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

  ‘Mother of God, this is a house in desperate need of a colour injection – it has all the allure of a gent’s toilet.’

  ‘As long as it’s not pink you can do what you like.’ Leaning over he touched the end of her nose. ‘You’ve five minutes to get changed or I’m coming to get you – you’ll find a dressing gown behind the bathroom door.’

  She wasted four of them resting back against the comfort of the bed before racing around like a mad woman. She didn’t have a swimsuit but she wouldn’t be naked – not now, not with him.

  Wrapped in a white towelling robe she padded bare foot back into the hall where he was waiting with a pile of fluffy towels and an ice bucket with two glasses. Her eyes widened at the sight of him in navy shorts and a grin. She hadn’t really had time to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders that day on the beach, or indeed the day he’d discovered Lizzie, dressed only in his boxers. But now…But now she’d drawn a line under the past. No, now she’d drawn a bloody great indelible mark through it. Now she looked her fill.

  ‘So, what you hiding under that robe then?’ His grin widening as he took a step closer.

  ‘Never you mind.’ She smiled back. ‘Let’s get this madness over and done with so I can go to bed.’

  ‘Mm, now that’s a good idea.’

  Sandycove was empty, starlit and as enticing as a Caribbean beach apart from the chill in the air. ‘

  Swim first or champers?’ He said, flopping down on the sand with a gentle thud.

  ‘Oh swim don’t you think?’ She answered slipping off the robe to reveal her still fully dressed status. ‘I’m not going for a swim but I’ll have a glass of champagne ready.’ Avoiding his gaze she laid out the towels and arranging the glasses started fiddling with the cork. ‘Go on with you or there’ll be none left. We know how to drink in Cork I’ll have you know – that’s why it’s called Cork duh!’

  ‘I’ll bet you do.’ He flung over his shoulder racing down to the water’s edge before launching himself into the water with a maniacal scream.

  ‘You don’t know what you missed.’ He said, collapsing onto the sand beside her.

  ‘I’m happy with not knowing, thanks very much and all,’ her voice dry. ‘Here.’ She added, handing him a glass full to the brim before resting back on one elbow to stare at the moon reflecting its eerie glow across the waves. ‘It’s glorious isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s why I bought the place. We used to come swimming here when I was a child, I’ve loved it ever since.’

  An image of him as a little boy flicked across her mind: A serious dark haired little boy with uncombed hair and wire framed glasses, although she wondered for a moment why her mental image of him looked so like Harry Potter in that first movie, minus the scar of course. She could imagine him constructing complex waterways and dams with the dedication of a master engineer his picnic lunch long forgotten while his sister messed around with sandcastles.

  ‘Do you just have the one sister?’

  ‘Yep. Della, two years younger and the bane of my life, and now that she’s filled up her house with sprogs….’

  ‘I always wanted a sister, or a brother for that matter.’ She finished off the last drop of champagne in her glass. ‘Life was always lonely, always a bit empty.’ Nestling back she reached out almost absentmindedly and started streaming sand through her hands. ‘Gran was wonderful – A sort of mum, dad and granny all rolled into one.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’ He rolled on his side and briefly touched her on the arm. ‘That is if you want to?’

  She nodded her head. ‘She rescued me, did I ever tell you that?’

  She paused then, her mind rewinding to that part of her life she wanted to remember the least. Thinking about Simon was hard: this was harder.

  ‘I never knew my mother, not really and I certainly never knew my dad. She was a druggie living in some squat or other when gran found out about it, about me – I was only about two or three at the time.’ She turned to look at him, her eyes not really seeing him, not really seeing anything except an image of herself as a child. There were lots of photos to remind her – lots of photos of a pale unhappy girl with wide unhappy eyes and frizzy red hair. There were no baby photos. There were no photos of her taking her first step, there were no photos of her blowing out that first candle. Her life, her real childhood began the day her gran rescued her.

  ‘I don’t even have a birthday - fancy going through life not really knowing what day you’re born on? Fancy a parent forgetting, or more likely being too drugged up to notice they’ve even given birth? Gran took all that away. She made it all better. She even gave me her birthday so we could celebrate together.’ She took her refilled glass without even realising he’d poured her another one.

  ‘Those years were the best. She washed away any memories I had, replacing them with new – with better ones.’ She took a small sip from the crystal smooth edge before burying the stem in the sand, ‘until she became ill that is. I was sixteen, an awkward age at the best of times. We didn’t realise at first – she was just so tired all of a sudden. She was an artist you know – everyone in Cork that knew about art knew about gran. Art was her life, but some days she was too tired to even hold a paint brush.’ She felt the pressure on her arm and reaching up curled her hand around his. ‘After the chemo we had ten years. Ten years where each day was better than the one previous; and then it came back.’

  Shaking off his hand she stood and, glass in hand wandered towards the shoreline: Her feet in the surf, her mind miles away, her eyes resolutely dry. She knew he was there beside her, his feet mingling with her footprints but she didn’t acknowledge his presence.

  ‘Even that second time we thought we’d cracked it, we thought we’d beaten it. Her last blood tests were the best they’d been in years. We’d been out celebrating with Simon.’ She lifted her eyes briefly to meet his before looking back out to sea. ‘She died in her sleep that night, and you know the rest – you know it all.’

  She turned to look up at him, her eyes still dry. She knew she had to say the words on the tip of her tongue. But looking into his face, looking at the concern etched across his features she also knew they were going to be the hardest words she’d ever spoken – even harder than saying goodbye to her gran.

  As a nurse, as an adult they’d both known she’d been living on borrowed time. They’d had ten extra years together, the best years made better because of the cloud of uncertainty that lingered. They knew it couldn’t last so while it did they bloody well enjoyed every second.

  Her eyes stayed on his face – hovering, remembering, memorising. She knew they couldn’t last either - better to end it now before it had time to get started; before it had time to take root.

  ‘I’m not really girlfriend material you know. You’d be much better finding some sweet young thing with parents, with a family even: a nice sweet girl with a proper birth certificate, not something cobbled together by some old crusty working for the office of registrars.’ She tried to turn away but he was there – he was there blocking her way.

  ‘You’re not escaping from me that easy.’ Putting his arms on her shoulders and pulling her into the gentlest of embraces before leaning back and cradling her head between his hands. ‘Life would be so much easier if you could choose who you fell in love with wouldn’t it. I could have chosen some six foot two model with a crazy taste in shoes and a bank balance to match – although I seem to have got the shoes right.’ He added, throwing a quick look at her bare feet. ‘But life’s not like that. I had no intention of falling in love with anyone – I was far too busy with work and decorating the house to be bothered about girls. In fact I’d half made up my mind to turn into one of those grumpy old bachelors that shout at the kids scrumping in his back garden.’ He paused, but only long enough to place a kiss on her forehead, ‘and then you came along and upset all my plans. Nothing you say to me will make me feel any different.’

  ‘It’s not going to work….’ But he inter
rupted her.

  ‘Let’s just give it a chance Grainne. You say you like me – I’m happy with like for now.’ He bent down to pick up the empty bottle and glasses. ‘So when do you celebrate your birthday, not that I’m going to buy you a present or anything – not if it’s not your real day.’

  ‘That’s not very fair.’

  ‘I never said anything about being fair, just that I was in love with you.’

  ‘Then I’m not telling.’

  ‘Please yourself, you definitely won’t be getting a present so.’

  ‘So what.’

  So that was how their relationship began.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Sorcha arrived back at work like a whirlwind, but apart from the suntan it was as if she’d never been away.

  Grainne felt decidedly awkward flopping down beside her for a belated lunch, both pairs of tired legs resting on the shelf beneath the coffee table. Sorcha was nosy. Oh in the kindest, most well-meaning way - but the bottom line was she wanted to know all about Grainne, as much as Grainne was determined not to tell her.

  ‘So how’s it been without me - been out with any doctors or anything?’ She asked, taking a bite out of her butter slathered toast.

  ‘Not really.’ She tried for a change of topic. ‘So what was Grand Cayman like – I’ve never been further than Ireland.’

  ‘If you like going to Hell and back…’

  ‘What, that bad?’

  ‘No, silly. There’s a place in Cayman called Hell – quite spooky actually with all that black rock.’ She lifted up her mug and took a deep slurp. ‘We spent most of the time either sun bathing or snorkelling. You know I could really get used to that kind of life.’

  ‘Nah, you’d soon miss all the excitement of work.’ She said on a laugh. ‘You’ve got a nice tan and no freckles. All my face does is explode in a star burst of the bloody things like a dot to dot – join them up and you get a map of the London Underground, or so I’ve been told.’

  ‘Who told you that? I’d love to have your lovely smooth complexion and freckles, which are cute; as opposed to spots, which aren’t.’ She set her plate and mug back on the table before crossing her legs, a look of serious intent marking her features. Grainne had known as soon as she’d altered the breaks on the board that she was in for a grilling.

  ‘So what’s this I hear about you and Ruari then?’

  ‘So what have you heard exactly?’ She parried back – One All

  ‘Oh, only that he’s been driving you to work each morning and then picking you up afterwards.’ Advantage Sorcha

  We’re friends and….’ With fingers crossed behind her back, ‘my car’s been acting up and as I’m sort of on his way…’ Two All

  ‘In that case,’ she stood up and collecting both plates and mugs popped them in the dishwasher. ‘I’m about to ask Ruari around for supper on Friday and, as he seems to be your main form of transport you might as well come along.’ She threw her a gentle smile. ‘You don’t have to bring anything, just yourself.’

  Game, set and whole bleeding match to Sorcha.

  She was a day off on Friday and just as well. Her closet was well and truly empty. He’d seen all of it, laughed at most of it and was going to be in for a ruddy great shock if she had anything to do with it. She’d just been paid and, with her purse burning a hole in her jeans decided to take the bus into Dublin. He’d offered to give her a lift but, as she told him over breakfast.

  ‘What the hell will I do with myself at 7 o’clock in the morning?’

  Of course they’d sort of drifted into living together, although not in the biblical sense. That was one step too far too soon, even for Grainne with her bruised heart jumping around her chest every time she laid eyes on him - apart from the odd cuddle and ever chaste kisses, Ruari had to be content with less than nothing and if he wasn’t – tough. He’d told her right from the beginning he wasn’t going to rush her. He’d told her he wasn’t going to do anything to make sex an inevitability and, to give him his due he hadn’t. When it got too hot or too intense; when the windows of the lounge, the car, the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the shed got too steamed up he took the lead by moving away. She knew it was affecting him, it must be; it was bloody well affecting her. She could hear him in the small hours pottering about making tea, a large part of her wishing she could nip out and join him, but that would never do.

  So today her shopping list not only included clothes but underwear as well. But not only underwear, every conceivable item of underwear she could think of. She wasn’t being extravagant, that wasn’t it at all. No, she was economising if anything having promised herself faithfully she wasn’t going to go anywhere near a shoe shop even if there was a ninety percent sale. Grabbing her bag and notepad from the table she scrolled down the list in case she’d forgotten anything.

  Outfit for tonight – sexy, not green (or pink)

  Bra – for once look and feel coming over quality

  Pants – Called briefs for a reason

  Cami

  Suspenders to match

  Stockings, the finest ones she could find

  Corset – one of those fancy ones with the ties at the back

  Nightdress – hot pink – If he got her that far he wouldn’t be worried about the colour.

  Staring at the list she nearly added blackout blinds and pink light bulbs but that was possibly a step too far. Oh she wasn’t plump anymore; the break-up had taken care of that. All those faddy diets she’d tried over the years in an effort to turn a large size 14 into a small size 10 had been a waste of time and money. Three months of not eating anything other than the odd slice of toast had done the trick nicely. Although, running her hand under her waistband to ease the size 10 denim away from her flesh, recently she’d found herself piling on the pounds again with all the home cooking and fancy meals she’d been treated to. Whoever said love made you thin was a either a liar or a fool - unrequited maybe. She knew he loved her, he’d told her often enough. The fact she still had to say those three little words was a mute-point and one she wasn’t going to dwell on more than that. She’d said she was scared; she was bound to be. The last time she’d said that sentence she’d lost everything. They said history always repeated itself – not in her history book; not anymore.

  Tidying up the kitchen she headed for the hall and, grabbing her coat made the short distance to the bus stop. Standing in the queue behind an old lady fidgeting with the coins in her purse her mind scrolled through her list again. She’d done Grafton Street for the wedding and had only come up with that ghastly green thingy-ma-jig so today she was going to hit the Ilac Centre in Henry Street, it had been Sorcha’s suggestion and as there was a Penney’s near-by it was a complete no brainer as far as she was concerned.

  The bus arrived then, its brakes crunching against the tarmac to pull her out of her reverie. Standing behind the old woman her eyes followed her as she counted out a pile of coppers onto her grey gloved hand before handing them over with a brief smile. That would be her one day

  ‘All right Red? What a lovely day for it. That’ll be one Euro fifty,’ the voice of the cheeky bus driver breaking into her thoughts.

  Handing over her money with a thin smile she took her ticket and headed for the nearest seat.

  ‘Hello luv, off to town are you?’

  She wanted to look at the scenery. She wanted to look at the scenery and not be bothered by the stout red faced woman sitting beside her, an old frayed bag pinned between her knees as if she was about to be rugby tackled for the contents of her obviously empty shopper. With a brief nod she rustled in her own straw bag flung carelessly on the floor by her feet and pulled out her phone. There would probably be no charge in it, although as it was cheap and not the all singing all dancing type it never seemed to lose charge from one month to the next.

  She stared at the little black screen growing warm in her hand. She really didn’t want to know if there were any nasties lurking behind the glass, but sh
e had no choice - it was that or be stuck in conversation for the rest of the journey about mundane minutiae like the price of cod over that of haddock. Ah well she didn’t have to read them did she, a sudden smile pinned to her face.

  The first ten were from Simon, sent within a day or two of her leaving. She deleted them without a thought. He was probably still drivelling on about wanting to rent the cottage and as that would be over her dead body…

  The next few were from her friend Ruby. She opened those and spent the rest of the journey composing a complex reply. What could she say about how she was doing? What could she write about how she was feeling? She was on top of the moon. No, she was like a dog with two tails, a grin from ear to ear sitting on top of cloud nine. If this was what happiness felt like bring it on babe.

  By the time she’d thought of a suitably restrained reply they were driving past the unmissable statue of Daniel O’Connell stuck in the middle of the wide people packed street of the metropolis. When Ruari had told her earlier to use it as a landmark for the top of Henry Street she’d been a tad sceptical, but then again he hadn’t told her the actual size. If it had been any larger they’d have had to build an overpass.

  The Ilac Centre was a shoppers dream. According to Sorcha you could always tell the success of an arcade by the number of shoe shops and, walking through the heavy glass doors Grainne felt like a diabetic suddenly dropped into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Everywhere she looked she was faced with heels and platforms in all colours and shapes from the severe to the outright outrageous and of course, now that winter was looming ahead like a bad smell there was boots added to the equation. Not in the quantity she’d like; nevertheless her breath quickened at the glimpse of what autumn had in store when she finally decided to relegate her fit-flops back into hibernation.

  Her plan for a sensible focused morning with all items on her list ticked off fell by the wayside. The tenth shoe shop she passed contained just one item – but what an item.