Ideal Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 1)

by Jenny O'Brien

  She didn’t see the distraught look that Sorcha and the doctor exchanged. She wasn’t aware of her trolley being pushed down the well-trodden path to x-ray. She didn’t hear the rustle of the hospital grapevine as her story was told and retold.

  ‘That’s right, Mitch Merrien.’

  ‘Well I never would have believed it.’

  ‘She was lucky really; if he hadn’t arrived when he did she would have died from her injuries.’

  ‘So how come The Prof found her then? Was she going out with him or what?’

  ‘I dunno, you’ll have to ask Sorcha – I hear she’s dating his brother so that probably had something to do with it –you know those two, they’re as thick as thieves.’

  The three women from the surgical unit looked at each other, their cups of tea left to grow cold. There was silence as the experienced nurses relived a little of what Liddy had gone through, what she must still be going through. They had heard that Doctor Duffy, a brain specialist from the other side of Dublin, had been called in to oversee her care so this was serious stuff.

  ‘And how’s Liddy?’ But the other nurse just shook her head.

  ‘Her injuries are extensive; they even say she may never be able to remember what happened, although that’s probably a blessing.’

  ‘Oh no! Poor Liddy. I remember when she did her second year secondment on my ward. Sweet timid girl, wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Sorcha sat opposite the doctor in silence. They had completed their initial examination and Dr Duffy had asked to speak to her in private.

  ‘We’re trying to get hold of her mum at the moment, but she must be away. We’ve asked the local gendarmerie but the place is closed up. They’ve asked a neighbour though and they’ll be returning in a couple of days.’ She looked up from the battered set of medical notes lying open in front of her. ‘She’s refused to see her dad, or even let him know that she’s in hospital so I’m afraid things are going to lie heavily with you at present. I’ve asked the Chief Nursing Officer to grant you leave of absence until her mum arrives.’

  Sorcha nodded slowly, her mind racing in circles at the responsibility that had just been thrust upon her. How on earth was she, fun loving girl that she was meant to know how to cope with something so very grown up? The biggest problem she’d had to face up to now was trying to balance her finances at the end of the month!

  But what else could she do? This was her best friend and she knew that, if their positions had been reversed Liddy would be there for her. She thought of Liddy as she’d seen her last; her bruised face averted from everything except her own thoughts. As she felt the tears start to stream down her face Dr Duffy pushed the box of tissues in her direction.

  ‘I don’t know what I can do, but Liddy would be there for me so I’ll do my best.’

  ‘That’s all we can ask.’

  ‘What happens next, Doctor?’

  ‘Call me Angela.’ She replied, reaching forward to pat her hand. ‘We need to wait for the results to come back. She’s sustained extensive bruising to her face, which makes things look a lot worse than they probably are - although there is a big worry that she may have fractured her skull with the impact of the fall. The radiologist is looking at the CT scan as we speak – I was going to ask Prof…..’ She paused briefly. ‘I was going to ask him to review her, but I believe you know all about that!’ She threw a piercing look across the table. ’Also there’s two broken ribs, one of which pierced her left lung and her broken wrist. Oh, and she fractured her cheekbone - probably when her head bounced against the curb. Really she’s lucky to be alive after such an accident. If she hadn’t been wearing yellow she’d be dead. He saw her running out of the park, but just not in time.’

  Sorcha just stared back trying to take it all in.

  After she’d visited the private room Liddy had been allocated and been assured she’d sleep for another couple of hours she went in search of some peace and quiet, which she found in the hospital chapel. Not the place to make phone calls, but she couldn’t think of anywhere else and at least it was empty.

  Scrolling down her list of contacts she found the two Merrien brothers side by side and with a sigh decided to phone Paul instead of Mitch. She just wasn’t able to cope with him at present.

  ‘Hi beautiful, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon – are you still on for a beer later?’

  ‘Er, hello Paul.’ She paused, her mind going completely blank.

  ‘Sorcha, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Paul, I need you to do me a favour.’ Her voice stilted and uncertain.

  ‘Anything!’ The voice took on an anxious lilt.

  ‘Liddy’s sick. No not sick, ill – she’s been in an accident and and….’ She paused, stumbling over her words.

  The phone went silent for a heartbeat. ‘Oh my God, is she alright, where is she?’

  ‘No, she’s not alright. She’s in hospital. Can you….. Can you get in touch with Mitch? He found her. I think they must have had a falling out because she texted me just before….. Paul; he needs you.’

  ‘Sorcha wait, I’ll phone him, but where are you. How are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m at the hospital and I can’t leave at the moment.’ God only knows she could do with some support.

  ‘Okay, I’m not far away. I’ll bunk off my lecture and be with you in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll come down to reception.’ She rung off abruptly, noticing she wasn’t alone, but the priest just smiled benignly at her.

  So many troubled people sought refuge here, that’s what God’s house is for after all.

  She was sitting on the top step of the hospital entrance when Paul arrived, her knees hugged to her chest.

  ‘What’s wrong, what’s happened?’ He said, sitting down beside her and taking her hands within his.

  ‘Let’s go into the chapel, its private there and we shouldn’t be disturbed.’

  In the cool calm surroundings she told him everything that she knew: About how she’d been found outside Palmerstone Park unconscious, about the tramp and about Mitch appearing on the scene seconds too late.

  With tears streaming down her face she wasn’t able to tell him anymore. She wasn’t able to answer his silent questions about Liddy, about her future, about what happened next. They sat there clinging to each other, a single lifeline of hope amongst the quagmire they found themselves in. They didn’t trust themselves to speak about the thing uppermost in both their thoughts - neither of them had the courage. What about Mitch?

  ‘Can I see her; do you think she’ll let me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘She won’t even see her dad, but that’s not surprising with their history. I’m going back up now so why don’t you at least come up with me and I’ll ask her.’

  They walked out of the chapel together, side by side both lost in their own thoughts, but drawing comfort from each other all the same.

  But Liddy wouldn’t see anyone; not Paul, not Mitch – only Sorcha. She couldn’t. She was lost in her own personal tragedy. It was as if someone close to her had died unexpectedly. The anguish was tangible. She was inconsolable in her grief, until she came to the ultimate realisation that it was the death of Liddy she grieved. Liddy before had disappeared: Her history, her life, her dreams for the future all destroyed in the instant Mitch had turned his back on her. The accident and subsequent injuries were only secondary. She didn’t care what she’d broken; she didn’t care what damage had been done on the outside, or indeed the inside. Her body was resilient. Her body would heal – there were some things though that could never be healed with the slash of a knife, or the application of a sticking plaster.

  The attack only reinforced that men took what they wanted with no thought for the prey they left behind. Mitch had obviously changed his mind about her, it was just a shame he hadn’t bothered to tell her. One minute he couldn’t wait to see her naked, and the next he seemed almost embarrassed by her body.

  Angela, her face impa
ssive waited for another brain surgeon to be rushed over from a nearby hospital, whilst she tried to comfort her colleague. She’d known him as a friend and colleague for years, but the man sitting in front of her was barely recognisable as the handsome man she’d grown to like and respect. Of course as a doctor he knew too much. Liddy had sustained a fractured skull in the same way Bridie had. She couldn’t con him with ‘what if’s and maybe’s.’ He knew the score and was rightly terrified of the outcome.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Three months later

  ‘Morning sleepy head, pinch punch – first of the month.’

  ‘Go away, leave me alone.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to be like that and it being the first of March and all. I’ve got some nice scrambled eggs too.’ Said Liam, the nurse in charge of her treatment programme at Rathcoole.

  ‘More slop!’ Liddy frowned at the sight of the laden plate on her bedside table, but allowed him to assist her into her chair all the same.

  ‘I’ll get the speech therapist along later to see if she can upgrade you to a fork mashed diet, but only if you clear the plate.’

  ‘Oh joy.’ She managed a brief smile, before picking up the fork with her left hand and reluctantly dipping it into the cloud of yellow fluffy egg piled on her plate. It wasn’t Liam’s fault after all that her head injury had affected her swallow and it certainly wasn’t his fault that she disliked eggs with a passion. But it was porridge or scrambled eggs on the soft moist breakfast menu and if she disliked eggs, she hated porridge even more. She pulled a face as the first tiny forkful hit her tongue. What she wouldn’t give for a slice of toast smothered with Nutella, but the last time she’d tried she’d nearly choked to death. Although that wouldn’t have bothered her unduly, apart from the waste of Nutella! At least she had one thing to be glad of, or so Sorcha kept telling her, she was well on the way to curing her addiction to chocolate!

  She’d been at the Rehab Centre at Rathcoole now for three weeks. Three long weeks filled to the brim with every therapy known to man. When she wasn’t seeing the neuropsychologist, she was either with the physiotherapists practicing her transfers or with the occupational therapists relearning skills like brushing her teeth. They’d even had her in the hydro pool, swimming lengths to build up the muscles in her wrist now that the cast had been removed. At least her speech had come back, although she didn’t seem to want to use it much – what was the point? When her mum visited all she did was cry. When Sorcha visited she couldn’t face asking after Paul, even though she knew she should. But she just couldn’t bear speaking about him in case she allowed herself to weaken and think about Mitch. Mitch hadn’t visited, not that she’d expected him to after everything. Perversely that didn’t stop her from silently hoping he’d turn up one day with a crappy bunch of flowers to prove her wrong.

  It felt like she was in a bubble, a big fat bubble where there was no past and no future, only the present where everything was targeted at rebuilding her body into a semblance of her former self. She didn’t want to think about how she’d gotten here. She remembered the door whispering closed behind her and then nothing. She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to care ever again about what happened to her. Each day was a challenge filled with little triumphs of independence – that was all.

  She placed the fork tidily across the still full plate and reached for her Zimmer frame before heading slowly to the bathroom. Her right side was still weak and still felt as if it didn’t belong to her - but at least she could now manage to get where she wanted to go without having to call for assistance every five minutes. She sat down by the sink and managed to squeeze toothpaste onto her brush, although re-screwing the cap was another challenge yet to be conquered. Placing the toothpaste back on the shelf she caught sight of the space where the mirror should have been. However there was no reflection staring back at her, all there was were sheets of paper towels haphazardly taped to the wall. She’d never been one for mirror gazing, but since her accident she’d been unable to find the courage to look at herself. She knew what she looked like, she knew it was bad.

  They’d shaved one side of her head in theatre and her mum had cut off the rest. She missed the weight of her hair more than anything, she missed the way it swung when she moved - she even missed the knots. Raising her hand she could feel the three months of stubbly growth, so at least she didn’t look quite like a boiled egg. Laughter built up in her throat, a feeling so unfamiliar that she opened her mouth to let it escape into the empty room. She listened transfixed at the sound of her voice ricocheting backwards and forwards off the blank walls, an unfamiliar smile tugging at her lips. She used to be worried about a spot for God’s sake and now… Now she had a ruddy great scar splitting her head in two and a hair style most suitable for a paper bag – at least she’d save on hair products! Taking a breath she knew it was time. If she could laugh at herself she could find the courage to look in the mirror. If nothing else it would please her psychologist. She reached up her good hand and started ripping off the sticky tape piece by piece.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Hi John, what brings you to these parts?

  ‘I thought I’d have a look at Paddy Jones to see if I can transfer him to Rathcoole.’

  ‘Good, I need the bed!’ Mitch slapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘How is she?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that, it’s more than my life’s worth.’

  ‘Please, I’m begging you.’ He pulled him into Sister’s office, closed the door and leaned back against it with crossed arms. ‘There, no one except me will ever know and I’m certainly not going to report you!’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ John perched on the edge of the desk, before looking him in the eye.

  ‘She’s doing very well, all things considered. She’s screaming through her rehab programme and will probably be ready for discharge mid-April.’

  Mitch picked up on the one word that worried him. ‘Probably? What is that supposed to mean? She’s either going to be discharged soon or she’s not?’

  ‘Well….’ John started jangling keys in his pockets.’ She’s walking now, albeit with a stick, but she’s not eating. I don’t know how many kilograms she’s lost but it’s a lot.’

  ‘What are the dietitian and speech therapists doing about it?’ Mitch moved toward the window to look sightlessly across the rooftops to the little patch of blue sky visible between the chimney pots.

  ‘There’s nothing much they can do. As of last week she’s being managing a normal diet, but apart from the odd piece of toast….. We’ve even started sessions with Jack about body image. She seems to be cocooned in her own little world and reluctant to let anyone in.’

  ‘Tell me about it! I’ve tried to visit so many times I’m now officially barred until she’s discharged.’ He turned back to his friend. ‘Chocolate.’

  ‘Er, no thanks. I haven’t had lunch yet.’

  ‘What! Not you, man! What I mean is - have they tried chocolate?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not……’

  ‘Well find out!’

  ‘It’s not very nutritious and not something that the dietitians are going to recommend now is it?’

  ‘What do they know about it?’ He headed towards the door. ‘Eating is like riding a horse; she just needs to get back in the saddle so to speak. She’s relearnt how to walk, just as she’s relearnt how to talk now she needs to relearn how to enjoy food.’ He grinned, despite himself.’ I’ve seen her cupboards and I’m telling you chocolate is to Liddy what booze is to an alcoholic. In fact that’s probably why she’s so depressed. When I visited her flat she had jars and jars of that chocolate spread lined up on her shelves, nudged up against a pot of hot chocolate. And as for her fridge! One litre of milk well past its sell by date, one shrivelled lettuce with enough bacteria to keep path lab busy for weeks and pots and pots of chocolate mousse.’

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Six months later

  Liddy sat at the edge
of the meadow, her arms wrapped tightly around her faded denim clad knees. Her mind was blank, almost absent as she resolutely stared into the middle distance. The wind continued to rustle its way through her short curls, but she was oblivious just as she was oblivious to the beauty all around her - the trailing meadow full of the dawn of summer, the birds above tweeting and preening, the clouds as they chased each other overhead. All these things passed her by like whispers on the wind. She let out a sigh through gently parted lips, almost unseen as her mind tried to fix upon something, anything apart from the endless void of nothingness. Lifting her head something flickered across her field of vision. Shifting her gaze her eyes focused on a butterfly fluttering in the breeze and, as she watched she felt for the first time since being in this dark place a shift in her universe. Things that had for so long seemed fuzzy and out of focus became clear; startlingly clear as, just for an infinitesimal second she was able to recall the textures of her life before the accident. The daily grind of being a student, tempered with the fun she’d had with her friends at the hospital. The endless cycle rides to work in the toughest of weathers, the bets she’d made with Sorcha over everything from chocolate to sex. Even the image of Sister Slater zoomed out of nowhere as her eyes followed the glorious winged creature enjoying the simple pleasure of just being.

  Her mind shifted and sorted through the many shadows of the past as part of her wondered about the butterfly, now perched on one of Jean Pierre’s richly laden apple trees that promised a bumper crop for harvest.

  How simple her life would be to if she was a butterfly – they knew exactly what was going to happen to them. Their life was one continuous cycle of egg, caterpillar and crystalys, until their rebirth into the magnificent beauty in front of her.