Читать книгу From Fling To Wedding Ring - Karin Baine - Страница 10
ОглавлениеMOLLIE FOCUSED HER attention on the gun in her hand, fully aware of the implications of this moment. Tattoos were a commitment but, as she knew herself, they also had the potential to be life-changing. If not for the hours she’d spent under the needle she might never have had the confidence to leave the house at all after her accident and the numerous resulting surgeries, never mind complete her nurse training. Although she’d never fully come to terms with the scars left behind from her childhood, having the physical ones at least partially hidden gave her some comfort.
‘If you need a break, just let me know.’ She glanced up to check that her patient, Carole, was coping with the continued vibration of the machine against her skin, but she showed no visible signs of distress.
‘I’m fine. That numbing cream you used seems to have done the trick.’
‘Good. We’re almost done anyway.’
As a clinical nurse specialist in the breast care centre at the Tower Hospital in London she worked closely with her patients through all stages of their treatment to ensure quality of care, from providing emotional support after that first diagnosis of breast cancer to advice and information post-treatment, but it was her role as medical tattooist that gave her most job satisfaction.
She knew how much it took for these ladies to trust her with their bodies after the trauma they’d gone through. That first time she’d had to strip off for the consultation with her tattoo artist, she’d been trembling so hard she’d imagined the only art possible was squiggly lines and splodges, but the sympathetic, caring nature of the woman she’d soon come to see regularly had put her at ease. She wanted to recreate that feeling of safety and privacy for everyone who came through the doors of her clinic as well as leaving them with a sense of pride in their appearance.
Some women who’d decided their bodies had been through enough after chemotherapy and surgery opted for the tattoo only rather than go through a breast reconstruction after a mastectomy, while others decided to make use of the prostheses and stick-on artificial nipples available. It was a personal choice for each individual patient, one not arrived at easily, and it was her job to inform them of the options available. This final decision was the road back for these women reclaiming their bodies and femininity from cancer.
She’d been there to support Carole during her difficult decision to have her breast reconstruction at the same time as her mastectomy six months ago and for her sake wanted to get the all-important shading right with the medical grade micro-pigment to create the 3D effect of the areola around the reconstructed nipple to complete the transformation. Hopefully this would be the last surgical step for her.
‘It looks so real. I can’t thank you enough.’ Carole’s eyes were shining with tears of gratitude as Mollie cleaned the wound one last time and switched off the tattoo machine.
She gave a cough to clear the ball of emotion wedged in her throat as she removed the sheet partially covering Carole’s upper half. It was impossible to accompany people on this journey without becoming emotionally attached.
‘You can take a good look in the mirror to make sure you’re happy before I put the dressing on.’
Though Mollie had never suffered from cancer herself, being able to look in the mirror without recoiling had been an important part of her recovery process and she was privileged to be in a position to do the same for other people. Even if she wasn’t convinced other people didn’t look at her scars without judgement, and still kept them covered as much as possible.
‘You’ve done an incredible job... I don’t know why I’m crying...’ Carole laughed through her tears as she eased her clothes on. She’d been stoic throughout the counselling sessions during her treatment and it was only human for those emotions she’d been holding back during her battle to come flooding out now it was coming to an end.
‘It’s a natural reaction, Carole. You’ve been through a lot. Now, do you have anyone you can talk to if you need to until I see you again?’ Although they’d discussed the course available to her with a clinical psychologist to help rebuild her confidence, it wouldn’t be right to just send her home now with no immediate emotional support.
‘My husband’s been great, as you know, but my sister has invited me to stay with her for a few days in the country so I think I might take her up on the offer.’
‘Good idea. The break will do you good and we’re only on the end of the phone if you need to talk to any of us. Leave that dressing on for forty-eight hours and try not to get it wet for the next ten days or so. As we discussed, we’ll send you out an appointment in about six weeks for a top-up to prevent any fading, but if you experience any swelling or a rise in temperature between now and then, please speak to your doctor in case any infection should develop.’ All aftercare instructions were in the leaflets Mollie passed on but they were worth repeating when there was always that small risk of complication occurring.
‘I will. Thank you. I’m quite looking forward to some peace and quiet. Not to mention a bit of TLC. Even at sixty-three, I’m still considered the baby of the family.’ Carole rolled her eyes as she folded the information sheets for perusal later.
Although only the eldest by two minutes and sixteen seconds, Mollie understood that need to protect her little sister, too. Not that she’d been given much choice, with Talia having inherited their mother’s laissez-faire attitude to responsibility. Someone had had to step up and be the adult after their father abandoned them and, since Mollie was the one to blame for him leaving, that someone had been her.
The stress of her injuries and multiple surgeries had taken its toll on her parents financially and driven her volatile father to take out his frustrations on her mother and sister. If she’d done as she was told and kept away from that old building at the end of the road she would never have slipped and been ripped to shreds falling through that glass window and shattered the family. Trying to emulate Talia’s daredevil defiance had been an immature attempt to grab some of the local boys’ attention away from her pretty sister and had ultimately ruined her life and everyone else’s.
It was the guilt of being the catalyst for that escalating violence and eventual abandonment that had kept her at home looking after their broken-hearted mother and left her indebted to her sister. They’d paid the price for her actions and carried as many scars as she did.
There was a hard, sharp rap on the door—the kind she associated with medical emergencies or anxious family members impatient for news—which dragged her out of those dark memories and back into the present.
‘Come in,’ she shouted, half expecting to see a worried Mr Rogers keen for news on his wife’s progress. He attended all Carole’s appointments with her, even if he didn’t sit in on counselling sessions, and they always left holding hands. It was the kind of sweet relationship she wished her mother had found after their father had left, instead of the string of disastrous affairs she’d fallen into over the years, her confidence knocked into submission long ago. Perhaps if she had found that support in a partner life would’ve turned out so very differently for them both where Mollie wouldn’t have felt indebted to fill the role. She might even have harboured some small desire to find love herself if she’d seen evidence it existed. As it was she’d be happy simply to have some space of her own.
The door opened and there was a brief flutter of panic in her chest that it might have been one of her family members come to seek her counsel. It wouldn’t be the first time her mother had rolled up here, tear-stained and hungover after a row with her latest boyfriend, expecting her daughter to be sympathetic. Now that Talia was working in the nearby emergency department, there was every possibility she could turn up at any given moment, too.
Her relief when a beaming male figure strode into the room was short-lived. It wasn’t the kindly Mr Rogers, who made her hidden romantic sigh, but Ben Sheridan, Consultant Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeon at the clinic, who had the uncanny ability to make every nerve in her body tighten until she was sure one day they would all snap and leave her lying on the floor before him like a puppet with its strings cut.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Nurse Forrester, I just wanted to check up on my favourite patient.’ He breezed past her in a waft of spicy aftershave towards the now positively girlish Carole, who was blushing and waving away the flattery.
‘Sure. Don’t mind me.’ Mollie dropped the used cotton balls and antiseptic wipes into the bin, letting the lid slam shut in a pique of temper.
Her job in maintaining the link between patients and the health-care professionals meant their paths crossed regularly at the multidisciplinary team meetings where they discussed cases and recommendations for treatment. Those who’d witnessed him transform patients’ lives beneath his scalpel had declared him as a ‘brilliant young surgeon.’ It was a shame that with that brilliance also came a self-righteousness that he thought gave him a right to bawl her out when they’d had a difference of opinion over a patient’s treatment. She’d known the patient’s desire to keep as much of her own breast tissue as possible but Ben had pulled rank, insisting there was no option but to perform a complete mastectomy to remove all traces and possibility of cancer.
Whether he’d been correct in his judgement or not, it hadn’t given him the right to yell at her the way he had that morning. He obviously thought that being at the top of his field meant that no one else could question his decisions, but she was every bit as confident in her role as he was in his. She would never question that he was the expert when it came to reconstructive surgery but she knew the patients on a personal level and she reckoned that counted just as much when deciding on the best course of treatment to suit an individual’s needs.
Mollie didn’t often hold grudges but when it came to questioning her professional abilities she was willing to make an exception for Ben Sheridan.
When he came here, ‘checking up,’ her paranoia kicked in that he suspected there was a danger she might undo his good work during this final stage and that their conflict might turn out to be more than a one-off.
‘I’m fine, Doctor. Mollie here has been wonderful.’ Carole’s praise was a welcome affirmation to him that she knew what she was doing.
‘Good to know I left you in such capable hands.’ Ben nodded an acknowledgement Mollie was sure was nothing more than professional courtesy yet heat prickled her skin as that cobalt stare lit upon her. Those ever-watchful blue eyes contrasting against the near black, neatly groomed hair and dark beard made him an imposing figure. Not to mention a handsome one. Two factors that had an unsettling effect on her pulse.
‘It might seem like a lot to ask now, but the best thing you can do for yourself is to keep looking in the mirror and learn to accept these changes are part of everything which makes you the beautiful person you are.’ She kept her back to Ben while she gave Carole the pep talk, conscious he was here watching and listening.
There were so many reasons she felt uncomfortable around him, but it was the attraction she felt towards him despite their obvious personality clash that unnerved her most. He had a reputation among the nursing staff as much for his antics outside the operating theatre as inside it. It had been noted that he’d attended every hospital event in recent times with a different woman on his arm and appeared to lead a very interesting and varied personal life. Unlike her own.
She’d learned at an early age men usually preferred trophy girlfriends to scarred, damaged women with too many personal issues to stuff into a designer clutch bag, and had steered clear since.
Work, home, eat, sleep, repeat—that was her routine and she was happy as long as she was allowed to get on with it in peace.
‘Well, we’re all finished now...’
There’s no need for you to stick around, Ben...
Carole’s phone beeped with an incoming text message and Mollie bent down to retrieve her handbag from the floor to save her stretching for it.
‘I’ll get it—’
‘Let me—’
Unfortunately Ben reached for it at the same time and accidentally grabbed her hand instead of the bag. The unexpected jolt from the touch of his skin on hers almost knocked her onto her backside.
She scrambled to her feet and let him do the honours, since the room suddenly seemed much too small to accommodate his sizeable frame along with hers and Carole’s.
‘That’s my husband. I should go and put him out of his misery and tell him we’re all finished.’
‘Great. I’ll say a quick hello while I’m here.’ Ben—seemingly eager to put some space between them, too—escorted Carole out of the door and let Mollie breathe a little easier.
‘I’ll see you in a few weeks’ time, Carole.’ The moment Mollie waved them off and shut the door, she collapsed back into her chair. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had time before her next appointment to grab a break and regain her composure.
It was ridiculous that she should get so flustered when she knew she was damn good at her job, but he had that knack of upsetting the status quo around here. No matter how busy they were at the clinic, there was always that ripple of excitement accompanying a visit from Mr Sheridan, which was not reserved solely for her. Staff and patients alike lit up whenever he was around.
Some days it was like an episode of one of those awful reality shows where women competed against each other in the hope of winning the coveted prize of a date with the handsome star attraction. Thank goodness she had no inclination towards any man who treated women as nothing more than accessories. Her mother had paraded enough of those through her life to leave her immune. There seemed little point in adding a man to the list of people she had to worry about or who could cause her more pain, and no reason this man in particular should make her rethink that now.
There was another rap on the door but this time it opened before she’d even had time to reply.
‘I wanted to thank you—’ Just when she thought it was safe to relax, Ben popped his head around the door again and every fibre of her being tightened back to breaking point.
‘Er...no problem. It is my job, after all.’
It really didn’t require his personal attention. She did this every day of the week without waiting for his approval like an eager pupil expecting a gold star from her teacher for completing her homework.
Instead of ending the conversation and closing the door, he seemed to take it as an invitation to step back inside the room.
‘I don’t mean the tattoo. I’ve seen your work and have no doubt you’ve done a sterling job as usual. I’m talking about putting yourself forward for the dance competition. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I appreciate—’
Mollie stopped tidying away her supplies as her world seemed to come screeching to a halt. ‘Pardon me?’
‘The fundraiser, for The Men’s Shed project? Your name was on the list of volunteers...’ The deep frown ploughed through his forehead gave no indication that this was a joke and yet Mollie had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. As if prancing about in sequins before an audience was anything she’d participate in willingly. The very idea was the stuff of nightmares for someone who was self-conscious enough about the way she looked. Never mind that she couldn’t actually dance, the last thing she needed was people judging her with a score card and a sharp tongue.
‘I think someone’s pulling your leg. Or mine.’ This was clearly someone’s idea of a joke and one made at her expense. Her carefully applied make-up and flair for vintage fashion might make it seem as though she were bursting with confidence but that was the trick. That hard shell had been carefully created to protect the fragile ego inside. A dance contest was actually so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a search and rescue team to find her way back from the spotlight.
‘Oh. You’d think people would know better than to mess around with a charity.’ Or to waste the time of a very busy surgeon whose frown had now deepened into more of a scowl and did nothing to stop the current shivers hurdling over her spine.
‘Sorry. Is this your project?’ Even though she was gasping for a cup of tea to settle her nerves, it seemed churlish to chivvy him out of her room now when he’d been sent on a wild goose chase on her behalf.
‘I volunteered to help raise funds but the dancing part was not my idea.’ He winced as though he’d been held at gunpoint and personally forced into tight hot-pink fabric. Now that was something she was sure a lot of people would pay good money to see, her included.
‘And what is this “Shed” exactly?’
‘It’s a community hub where elderly men can socialise and keep active. We need funds to renovate the place and I’d hate to see it fold when it’s already doing so much to help those who might otherwise be isolated from society.’ His ownership of the project and the financial problems it was having softened the hard edge of the man she’d encountered at that fraught staff meeting. It spoke volumes about his personal involvement and commitment, and somehow made him seem more human, more likeable than some of the other bigwigs who often paid little more than lip service to the charities they allegedly supported. Half the time Mollie wondered if it wasn’t more about raising their personal profiles and scoring extra points on their CVs than being charitable.
‘You can put my name down for a couple of tickets for the show. I’d be happy to make a donation.’ No matter how deserving a cause, Mollie would much rather watch than participate. She shouldn’t have much trouble convincing Talia to go as her plus one when she was always going on about her getting out and having some fun these days.
That was easier said than done when you weren’t the blonde-haired, blue-eyed twin with the perfect body and no discernible responsibilities.
‘I’ll be sure to get it in writing this time.’ His self-deprecating smile was unexpected, as was the warm glow that seemed to start in Mollie’s toes and spread steadily throughout the rest of her body.
A lot of the highly skilled, in-demand surgical professionals she’d come across in the workplace had a superiority complex the same size as their impressive list of qualifications and would have ranted and raved about wasting their time. She’d certainly seen evidence of his temper, which would be justified on an occasion where he’d been inconvenienced by some unknown prankster. His understanding that she was an unwitting participant in this made her feel a tad ashamed of her conjecture on his character formed from one emotionally charged disagreement, when that judgement was exactly what terrified her most. It was a shock to discover her greatest fear turned out to be her own biggest personal flaw.
She hated people making assumptions about her, that her tattoos or her clothes somehow defined her as weird, or, worse, that her dedication to her job and her family marked her as a loner. Yet she knew she had a habit of jumping to conclusions about people based on first impressions. It was a defence mechanism that she’d developed over the years to protect herself from anyone else who showed a proclivity towards violence to avoid any more nasty surprises further down the line.
A history including an abusive father, a supposed loving boyfriend who rejected her after seeing her scars for the first time and a series of partners who eventually lost patience when she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with them, made it difficult to trust anything other than her own instincts.
On this occasion she might be proven wrong, but although discovering the possibility Ben was a nicer guy than she’d imagined would explain his popularity with women who weren’t her, it didn’t make her any more willing to participate in this spectacle. She’d conned herself once into believing she should put herself at risk simply to gain the approval of a good-looking boy and paid the price. It would take more than a playboy surgeon to change her mind after all these years.
‘Well, good luck with it.’ She gave him his cue to leave so they could both get back to work and forget this little incident ever happened.
* * *
‘Right. Sorry for wasting your time.’ Ben backed out of the room and only just managed to refrain from swearing in the busy corridor. That hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d planned. Although he’d been glad to see Carole in good spirits after her surgery his visit to the clinic had left him with more problems than he’d arrived with. Now he was one dancer short for his fundraising event and, in particular, the one he’d seen himself paired with—The Ice Queen. Someone’s idea of a joke was going to cost him time tracking down a new volunteer, not to mention peace of mind.
When he’d seen Nurse Forrester’s name on the list for the forthcoming competition he’d thought she’d finally forgiven him for that outburst the other week. Things had been a bit strained between them since he’d lost his temper and, though he was embarrassed about it, he couldn’t explain his mood without coming across as unprofessional. It didn’t matter how little sleep he’d had or how rough his night had been at home, he should never have brought it into the workplace with him. His private life was no one else’s business.
Having her back onside would also have produced the ideal solution to his search for a partner. Although he’d never heard anything but praise from their shared patient list, never witnessed anything other than professionalism when they’d worked together, he’d heard the locker room talk about The Ice Queen from porters to surgeons who’d tried to secure a date with the pretty brunette and been shot down mid-chat-up. For those delicate male egos who weren’t used to being turned down, they’d somehow managed to turn her lack of interest in them into a character assassination and something she should be castigated for rather than a comment on their own arrogance or shortcomings.
Her involvement would’ve curtailed any further rumours about his alleged philandering or romantic ideas towards, or from, a woman whose smile faltered any time he paid a visit to shared patients. He’d even felt her flinch today when they’d happened to come into close proximity and almost sympathised with those she’d shown her obvious contempt for in the past. She didn’t know him any more than he knew her and, though it would be easy to believe those rumours that she hated men, he knew not to take the gossipmongers at face value.
Despite the lack of chemistry required for a dance partnership, this would’ve provided him with an uncomplicated route to the finish line of this fundraising born out of necessity rather than a desire to strut his stuff on a public dance floor.
His mobile phone vibrated in his pocket and he made a quick dash for the exit to answer it to avoid disturbing the clinic any further. Thankfully the noise of running car engines and nearby construction drowned out the profanity that did slip out of his mouth this time when he saw who it was calling, because it meant there was undoubtedly another catastrophe happening at home.
‘Is everything all right, Grandad?’
‘Someone’s stolen my glasses. I think it’s that woman who comes here every morning.’ Unfortunately, as had become the custom, the phone call was not to check in with Ben but to launch another accusation about the carer who came in to make his grandfather’s meals when he was at work. He was sure she’d no more stolen his glasses today than she had sewn up the cuffs of his cardigan when he couldn’t get it on last week. The truth was Hugh Sheridan was getting old, and struggling to live with this cruel illness more every day, even if neither of them were ready to acknowledge it yet.
He’d lost so much weight due to the meals he’d forgotten to eat, or the out-of-date food he’d sickened himself with, it had become apparent he could no longer look after himself, but it had been a job for Ben to get him to move into his apartment where he could keep an eye on him. In the end he’d had to convince him he wanted the company, not that he believed his grandfather was a danger to himself. The move had been the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with Penny and everyone else who was afraid they might be expected to play nursemaid to a septuagenarian.
Even his own parents had abandoned them, because it suited them and their jet-set lifestyle to let Ben assume the role of carer. Not that he’d expect anything more from people who’d given up on their son so easily. They would’ve been as happy to pack his grandfather off to an old people’s home as they had been to send their wayward child away without a second thought about why he’d fallen in with a bad crowd. It was easier on their consciences to absolve themselves of any responsibility other than a visit on special occasions or the odd phone call than to examine their own failure as parents.
Underage drinking, graffiti...vandalism had all seemed like harmless fun in the company of the wrong crowd, as had defying his parents, until he’d pushed them to breaking point. He saw now his actions had shown a desperate need for someone to provide boundaries and guide him in the right direction when he’d been too easily seduced by the idea of rebellion. An unheeded cry for help. It had taken the faith and courage of his grandparents to see that there was someone worth saving beneath that troublesome exterior when not even his parents had been convinced.
Although he maintained some semblance of a relationship with them, it was always at the back of his mind that they might still be waiting for his illustrious career to come crashing down around him in another fit of self-destruction. Despite turning his life around, there was a distance between them that suggested they were afraid to become too proud of him in case the day ever came when they’d get the chance to say, ‘See, we knew he was a wrong ’un.’
Regardless of his career success, they justified their absence from his life by pointing out he didn’t have any children for them to come back for. As if they would have been any more attentive to grandchildren than to their only son. Deserting him when he was in need of their help now as an adult didn’t hurt any less than it had as a teenager, it merely reinforced the belief he wasn’t important enough in their lives to deserve time out of their busy schedule. It had been just him and his grandfather for some time now.
They were the only tie he still had to that old life and perhaps that was the reason he kept them at arm’s length, too—they were a reminder of times that didn’t make him particularly proud of himself and were a far cry, hopefully, from the respected man he’d become. He didn’t blame his parents for becoming exasperated with their son’s behaviour, he knew now how stressed they must have been, but neither did he credit them with any part of his success since. That was reserved for the man who was currently wandering his apartment in search of more misplaced personal items.
‘That’s Amy, remember? She comes to help out when I’m at work.’ It had been getting harder by the day to juggle his time here at the hospital and at home and she’d been a godsend as far as Ben was concerned. At least now he could go into Theatre with the knowledge there’d be someone to check that the apartment hadn’t burned down in his absence. His grandfather was becoming more and more forgetful, as well as belligerent, as the cruel spectre of dementia hovered around him.
There was an unintelligible grumble on the other end of the line suggesting he didn’t entirely trust his grandson’s version of events. As though there were collusion going on between the two of them to gradually steal his belongings and sanity piece by painful piece.
‘Have you checked the bathroom window sill? Sometimes you leave them there.’ Or actually in the bath, where he’d found the TV remote control last night.
‘I didn’t leave them anywhere. She’s taken them.’ His grandfather adamantly continued his protest without considering any alternative reason for the disappearing spectacles. It was this continual forgetfulness and paranoia that was hard to get used to but, thankfully, the good days still outnumbered the bad. The man who’d practically raised him was still more present than this somewhat more difficult version, or his parents. With Amy’s added help, they were able to function as normally as could be expected.
However, it didn’t take a medical professional to understand this wasn’t an illness that would be miraculously cured. There was little even a skilled surgeon could do to prevent dementia taking hold of a beloved family member except help him cling onto his independence and dignity as long as possible. And perhaps help him find any misplaced personal possessions. The least he could do for the man who’d given him a second chance when no one else would.
‘Do you want me to come back and help you find them?’ He checked his watch. Now that he wouldn’t be discussing dance steps or music choices he had a little time before his next appointment. Although that time could’ve been better utilised answering the hundreds of emails he received every day, half an hour retracing his grandfather’s steps around the apartment would probably put both of their minds at rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Even if it was a stark contrast to the one he’d imagined.
‘No. You’re busy, son. There are a lot of people depending on you... I don’t know who she thinks she is just letting herself in here when she feels like it...’ Sometimes it was hard to tell if the moment of lucidity had passed or he was just having a bad-tempered rant because his independence was being compromised.
‘I’m not due back in surgery for a while. I can spare ten minutes to see if I can help you find these glasses.’ He’d make a call to Amy, too, to apologise for any extra rudeness she might have encountered on this morning’s visit, although her previous experience of caring for elderly patients seemed to make her quite impervious to her charge’s changeable moods.
‘Why would I need help finding my glasses? Sure, they’re right here in my pocket where they always are.’ The gruff denial that he needed help ended the call abruptly and left Ben standing outside the hospital contemplating whether or not to go back inside.
It was these divided loyalties that tested every area of his life, as well as those around him. He’d already had one relationship disintegrate under the pressure of his responsibilities as a carer and, though he’d had a few dalliances since, his love life wasn’t any more of a priority than a dependent elderly relative was for those he’d dated. The reputation he’d acquired of being a ladies’ man wasn’t surprising since he still enjoyed female company, but unjustified, when any notion of a relationship barely lasted beyond dessert.
He fished his car keys from his pocket and strode towards the staff car park. It wouldn’t do any harm to call back home for five minutes and make sure all was well. His hunt for a partner came second to the needs of his grandfather. As did everything else in his personal life.
Mollie Forrester would’ve been the perfect answer to getting him out of the dance competition pickle he’d found himself in and he wondered if there wasn’t still time to talk her around.
After all, he wasn’t one to walk away at the first sign of trouble.
