Ideal Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 1)

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Er well you may be in luck with the voice; poor old Liddy looks as if she’s got one hell of a cold.’

  ‘Yeah, and a spot to match! She also looks far from five foot five, more like four foot five.’

  ‘It’s unlike you to be unkind Mitch. She can’t help her cold and she certainly can’t help her height – Anyway I’m sure she’s at least five foot and you know what they say about good goods in small parcels.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re easily lost!’

  John pressed his hand against his shoulder. ‘Mitch, I’m telling you now if you lose this package or indeed damage it in any way you’ll have me and Petra to answer to. I’ve always had a soft spot for Liddy, and she has the makings of a damn good nurse to boot. She nursed Petra’s father after his heart attack last year and nothing was too much trouble. She even managed to sneak in Sheamus when matron wasn’t looking and, as you know Sheamus isn’t easy to sneak in anywhere.’

  ‘No, that must have been some feat,’ he answered, as a picture of John’s dad’s Newfoundland popped into his head from nowhere. Sheamus was more donkey than dog, not to mention the fact he stank like a blocked drain even straight from the bath. God, there was nothing more revolting than the smell of a wet Sheamus.

  ‘She hid him under a dressing trolley piled high with sheets and pillow cases and pushed him right past sister’s office. I thought the game was up when I spotted his tail peeping out the side, but he moved just in time.’ Mitch watched as he threw a quick look at his wrist watch. ‘Talking about moving - All this standing here gossiping and I’m now late. Don’t forget that head injury on Landing Six, she’s a bit of a worry and don’t forget my threat.’

  He looked down at his friend with a smile. ‘I’m quaking in my shoes.’

  ‘Good! You should be. Remember what Petra’s like in a bad mood.’

  ‘Your wife is one in a million - In fact if I’d spotted her first you wouldn’t have had a look in.’

  ‘Yeah I know, so you keep telling me!’

  As they went their separate ways Mitch looked again at the piece of paper before idly tucking it into his wallet. Making for the stairs he had to force himself to stop rewinding the checklist for the perfect partner, even as he made the momentous decision to start by investigating her tits. It had been ages since he’d gotten involved with a research project that he could really sink his teeth into, he thought on a grin. The size of a woman’s boobs shouldn’t be that difficult, after all they stared you in the face all day, now didn’t they. Of course he would have much preferred to start with her legs, but that was impossible. First off, legs didn’t appear anywhere on the list and second, Liddy didn’t appear to be well endowed in that department. Oh, he knew they were probably average at worst and adorable at best, but short was short in his book – how the hell was she going to get them around his neck.

  He made his way up the stairs still trying to pick off the fine gossamer strands of fluffy white wool, which for some annoying reason seemed to have taken up residence in his trousers. Hopefully no one would notice, but he very much doubted it.

  Chapter Three

  Liddy had more to think about than handsome strangers five minutes later as she struggled to catch her breath. Six flights of stairs were bad enough walking, but running up them at top speed had left her seriously depleted of oxygen, not to mention in agony from her badly bruised hip. Pausing at the entrance to the unit she briefly thought about joining a gym, but that idea was soon dismissed where it belonged – hidden underneath all the memories of her sports days where she’d made coming last a national hobby. There was nothing worse than sport – that is until she pushed open the heavy brown door to find Sister Slater lying in wait ready to pounce. There was a lot worse.

  ‘Nurse Murphy, there you are at last.’ She said, pointedly looking at the watch that was pinned to the front of her navy blue dress.

  ‘We’re behind enough as it is, without being held up by student nurses. Wait till your tutor hears about this. If you were on my permanent staff I’d make sure to add a verbal warning to your records.’

  Liddy just stood there ashen faced, her chest still heaving as she struggled to get her breathing under control. The nasty old witch! If she reported her to her tutor there’d be hell to pay. What did she ever do for her to pick on her all the time? Sister Slater’s reputation was well known throughout the hospital as being a tyrant, but she wouldn’t have believed someone could be so evil until she’d experienced it first-hand. Only last week she’d balled her out in front of all of the other staff for not cleaning the flower vases properly, when she’d been running around like nobody’s business answering call bells and feeding patients.

  She looked up into the steely grey eyes entrapped by a thin scrawny face and could well believe the hospital grapevine. Rumour had it she’d been left waiting at the altar by her fiancé. Apparently he’d run off with some student nurse or other he’d met at a staff party. Well he’d had a lucky escape then hadn’t he? Although what could have possessed him to go out with such a dragon in the first place was beyond her – it certainly wasn’t her mind and as for her body - if her bottom dropped any further it would start talking to her knees.

  Mitch paused at the entrance to the ward, his hand still holding on to the side of the door. There was no mistaking the tell-tale dark curly tendrils escaping charmingly from their tight bun. His eyes lit on her shapeless tunic that admirably disguised every curve and bump better than any six man tent, even as his thoughts wandered back to his recent conversation with John.

  As he stared, he started to laugh at the stupidity of surveys. How any self-respecting hot blooded man would ever choose a nurse as their ideal mate was beyond him. God only knew what they had hidden under the shapeless sacks they had to wear, all in the name of infection control. If his research project wasn’t to fail before it had even started he was going to have to get inventive! It wouldn’t have been so bad in the old days with the pert little uniforms complimented by those wasp waist belts and silver buckles, not to mention the sexy black stockings. His eyes roamed over the baggy trousers and even baggier top - for all he knew she could be anything from flat chested to a DD, and anything and everything in between and he wouldn’t have a clue until it was too late.

  It was a good job he didn’t take any notice of the mumbo jumbo Petra and John kept spouting, or he would be in a fine mess. He recalled the last date they’d set him up with. There wasn’t anything essentially wrong with buck teeth and braces, but not when you spent all evening attacking your face with a toothpick – what idiot ate spinach with braces anyway!

  No, he was best sticking to his blonds. At least he knew what he was getting, even if it was all so bloody predictable. What with the whitewashed smiles, blood red nails and hair that stayed in place, even in a force ten gale sometimes it felt like he was going out with a doll, instead of a real woman with real flaws like the odd spot. With a jolt he realised he was now staring at that spot again. He managed to look away whilst at the same time tune into the conversation ahead of him, but what he heard caused him to sigh in resignation.

  He didn’t have time to act as intermediary, just as he didn’t have the inclination to be better disposed towards someone that had ruined his best trousers. But he hated injustices of any kind and clearly the girl needed help.

  ‘There’s no need to berate your nurse for being tardy Sister - it’s entirely my fault she was late. I clumsily bumped into her downstairs and sent her flying, so if you have to take it out on anyone take it out on me.’

  ‘Oh, Professor Merrien that’s alright. You know young girls these days, but this hasn’t been the first time and rules are rules. If you will just give me a minute to fetch the notes trolley I’ll join you on your ward round.’ Her eyes now pinned back on Liddy. ‘Nurse, can you go and check Miss Jenkins blood pressure please - that is if you can spare the time? Afterwards you can admit the lady in room five.’

  ‘Sister, how fortuitous,’ he interrupted. ‘I�
��m here to review Miss Jenkins, I’m not happy with the results of her MRI scan. Your nurse can accompany me, as she’s going that way anyway. I expect you can find something useful to do for the next five minutes.’ He turned his back and started following Liddy. He wasn’t normally rude to staff, but it was about time someone took her down a peg or two. Respect had to be earned in his book and Sister Slater had a long way to go before she earned his. In fact it was about time someone treated her the way she obviously treated others.

  Looking at the quiet girl beside him he wondered just what he was playing at. There had been no need for him to rush to her defence like that and Miss Jenkins could have waited to be reviewed along with the rest of his patients on the round. His eyes travelled down only to stop at the still tell-tale marks on his trousers and he was reminded suddenly why he had every reason to be unhappy with her, not want to protect her. Okay so he’d been a bit hard on her when she’d all but tripped him up, but that was before he’d seen past the faded uniform - that was before he’d stared into those green eyes, as clear and trusting as a child’s.

  He tried to pull himself together just as he tried to rationalise that ten minutes before he hadn’t even known of her existence. At thirty six he’d had a couple of long term relationships, and quite a few one night stands at college come to think of it. But he’d always been a love them and leave them type of guy never really getting what friends like John saw in commitment and the mortgage, kids and weekly visits to Ikea that went with it. He had an idea in the long distant future he’d probably conform and find someone to settle down with, but looking at the supposed perfect girlfriend at his side he sensed that those plans were about to be turned on their head.

  Reaching out a hand he pulled her to a halt just outside the bay.

  ‘Can you give me a quick run-down on how she’s been the last couple of days?’

  ‘Me? what? Why would you want to know what I think?’

  ‘Because you’ve probably been the one left to carry out all the mundane tasks, like blood pressures and pressure relief - because, apart from Dr Michaels you probably know the most about her.’ He held her gaze. ‘Am I right?’

  He watched a gamut of emotions flit across her face, his smile hidden under layer upon layer of experience. He knew how it was, just as every doctor in the world knew how it was. If he wanted to know about X-rays and blood results he’d ask a staff nurse, but if he actually wanted to know about how a patient was, how a patient felt, how a patient was recovering he was better asking a student nurse or indeed a health care assistant.

  ‘No, I….’

  ‘How about I tell you what I know and you fill in the gaps then?’ He gave her a brief smile before continuing.

  ‘Bridie Jenkins, twenty eight, found unconscious at the bottom of O’Connell Street following a hit and run. She arrested at the scene and was transferred to St Justin’s for investigations of a suspected head injury - the first MRI scan being inconclusive.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So how’s she been?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been on since she was admitted.’ He watched as she brought out a scruffy notebook from her tunic and started flipping through the pages.

  ‘She’s been increasingly confused since yesterday and I’ve noticed her left pupil has become fixed and dilated since this morning. We’ve had to start turning her two hourly because she’s becoming increasingly unresponsive. We’ve even tried to pass an NG tube to start feeding her, but she keeps pulling it out.’ She closed the notebook with a snap. ‘All in all I don’t think she’s doing very well.’

  He placed his arm on her shoulder briefly. ‘Neither do I. Her latest scan shows she’s got a sub-dural haematoma. I’m going to take a look and see if she’s fit for theatre. We may have to do bore-hole surgery.’

  She glanced up with a frown. ‘I thought that was something they did on oil rigs?’

  Well, it’s sort of the same type of procedure, but they get paid a lot more.’

  ‘Yeah right! So she’ll be fine after this er….’

  ‘I can’t promise that, but without it her chances are small.’ He started to head into the ward. ‘Come on; let’s have a look at her then.’

  They entered the bright airy ward and headed towards the only occupied bed in the corner.

  Bridie Jenkins was lying back against the starched bedlinen, her pale blond hair splayed out against the pillow like a curtain. There was no response when Mitch bent beside her and introduced himself, just as there was no response when he lifted up her wrists to test her reflexes. He reached out to feel her pulse.

  ‘Mm thready and tachycardiac - has she taken anything orally?’

  ‘No, the speech therapist told us not to. We’ll try again to pass a feeding tube.’

  ‘No - don’t.’ He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to appointments. ‘I’m in Theatre after the ward round - I’ll put her first on the list; once she’s on the table I’ll be able to see what’s what.’ He lifted the clipboard off the end of the bed. ’I’ll write her up for a pre-med now if you can make sure she gets it.’

  Liddy swallowed back the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. But if he could be so unemotional then so could she. Her eyes snagged on a stray lock of blond hair trailing across the pillow.

  ‘Her hair, will I.…?’

  ‘No, if you can just plait it or something, just so I don’t get tangled in it until the theatre nurses have time to shave it.’ He smiled at her then and for a moment she felt that everything would be alright. Bridie would get better, he’d make her better. The loss of her hair was a minor setback in the scheme of things.

  Minutes later as he was about to take his leave Miss Jenkins unexpectedly caught hold of his sleeve in a surprisingly vice like grip. After staring into his kindly blue eyes for what seemed like minutes she started to utter ‘Batty, Batty’ over and over again, her face screwed up with the effort it took to get the words out. He glanced at Liddy inquiringly.

  ‘She’s been saying that repeatedly ever since she arrived and none of us know what she means, but she’s so unhappy and nothing we can say or do seems to help.’

  ‘What about her family? Have you asked them if they know what she’s talking about?’

  ‘Well, she lived alone. We’ve managed to track down her father to Dubai. I’ve mentioned it to the social workers, but they’re so busy and it’s not a priority is it?’ Liddy replied, kneeling down beside the bed before taking Bridie’s hand within her own.

  ‘Let’s see how she copes with surgery. I’ll pop up first thing in the morning. Will you be on duty?’

  Liddy caught his eye and returned his look with a puzzled one of her own. Why was he so interested in if she was on duty? She was only a student nurse after all, right at the bottom of the pecking order. Good enough to feed and wash patients; good enough to tidy the sluice and an expert at kicking the bedpan washer into action, but not allowed within ten feet of anything with a stethoscope draped around their neck – that is unless they pinned you down in the linen cupboard or floored you by the front entrance. She managed to suppress the giggle that was building momentum in the back of her throat.

  She nodded briefly before turning back to her patient. ‘Shall I comb your hair while I’m here?’ She asked, opening the drawer of the brown bedside locker before pulling out a bright pink wash bag and an even brighter pink comb.

  As she combed and plaited Bridie’s hair her mind focused on just how much trouble he’d landed her in. Did he not realise in defending her he’d made things a hundred times worse? There was no way the ole cow would take that lying down now was there? No, it was going to be one hell of a shift and in more ways than one. No one ever got the better of Sister Slater.

  She secured the end of the plait with a pink bobble. He really was gorgeous, probably the handsomest specimen she’d ever touched, let alone had squashed up next to her. His thick unruly blond hair, a little on the long side, those ice blue eyes that seemed to read her every thought and that strong carved p
rofile that would put a Greek statue to shame. Her mind honed in on his smooth firm lips. Surely all men couldn’t be like Donal could they? But there was no way of telling, now was there except by clamping her mouth to his and that just wasn’t her style. No, she wasn’t going to risk it. Underneath that finely chiselled mouth he was probably hiding the wettest gob in Ireland, not to mention the sloppiest slimiest of all tongues. She shuddered, remembering that as soon as Donal’s lips had touched hers he’d slipped his tongue so far down her throat that she’d nearly needed a sick bucket.

  Not that she was looking of course, she reminded herself as she packed up the wash bag and popped it tidily back inside the locker. She’d had enough of men to last her a life time. All men were the same - they just took what they could get and then dumped you at the first grey hair, at the first sign that you were reaching your sell by date. It had happened to her mum and it would happen to her if she wasn’t careful. If she ever decided to drop her guard and finally have a relationship with someone, it wouldn’t be a doctor like Donal that’s for sure. The perfect man for her was someone with a normal job like a carpenter or a plumber; someone that she could look across at, not up to. Someone not surrounded by pretty nurses all day long. She didn’t know of any other profession that allowed men such a pick of the crop. It must be like working in a biscuit shop and being able to dip your hand in the cookie jar any time you wanted with no thought for the broken ones left abandoned at the bottom when you’d had your fill. No - the man she wanted to end up with was someone she could trust, someone not like Donal or indeed The Prof. Although why she should think of him in that light was anybody’s business.