Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2) Read online

  She paused, her hand lifting the now soggy triangle from the plate. Hadn’t he told her yesterday about his inability to say no? Hadn’t he told her he used Aiden as a sort of intermediary go-between to sort out his problematic love life? She’d thought he’d liked her – after all he’d called her his friend, his sister even. But that was before she’d decided to open up and tell him all of her dirty little secrets. Who was she kidding - someone like him wouldn’t go out with someone like her. Not now. She was damaged goods, now wasn’t she? No man, certainly no man like him would want to go out with another man’s cast-offs!

  She’d been living a dream over the last few days – no she’d been living a lie, a delicious perfect lie where someone like him could fall for someone like her.

  She replaced the sandwich back on to the plate, her appetite finally deserting her.

  When would she ever learn – perhaps she’d never learn. Men weren’t to be trusted. Men like Ruari who could have any woman he wanted, and if the rumours were to be believed frequently did. She’d just end up as another notch on his bedpost and, contrary to Sorcha’s opinion there was a lot more to relationships than sex. Picking up her nearly full plate she hurried back to the unit, her mind conveniently brushing over the sexy pink basque and matching thong she’d been hiding under her scrubs all afternoon.

  She didn’t rush off duty to meet him. In truth she didn’t for a moment think he’d be waiting for her. She spent ages in the shower and then ages brushing her hair smooth so it streamed down her back like a streak of tropical sunset, before stuffing her belongings into her rucksack and heading towards the bus stop. She forced herself not to look at the bike shed as she walked towards the gates. There was no room for any more disappointment in her heart. She’d been a fool yet again.

  ‘Wait up Grainne,’ his voice piercing the darkness.

  She paused then before turning around. She’d persuaded herself he wasn’t going to be here – now what.

  ‘Had you forgotten I was going to give you a lift home?’ He questioned. ‘I even brought the car in case it rained.’

  What could she say? The truth perhaps – perhaps not? A lie then, lies were good as long as they were only little white ones; little white ones invented to prevent unhappiness.

  No, she heaved a sigh of resignation. There had been too many lies already: her relationship with Simon for a start. Her relationship with Simon was based on a lie, the lie that he loved her. As if! He’d loved the idea of her perfect idyllic cottage – nothing else.

  There would be no lies, even little white ones. Lies hurt, lies harmed – lies were something she’d have not part in.

  ‘Oh sorry, I wasn’t sure that…’

  ‘That what?’ He interrupted. ‘That I’d turn up? That I wasn’t leading you astray? That I wasn’t being a complete tosser like…’ He left the rest unsaid: A sentence like that didn’t need an ending. Instead of an ending he put his hands in his pockets and, turning on his heels started walking away.

  She couldn’t leave it like that. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t let him walk away without knowing the truth. But what was the truth?

  She remained still. No one looking would realise her heart was pounding in her chest like a trapped bird: Trapped not by bars, trapped not by walls – trapped by thoughts of her own inadequacy. If she didn’t speak she’d lose him. If she didn’t put her worries into words she’d always remain trapped.

  ‘I thought you said I never had to say sorry,’ her voice penetrating the dark, her eyes never leaving his back as he strode away from her and any possibility of a future together.

  He stopped then and turned to look at her, one hand fumbling with his glasses.

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ His expression rueful; rueful but cautious in the near darkness.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’ It was her turn to move away. ‘I don’t know why you’re here now?’

  He caught up with her then and, grabbing her arm pulled her round to face him. Instead of words, instead of answers he placed his forehead against hers. Time paused, thought paused. There was only the two of them standing in the silence of the empty car park silhouetted against the sky by the pale glow cast by the security lights. There was only the two of them standing on top of the world, the rest of their lives waiting silently at their feet.

  They eased apart, still touching with their eyes, their hands, their souls.

  She managed to reclaim her hand with an awkward little tug. If only it was as easy to tug back her heart. She’d thought she’d been in love before. She’d thought what she’d felt for Simon had been this: infatuation possibly, crush maybe, madness perhaps – any and all of those feelings, but never love. Not until now. Now she felt love and now she was lost. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to be. She didn’t know what came next so, folding her arms she lifted her eyes to his and waited.

  Part of her wanted to smile at the sight of him trying to push his glasses into place. Part of her wanted to help him out; to take hold of his hand and tell him it would be alright – they’d be alright, but she did nothing. He’d started this; it was up to him to finish it.

  ‘Grainne…’ He started fiddling with his glasses again.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’ She strode across and, reaching up plucked them off his nose. ‘I’m confiscating these for the moment.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Don’t panic, you can have them back once you’ve said what you have to.’

  He took a step back then.’ What I have to…? I don’t follow?’

  ‘We’re friends, right?’ She watched him nod. ‘More than friends even?’ Again he nodded.

  ‘Ruari, all I want is the truth,’ her eyes never leaving his face. ‘Why are you here?’

  He focused instead on her cheek.

  ‘I’m in love with you.’

  She wasn’t expected that. Of all the things she thought he’d say ‘I love you’ wasn’t even bottom of the list – it wasn’t on the list at all. She’d expected…. Well she didn’t know what she’d expected. A proposition probably: A sleazy proposition to whisk her away for a dirty weekend away from Dublin, away from the enquiring eyes of the hospital. She shifted her eyes to stare at a small pink flower just visible amongst a patch of moss that had just managed to break through the tarmac.

  Everything was against its survival, its growth and still it burst forth and managed to blossom. It had managed to blossom against all the odds - a little like her although she would never compare herself to a flower, a dandelion possibly and weren’t dandelions weeds? Her gran used to say weeds were just flowers in the wrong place. She was in the wrong place. She had no right to be here. She had no right to be wooed. She’d had her chance to bloom. She’d already had her chance at playing happy families and look where it had ended up? With someone else wearing her dress, with someone else living her dream, with a baby she could never hold. She wished now she’d never asked. She wished she could turn back the clock, but of course she couldn’t. There was no point in trying to change his words, to stop them from being said. She’d asked, he’d answered. She lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye.

  ‘Get off. After one kiss – you’re deranged. I’m a good snogger, but not that good!’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Three?’ She was confused now.

  ‘’It was three kisses.’ He stretched out his hands and, pulling her towards him started raining kisses onto her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. ‘Four, ten, twenty, how many kisses does it take to fall in love Grainne?’

  He let her go suddenly, so suddenly she’d have stumbled if he hadn’t been there to catch her. Settling her back on her feet he plucked his glasses from her hand and took his time pushing them back into place.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift home, it’s the least I can do.’ His voice brisk - his voice so different from before it hurt.

  ‘Look Ruari…’ But he wasn’t listening. He’d grabbed her hand and was propelling her t
owards his car before nearly lifting her in and slamming the door. She followed because she had no choice. Whilst the car park was empty it was bordered by the many faceless windows of the surgical wing. She didn’t want to fuss. She didn’t want to make a scene. She followed with wary consent, knowing he wouldn’t let her catch a bus at this time of night – what man would?

  Grainne studied the black dashboard as if she’d never been in a car before. The clocks, the dials, the levers and buttons, even the steering wheel where his large hands rested. She needed time to think, to plan but he wasn’t having any of it. He drove as if on a mission – a mission to dispatch her, to get rid of her as quickly as possible. The streets were silent at this time of night. Even the traffic lights remained a determined green.

  There had to be something she could do to make it right between them. Oh she knew they’d never be friends, but the reality was she didn’t want his friendship. She’d tried humour; perhaps honesty was all that was left to her.

  They’d arrived. She knew this because she could see the lights from Freddie’s lounge flickering in the window. They’d arrived in such a smooth flurry she couldn’t even remember the journey. There was even a parking place right outside the door.

  The final grains of sand trickled through the hourglass. The masked executioner had the guillotine raised and ready to fall – her time was up. Her time was up and all she’d been able to think up was three little words – three little words she’d agonised over for the whole journey; not the three he’d probably been expecting.

  ‘I’m scared Roar.’

  There she’d said it. The words were out, still lingering in the quiet space of the car interior. The words were out but still no reply. In the hush that remained she heard the slamming of a parked car and hurried footsteps alone the path opposite until distance turned the sound to a distant patter.

  She panicked then and, fumbling for the door handle turned away as if to jump out and flee into the darkness. It was only then he breached the silence, this time with three little words, thankfully different words from the ones of earlier: three little words that had her settling back in her seat.

  ‘I’m scared too.’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  ‘I’ve had girlfriends.’ He threw her a quick smile. ‘Probably more than I’m prepared to admit, but none that have meant anything.’ Unlike you, he added: but only to himself. He’d said enough on that score to embarrass himself for a decade, a Century, a lifetime.

  What an eejit! He couldn’t believe he’d actually said the L word. He hadn’t even known her long enough to get her between the sheets and here he was pronouncing his undying devotion to her; to a girl he barely knew. To a girl who was as interested in him as a slice of last night’s pizza that was even now lying cold and congealed on the top of the bin, its cardboard box already folded away for recycling.

  Moving his hand he pushed her hair away from her face, his hand lingering in the glossy textures as it slid through his fingers: Luxurious abundant hair the colour of flaming coals.

  It must be that blasted Simon, he brooded. He’d really done a number on her. He hadn’t wanted her for himself so he’d ruined her for anyone else. His eyes traced the downward turn of her mouth to where it met her cheek; he wanted to see her smile.

  Presumably he’d just upped and left when she’d told him she was pregnant. Presumably he’d left her to cope with the whole miscarriage thing and that on top of the loss of her grandmother. His eyes shifted from her face to her stomach, or to where her stomach would have been if it wasn’t swathed in a florescent pink fluffy fleece. He’d raised his eyebrows at the pink – it clashed wonderfully with that delicious hair. Brave to say the least. He’d never hankered after being colour blind until just now. They said blue and green were the colours never to be seen, they were wrong.

  His mind hesitated on the brink; his thoughts reluctant to travel the path his brain was determined to take him – it dragged him there all the same.

  How would he feel if it had been his child, his baby? To lose a child, any child was a huge loss but to lose his?

  Something shifted inside him, something invisible. Something tangible and substantial changed inside him with that thought. He’d always viewed grief as something suffered by others. He still had his parents, his grandparents even – both sets. He was incredibly proud of his grandparents, still living independent lives on opposite sides of the country even as he tried not to give more than a passing thought to their increasing fragility. He’d have to deal with their loss, but not yet.

  As a doctor he’d seen sorrow in all its guises. The anguish suffered by parents, by partners, by children. He’d comforted, he’d suffered alongside them. He’d even cried a little but now…. Now it didn’t matter that it had been another man’s child – it had been her child. Anything that was part of her felt a part of him - even if it was only her taste in jumpers!

  It didn’t even cross his mind as to his change in heart. He’d never seen himself in the role of dad, but that was more due to the lack of a suitable partner and not an inherent dislike of children. He had a healthy respect for the little blighters in so far as he’d avoided them up to now if at all possible.

  He squeezed her hand. If he’d been the dad and even if he hadn’t he’d have stayed with her: he’d have never left her side. He had to say something - to think of something to say that wouldn’t upset her, or make her burst out laughing for that matter. Another declaration was obviously out…..

  ‘So what do you think of having a soon to be ex-doctor for a boyfriend then?’

  ‘Soon to be ex-doctor?’

  That had made her lift her head, but sadly for all the wrong reasons being as she’d deliberately ignored the most important part – the boyfriend part.

  He’d have to be thankful for what he got and no woman could resist the pull of gossip. No woman could resist the need to know. Sure wasn’t the ‘need to know gene’ part of their make-up: as integral as shoes and handbags?

  ‘Yep.’ He plaited his fingers through hers. ‘I’ll have you know you’re sitting beside the soon to be college lecturer in emergency medicine at Trinity College, or at least I will be – I start in November.’ Letting go of her hand and reaching behind his seat he pulled out a bottle of champagne. ‘I had thought we could celebrate.’ He checked the handbrake before opening the car door. ‘Come on; let’s rouse Freddie with a glass of bubbly.’

  Despite everything - despite unanswered question lingering between them; awkward and uneasy. Despite feelings of discomfort the evening was much better than he could ever have hoped.

  Perhaps it was the champagne, bought at no expense and therefore better than the cheap bubbles they were all used to. Perhaps it was the comforting and indeed homely sight of Freddie curled up in front of the fire with a determined Lizzie assaulting the tail of her dressing gown with all the expertise of a master hunter. Perhaps it was just the feeling of ease: for once not having to try to be anybody - a doctor, an expert, a man - just himself.

  There was an awkward hiatus when Freddie escaped to the sanctuary of her own room after only one glass over some pretext or another – he hadn’t been taking notice of exactly which one: Her hair, a bath, cutting her toenails, shaving her legs – it didn’t matter in the scheme of things.

  ‘More champagne?’ Lifting the bottle and peering through the thick green glass with a barely disguised squint. ‘There’s enough for a couple of glasses I would have thought, not that I can have any more.’ He topped her glass up, his eyes determinedly avoiding hers. ‘Unless, of course you ask me to stay the night?’

  He knew the answer – of course he did, but it sort of slipped out all on its own. She wasn’t going to sleep with him now. She wasn’t going to sleep with him in the foreseeable future, if ever. But for some reason he didn’t seem to be able to restrain his gob, or indeed his thoughts when she was around.

  He set the bottle on the table before joining her on the sofa, his gaze now fixed
on the glow of the fire.

  He’d been lying with his Dr Roar God’s gift to women act. The reality was he hadn’t had a date in over a year, not since that blond bitch had pulled the ‘I’m pregnant’ trick on him. He couldn’t even be sure of her name any more, a sudden frown tugging at his forehead. He’d only slept with her the once after all and from what he could remember once was enough, more than enough.

  What a mug! He knew she couldn’t be pregnant, just as he knew it couldn’t be him. He was fastidious in ensuring he was protected for no other reason than the person that ran the local STD clinic had been at school with his mother. There was no greater condom incentive than having to visit his Aunty Jean with a severe case of drippy willy syndrome.

  ‘Shame you can’t drink,’ she parried with a smile. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa instead,’ starting to stand up.

  ‘No you don’t!’ Placing his hand on her shoulder he manoeuvred her back onto the sofa, before sitting beside her and lifting her legs across his lap.

  ‘So why the sudden career change?’ She said into the lengthening silence.

  ‘Oh, this and that.’ He felt her shift position and rest her head against his shoulder, her body starting to relax. His body had never felt further from relaxing in all its life. If he didn’t keep an iron clad control on his feelings she’d know pretty quickly just how much he really did like her - if just saying the words hadn’t been enough that is.

  ‘I’m getting too old for all this shift work, there’s so much I want to do with my life other than work.

  ‘What, like choosing a different colour palette for your house that doesn’t include white.’

  ‘Well you can talk.’ Grabbing the hem of her top and running it through his fingers.