his pockets face determinedly turned towards the sea. He reminded her of the man she’d met all those years ago standing resolute, shouting from the doorstep. But she knew him, probably more than anyone. She still knew him and ached for what he must be thinking; for what he must be feeling. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t leave it like that between them. The easy answer: the easy answer for her at least, was to walk away leaving him to think what he liked.

  Threading her hand through his arm was an exercise in courage, but one thing she’d never been was a coward: she hadn’t balked when her life had shifted with Henry’s injuries; she wouldn’t now. He didn’t pull away, but his body was stiff and unyielding that is until she curled her wrist, entwining her hand within his. Resting her head on his shoulder, just like she used to she started to speak. Words tumbled out, hesitant isolated words that built momentum – She had a story to tell; their story. He knew the beginning, so she started in the middle – there was no end.

  ‘I couldn’t leave Henry when he had his accident – that would have been cruel. I was married to him after all.’ She lifted her head and like him stared at the rolling waves ahead slashing the beach like blades. ‘Ruari and Grainne were there to meet me off the boat and managed to whisk me up to the airport to meet Henry’s chartered plane before anyone else - I went with him to the hospital and that’s where I stayed for days on end. They thought he wouldn’t make it and then… Of course he did.’ She didn’t let her traitorous thoughts say the unspeakable – she was still a vicar’s daughter after all.

  ‘They transferred him to that rehab unit Mitch Merrien runs, but the damage was too bad to get him walking again. So I was caught.’ She swallowed the boulder gathering in the back of her throat. ‘He needed someone to be there for him. His parents, stuck in that high rise in Dun Laoghaire all but abandoned him so it was me or an institution – I was his wife, okay only in name but …’ She paused, unable to continue for a moment as thoughts overran words.

  ‘Only in name?’

  She pulled a grimace. Trust him to pick on that part, but as a doctor he’d probably be interested in the nuts and bolts of Henry’s disability.

  ‘I wouldn’t anyway.’ She said, trying to pull her hand free but he’d tightened his grip. ‘When he fell he fractured at L5 so he can’t, or at least I don’t think…’

  ‘It’s okay, I get the picture. So just how did he fall again? I saw the headlines of course…’

  ‘All of Ireland, the Western Hemisphere saw the headlines.’ She managed to pull her hand free from his grasp and, making her way to the shore continued to speak. If he didn’t follow he’d miss it, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to say it more than once. ‘My fault I’m afraid. If I hadn’t taken out that travel insurance policy - never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d go on to sue the church though.’

  ‘Pretty awkward considering he’s a vicar…’

  ‘No – not a vicar.’ She shouted over her shoulder. ‘He never continued with his, with his…’

  ‘Apprenticeship?’

  ‘Something like that - as soon as he got the pay-out he decided to jack it all in. He might wear a dog collar, even at breakfast but he’s got no right.’

  ‘And the fall?’ He prompted.

  ‘Didn’t you see it in that docu-drama they made for Channel Four a f
ew years ago:-

  “Bell ringing deacon loses his braces” It was a massive hit.’

  ‘No, sorry. I must have missed that. So his braces…?’

  ‘Got caught mid pull, causing him to fly up the tower before finally giving way.’ She smiled despite herself. ‘He even had a go at taking the brace company to the cleaners, but they were having none of it. Expecting their top of the range chequered braces to hold up a fourteen stone bell ringer by the clapper, being slightly out of their remit.’

  She lowered herself onto the still damp sand, ignoring the way the cold burrowed its way through the thin denim of her jeans. Sitting there she wondering if he’d be happy with her explanation; an explanation he’d deserved five years ago. She’d wimped out then, and she’d wimped out now for, in truth she’d left the most important thing out – the question he’d already asked her. She waited; the heaving waters blurring under the weight of expectation. She already knew he was clever. She already knew he was stubborn. She already knew he’d never give up asking.

  She felt the sand shift as he joined her at the water’s edge.

  ‘You’ll get a wet bum.’

  ‘You don’t know me very well if you think something like a little bit of damp sand would annoy me.’ They both watched Curly as he snapped and yelped at the waves, his tail flapping nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘He’s a great little dog Derry.’

  ‘That he is. I never dreamed he’d turn out so well that night on the roof.’

  She joined him in a smile.

  ‘A night I’ll never forget Mabel. You scared the hell out of me I can tell you.’

  ‘I’m not apologising.’ She said just as a decidedly wet and bedraggled Curly came and shook himself all over them, water spray swirling around like one of those slow motion dog grooming commercials.

  ‘Come on you.’ He grabbed the lead dangling in the sand and with one jump leapt to his feet with all the finesse of an Olympian. Reaching down he held out his hand to her. ‘What about a coffee before I drop you back?’