Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2)

by Jenny O'Brien

  Casting a quick glance around the pristine and, it must be said Spartan bedroom he resisted the sudden temptation to linger and look at the sparse array of female bits and bobs scattered across the top of the chest of drawers that doubled up as a dressing table. But apart from a hair brush and comb there was little else to see. He recalled his sister’s dressing table, heaving under the weight of make-up and hair bobbles – this Grainne was a completely different animal. He didn’t fancy her or anything, far from it, but she did intrigue him. Starting to shiver and well aware that she could burst in upon him at any moment he headed for the tiny shower room and set the controls to boil.

  Seconds later found him rubbing some pink smelly shower gel over his legs, the same brand as his mother’s if he wasn’t very much mistaken. That was really going to improve his macho image wasn’t it? He let out a long groan. Who the hell wanted to smell like their mother? What was wrong with good old soap anyway? It was much more fun getting a lather up than bloody shower gel, although he couldn’t imagine getting someone like Grainne into a lather. She was far too square,

  No - square was the wrong word. He moved up to his chest, absentmindedly working more of the pongy gel over his skin as he tried to think of the right word for her. He wouldn’t quite go as far to say she was depressed, but probably verging on it all the same. It was as if she was missing something or, as he thought about her ring-less hand, someone. She was forlorn, that was it. She was a sad forlorn unhappy girl who for some unexplainable reason he wanted to cheer up.

  He scrubbed himself from head to toe with great reluctance, but Mabe was right. The canal wasn’t the cleanest of places to have an early evening dip. At least his tetanus jab was up to date.

  Finally stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself from head to foot in a large bath sheet he dragged the palm of his hand across the steamed up mirror before brushing his hair flat. Not that he was really bothered about what he looked like, but he probably should try and make some sort of an effort. He glanced around the sink looking for some toothpaste, remembering the mouthful of water he’d swallowed. He wouldn’t be able to taste anything if he couldn’t get rid of the taste. His eyes lingered on the white bathroom cabinet hanging crookedly from a nail beside the sink. He was a little reluctant to search amongst her stuff but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her and he wasn’t going to tell now was he.

  Opening it he paused. He wanted to close it again, but what would be the point. He’d seen what he couldn’t forget. Sitting on the shelf was her toothpaste, her mouthwash and a little bottle of pills - a distinctive little bottle of blue and green capsules that he knew without having to read the label. He saw them every day at work after all.

  Lifting the mouthwash he pulled off the top and poured a large capful before swilling it around in his mouth, all the while his eyes focused on the bottle of Prozac. He could even see her name printed on the label along with the name of her GP and medical practice. He knew she was forlorn, sad even but depressed enough to be on medication – why?

  The why was something he’d have to think about: The why was something he wanted to know about? Why he wanted to know was, at the moment an unanswerable question.

  ‘Hey Roar, have you taken up residence in there – not trying on Grainne’s underwear for size by any chance?’

  He replaced the mouthwash back in the cupboard before opening the door. ‘Poor Henry, I don’t know what he sees in you Mabel’

  ‘He sees a beautiful young lady whom he loves dearly.’ He saw her eyes looking him up and down, a smile on her face. ‘God, you are handsome, aren’t you? I’d be tempted to have a shot at you myself if it wasn’t for my Henry. So why is it you haven’t been snapped up years ago?’

  He glared at her. ‘I’m not some piece of merchandise you know!’ Strolling over he lifted up a hand and jerked the end of her mousy ponytail. ‘Perhaps I’m too fussy.’

  ‘Well, being fussy might get you laid but it doesn’t lead to happiness. Look at Henry and me – we’re never going to set the world on fire are we, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself?’ He said, thinking about her very ordinary and very boring Henry.

  ‘Rubbish, I love Henry to bits.’ She changed the subject. ‘So who’ve you got to accompany you to Sorcha’s wedding then? You do remember its next Saturday don’t you?’

  He patted her on the back before heading towards the neat pile of clothes on the end of the bed. ‘I haven’t really thought unless you’d like to go with me? You’ll find out what it’s like to be with a real man and now that you’ve seen all my assets….’

  ‘Ha ha,’ she interrupted. ‘You think you’re so funny, don’t you - Henry trusts me, just like I trust him.’ She opened the door, only to pause. ‘If you haven’t got a date you could always ask Grainne – she’s in need of cheering up.’

  His eyes followed her out the room, his look thoughtful if a little confused. He supposed she was right, and it would stop Sorcha from nagging him now wouldn’t it. She’d already texted him three times since he’d got back asking for the name of his guest and so far all he’d come up with was either his mother or his sister. His mother was out (he’d be a laughing stock) and being as his sister was eight months pregnant with number three she was out too – she probably wouldn’t make dessert before dropping the little blighter.

  Flinging the towel on the floor he headed for the bedside table and, picking up his glasses started scrabbling around for the leg of his jeans, one leg hopping around in mid-air. If they could see him now they’d change their mind about him being wedding guest material, but he was darned if he’d sit on the edge of her bed with no pants – that was far too intimate for his liking especially as he had no designs on her except for what she could come up with in the kitchen.

  He dragged on his t-shirt, his stomach growling at the smell of freshly baked bread wafting up the stairs. He’d take her to the wedding, but by God she’d have to pay. Cooking for him every Friday for a month should just about do it!

  Chapter Eight

  The department was as busy as ever the following morning and it didn’t help that Freddie had decided to open up a second bottle when Ruari had left, his wet boxers stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans.

  They’d talked of everything and everybody when he’d gone; including him but when Freddie had started to interrogate her about her move to Dublin she’d clammed up. She wasn’t ready yet to think about it, let alone talk about it: there would come a time but it wasn’t yet – it would take at least another bottle!

  If that wasn’t enough to upset her it was also Sorcha’s last day on duty before the wedding. Grainne, head throbbing with the tail end of a headache buried herself in work. She went from one admission to the next with quiet competence; applying dressings, administering drugs and escorting patients to wards for further assessment and treatment. She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid Sorcha’s exuberant presence for ever, but if only she could get her tea break out of the way so that she could throw a couple of paracetamol down her neck first.

  It didn’t help that she’d dreamt about him. Well that wasn’t quite true, she reminded herself the merest glimmer of a smile playing around her lips. She’d dreamt about Mr Darcy; Mr Darcy with the body and face of Dr Roar. God, he’d looked good in those riding breaches sitting astride that huge chestnut mare. Although just why he was chasing after her along the side of Crumlin’s canal was another matter. She’d woken up before he’d managed to catch her; another one of life’s regrets to add to the ever increasing list.

  But now she wanted to see him. She wanted to see him - desperately, fearfully, wistfully. She wanted to speak to him. She needed to speak to him. She needed to hear his voice; the timbre, the resonance, the pitch – even though she had nothing to say. She had no words to describe her thoughts, only feelings. Uncertain, faltering, embarrassing feelings best left unsaid and hidden. Forever left unsaid and hidden
if her brain had its way. But her heart, ever since that dream was in on the argument and early indications were predicting a draw at best, a landslide victory at worst.

  She saw Sorcha first.

  ‘There you are. Settled in alright?

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Great.’ She pulled on her arm, hustling her into the stationery cupboard. ‘I’ve just spoken to Ruari and he needs a date for the wedding so….’ She stared at Grainne, her eyes boring into her. ‘He’d like to invite you, but he’s not sure what you’ll say….’

  Her words hung in the air like shards of lightening choosing which body part best to strike, which body part best to damage – her heart didn’t think it could take any more.

  ‘I promise I’m not up to anything but I see two lonely people…’ She sighed; a tragic put on sigh that should have made Grainne laugh except she couldn’t. ‘Surely it’s better to be lonely together even if it is only for a day?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure….’ Her words queuing up in the back of her throat, but which ones to choose?

  God, yes yes YES

  or

  Over my dead body

  She eyed Sorcha. Sorcha with her blond hair, blue eyes and inner happiness that brimmed and overflowed: Happiness that seemed to light from within - happiness that didn’t belong here, happiness that didn’t belong anywhere near so much pain.

  But looking into her eager face, full to the brim with hope and expectation what could she say? If she wasn’t going to be responsible for upsetting the bride there was only one answer. Her stomach lurched at the thought of him hurting her – he’d hurt her already by just being there. If she couldn’t trust the love she’d felt for Simon then she couldn’t trust herself.

  ‘Ask him to ask me then.’ She tried a smile; a hopeless little uplifting of lips, but Sorcha was too hyped to notice.

  He was standing in front of the wall mounted computer screen muttering to himself, ‘it’s definitely broken and in two places.’ He paused, hand outstretched towards the phone.

  ‘Oh hello, how are you today?’

  ‘Fine.’ She peered over his shoulder to look at the picture on the screen. ‘So who’s the unfortunate patient?’

  ‘A ten year old budding David Beckham, but at least it’s only his arm. The orthopods will make him as good as new.’ He logged off the screen and, picking up his stethoscope turned towards her. ‘How’s the cat?’

  ‘Beautiful, she’s managed some more milk and Freddie’s going to take her to the vet later for a check-up. You know, just in case.’ She held his gaze, but just for a moment. She wanted to see him, she didn’t know why – she wanted to see him, even though she still had nothing to say.

  ‘What did you decide to call her in the end, you never said?’

  She felt the heat prick at her cheeks, but carried on nevertheless. ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennett.’

  She saw his eyebrows arch. ‘Em that’s quite unique, as well as quite long.’

  ‘It’s after Jane Austen, you know – the scene from the movie when Mr Darcy...’ She caught the look of confusion on his face. ‘Well, it’s a girl thing. She’ll be Lizzie for short.’ She added, her face growing steadily redder. ‘Thanks again by the way for the rescue….’

  ‘All in a day’s work.’ He leant towards her, almost whispering in her ear. ‘Grainne, I know it’s not the right time or indeed the right place but …’

  ‘Yes.’ She interrupted.

  ‘Yes what?’

  She turned away, hoping against hope Sorcha wasn’t some evil bitch with a sense of humour from hell. She didn’t think she’d done anything to warrant her pulling a stunt like this but after Simon she had difficulty in trusting anyone. She heaved her shoulders in silent resignation. She’d already started to ask him – the road to humiliation was long and bleak, in fact a little like her life come to think of it. He’d laugh, say nothing or accept – she’d coped with worse, a lot worse.

  ‘Sorcha has invited me to her wedding - that is if you haven’t got a partner already?’

  He was looking at her now, his head tilted to one side. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but it was bound to be something like amusement or even exasperation. The silence grew and the need to do something other than just stand there like a lemon became a necessity.

  ‘Well I’d…’ She watched as he lifted his hand before fiddling with his glasses.

  ‘Sorry, I was still trying to work out which sawbones to get to have a look at this.’ His head flicking back to the screen. ‘No I haven’t got a date for the wedding and I’d like you to accompany me.’ He looked at her then, but only briefly. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘Don’t you think I should pick you up? I’m not sure my dress will last a trip on the back of your bike!’

  ‘Very funny, I do actually own a car – I just prefer the bike. Eleven o’clock, your place. Er did you want to…?’

  But she shook her head briefly, avoiding his eyes. A trolley rumbled past in the silence that followed, allowing her an excuse to escape. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d invited him to appease both Sorcha and Freddie, but that was all. She didn’t really want to go to the wedding. She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable and she certainly didn’t want any rumours to start up about her and him. She remembered all too well how the grapevine had soon taken sides over her and Simon. She wasn’t given a chance to explain so she’d left. She’d walked away from the job she’d loved, just as she’d walked away from the man she’d planned a future with. Now she had no future, no home – only a past she couldn’t bear to think about.

  ‘I really must be getting back to my patient; I only popped in to collect some paperwork.’ She bent down and, grabbing a handful of admission notes headed back into the department.

  She slowed her pace as soon as she was out of sight of the office. There was no patient to get back to. There was no need for more observation charts. There had been a five minute lull and a strange need to see him. Making her way to the filing cabinet she added the forms to the correct drawer before shutting it and wandering across to the store room.

  She’d noticed earlier one of the porters dropping off supplies. Normally she’d have groaned at the extra work, but not today. Today she tore right into the first box and started unpacking the dressings - her mind stuck in a Ruari loop.

  She’d only gone into the office on any old pretext in case he’d been there. That in itself was a mystery. She didn’t have a patient for him, just a need to hear his voice. She stuffed bag after bag of gauze squares into the metal wall rack any old how before starting on the sterile catheter packs. There wasn’t even anything special about his voice for God’s sake. It was just normal, and as for his body… She’d never been into beefed up bods before. If Simon was anything to go by she favoured short and skinny to the point of bony with a penchant for fast cars and posh restaurants. Ruari had the body of an athlete, the motorbike of a Hells Angel and how could a take-away ever be viewed as a restaurant?

  She stamped on the now empty box and, arms full of cardboard headed towards the sluice. If she was lucky she’d be able to tidy that up too before the next case was assigned to her – anything was more favourable than the risk of bumping into him again.

  ‘Nurse Maguire, are you free to go into bay four?

  She pulled a face, before pulling the door closed behind her with a sharp snap. She had to think about what she was going to do, but obviously now wasn’t going to be the time. She’d come all this way to avoid one git and here she was starting to obsess about another one, and not just her. Sorcha, Freddie and fate for that matter seemed intent on flinging him across her path at every opportunity. Grabbing a blank set of notes from the filing cabinet she made her way towards her next patient, one thought pushing out all others. Their plan was working.

  The next few days flew by. Before she knew it she was drawing back her bedroom curtains and looking out onto a clear blue sky without even the hint of a cloud – perfect wedding w
eather.

  With a quick glance at the clock she shrugged into her towelling dressing gown before rooting under the bed for the matching pink pompom slippers. The house was still in darkness so she didn’t turn on the lights. Instead feeling her way to the top of the stairs she grabbed the bannister and made her way to the kitchen.

  Tea was a priority, but hearing gentle meows coming from the lounge obviously not her first one. Reaching for a pouch of cat food she spooned some out onto an old plate that they’d agreed to relegate for Lizzie’s use. With the kitten happily tucking into her breakfast she dipped her hand into the box of Barry’s tea and flipped on the switch of the kettle.

  Taking her mug into the lounge she placed it on the coffee table before heading back upstairs. There was still no noise from Freddie’s room but they were both being picked up in a couple of hours and there was lots to do.

  ‘Freddie?’

  ‘Huh’

  ‘I’ve made you tea.’

  ‘Come in. I’m sort of decent.’

  Grainne pushed open the door and, glancing at the bed burst out laughing. ‘Be Jaysus, don’t you look a sight for sore eyes? Henry will get the shock of his life.’

  She’d met Henry a few times now and she had to admit, only to herself of course, that she hadn’t liked him. She’d tried her best for Freddie’s sake, but she’d found him to be a rude self-serving sanctimonious know it all git, not the first she’d met one but certainly the first that was training to be a vicar.