The Nurse by J. Corrigan (list of ebook readers txt) 📕

perhaps she wouldn’t be in prison for murder. But she did see him again and she is in prison for murder, and having glimpsed the beginning of her story, the sense of despair spearing through him causes Theo to question many things about himself and his own life: his destiny, the unrolling of events, either in your control or not, chance, luck. Stupidity. But more than anything, he begins to soberly examine the incidents that led up to the death of his son. Signs and events he ignored. Perhaps as Rose had done all those years before.

22

Rose

9 April 1991

Daniel was making me a cup of tea in the kitchen.

‘Sugar?’

‘Please.’ My stomach began to grumble, and not through hunger. My encounter with Ed in the hallway had unsettled me.

‘Hungry? I’ll make you an enchilada? Mine are much better than what they serve up in Mussels, you know.’

I tried to smile. ‘Maybe not. I’m sick of the sight of them.’

‘You feel uncomfortable, I can see that. Is it Ed?’

Had he heard my exchange with Ed in the hallway? ‘He doesn’t like me.’

‘He can be a bit obtuse. It’s just the way he is. Take no notice of him.’

My eyes swept around the kitchen. ‘I’ve got so much work to do, exams soon. I should be home revising.’

He moved closer. ‘Have a few days off, with me.’ He touched my arm and a galvanic current cracked through every molecule. He turned to the two mugs and stabbed the tea bags with a spoon. I was surprised he was a cup brewer. ‘I’ll help you revise. I outperformed Miles in most exams.’

I managed a tight laugh. ‘You outdid Miles?’ I’d imagined Miles as a conscientious and excellent medical student, despite the haziness I’d sometimes seen in Mussels.

‘I did. Milk?’

‘Yes please.’ I took the mug from him. His face fractured into a grin and he slicked back a strand of thick dark hair. I liked how he wore his hair long, tendrils curling well below the nape of his neck. ‘Miles is nice.’

‘He’s one of the best doctors we have.’ He scratched his head. ‘Although sometimes we see things differently.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Most things really.’ A smile stretched across his features again. While he’d been talking, he’d knocked up a cheese and pickle sandwich. He pushed the plate towards me.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘My favourite.’

He sat down on a kitchen stool. ‘Tell me about you. About your mum, your brother. I want to know.’

Suddenly I wanted to tell him everything. Exams were pressing, everything was pressing, and I needed a valve. ‘My mum works in a factory part-time. Well, she did. Recently she’s found another job. She’s divorced from my dad. She has a few… issues.’ I glanced at him; he was listening intently.

The tears came then, I couldn’t stop them.

‘It’s all going to be okay,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘What’s your relationship like with your mum?’

‘A little splintered.’

‘And your father?’

‘I only saw Dad once after he left. He’d gone back to Ireland, where both my parents were born. About a year after he’d deserted us, he came over to England and took me out for tea, with his new wife. Sam didn’t come with us; he was still so little, not even two years old. I hated every moment. I was rude, and when I wasn’t being rude, I was silent. The afternoon went on forever. I bet they couldn’t wait to drop me home.’

I stopped talking and gathered myself. He let me be quiet, and I remembered the rest of that day.

Dad, Mum and the new wife all thought I’d gone straight upstairs to my bedroom, but of course I was listening on the landing. It was then that I heard Dad say things to Mum that I pretended weren’t true: about Mum being made to leave her job because of money that had gone missing in the factory where she’d worked; about inside your head, and how she was always promising she’d take the tablets but never did, never for long enough anyway. It was never a marriage, and you never even tried. None of these things made much sense to an eight-year-old. I refused to see Dad again, and after a few years he stopped trying to visit. Of course I remembered the conversation – every time she forgot to do something important for us, dental or hospital appointments, parents’ evenings. Every time a policeman knocked on the door.

I continued, sharing more with Daniel. ‘By the time I was thirteen, I was the one looking after Sam – and looking after my mum too. She was supposed to be on medication. Anyway, by that time it had become obvious from my school reports that I might be able to do okay in life, so she tried harder with me and our relationship evened out a bit.’

‘Parents, eh?’ He pushed the plate nearer. ‘Is your mum on meds now?’

‘When she remembers to take them.’

She still had a propensity towards a spot of theft, though, when she thought she could get away with it. It was one of the reasons I gave her as much money as possible.

I decided to change the subject. ‘Is your dad proud of you?’ I picked up the last sandwich and started to nibble on it.

‘He’s still a little pissed off that I’m not a practising doctor. A consultant. I don’t think he ever saw me as management. He thought I should be saving the world. That was what he tried to do.’ His gaze moved away, fixed somewhere in the far corner of the kitchen, and I detected that same hint of sadness I’d seen in the restaurant. Probably why he couldn’t make eye contact. People never can when talking about something that bothers them. I was the same when anyone asked me about my dad.

He picked up a dishcloth and began wiping a countertop. ‘Is he proud of me? He will be, one day.’ Folding up the cloth, he placed it squarely on the windowsill.

I