The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance. Carol Marinelli
I’m fine with it ending. I never wanted it in the first place.’
‘You’ve made lying into an art form,’ he said, with a cutting edge to his voice. ‘But when you get home and start lying to the person you’re looking at in the mirror, you’ll know you’re really in trouble.’
I was in trouble from the moment I laid eyes on him, but now was hardly the time to tell him. I was trying to salvage what was left of my pride. ‘It’s over, Matt. It was fun—or at least it was for you—while it lasted.’
‘I didn’t sleep with you to make fun of you,’ he said. ‘I slept with you because I …’ He stopped and shoved a hand through his hair.
I raised a cynically arched eyebrow. ‘Because you …?’
He dropped his hand. His mask was back in place. For a moment there I’d thought I’d seen a glimmer of pain in his gaze but it was well and truly gone now. I figured I’d probably imagined it. ‘Never mind.’
‘I have one question,’ I said. ‘Why did you ask me to take over the planning of the ball?’
He let out a long breath. ‘I thought it would help you get over your break-up. I thought it would give you something to distract you. But if you don’t want to follow through with it, I’ll find someone else.’
‘I’m sure it won’t take you too long to find a replacement,’ I shot back.
He gave me another I’m-over-this look and turned away and walked back through the front doors of the hospital.
I typed up my resignation that night and printed it out and signed it with a flourish. I looked at it for a long time before I folded it and slid it into an envelope. I left it lying on the desk—I don’t have any helpful housekeeping staff so there was no prospect of it being posted until I was ready to do so myself.
Jason’s parents asked to speak to me when I got to ICU the next day. They were waiting in my relatives’ room but I hadn’t had time to turn on the essential oil infuser as I’d been caught up on the ward. Ken Ryder was holding his wife, Maggie’s, hand. Megan was still by Jason’s bedside. I’d caught a glimpse of her on my way past, crying as she held one of his hands.
‘We want the truth,’ Ken said. ‘Mr McTaggart is saying one thing. Dr Bishop is saying another. We want your opinion. What’s our son’s prognosis?’
I looked at their haggard faces, their drawn and tired features. The shadows, in and under their eyes, and the lines on their faces that had seemed to deepen like trenches by the end of each long, heartbreaking day. I took a deep breath, feeling as if I was stepping out of a part of my personality like someone taking off a warm, thick coat. I felt exposed and vulnerable without it but I could no longer hide beneath its comforting folds. ‘There’s a very real possibility Jason will never recover.’
Saying the words felt like speaking a different language, one without hope as part of its vocabulary. I watched as Jason’s parents took them in. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard them but hearing it from me—the one person who had offered them hope and positive thinking from the get-go—was clearly devastating.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, blinking back tears. I never cried at work. I was always so self-contained but I could no longer keep that professional distance. In that small, private room I became Bertie instead of Dr Clark. I hugged Jason’s parents and offered what comfort I could but it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough because I could not—no matter how hard I tried—bring back their boy.
Jem had a student-free day that coincided with my next day off so she met me in Knightsbridge for lunch in one of our favourite haunts. ‘So, what gives?’ she said, when she noticed I wasn’t eating my steak with any of my usual gusto.
I stabbed a French fry but didn’t bring it up to my mouth. ‘Don’t want to talk about it.’
Jem reached over and pinched one of my fries. She had already finished all hers. She has this amazing ability to eat loads of food without putting on an ounce. I should hate her for it. ‘You’re in love with him.’
I pulled back my chin against my chest. ‘With Andy?’
‘No, you goose,’ she said. ‘With this Matt guy.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve only known him, what, three and a half weeks? That’s not long enough to fall in love.’
‘Don’t bet on it.’
I raised my brows. ‘The Sicilian guy?’
Jem got that stony, closed-off look on her face. ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.’
Why are all the people in my life saying the same thing? I wondered. ‘Everyone is talking about me. Or at least they will be when my resignation hits the HR department tomorrow.’
Jem frowned. ‘You’re resigning?’
‘What else can I do?’
She gave me one of her big-sister, older-and-wiser looks. ‘What about your project?’
‘I’ve got enough data to go on with and once I get a new placement I’ll set it up again.’ Even as I said it I realised how difficult it would be. I had developed a high level of trust at St Iggy’s, which was why Jeffrey Hooper had allowed me to be so innovative. I might not find the same enthusiasm in another hospital.
Jem filched another fry. ‘What about the St Valentine’s ball? Aren’t you the one organising that?’
I felt a twinge of guilt at how I’d walked away from my responsibilities. I’d heard Matt had found someone to take over—a nurse from the cardiac unit. I wondered with another pang if he was seeing her outside work. ‘I was but it’s been handed to someone else. I can do without the stress on top of everything else. Anyway, I haven’t got a costume.’
‘You could always go as yourself.’
I gave her a droll look. ‘Ha, ha.’
‘What about your neighbours?’ Jem wiped her fingers on her napkin. ‘You’re not thinking of moving too, are you?’
I was ashamed to admit I was. I was even thinking about emigrating. No one would be able to gossip about me then. Siberia should just about do it, I thought. ‘None of them are talking to me. Clearly Margery’s been busy.’
Jem leaned across the table and patted my hand. ‘Never mind. At least she won’t be asking you to mind her horrible little dog any more.’
‘Like she should throw the first stone,’ I said. ‘Her Freddy humps anything that’s—’ I stopped speaking when I saw the colour leave Jem’s face. She was looking at the entrance of the restaurant, her eyes widening with horror. ‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
She grabbed the bill the waitress had left moments earlier and thrust it at me. ‘Do you mind getting this? I’ll meet you in Harrods at the chocolate counter.’
‘But—’
I frowned as I watched her slip out the back way through the kitchen. Then I turned and looked at the tall, stunningly handsome Italian man walking in with a beautiful blonde woman by his side.
It seemed I wasn’t the only coward in the family after all.
MY RESIGNATION CAUSED quite a stir amongst the staff when I came in the day after it had been lodged. I had to dodge a few twisty questions, including one about whether I was pregnant. Gracie kept giving me looks I stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It was all right lecturing me about telling the truth but she wasn’t the one who’d have had to live down the ignominy of pretending to be married. It was easier this way. I was making a new start and in a few months no one would even remember me.
My