Holding Out For a Hero

by Caroline Anderson

  His mouth watered suddenly, and he swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea.

  Open the window. That’s the thing. Open the window.

  But it wasn’t enough. The scent was choking him, dredging up a memory he’d buried so deep he’d thought it could never surface.

  Ignoring her, ignoring the lilies, he picked up his mobile and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly. Scanning through the index for Tom’s home number, he pressed the call button with shaking fingers and got Fliss after two rings.

  ‘You offered me a room,’ he said without preamble. ‘Is the offer still open?’

  ‘Ben! Sure, of course. Do you want to come now? Is she giving you trouble?’

  He gave a strangled laugh. ‘You could say that. Do you mind?’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the bed now. Come on over.’

  ‘I can make the bed. Give me five minutes.’

  He slid the phone back into his pocket, took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom, wash bag in hand. It took seconds to throw his clothes into his case, then he wrenched open the door and went out, desperate for air. The woman was in the hall, a smile hovering on her lips, but she took one look at his face and her smile vanished.

  ‘Ben?’ she said tentatively, but he didn’t even look at her.

  ‘There are laws about stalking people,’ he grated. Brushing her aside, he strode down the corridor, took the stairs down two at a time, because it was quicker than waiting for the lift, and accosted the receptionist.

  ‘I’d like to check out,’ he said curtly, slapping his key card down on the desk. ‘Pete Harrison will settle the bill. And some flowers were delivered to my room in error. Dispose of them, please.’

  ‘Ben? Please, let me explain…’

  ‘There’s nothing to explain. I don’t know you. Leave me alone.’

  The manager emerged then from the inner office and ran after him with a worried look on his face.

  ‘Sir! Mr Maguire!’ he called, but Ben just jerked a thumb at the woman and said, ‘Don’t let her follow me.’

  He arrived at the Red House in a flurry of gravel, and Fliss opened the door, kissed his cheek and took him up to the flat.

  ‘Make yourself at home. I’ve put tea and coffee and milk in the kitchen, but I’ve only just turned the fridge on so it won’t be cold for a while. Have you eaten? Tom’s not back yet, so I can feed you, too, if you like?’

  He opened his mouth to tell her not to worry and his stomach rumbled loudly.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she said with a grin, then added gently, ‘I’m glad you’ve come. Tom’s going to be so pleased. He’s really missed you.’ And leaving him to it, she ran down the back stairs and disappeared.

  He stood there for a moment, ridiculously touched by the genuine warmth of her welcome, then he turned and studied his surroundings.

  The flat was small and simple—a double bedroom, a little sitting room with a small kitchen area, and a bathroom—but it was so homely, so welcoming. There were flowers on the window-sill, but garden flowers, pretty and uncomplicated, sweet peas and roses and tall spikes of something white he didn’t recognize. But they’d been put there for him, arranged with a pure simplicity that brought a lump to his throat.

  Swallowing hard, he unpacked, made himself a cup of tea and was settling down to drink it when a boy with Tom’s eyes appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Are you Ben?’ he asked, and Ben nodded warily.

  ‘I’m Michael. Abby’s in the bath,’ he added inconsequentially, and Ben realised he must be one of the twins that he hadn’t met yesterday. Michael made himself at home on the other end of the sofa, pyjama-clad legs crossed, regarding him thoughtfully.

  ‘You any good at reading stories?’ he asked, and Ben gave a chuckle that sounded rusty even to his ears.

  ‘I don’t know. Probably not.’

  ‘Thought not. Dad’s useless, so’s Mum. Fliss is much better. Meg’s good, too. She reads much more than Fliss. Fliss says she’s a sucker, but I like her. Can I watch the telly?’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Is that your father calling you?’ Ben asked a little desperately, and Michael ran to the top of the stairs.

  ‘I’m here. I’m watching telly with Ben.’

  Stretching the truth a little, Ben thought, but then Tom appeared in the doorway and threw him a grin when he saw the blank, dark screen.

  ‘Sorry about the invasion. Coming to join us for a pre-dinner drink?’ he asked, and Ben, suddenly finding the thought of being alone unpalatable, nodded.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said, and followed Tom downstairs. There he met Abby, Michael’s twin sister, sitting in the dog’s bed with the dog draped patiently over her lap, the fur on its head and neck arranged into little palm trees with rubber bands. Abby was putting in another band, so deeply involved with torturing the dog that she didn’t even notice his arrival.

  Ben suppressed a smile and took the glass of wine Tom pressed into his hand.

  ‘Not going anywhere tonight, are you?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘No drunken orgies? I thought all you TV types lived on the wild side.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m getting a bit old for that now, Tom—as well you know,’ he pointed out with a smile.

  ‘Hmm. You should be married with kids by now.’

  He schooled his expression. ‘What—so you don’t have to suffer alone?’ he joked, and Tom laughed.

  ‘Suffer? I love them all to bits.’

  ‘Daddy, look at Amber!’

  He glanced down and groaned.

  ‘What are you doing in there? You’ve just had a bath.’

  ‘So’s Amber. Look at her hair, Daddy!’

  So he looked, bending over to talk to the poor dog who seemed to be loving every minute of it, and Ben crossed to the window and stood staring out down the garden, his fingers anchored on the edge of the stone sink, the knuckles white.

  He heard Fliss come into the room and call the children, then the creak of a sofa and the murmur of her voice reading aloud. It was unbearably cosy, and he was wondering if he could cope with it when Tom spoke.

  ‘What happened with Jane?’

  The quiet voice right behind him made him stiffen.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know that you dropped out of our lives very suddenly, and she wouldn’t talk about it. Did you have an affair?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No. God, no.’

  ‘But she wanted to.’

  For a moment he hesitated, then he sighed and dropped his head forwards in defeat. ‘Yes, she wanted to. I wouldn’t play ball.’

  ‘That would have annoyed her. She liked to have her own way.’

  Ben laughed softly. ‘Yes. In the end she set me up—phoned and invited me round when she knew you would be out. Let’s just say she was hardly dressed for entertaining.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Indeed. So I thought it was best to get out of the way.’

  ‘And you couldn’t tell me because you didn’t want to drop her in it.’

  ‘No. I didn’t want to destroy what little chance of happiness I felt you had with her. You had the kids, Tom. It wasn’t fair.’

  He felt his friend’s hand close over his shoulder and squeeze. ‘Thank you for trying. It was a wasted gesture, though. It must have been shortly afterwards that she got pregnant with the twins. It just put the kybosh on what little chance we had, but we’re all right now.’

  His hand fell away, and Ben turned, scanning the room, but they were alone, the children and Fliss having gone out without him noticing.

  ‘So when did you meet Fliss?’

  ‘Last year, when I came to the hospital. Jane and I were divorced, we’d moved here to make a new life close to my parents, and, lo and behold, there she was—the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘You talking about me again?’ Fliss said, coming
back into the room without the children, and Ben watched Tom’s face light up with love.

  His throat closed and he turned away, staring out into the garden again and wondering if there was anything sufficiently horrendous that he could do to Pete for putting him through this.

  Then Fliss’s arm slipped through his and she smiled up at him. ‘How about rainbow trout and boiled new potatoes and a green salad?’ she suggested, and he gave her a smile he knew was crooked, but it was the best he could do.

  ‘Sounds good. Thanks.’

  She tugged him gently out of the way and busied herself at the sink, refusing his offer of help, so he went and sat down at the table and listened to Tom going through Andrew’s chemistry homework.

  ‘Sorry, it’s revoltingly domestic,’ Fliss said, not looking in the least apologetic, and he dredged up another smile.

  ‘It’s really kind of you to have me here, so please don’t apologise,’ he said, because after all it was hardly their fault that it was so damned hard to sit there surrounded by all that wedded bliss.

  Although what he’d done to deserve having baby Charlotte dumped on his lap a moment later, he couldn’t imagine. Catherine had brought her down because she was crying, and Fliss’s hands were full, so he ended up with her, grizzly and unhappy and trying to wriggle out of his arms.

  ‘She needs supper. Be a darling and shovel this into her,’ Fliss said, and plonked a bowl of goo down in front of him.

  He put them together more or less successfully, doing fine until Charlotte decided she’d had enough and spat out the last mouthful onto her hands and grabbed his shirt to haul herself to her feet.

  ‘Oh, you little horror!’ Fliss exclaimed, grabbing a handful of kitchen roll.

  Within moments he and Charlotte were cleaned up and she was whisked away to bed by her father, Andrew trailing behind and leaving him alone in the kitchen with Fliss.

  Fliss topped up his glass and sat down opposite him, ripping up salad leaves and mixing oil and balsamic vinegar in a jug. ‘So tell me, how are you getting on with Meg?’ she asked as she worked.

  He shrugged. ‘OK. I don’t think she’s really enjoying it.’

  Fliss eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Funny, she said the same about you.’

  He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Perceptive of her.’

  ‘Is it to do with why you gave up medicine?’

  He looked away, dropping his eyes to his glass, giving the simple Pinot Grigio very much more attention than it deserved.

  ‘I had reasons. They still exist,’ was all he said, and Fliss let it drop and didn’t mention it again over the course of the evening.

  He was under no illusions about her being satisfied with his reply, but she was a sensitive and thoughtful woman, and she at least knew when to back off.

  Unlike Meg.

  She started on him again the following morning.

  A family were brought in following an RTA—a stupid, low-speed crash in town traffic during the school run—that shouldn’t by rights have hurt any of them, but the toddler hadn’t been restrained, and he was furious.

  And it didn’t help that Meg was sympathising with the frantic mother.

  ‘He just wouldn’t stay in his seat! He won’t—he’s learned how to undo the straps, and he’s just so naughty, and now he’s hurt…’

  She broke off, sobbing, and Meg hugged her briefly.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘You weren’t to blame.’

  ‘You can’t really blame the child,’ Ben said flatly, wondering if his voice was as rusty as it sounded. ‘What are the injuries?’

  Meg shot him a look. ‘Only minor. Look, you can see the mark on his forehead where he hit the side window, and he’s showing a few signs of concussion—sickness, headache, a little bit of dizziness, but nothing drastic.’

  ‘Neck’s clear, though,’ Tom said, studying the X-rays, ‘so we can take the neck brace off him now. He’ll be much happier then, but I think we need to keep him in for twenty-four hours for observation just to be on the safe side. I’ll arrange for his transfer to Paediatrics.’

  The child was wheeled away, the tearful mother following with the older child in tow, and Ben turned to her and said angrily, ‘How could you describe that child’s injuries as minor and brush them aside? You see this sort of thing all the time—senseless, pointless injuries to innocent children. That could have been much worse, and the mother should be made to realise it. People should make more effort to discipline their children and keep them restrained. It really isn’t fair—’

  ‘It isn’t fair to blame the mother either,’ she retorted, and she glared at him.

  ‘Of course it is! Who else? She’s in charge of the children—’

  ‘Do you have kids?’ she asked bluntly, and he sucked in a breath.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So don’t be in such a hurry to judge.’

  He opened his mouth to reply, shut it again firmly before he said something he’d regret, and, yanking off his mike, he threw his clipboard down and stalked out.

  Well, what on earth was that all about?

  Meg stared after him, a part of her still furious, the other part frantically backtracking over the scene and their conversation to try and work out what exactly it was.

  ‘What’s flown up his skirt?’ Pete said, and Steve shrugged.

  ‘Dunno. Want to see it again?’

  ‘What for? Ditch it—we can’t use it. On second thoughts, save it for now. It might come in handy later—bit of emotional involvement. God knows, he’s shown precious little of it.’

  ‘You aren’t supposed to get involved,’ Meg said, wincing inwardly as she said it because she, of all people, had no room to criticise on that score. ‘I’m going to find him.’

  She walked out of the door, turned left and almost fell over him. He was standing there, staring out over the car park, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Get off my case, Meg. I don’t need you telling me how to behave.’

  She stared at him. ‘Excuse me, I thought you were telling me.’

  ‘Oh, my God, it’s Ben Maguire!’

  ‘I’m getting out of here,’ he muttered, and before she could say anything he was gone, striding across the car park, his long legs eating up the ground.

  She hesitated, gnawing her lip while she debated following him. Then an ambulance turned into the hospital drive, lights flashing, and she sighed and went back in.

  He was an adult. It was no skin off her nose if he abandoned the programme halfway through the second day’s filming. In fact, it was a relief.

  Pete and Steve were waiting, Rae busying herself with reassembling Ben’s clipboard.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He’s gone. He walked off. I think he’s gone to his car.’

  ‘Damn. What the hell’s eating him?’ Pete growled, but she had no answers, either for him or for herself. Except that every time there was a child, every time it got a bit rough, every time they were in Resus—something to do with that combination was in some way connected with why he’d given up medicine, she was almost sure.

  Not that she could ask, even if he’d been here, but if it had been a child who’d been injured, maybe that explained why he felt so strongly about the child’s restraint, unwilling to absolve the parent of blame.

  Shrugging it off, she tidied up the bed in Resus and readied it for the next patient. It was none of her business after all. If he didn’t choose to tell her, she couldn’t be expected to understand.

  Pete was punching numbers into his mobile, and Meg covered his hand.

  ‘You can’t use that in here, Pete. You’ll have to go outside.’

  With a muttered oath he stalked off, and Steve shrugged and grinned at her.

  ‘Well, if they’re all going to mess off I might as well go and find some coffee. It’s obviously going to be one of those days. Coming, Rae?’

  Ben reappeared at twelve, almost three hours later, and stati
oned himself beside her.

  ‘So what are you doing now?’ he asked Meg, as if he’d just popped out for a coffee, and she flicked a disbelieving glance over him and turned back to the white board.

  ‘Patient in three who’s had a fall. She’s got a leg ulcer, and she’s banged it and damaged the skin. It needs dressing and then she can go home.’

  She saw him relax—not much, just a slight shift of the muscles under his shirt, but enough to know that this, anyway, wasn’t a threat. Good. She’d had enough of his histrionics for the day, whatever their cause. Thank God she had a day off tomorrow.

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Staff room,’ she said, and he disappeared and returned with them a minute later. Not long enough, certainly, for a Q and A session on the reason for his abrupt departure.

  Not that it was any of her business, she reminded herself again. She went to see her patient, a regular with unsteady legs and a cheerful disposition, leaving them to follow.

  ‘Hello, Annie, my darling, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, Meg, hello, dear. I had another fall.’

  ‘So I gather. That was silly. Annie, they’re filming for the Ben Maguire show on the television. Are you OK for them to film you?’

  ‘Does that mean I get interviewed by this handsome young man?’ she asked, openly flirting with him, and to give him credit, he crouched down and flirted right back.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ Rae said, grinning at Meg, and she nodded.

  ‘I think so,’ she replied, and watched them flirting with each other like teenagers.

  And how! Ben was as charming as she’d ever seen him, and Annie loved it. So did Meg, because it made a painful procedure on a frail and elderly patient no more traumatic than putting a plaster on a little graze.

  Endorphins, she thought. She’s feeling special, and it’s releasing a flood of feel-good hormones in her brain and taking her mind off it.

  Meg thought she might as well not have been there, except for the dressing, and that suited her fine. She was already sick of answering silly questions and explaining what she was doing, and if Ben would only stop asking her, he’d find she’d give him the answers he wanted anyway, as a matter of course in her dealings with the patient. But Annie knew the score and, since she was busy with Ben, Meg decided to grab a few moments’ peace and quiet.