Clara’s voice was hesitant. ‘Hannah—is that your daughter? The kid I saw last night?’
The question gave him a jolt and a flash of annoyance again as he remembered how the car alarm had jerked Hannah from her sleep. ‘You mean the kid you woke up? Yes, that’s her.’
Clara wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry. Just an accident. I’m sure it won’t happen again. Hope she didn’t keep you and your wife up all night.’
It was like a bucket of cold water being dumped all over his head. It had been a while since someone had made a casual comment about a wife or partner around him. Most people that knew him were well aware that his wife had died years before. His mouth opened to automatically form the words ‘I’m a widower’, and then he stopped. He hadn’t invited this woman into his life. He still had no idea if she’d be much of a team player. The old feelings of irritation washed over him. He didn’t need to share personal information with her. It was none of her business.
He didn’t even form a reply, just picked up a file that one of the secretaries had left for him containing induction paperwork for Clara. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is yours. There’s a million online training courses you need to complete—health and safety, manual handling refresher, anaphylaxis etc. HR want you to complete some of this paperwork and drop it off. They’re on the top floor. There’s an office across from here that you can use—and introduce yourself to Helen, my secretary, and Ron, the ward clerk. They can pretty much tell you everything else you need to know.’
He moved behind her, catching a whiff of that perfume again as he opened the door. It was nice, unusual. But her words had irritated him. He didn’t want to have to explain his situation to this new doctor. Not when he’d seen the flash of sympathy in her eyes when he’d told her Louie the concierge was a widower.
It was an odd thing when that familiar flash in someone’s eyes sent all the hairs on his arms in an upward prickle. He didn’t want pity. But for the last five years he’d seen it time and time again. He’d rebuilt his life, focusing on Hannah. He was busy at work, with most evenings spent taking Hannah to a wide variety of activities—none of which she seemed to want to stick at.
There wasn’t a place for sympathy in his life. He and Hannah were good. They were solid. Plus, he didn’t want the naturally inquisitive and uncomfortable questions that sometimes followed from the widower label being revealed. As he’d reached for the door handle he’d glanced at his hand. He’d taken his ring off two years ago. It had been the right time and right move for him.
Not that’d he’d met anyone serious. Sure, he’d dated. Georgie had encouraged him, babysitting Hannah on occasion. But there had never been anyone who gave him that...spark...that thirst and curiosity to find out so much more about them. Maybe there would never be.
If Abby had lived, he liked to think that their marriage would have endured and they would have grown old together. It wasn’t that he didn’t think future love wasn’t a possibility; it was just that no one he’d met seemed to fill that space.
‘I’ll leave you to get on with things,’ he said briskly to Clara as he strode out of the room. He had intended to take her with him on this introductory ward round. But he needed to get away. She had enough to be getting on with, and so did he.
* * *
Clara stared at the broad back striding away from her, and wondered what on earth had just happened. When she’d spun around and seen her new boss she’d tried her best not to let her chin bounce off the floor.
Typical—Mr Grumpy. He didn’t like her at home, and it was clear he didn’t like her at work. Clara had always shot straight from the hip. She’d hoped London would be a fresh start. But already things were rapidly going downhill. It didn’t help that she’d hardly got a wink of sleep last night. Maybe it was being in a new bed, or maybe it was the unfamiliar creaking. What certainly hadn’t helped was the low background noise from outside. The restaurants and bars had seemed far away when she’d been on the balcony, but in the middle of the night the raucous laughter and shouts had drifted all the way up to her room. That would teach her to leave the balcony door ajar.
A guy behind the desk gave her a wave. ‘Clara?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Come over here,’ he said, ‘and bring your file. I’m Ron.’ He pointed to his badge. ‘Some people call me a ward clerk—’ he lowered his voice ‘—but other people call me a magician.’ He pointed to the seat next to him. ‘I have coffee and doughnuts and I can help you with your paperwork and your online learning.’
A friendly face. Thank goodness. She smiled and walked over. ‘Coffee would be great, thanks.’
She sat down next to him, spending the next hour completing the necessary paperwork and flying through the online learning packages. Ron printed her a pocket-sized list of hospital extensions she’d need, along with a reminder of people’s names. He also seemed to know everyone’s schedules and could tell her where to find the people she wanted to introduce herself to.
He ran down the list as only someone who’d worked in a place for years could. ‘Hans Greiger. Fantastic. Has encyclopaedic knowledge of superheroes and always speaks to kids about their favourite hero as he’s sending them off to sleep. In ICU he’s so up-to-date with his research. The unit here has trialled lots of new life-saving interventions. Dr Morran, the oncologist, is similar. Research is a big thing here. Dr Morran has two teenage kids of her own and coaches rugby.’ His eyes sparkled and he held a finger up. ‘She’s the tiniest woman you’ll ever meet, but she could take someone down twice her size. Now...’ he pulled over another list, running his finger down it and pointing at various names ‘...he gets cranky if he hasn’t eaten. She always has a book in her coat pocket. Marlon can make balloon animals for kids—always handy to know. Fi—she can find food anywhere. If you’re hungry, ask Fi. The cupboards might look bare, but she’ll spirit some food from somewhere. And if you’re phoning for a scan try and get Ruby. She’s the most obliging.’
Clara nodded as she listened, writing the occasional note. Ron was clearly a mine of information. She bit her lip and hesitated for a second ‘Er...what about Joshua? You didn’t mention him.’
Ron gave her a surprised look. ‘Best guy on the planet. Without a shadow of a doubt. Shame he’s never met someone. He deserves to.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ron frowned. ‘Georgie didn’t tell you? I thought you two had been in touch and swapped houses and things.’
‘We have. I mean, we did. But she didn’t mention her brother at all. I didn’t even know he lived in the same apartment block...’ she lowered her voice ‘...and that turned out well.’ Ron raised his eyebrows and she shook her head and gave a smile. ‘Forget it. And the apartment—it’s some place. Absolutely gorgeous.’
Ron nodded. ‘Yeah, when Georgie first moved in, she couldn’t stop showing us all pictures of the place. She felt so lucky. She and Joshua both inherited money from an elderly aunt. Turns out she’d a huge nest egg from something her late husband had invented that no one had known about. Georgie and Joshua were stunned. But it all worked out in the end. At least Josh doesn’t have to worry about a mortgage alongside everything else.’
Another curious comment. She tilted her head slightly. ‘What do you mean?’
Ron gave the smallest shake of his head. ‘I just assumed Georgie would have mentioned it. Josh is a widower. His wife died a few weeks after Hannah was born; he’s brought her up on his own.’
Her skin turned cold and she groaned and thudded her head down on the desk, putting her hands over it. ‘Oh, no.’
‘What?’ asked Ron.
But Clara hadn’t quite finished thumping her head on the desk as her stomach gave a whole array of uncomfortable twists. That explained the look on his face. She had almost seen the shutters banging closed across his eyes and hadn’t for the life of her understood why. Darn it. Georgie might have mentioned it.
/> Ron nudged her. ‘Okay, new girl, spill. What have you done?’
Clara pulled her head up, well aware that her hair was now all mussed around her head. ‘When I got into the flat last night it was a series of disasters. I ended up in the pitch-black car park, parked in Joshua’s space, spilling my clothing everywhere and then setting off a car alarm as he was carrying his sleeping daughter to the lift.’
Ron cringed but shook his head. ‘Okay, poor start agreed, but what’s that got to do with Josh being a widower?’
She closed her eyes tightly and silently pointed to the office at the side. ‘When we were in there, I mentioned the bad start between us last night. I might have said...’ and she paused, dying a little inside ‘... I might have said that I hoped it didn’t take long for him and his wife to settle Hannah back down.’
Ron sat back, hands outstretched on the desk in front of him. ‘Oh,’ he said slowly, pulling a face. He paused for a few seconds, then gave a tentative reply. ‘Well, you weren’t to know.’ He turned to face her. ‘But Josh never said anything?’
She shook her head and put her hands back over her face. ‘He just kind of shut down. Told me to get on with things.’
She pulled her hands back and stared down the ward. He was nowhere in sight. ‘I should apologise,’ she said, pushing herself up. But Ron was much quicker.
‘Oh, no,’ he said, shaking his head and putting one hand over hers. ‘You shouldn’t mention it. I know him. I know what he’s like. Take a breath. File the information. And, please, don’t do it again.’ She met Ron’s gaze and could see a whole host of emotions written all over his face. Pity, wariness but, above all, sincerity.
‘Really?’ She felt uncomfortable. Her first reaction—the one she usually acted upon—was to apologise. ‘I don’t want to get off to a worse start than I already have.’