by Karin Baine
‘Do you have any costumes?’
Angelique clapped her hands together and gave a squeal. ‘Do I have costumes? That’s akin to asking the Queen if she has any hats.’
The Queen of the dance hall wheeled out a rainbow of sparkling corsets and accessories, and soon Lola was marvelling at the exquisite embroidery and daring styles on the rail.
‘These are beautiful.’
‘Does this mean you’ve turned to the dark side?’ Angelique held an electric blue silk ensemble in front of Lola.
‘I’m not sure it’s my colour...’ But Lola thought it might be worthwhile trying it on anyway.
Most of the girls went for the more risqué options—cleavage-enhancing, thigh-exposing outfits guaranteed to make an impression on the now seated audience. Lola on the other hand, chose a more modest pearly pink corset with matching frilly skirt. The girly princess style was more her than the vampy red and black siren suits, but it didn’t stop her shaking with nerves, knowing that her lady bits were covered only with layers of chiffon and silk.
From the wings, wrapped in the stage curtain, Lola watched as the others took to the stage one by one. The response so far had been very positive, with dancers and spectators alike smiling and enjoying themselves. A few girls had even stripped off their stockings and gloves to throw to their admirers. There were no rules—no right and wrong ways to dance. It was all about letting go and celebrating their bodies.
For Lola, it was also about embracing her pregnancy and moving into the next chapter of her life.
Suddenly Lola was the last showgirl standing. Shaking. Panicking. And liable to vomit all over her bespoke ‘coming out’ frock.
‘Lola?’ Angelique gently rested her hand on Lola’s shoulder. ‘Do you still want to do this?’
‘No.’ It was an honest answer, but as she saw Angelique head for the stage herself Lola unwrapped herself from the curtain and stopped her. ‘But I need to do this.’
For the first few bars of the song Lola couldn’t move. She closed her eyes, let the sultry music wash over her and stepped out of her hiding place. The audience was a blur at the corner of her eye as she wiggled her way across the stage. She didn’t dare look directly at them in case her wobbly legs gave way altogether. Then she really would make a spectacle of herself—and flash parts of her she was determined to keep secret in public.
There were a few wolf whistles as she stroked the full length of her black silk gloves, a chorus of cheers as she moved her hands down her body to rest them on her lap. Once she realised she wasn’t going to be booed off she started to relax. She dipped to her knees and swivelled around, giving her booty a pop as she straightened again. With one foot crossed in front of the other, she sashayed to the back of the stage. She raised her arms above her head with a flourish, and slowly slid them back down to stroke her face in profile.
A salsa move forwards and back, combined with a turn, brought her to face her nightmare. There was no one laughing behind their hand at her attempts to dance, so she took that as a positive and carried on. It was all about revelling in her own body, touching every part of her as only a lover could. She stroked her fingers across her chest, dipped her hand between her legs and parted her thighs in a quick flash. It was empowering to say You can look but not touch as she bounced back up into a body roll.
Angelique had called it. This was more about knowing she could do it if she chose and nothing to do with content. Perhaps she could get the hospital trust to introduce corset and stockings as the new uniform as she was now so comfortable in it?
She kicked her leg out to the side and slowly teased her hand to the top of her stocking, her head thrown back in mock ecstasy. It only worked for real when there was a Frenchman inching along her thigh.
The faces of those pimply teens who’d made her ashamed of her own body faded with every body-pop and wiggle of her hips, until she was drained of all her energy. She’d done what she’d come up here to do and she wanted to finish on a high. With a sidestep, she bent over at the waist and gave a shimmy.
Lola Roberts was finally flaunting what God gave her.
She finished to a round of applause and a surge of adrenaline shooting through her body. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw Henri through her teary eyes. Real or imaginary, he was the one person in the room who hadn’t enjoyed her performance.
* * *
Henri wished he’d never come. The sight of Lola performing up there only added a sense of urgency to the problem he’d come to discuss with his sister. He’d come for advice—not a reminder of what he’d thrown away.
Lola was blossoming before his very eyes. He only had to see her peacocking in one of Angelique’s outfits to know how far she’d come from the girl who’d hated anyone looking at her. More than that, her confidence in her own abilities at work was growing every day, too. She’d jumped in today to help with that trauma patient without any coaxing from him.
It wasn’t jealousy that consumed Henri as he watched her strut fearlessly in her costume, it was pride. At a time when she should be devastated about stalling her career she was owning this new side of her—living up to her showgirl namesake. The sparkle was back in her eyes as she mingled on the dance floor with the others, her head held high with every step she took in her stripper heels.
He walked away, realising he was superfluous to her requirements. While she’d left her baggage up on that stage, Henri was still trailing his behind him.
Today had made him question every aspect of his connection with Lola. He’d been unforgivably selfish and stupid for lashing out at her when it was himself he was angry at. It wasn’t her fault he’d done the unthinkable and fallen in love with her. He’d already been afraid to tell her how much she meant to him when he was juggling his guilt and his responsibilities to Angelique. The revelation that there was a baby on the way had forced him to face those feelings and he’d reacted like a caged animal—attacking first before he got hurt.
They hadn’t ever discussed carrying on their fling after Lola’s placement ended. For all he knew she resented him for getting her pregnant, ruining her career and tying her to him for the rest of her days. But he loved Lola, and he’d nearly destroyed her because of it.
He sat in the front seat of his car, trying to make sense of the chaos he’d created. It wasn’t fair to judge his relationship with Lola on the basis of the debt he owed to his sister. If he took Angelique and the children out of the equation, what was he left with? A woman he loved and wanted to be with and a baby borne of that union. It seemed so simple when he stripped away the layers of guilt and pig-headedness.
Above all, he wanted to be with her. Everything else would simply have to fit in around that. As long as she wanted him, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOLA DIDN’T KNOW how she was managing to function at work, but she wouldn’t give Henri the satisfaction and phone in sick just so she wouldn’t have to face him. To say she was devastated at his rejection was an understatement. Her tear-drenched pillow and the stockpile of brownies in the kitchen would attest to that. Perhaps she’d had a lucky escape from someone who would accuse her of getting pregnant to keep him, but it would take some time to see it that way. For now she was still pretty bruised.
She stepped into the cubicle to check on her next patient, an eighty-year-old woman who’d been admitted with breathing difficulties.
‘Hello, Vera. Can you tell me where the pain is?’
The nursing staff had already made her as comfortable as possible, sitting her up to aid her breathing and attaching an oxygen mask.
‘It’s in my back.’
‘And can you tell me—is it the pain or the breathing which is worse?’ Lola could see from her notes that she’d fallen, and there could be confusion between her internal and external injuries.
‘The breathing...’
Vera stuttered out from behind the mask.
‘I’m just going to listen to your chest, okay?’
Lola unhooked her stethoscope from around her neck and pressed it against the old lady’s skin. She could hear the bubbling sound of fluid in the air sacs of the lungs—a definite sign of something more serious than a chest infection. Lola tapped on her chest and the dull thud replacing what should have been a hollow, drum-like sound also indicated that fluid could be collecting in between the layers of the lung membrane.
Chest X-rays and blood tests confirmed Lola’s suspicion that she was battling pneumonia and that there was fluid there along with infection in the lungs. The poor woman was struggling to breathe, and with her medical history Lola didn’t think the prognosis was good. She needed advice from someone who had more experience in this area, but she was appalled to find Henri was today’s leading clinician.
Only the welfare of her elderly patient persuaded her to approach him.
‘Lola! I’m so glad you—’
‘If you have a minute, I’d like a second opinion on one of my patients.’ She spread the notes out on the desk in front of him, trying not to brush against him or make eye contact if she could help it.
‘Certainly. What have we got?’
He was much too cheery for a man who’d broken her heart only yesterday. If he didn’t know the accepted etiquette after breaking up with a pregnant girlfriend was to appear shame-faced and grovelling for forgiveness she might have to remind him with a swift kick. After they’d treated the patient.
‘An eighty-year-old female with pneumonia. Her breathing is laboured, but she has chronic heart and lung disease. I don’t want to put her on a ventilator yet, in case we have difficulty getting her off it again.’
There was a danger she would become too reliant on it and would never manage to breathe on her own again.
‘You’re right. Continue with the oxygen and antibiotics for now. Her next twenty-four hours will be crucial, but we’ll do what we can to help her fight. Try to keep her as calm as possible, because anxiety will only affect her breathing more. Are her family here?’
Henri gathered the notes back into a neat pile and handed them back to Lola. She hated her body for betraying her as his fingers brushed hers. He had no right to still make her tremble with one touch after what he’d done.
‘They’re on their way.’
‘I’ll pop over with you and say hello.’
She didn’t want to spend any more time with him than was strictly required. These last days were going to drag on if he insisted on torturing her by being near.
‘That’s really not necessary. I’m sure you have other stuff to do. All I wanted was some advice—and, trust me, if there was anyone else I could’ve turned to I would have.’
She turned on her heel before he could see how much she’d let him get to her.
‘I need to apologise—’
‘Yes, you do—but this isn’t the time or the place.’
She didn’t want to hear a half-hearted explanation of his behaviour dropped into conversation between patients. The least she deserved was a proper discussion about what they were going to do next. In the meantime she had people relying on her, and everything except Vera would have to wait.
‘Hi, Vera. We’ve decided to keep topping up the antibiotics, and as soon as you’re feeling a bit better we can move you up on to the ward. Okay?’
It was all about keeping her calm, giving her hope.
Vera nodded, although her eyes were wide with panic. Lola was concerned she was accepting defeat and giving up the fight.
‘Bonjour. My name is Henri and I’m the registrar here. I wanted to come and see how you are.’
Lola rolled her eyes as he appeared—in full French mode. She was sure he exaggerated that accent for the effect it had on the ladies. It wouldn’t surprise Lola if he actually had a broader Belfast brogue than her and this whole charade was solely to pick up women. Even Vera sat up straighter upon hearing it.
‘We’re just getting Mrs McConville comfortable until we can move her on to the general ward.’ I’ve got this.
‘Très bon. I’ve been in touch with your son and daughter and they want to come and see how you’re doing.’
He was very calm, and Lola could see he was trying not to spook Vera by telling her of their arrival. It could be overwhelming—frightening, even—when families turned up en masse, weeping and wailing at the bedside.
‘Can I get you a wee drink, Vera? Your lips are very dry...’ Lola held a cup to her mouth so she could take a sip.
‘What do you say I take you for a proper cuppa and some cake when you’re feeling better?’ Henri asked, and managed to bring a smile to the thin cracked lips behind the oxygen mask.
He did have a way with women of all ages, and it simply didn’t fit with the cruelty he’d inflicted on Lola yesterday.
‘Now, that’s an offer and a half, Vera, isn’t it? We’ll have to get you fighting fit and get that date nailed down.’ Lola carried on with the teasing since it was taking the woman’s mind off her immediate problem. She was already starting to relax, and her breathing was a lot steadier than when she’d first arrived.
Henri must have noticed, too, and he began to remove Vera’s mask. ‘I’m just going to take you off the oxygen for a bit. I think the antibiotics are beginning to take effect and I want to see how you do on your own for a while. If you’re in pain or struggling let me know and we’ll put it back on again. Okay?’
Vera rubbed at her skin, where the straps had left marks, and sighed. ‘It’s my own fault for going out without a coat or brolly. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t got caught in that rain.’
‘We all make mistakes. The important thing is what we do to fix them.’
Henri stared meaningfully at Lola, and it was all she could do not to reach across the bed and slap him. Was he really suggesting they should ‘fix’ her pregnancy? He sank even lower in her estimation.
‘These things happen, but we can’t beat ourselves up over them, Vera. Sometimes we’ve just got to man up and deal with it. We’ve got to have faith that everything will come good in the end.’ Lola smiled brightly at Vera and hooked her chart over the end of the bed. All the while shooting invisible daggers in Henri’s direction.
‘And sometimes we overreact when we realise we’ve screwed up. Mistakes can turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to us, only we’re too stupid to see it at first.’
He deflected Lola’s imaginary flying weapons with a smouldering look she didn’t think was meant for their pensioner. Lola tried to ignore her overexcited internal organs as they went into overdrive. Although this had the markings of an apology, there was no guarantee anything would change between them. He was probably just trying to save face in front of Vera.
The woman lying between them turned her head, following their conversation back and forth as though she was at a tennis match. ‘Have you two had a falling out?’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
Henri apparently thought it was safer to have this out in front of an audience. But if this was his way of getting around her without a fight it wasn’t going to work.
‘Oh, dear. Has he been playing away, love? They’re famous for that, the French, aren’t they?’
Vera settled herself down for a good gossip and it might have been comical if this wasn’t Lola’s life playing out in the middle of the emergency department.
‘Not that I know of.’
‘No, but I did do something else unforgivable.’
Henri immediately allayed the fear that there might be another reason he didn’t want to commit before it had a chance to form fully in Lola’s worry bank.
‘Has he apologised?’ Vera’s arms were folded, and her lips pursed as she planted
herself firmly in Lola’s camp.
‘Sort of.’
Henri cleared his throat. ‘That’s what I’m trying to do now.’
Vera narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re not doing a very good job of it. You should be down on bended knee, begging for her forgiveness. I thought you lot were supposed to be experts at sweeping women off their feet? Make him work for it, Doctor.’
It wasn’t often Henri who was the one taking orders rather than giving them, and Lola enjoyed watching him squirm at the bedside, trying to decide if he should actually get down on the floor.
‘That’s really not necessary, Mrs McConville. I wouldn’t expect Dr Benoit to make such a gesture in public. I’m his dirty little secret.’
Lola left with a wink, trusting her new best friend to give Henri the pasting he deserved for treating her so appallingly while she organised a porter to move her patient to the general ward.
Lola didn’t want to be part of a pantomime played out so Henri could salve his conscience. Even if he’d finally decided he would play a part in the baby’s life it would never be enough. There was a ‘buy one get one free’ deal going here, and despite everything she still wanted him to take up the offer.
Otherwise it was going to kill her, being so close to the man she loved every day and getting nothing in return. She was thinking seriously about asking for a transfer before the end of her placement.
* * *
‘Give me a break, Vera. I tried.’
Henri was still getting the stink-eye from Lola’s bed-bound cheerleader. This wasn’t easy for him. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d had to apologise in his life and for it to carry so much importance. Every time the words formed in his head he looked at Lola and nothing seemed adequate to portray the depth of his emotions for her.
He would have crawled on his hands and knees if he’d thought it would make any difference, but he could sense those walls already forming around Lola again—and he’d been the architect.
