A Life Less Lonely
A Life Less Lonely
Jill Barry
© Jill Barry 2013
Jill Barry has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published 2013 Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Extract from Second Chances by Suzanne Miao
Chapter One
Andrea picked up the call winging from the reception desk of the university where she worked.
“Dr Palmer? Could you come to the main entrance, please? There’s someone here to see you.”
“What sort of someone, Cheryl?’
The receptionist hesitated a little too long. “My lines are buzzing. I’ll say you’re on your way.’ She cut the connection.
Andrea pushed back her chair and headed for the elevator, gulping greedy mouthfuls of oxygen while the lift lumbered to her floor. She watched the numbers climb from first through second to third before the doors slid apart and she darted forward, anxious to push the button and descend. But someone blocked her way on the other side of the threshold - someone built powerfully enough to make a significant obstacle.
“I’m so sorry,’ said the stranger, shifting to her right.
“My fault.”
She’d mirrored his move. They locked gazes, Andrea frowning as the expression in his slate-blue eyes changed from barely-concealed admiration to concern. Did she really appear that needy? His scrutiny unsettled her and not only because she found him disturbingly attractive. Why not be honest? She found him desirable; mouth-dryingly, tummy-lurchingly desirable. Flustered, she checked for a non-existent name badge. He looked important. Maybe no one dared challenge him when he walked through the building. Although not matching her late husband’s height, this man would be able to see over her head in a crowd. Close-cropped dark hair and silver-tinged sideburns plus a charcoal grey sharp suit distinguished him from the denim-clad and scruffy shirted academics that constitute her working world.
“Are you all right?’ The voice matched the looks. Understatement.
“Fine, thank you.’ Andrea averted her eyes. Surely he could sense her urgency? She dived past him, hand reaching to punch the Down button.
A twinge of guilt hit her as soon as he disappeared from view. She’d greeted a stranger’s civility by offering instant annihilation by automatic lift door. He’d left behind an image of eyes the right kind of blue. They were eyes capable of recognising the anguish churning inside her. Yet the stranger’s good looks weren’t the sole cause of the beads of lust developing on her chest. The receptionist had been too evasive. Someone as competent as Cheryl would naturally falter if pretending indifference. Something was definitely up. As the lift descended, Andrea clenched her fists, feeling the sharp bite of nails against palms. Remembering another occasion, the receptionist tried not to be too precise about someone asking to see her.
***
Keir Harrison, chief psycho-geriatrician at Hartnett General Hospital, strode along the corridor towards Richard Bailey’s office. Keir, a man who made a wry face at the sound of his own job title, sought the school of anthropology’s collaboration in testing a new dementia-busting drug. Money talked, and Keir needed to get his priorities right when it came to funding his new project.
The face of the young woman he’d all but tap-danced with at the elevator still tantalised him. The expression in those smoke grey eyes had hinted of something, or someone, haunting her. He’d seen that look before, for sure. Sometimes it belonged to a patient dreading test results. Sometimes a loved one wore it.
Keir’s lips curved into a wry smile. Didn’t he have enough to occupy him without inventing cases from random encounters? Not that he’d even left the darned lift before being ambushed. She’d been very sharp with him too. His lips twitched at the thought of Ms Torpedo’s chilly attitude. It made a refreshing change. Ever since he took on this high profile role, certain staff members treated him as though he walked on water as his prime leisure pursuit.
He’d walked too far in his momentary musing. Discomfited and pulling himself back together, Keir retraced his steps and tapped on Professor Bailey’s door.
***
Andrea forced herself to look straight at Reception, anticipating a uniformed police officer waiting to report that her mother had taken a tumble whilst walking, simultaneously offering a lift to the A & E department. Seeing Rosemary admiring plump white tulips crammed into a square glass vase, Andrea’s first astonished reaction dissolved into instant guilt.
She wanted the floor to swallow her. She longed for a giant hand to scoop her up and deposit her elsewhere. If only she could turn back time. Then, Greg would still be with his military unit, sitting down to another plateful of tinned sausages, baked beans and mash and going online to check his inbox for his wife’s daily email. Her mother would still be alert, working a few weekly stints in a local charity shop and baking her trademark sweet, fluffy cupcakes for fundraising events. Of course, in this apricot fondant dream, her mum’s capabilities still included babysitting her adored grandson Josh. If only.
Andrea felt as though she acted in a soap opera where heartache and hysteria went hand in hand with black comedy. Her mother wore a fuchsia pink wool cardigan inside out so its seams protruded like swollen veins. On a chilly, raw day, Rosemary had neglected to wear a coat and beneath black slacks, one pale, bare instep cried out for a sock. This petty but poignant detail almost cracked Andrea’s fragile self-control.
“Hello, Mum,” She reached for those restless hands, gently grasping what felt like two bundles of brittle twigs wrapped in weak tissue paper. Looking down, Andrea noticed purple smudges where Rosemary must have damaged her fragile skin while gardening. A surge of compassion overwhelmed her as she raised her mother’s hands to her mouth and kissed the fingers. The gesture spoke more than words could say as she mourned the woman who’d once been. It wouldn’t be so bad if she could soothe her mother, provide the tender loving care necessary at this stage of her life. But to do that properly, Andrea needed to put her own emotions to bed as easily as she dealt with her little son’s night-time rituals.
“I came on the bus,” Rosemary said, voice ringing with triumph. She stood, smiling at her daughter, eyes shining.
“Well done,’ said Andrea. “But I’m sorry, Mum, it’s impossible for me to have lunch with you today. I just need to speak to my boss, so he knows I’m driving you home.” She clasped her mother’s left elbow and gently guided her to a seat. “You wait here for me. I’ll find you a magazine.”
Her mother obeyed without question as Andrea pushed one of the gossip weeklies across the table. Rosemary ignored its colourful cover and focused upon the TV screen above. Easy listening music treacled through the sound system and Andrea saw her mum’s eyes light up as she recognised her favourite, Barry Manilow. She walked back to the desk in time with the beat of Copacabana, anxious to tell Richard Bailey she needed to leave the building for a while. She didn’t know the rest of the script but she must keep her cool. With her recent ordeals, she felt as though a ten mile hike would be a pushover by comparison.
Cheryl, duty receptionist, handed the phone to Andrea along with a sympathetic glance. “Professor Bailey’s extension’s ringing,” she said.
***
Dr Keir Harrison had clicked wi
th Professor Richard Bailey. Each respecting the other’s professionalism and finding much in common was important in his search for the right team to conduct a high-profile drug trial. He waited, eyes fixed on a glowing watercolour of Cornish fishing boats at sunrise, trying to hide his impatience while the professor took a call.
“Sorry about that, Keir,” said Richard, replacing his phone. “I was about to say I think some of my colleagues will bite your hand off to join this trial. I especially have in mind a junior research fellow.” He grinned. “Although she has a distinct wariness of the drug culture in general.”
Seeing Keir’s expression, he held up his hand. “This is a woman who’s been lecturing in anthropology for a while now. I’d like to involve her in this project because she’s passionate about community medicine. Be warned, though.’ He steepled his fingers. “She’s sure to play devil’s advocate. I shouldn’t say this but my colleague also has an excellent personal reason for wanting to learn more about Dimaribon’s street cred.’
“Whoever she is, she sounds perfect. I know I’ll be heckled at the seminar. Tinkering with vitamins always winds up certain people. I’m sure whoever she is will provide me with some sparring practice.” Keir hesitated. ‘What’s her name?’
“Dr Andrea Palmer. I’m afraid I can’t introduce you at the moment because she’s - um, taking a couple of hours off. She’s had a wretched time lately.’
Keir watched Richard drum the fingers of one hand on the pristine blotting-paper holder topping his desk. Tuned into subtext, Keir’s antennae quivered, suspecting something off kilter here. He hoped that something didn’t spell discord. An in-house romance between Richard and Dr Palmer might prove to be even worse than personality clashes. With such an important project at stake, Keir could do without personal issues and the attendant hassle. He sighed to himself.
The drug trial commanded high priority. Keir rated it as the most exciting development he’d seen in his research career so far. He rarely admitted it to anyone but, deprived of his young daughter since his marriage failed, his work had assumed an even greater importance than previously. This dependency meant he drove himself hard and expected similar ball-breaking standards from those around him.
Richard was looking speculatively at him.
“If you vouch for Dr Palmer’s commitment, that’s good enough for me.” Keir scribbled in his diary. “If I email you a document, maybe you could forward it for your colleague’s attention?”
“Of course,’ said Richard. “I’d like to sit on the sidelines if you’ll allow.”
Keir checked his watch. “That goes without saying. Two of my medical team will be on board and I need to select two or three nurses. Maybe we could set up a preliminary meeting for the end of next week. I’ll get my PA to contact yours.”
The two men rose and shook hands.
Waiting for the elevator, Kier experienced a flashback to the woman with the far-seeing grey eyes and translucent skin. How strange it would be if she should now be arriving at the third floor, only to find him waiting to descend. Had she resolved whatever troubled her? What would that full mouth look like when she smiled? He found himself longing to see for himself. The doors swooshed open to reveal an empty space. Keir stepped into the lift. If he didn’t return to the hospital soon, his PA would disown him.
***
Deciding not to ask her mother what brought her to the university, Andrea felt relieved to find her passenger calm and content to be driven home.
“Let me check your seatbelt, Mum,” she said.
Rosemary smiled at Andrea. “Is Greg due leave soon, darling? I’ll need to bake his favourite cake.”
Andrea’s throat dried. Hadn’t her mother retained any of her careful words? Phrases distilled from anguish, love and pride, chosen to describe how Greg had ended his life as the brave man he’d always been. If only she could deal with her mother as she dealt with her little boy. She’d told Josh he should be very, very proud of his daddy. And, yes of course it was OK to be sad because even heroes shed tears.
“Mum,” she said, checking her mirrors. “Why don’t you bake the cake anyway? You know how Josh loves your lemon drizzle.”
She resolved to book an appointment with the family GP. Since losing Greg, she no longer found it easy to pray but she couldn’t resist asking for help, asking someone, somewhere, please, to make it all go away.
Andrea returned to her desk, concerned at having had to request yet more time off, even if only an hour. She knew she could perform her role to her usual standard but personal issues loomed. She opened an email from Richard and realised he hadn’t lost his enthusiasm over her potential involvement with an upcoming project. She recalled the subject being discussed before she’d learnt her seriously wounded husband was fighting for his life while being airlifted to RAF Brize Norton. Andrea puffed air through her lips in exhaustion. She still felt as though she walked a tightrope between black despair and a kind of bizarre relief because, the worst having happened, could no longer stalk her.
The professor walked in and stood beside her. “Is everything all right, Andrea? Did you manage to sort your domestic emergency?”
Andrea guessed he’d be painfully aware everything certainly wasn’t all right. She and Greg had been invited for an informal supper with Richard and his wife the previous October, only days before Greg left for his six-month Afghanistan tour. Despite the age gap between the two couples, they’d spent a relaxed few hours. Now a single mum in the true sense of the word, Andrea valued friends like the Prof and his wife Louise.
She shrugged. “I’m really not sure, Richard. For some unknown reason, my mother turned up at Reception. To my knowledge, she’s never done such a thing before.”
He nodded, seemingly unfazed.
“I just had to drive her home,” she said, “as if I haven’t taken enough time off.’
“Andrea. Read my lips. You’re accomplishing even more than I’d anticipated. I don’t have to tell you to talk to your mother’s GP and you know what? It seems to me Rosemary might be an ideal subject for this pharmaceutical trial. I understand it’s been the last thing on your mind since losing Greg. But I urge you to think about it. There’s one very positive slant. If she joins in, she’ll spend a considerable amount of time over at the hospital.”
“Being pumped with drugs? Locked into a little world of her own?”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “You make it sound so harsh. Where would the world be without the pharmaceutical industry? Remember, everything stems from Nature, Andrea.”
“I know,’ she said. “But in my opinion, science sometimes gets too big for its boots. I believe if alternative medicine can go hand in hand with sophisticated technology, it can only be a good thing.”
“Well,” Richard agreed. “That’s why I need to introduce you to Dr Harrison. Apart from being on your wavelength, he’s arguably the most dedicated medic I’ve ever come across. And you know how high I set the bar. I’ve already told him I want you to join his trial team.”
Did she really have to work with this Dr Shiny Pants? Andrea pretended to scowl. “You want me and you want my mother on board? Is that wise? Is it even ethical?”
“You leave that to me,” said Richard. “And by the way, hadn’t you better think about finding a suitable carer for her? That’s a must have, in terms of Rosemary joining in the trial.” His tone softened. “Not to mention her personal safety and your own peace of mind.”
He was gone, pre-empting protest. He was right and she knew it. She’d pushed this significant problem backstage when it demanded spotlighting. Her mum required more care than Andrea could give, but how would Rosemary react to a stranger strolling into her house every day?
***
The next day, Andrea received Keir Harrison’s findings plus a friendly invitation to call him. As she read, she had to admire the concept of lowering drug levels and boosting the patient’s immune system. This so fitted her work ethic, hating as she did, the thought of her
mother, or anyone’s mother, being zombified by medication. Maybe this project really would absorb her. For the first time in weeks, she felt animated and picked up the phone to punch a nine for an outside line.
“I’d like to speak to Dr Keir Harrison, please.”
“Who’s calling?” The answering voice sounded protective. Briefly, Andrea closed her eyes. Oh, please, not another PA with a crush on her boss.
“Dr Andrea Palmer, research fellow, University of Hartnett.’ Time to pull rank.
“One moment, please.” The voice sounded unimpressed.
Andrea tapped her pen against her teeth. She glanced at the digital time display on her monitor and wondered if Josh was on the climbing frame at that moment. Her thoughts drifted to what her mother might be up to then she almost dropped her pen as masculine tones, audible melting dark chocolate, sent decidedly unprofessional but pleasurable sensations down her spine.
“Dr Palmer? I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”
Andrea swallowed. “That’s all right, Dr Harrison. I’m calling to let you know I’ve read the information you sent and I have to tell you there are questions I’d like answered.”
He chuckled down the phone line.
That kind of sound should come with a health warning. “What’s so funny?” Andrea gripped her pen hard.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I would have expected nothing less. When can we meet?”
Andrea delivered Josh to the university crèche next morning and, instead of driving across campus, headed for the hospital. Dr Harrison had a cancelled early appointment and could therefore slot her into his busy schedule. On the way to Hartnett General, she thought again of the near sleepless night she’d spent. This restlessness had nothing to do with Josh. She couldn’t even blame it upon the emotional wounds she doubted would ever heal.
No, the pillow thumping was purely down to guilt. Could she really hand over her mother as a guinea pig? Keir Harrison had better know his stuff. Otherwise, no way would she let him invade their close-knit personal lives. Ahead lay a huge decision in terms of Rosemary’s lifestyle and wellbeing, a decision Andrea would have normally insisted Greg made with her. She would have to make it independently.