Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2)

by Jenny O'Brien

  It hadn’t helped that in the weeks following her gran’s death she’d hardly seen him, what with shift clashes and the like. Even after being together for so long he was feeling more and more like a stranger, but she dampened down any feelings of doubt. Now things would be different. Now they could get married and be a proper family, something she’d never really had apart from her gran.

  On arriving at his top floor apartment she pressed the doorbell, thinking for the thousandth time about when he’d get around to giving her a key; they had been an item for two years after all. She pressed the bell for longer this time. He must be in; he’d said he was writing up that paper for the paediatric burns conference.

  At no answer she tried the handle to find it turned under her fingers. Heading straight for the study she was surprised to find it empty and even more surprised to find the laptop closed and no signs of any activity on the empty desk. With a frown pleating her brow she called out as she crossed to the only closed door ahead.

  ‘Simon, Simon. I have some news.’

  Grainne came back to the present with a jolt and slowly rose to her feet. Bracing herself against the worktop she grabbed a beaker and filled it to the top. This had to stop or she’d stop. She wasn’t the first woman to be let down by a man and she certainly wasn’t the first woman to lose a baby. With a swift glance at her reflection mirrored in the window above the sink she turned and made her way back to the department. She still felt ill, but she was needed. Jasmine needed her and she wasn’t prepared to let her down.

  If only someone would need me, someone that wouldn’t let me down.

  She made her way across to the trolley, avoiding any recriminating looks sent her way.

  ‘As I was saying Jasmine, your pregnancy test has confirmed that you’re pregnant, but this bleeding and pain isn’t good.’ He paused, and Grainne knew his eyes were fixed on her downcast head. ‘We need to send you for a scan of your tummy and then I’ll get a lady doctor to take over your care.’

  At this Jasmine turned to Grainne, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘It’s alight Jasmine. The scan’s called an ultrasound. They’ll pop some cold jelly on your tummy, that’s all you’ll feel – It won’t hurt your baby. I’ll come with you if you like?’ She received a small smile of thanks.

  ‘Would you like to see your mum now, she’s worried sick?’

  ‘Will… will you stay?’

  ‘If you want me to?’

  Ruari held the curtain back for her, his voice holding a question.

  ‘Grainne…?’

  But her only reply was a quick shake of her head as she made her way across to the reception area.

  After - after she’d escorted Jasmine for her scan. After she’d cried with her at the sound of the little muffled heart beat still thumping out its rigorous dance against all the odds. After Ruari had taken Jasmine’s mother to one side and worked God only knows what kind of magic on her and after they’d both stood side by side and watched mother and daughter united over a tiny little bean sized baby on the screen. After all these things Ruari had herded her into the staff coffee room with less finesse than the average sheep farmer.

  He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there resting against the door jamb while he took off his glasses and, placing them in his top pocket, rubbed the little furrow between his eyes before meeting her gaze.

  ‘I want to help if I can.’ He paused, fumbling for his glasses and then replacing them. ‘You can’t tell me what’s just happened hasn’t affected you in some way.’ He headed for the small miniscule window in the corner before turning to look at her again. ‘I’m not stupid Grainne!’

  ‘I never said you were.’ She stumbled and, feeling the sofa press at the back of her knees collapsed backwards. ‘I just want…’ She wanted..... God, she had no idea what she wanted. Resting her head back and closing her eyes she realised that wasn’t true. She knew what she wanted, but it was too late for that now, far too late.

  ‘You want?’ His voice was soft, kind even but looking at the concern in his eyes she knew she could never tell him.

  She still hesitated, weighing up the pros and cons of the decision she’d just made.

  ‘I want a lift home – I don’t think I’m up to driving.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ruari stilled imperceptibly, forcing himself to concentrate all his skill on easing the endotracheal tube into place before inflating the cuff that would hold it firm, before securing the tube with a length of gauze. So how was it ever since the wedding he could sense her presence before even seeing her? It was as if he had an inner beacon that switched all his senses to overdrive as soon as he was within shouting distance.

  He checked the man’s heart rhythm displayed on the machine in front of him and, happy at last stood up and stretched, easing his hand to massage his aching neck.

  Two arrests in less than six hours, I must be getting old.

  ‘Okay people that’s a job well done, let’s get his oxygen levels up to 94% and then transfer him upstairs to the experts.’ He shoved the enormous set of medical notes under his arm, making sure any loose pieces of paper weren’t going to escape. ‘Has anyone contacted the next of kin?’ He questioned, reaching out a hand to fiddle with the valve on the oxygen cylinder.

  ‘His wife’s in the relative’s room. She only knows about his collapse at work.’ Aiden patted him on the back briefly. ‘Ruari you’re all in, do you want me to…?’

  ‘No, no, I’ll see to it, it’s my responsibility.’ He attempted a smile. ‘No interruptions if possible.’ He handed over his bleep and mobile, all thoughts now with the woman he would have to speak to. It was at times like this he realised just how much he loathed his job.

  Oh he loved the adrenaline rush and sense of fulfilment when everything went well. He loved not knowing what he’d be doing with his day: Saving lives, extracting beads from kids noses or patching up drunks and drug addicts. It was all in a day’s work – that is for someone in their twenties. At thirty four he was viewed as the geriatric on the unit and, walking into the relative’s room he wondered just how long he was prepared to put up with the stress and shift patterns. He didn’t have a social life to speak of. He didn’t have the energy at the end of the week to do anything other than grab yet another take out and slob around in front of the TV in his comfy joggers with the baggy knees that his cleaner kept trying to hide in the bottom of the ironing pile.

  He didn’t throw more than a brief glance at his surroundings. Pale blue walls interrupted with what was supposed to be a relaxing picture of stones balancing on some far off beach wasn’t really his thing. But that hadn’t stopped the powers that be from organising meeting after meeting to discuss the benefit of duck egg Dulux over B&Q stripes. They’d had the resident neuropsychologist in on it, not to mention that mad woman with the green rinse from the bereavement service.

  What colour was grief? What colour could soothe the tortured mind? What colour could make it all better? Would a landscape or a fruit and veg still life be better at lessening anguish?

  He focused all his attention on the woman sitting still on the matching blue sofa, busily avoiding his gaze.

  No, he wasn’t interested in his surroundings. He couldn’t give a damn about the money they’d hijacked from the charitable trust to fund the refurb. In fact it was all a complete load of bollocks! She wasn’t worried where she was sitting, or indeed what she was sitting on. All she was worried about was getting her husband back. No amount of interior design or fancy artwork was going to lessen the effect of the news he was about to break.

  After their conversation where he couldn’t offer any promises only treatment plans and statistical probabilities. After he’d mopped up her tears with a thousand tissues. After he’d told her she looked fine and that no one would notice the state of her hair/face/mismatched clothes (Doctors weren’t supposed to lie, but the odd untruth helped much more than duck egg Dulux). After they’d gone up to ITU together and found him
tucked away in a side room surrounded by scary machines that kept bleeping with every twitch. After he’d left her in the kindly hands of yet another lot of staff and finished yet another set of notes he’d escaped to the safety of a hot coffee and an even hotter shower before going in search of Grainne. After all these things he finally decided that it was time for a life rethink.

  With this frame of mind he headed towards the hospital entrance and there he found her sitting on the top step with her nose in a book.

  He didn’t see her carroty hair. He didn’t see the freckles. He didn’t even see the nondescript nose or over wide mouth. All he saw was Grainne.

  Sitting down beside her, their hips almost but not quite touching he plucked the book from her lap and enfolded his hand around hers.

  ‘Where were we?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grainne hadn’t been reading, but she resented the loss of her book all the same. She resented the cool way he’d just decided to plonk himself down into her personal zone just as she resented the way he’d taken custody of her hand. She’d tried moving it back onto her lap but each time he stopped her by exerting just a little more pressure. She wouldn’t admit how cosy it was, just the two of them squeezed up by the wall – if she moved her hip even a centimetre she’d be able to feel his bare leg next to hers – as it was she could feel his warmth.

  ‘Where were we?’ She repeated, finally giving up on the hand. She had another one after all.

  ‘Yes, where were we? You were telling me you wanted a lift, but not to where.’ He lifted his other hand and gently tweaked her ponytail. ‘As much as I like Mabe I do think if our friendship is to continue I should show you were I live.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea….’

  ‘Why not?’ He questioned, his thumb starting to stroke the inside of her wrist. ‘You’ve just broken up with your fiancé haven’t you?’

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  ‘And that’s why you’re here?’

  He wasn’t looking at her now, just staring into the middle distance. ‘I’d have done the same you know.’

  She turned towards him, the frown back. ‘What, run away – leave all your friends and memories behind? I don’t think so. Simon got off scot free whilst I.…’

  ‘Whilst you tripped up to Dublin to meet the incredibly handsome and talented Dr Roar.’

  She laughed then, a hollow sound - more of a croak really; an imitation of a laugh. But at least it was something, or the start of something: God how she wanted it to be the start of something.

  Shuffling that last inch; shorter than a whisper, longer than a mile she wrapped both arms around his knee in the briefest of hugs, his hand still clutching hers.

  ‘You’re just what I needed.’ She leant away as if to shuffle back to her corner, but his arm came out to stop her; drawing her even closer – just like a spider enticing a poor unassuming fly into its web.

  ‘No you don’t. You’ve made your move now you’ve got to live with the consequences.’

  A couple of people walked past on their way to reception, their eyes deliberately focused ahead even as they both said in unison ‘Alright Ruari.’

  ‘We can’t stay here.’ She moved and, pushing her arms through the sleeves of her pink leather jacket stood up with a stretch. ‘I’m as stiff as a board.’ Looking down at the top of his head she resisted the temptation to touch his hair, instead she reached out a hand.’

  ‘Come along old man, I’ll give you a hand up.’

  ‘Why you little….’ The word was lost as he jumped to his feet, missed his footing and arms and legs flailing would have tumbled down the rest of the steps except for her hand.

  She laughed then. Not a croak, not an imitation - a full blown laugh loud enough to disturb the pair of pigeons sitting quietly on the roof overhead.

  ‘Oh my God, that has to be the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages.’

  ‘I’ll give you funny.’ Pulling on their still clenched hands he drew her towards him resting his forehead briefly against hers before reaching up both hands under her arms.

  ‘You said you weren’t ticklish, right?’

  ‘I’m not, I’m not.’ She managed to gasp. ‘Oh please stop,’ trying desperately to muffle the laughter welling up inside.

  ‘Only if you’ll agree to come back to my place?’

  ‘Anything, but please stop.’

  Still trying to remove her hand from his grip she walked beside him to the car park. She even tried to use her other one to prise it off but it was useless. For some reason he wanted to announce to the world they were friends: More than friends. Apart from digging her nails in there was little she could do. But that didn’t mean she was unhappy. Of course she was happy. She was absolutely ecstatic it was Ruari and not some other eejit superglued to her side - for eejit read Simon.

  Simon had never held her hand in public, or private for that matter unless there was something in it for him. He’d called her a cold fish, a dried up old spinster with nothing to offer – or at least nothing he was interested in. The only thing he’d wanted, outside of the cottage he’d thrown back in her face.

  She remembered his words, just as she remembered the derision – how could she ever forget.

  ‘I don’t know what you were saving it for. You’re not meant to lie there like a bloody corpse, unless you’re dead from the neck down – next time I’d be best served to check your pulse first.’

  Looking down at their entwined fingers (just how had that happened?), she remembered just what a dangerous game she was playing.

  She tugged, harder this time. ‘Everyone will see.’

  He paused in the middle of the car park and turned her to face him. ‘You’re not ashamed of holding my hand?’

  ‘Why would I be ashamed?’ The conversation, like her life was getting out of control. She tried to diffuse the situation with humour, not that she was feeling in the least bit humorous.

  ‘To be sure no one could be ashamed of being with the handsomest man in Dublin, but people may….’

  ‘May talk?’ He interrupted. ‘Well of course they will silly! They’ve been trying to palm me off with every new nurse that’s entered the building. I’ve lost count of the amount of blind dates I’ve body swerved.’ He gripped her hand a little more firmly. ‘That’s where Aiden comes in handy.’

  ‘Aiden?’

  ‘Aiden - he’s the best manager a bloke could have. I’ve also lost count the number of times he’s had to change my off duty at the last minute. I know my looks may lead you to believe I’m an arrogant so and so, but it’s all an act.’ He lifted up an index finger and, licking the tip smoothed back his eyebrows. ‘I can’t say no to save my life.’

  Staring up at him she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was no way after that confession she could say what she really wanted to. There was no way she could tell him the looks he was getting: interested looks, questioning looks. Questioning looks that screamed out in top volume:

  What the hell do you see in her?

  What the hell did he see in her, apart from the obvious? The words reverberated around her head like popcorn in the microwave.

  Bang bang pop

  Exactly - well he was in for a shock now wasn’t he? She’d tried it once and that was enough. Oh well, he’d soon learn and then perhaps he’d get Aiden to change his duty too.

  ‘So where is it exactly that you live then?’

  ‘Sandy Cove.’

  ‘Sounds like some fancy beach resort – what is it, a posh clos in the suburbs?

  ‘No, it’s “some fancy beach resort.” The best fancy beach resort in Ireland.’

  ‘Lead on Macduff!’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Wow, bloody wow!’ She hopped off the bike and, with both hands entrenched on her hips gazed open mouthed at the bay fronted property stuck right on the edge of Sandycove Point. ‘It’s absolutely perfect. I can only imagine what the views are like.’

 
; ‘Come on.’ Propping his bike on the neatly cut grass and reaching for her hand. It was becoming a habit - one she would miss.

  He led her through the stark white hall, the only splash of colour coming from the parquet flooring and into the first room on the right. Dropping his hand she headed straight for the huge window. She didn’t even notice the Victorian coving or authentic fireplace, her eyes busily following the flotilla of yachts floating by on their lazy journey to some far off exotic place.

  ‘I could stare at that view all day and not get bored.’ Turning away with a reluctant sigh she took in the rest of the room.

  ‘What’s with all the white though? It’s going to be a nightmare when you decide to have kids,’ pointing to the walls.

  ‘Who said anything about kids, and it’s a darned sight better than the previous colour.’

  She lifted up her hands and, pulling the scrunchie free from the end of her ponytail started massaging her scalp. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. You’ve never seen more pink outside of a girl’s bedroom - and just to reiterate, this is a child free zone. I won’t even let my sister’s brats anywhere other than the snug and the kitchen.’

  ‘How many does she have?’

  ‘Two and a half at the last count, but it could be three by now. I’ll show you the rest and then - what about a walk?’

  The rest was another drawing room, or snug as he called it. This time with a deep window seat into the bay padded with comfy blue cushions and matching squashy sofas. The dining room was another stark affair, the only furniture to offset the clinical feel being an old style mahogany table and chairs. The kitchen was to die for with floor to ceiling hand worked wooded cabinets and an old fashioned cream Aga. It seemed to extend the whole length of the house with one half being used as a breakfast room with scarred pine furniture and matching dresser brimming with blue and white willow pattern plates.