From Fling to Wedding Ring Read online

  ‘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.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘SO, WHAT ARE your plans for the weekend?’ Talia queried once she’d swallowed the large bite she’d taken of her chicken salad sandwich. Her appetite certainly seemed to have improved since her return and Mollie was pleased in that motherly way that she was eating properly instead of skipping meals as she’d often been prone to doing before heading out for an evening of partying. These days she was more likely to be found at night propping up the other end of the sofa from her sister watching TV.

  ‘Um...laundry, decluttering my wardrobe, washing my hair...’ She’d neglected to mention Ben Sheridan’s strange visit or they would’ve spent the rest of their short meal break together arguing about how she shouldn’t have turned him down and how she would live the rest of her days as a dried-up old spinster full of regret.

  ‘Sounds like a riot.’ Talia rolled her eyes, apparently unimpressed by the proposed itinerary.

  ‘That doesn’t mean you have to stay in, too. There’s nothing stopping you from going clubbing or whatever it usually is you do in your time off.’ Mollie had never been one for the party circuit where copious amounts of alcohol and rash decisions often went hand in hand. Not since she’d suffered the ugly fallout of her previous poor judgement. Talia had done enough living for the both of them, even if the pace of her partying seemed to have slowed in the weeks since she’d come home from her travels.