An American Doctor in Ireland
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Karin Baine
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9
CHAPTER ONE
A SEA OF green spread out before Mae Watters. Well, it was a crowd of people dressed for St Patrick’s Day. They didn’t dye the River Liffey in Dublin green especially for the occasion, the way they did back home in Boston, but it still reminded her of every seventeenth of March she’d spent with her mother at the parade there. And, when she was old enough, they’d graduated to the Irish-themed pubs to celebrate the day.
A year without her had been difficult. Not least because Mae had had no one to turn to when, humiliatingly, her relationship had come to an end. Being jilted at the altar eight months ago, and being left alone in Ireland to pick up the pieces left of her heart, had left her feeling more alone than ever.
It wasn’t as though she had any family left in America to go back to—at least, none who wanted to know her. The father who’d left her when she was little could have started a new family and given her half-brothers and sisters, but she’d never know, as he’d disappeared completely out of her life.
‘Excuse us.’ A family dressed as leprechauns squeezed past her on the footpath, keen to get to the best vantage point for the parade. She envied the young couple pushing the double stroller transporting a baby and toddler, giddy with excitement. Not because she wanted children, or even a husband now, but because of the family unit it represented—something she’d never have. She’d lost too much, too many loved ones, ever to open herself up to anyone again and to have a chance of starting a family of her own.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here today, when her spirits weren’t as high as everyone else’s. Music was blasting all along the street and people were singing, clapping and waving Irish flags as the floats came past to celebrate the patron saint of Ireland. All she wanted to do was cry. But it was a rare day off before she started her new job, it was her Mum’s home city and she’d thought she’d feel closer to her here. The problem was, she had, until she remembered that the cruelty of illness had separated them for ever. It was a cruel irony to specialise in medicine when you couldn’t save your own mother.
‘Ye—oh!’
She was jostled off-balance by a man carrying a little girl high on his shoulders as they pushed in beside her, dancing to the music. Usually, common sense would have prevented her from confronting a tattooed male with bright-green hair, but today her emotions were all over the place.
‘Do you mind?’ She bristled, rubbing her elbow, which had been banged in the melee.
‘Not at all, love!’ He grinned, the twinkling blue eyes and bright-white smile not intimidating in the slightest.
Perhaps that was why she wouldn’t drop the issue.
‘Well, I do mind. I was standing minding my own business until you rudely pushed past me.’
‘Sorry, missus. The wee one wanted to see,’ he said without a hint of genuine remorse.
‘You should pinch her, Dad.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a tradition. You’re supposed to wear green today to remain invisible to the leprechauns, otherwise you get pinched.’
Despite the man’s explanation of why his daughter was so keen for him to assault her, Mae wasn’t impressed by his behaviour.
‘Perhaps you’d be better teaching her something about manners... And it’s Ms, actually.’ She didn’t need the reminder that she hadn’t actually got to the part where she’d changed her name, or even got a husband.
‘Says it all,’ he muttered.
Mae could feel her blood starting to boil at the utter gall of the man insulting her when he was the one in the wrong. If not for the presence of the child, she would’ve had a few choice words to say to him.
‘What does?’
‘Well, it’s that time of the year, isn’t it? When all you Yanks come over thinking you’ll bag an Irish husband.’
‘How dare you?’ she blustered. ‘I live here.’
His rude comments made her bypass her usual polite manner when dealing with irascible men, common in her line of work, in which she’d learned to smile and plough on rather than react.
But today she rose to the bait. Probably because she’d finally reached her limit of things she could stand in this wet, miserable country. She had followed her heart here, hoping for the romantic fantasy of living happily ever after with her charming Irish fiancé in the seaside town of Bray, but she’d earned her place with every tear she’d shed since.
Especially when she’d been working to help the inhabitants of this country every day, despite her heartbreak. She’d moved out of the house she’d shared with Diarmuid, of course, but seeing him around the hospital had been too painful a reminder of what he’d done to her. Hopefully her move to the city would help her get over it.
The man took his eyes off the spectacle out on the street to study her. ‘Hmm. Then I’d wager you came back to find your Irish roots.’
Mae could feel the heat rising in her body, surely manifesting itself in those tell-tale red splotches that oft appeared on her neck when she was riled, as though the effort of trying to hold her temper threatened to burst right through her skin.
‘My mother came from Dublin.’ She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice as she attempted to justify her residence in the city.
‘Of course she did.’
Mae was getting used to the dry Irish sense of humour, the gentle teasing that came with a nudge in the ribs and a twinkle in the eye. However, there was something about this know-it-all stranger that was really pushing her buttons today and making her want to scream.
She hated the fact that her life had boiled down to that of stereotypical American in Ireland. It said nothing of the heartache and loss she’d gone through to get here. If she was this touchy over a few teasing comments now, it was probably for the best that she went home, before the crowd really started celebrating the day, leaving her even more of an outsider.
It occurred to her that she wasn’t beholden to be polite to this man or stand anywhere near him. Arguing back wasn’t going to achieve anything other than upsetting her, when she was thinking about her mum. And, if that smile on his face grew any wider, she’d be tempted to smack it off.
In an attempt to avoid a possible assault charge, or an emotional breakdown in front of the most annoying man on earth, she simply turned and walked away.
‘Wait. I’m sorry.’ Liam had seen the flash of pain in the redhead’s jade-green eyes before she turned away.
He hadn’t meant to upset her. His big mouth was always getting him into trouble. Today was supposed to be fun for everyone involved and he didn’t want to be responsible for spoiling anyone’s day. Sometimes his brand of humour didn’t translate well with American visitors, earning him a clip around the ear from his mother even at the age of thirty-two, lest he offended any of her customers at the family pub. Which, today, should be welcoming as many tourists as possible.
Although he was first and foremost an A&E doctor in Dublin City Hospital, he was often roped in to collect empty glasses during busy periods in the pub. He and Shannon, his daughter, spent a lot of time there. Not because he was a drinker, but because his parents lived in the flat above the premises, and babysat when he was at work.
Since his partner of nine years, Clodagh, had left him—for his best friend, no less—he’d had to rely on help with the school run and occasionally in the evenings when he was working. Shifts in A&E weren’t compatible with the life of a single dad. It wasn’t the happy family life he’d planned, or the life he now wanted, and he was burdened with the guilt he’d let down his daughter, as well as asking too much of his parents for the best part of a year. The last thing he needed on his conscience was knowing he’d caused unnecessary upset to someone else.
Liam watched the blaze of red hair bobbing through the crowd, a beacon in the green tide that made her easily identifiable.
‘Da-ad! I can’t see the parade,’ Shannon complained as he followed the American away from the prime view he’d gone to so much trouble to secure.
‘I know, sweetheart. I just need to speak to the lady again.’
‘The pretty lady with the red hair?’ Shannon kicked her heels into his chest to indicate she wanted to dismount his shoulders. Liam bent down as far as he could, reached up and lifted her down on to the ground. She took off before he could even ask what she was up to.
‘Shannon! Don’t run away!’ he shouted, to no avail, and was forced to chase after the green tutu disappearing into the crowd. In pursuit of his daughter, he dodged mums with prams and men with cans in their hands, his heart pounding with the fear of losing her in the crowd. Although she knew the city well, she was only seven years old. She was his baby. She was all he had. He caught sight of her as she located the American redhead, though she remained out of his reach.
Shannon tugged on the belt of the woman’s white wool coat. ‘My dad wants to speak to you. I can’t see the parade until you talk to him.’
Unfortunately, his offspring had inherited his lack of tact, leaving him cringing as the woman watched him approach.
‘I’m so sorry. Both for my daughter accosting you, and for upsetting you earlier. I was joking about the whole “Irish roots” thing.’ He took Shannon’s hand and discreetly pulled her to his side.
The redhead arched an eyebrow at him. ‘No, you weren’t. You were enjoying belittling me. Believe it or not, a high percentage of Americans are actually of Irish origin. My mother was a Dublin girl. I moved here last year after she died. So, in future please think before you judge people.’
‘I apologise for thinking I was being funny.’
‘You’re not,’ the American and his daughter chorused.
‘Apparently...’ He tucked that little nugget away for future reference, something to add to his list of failures.
‘Do you often use your daughter to get women to talk to you?’ Red asked, clearly enjoying watching him squirm.
It was the price he’d have to pay for sticking his size tens in it in the first place.
‘Not often, no. Again, I can only apologise. If you’re ever in O’Conner’s in Westmoreland Street, I’ll even buy you a pint to say sorry.’
‘O’Conner’s?’
‘My parents own it—and you won’t pay Temple Bar prices there.’
‘I thought you were buying,’ she said, quick as a flash.
‘Only the first round. The next one’s on you.’ Were they flirting? He was so long out of the game, he couldn’t tell. Though he wasn’t interested in any Paddy’s Day shenanigans, unlike most of the Irish population, he was enjoying the back and forth between them.
‘Dad! Dad! There’s Ray!’
Before he could get a definitive answer as to whether or not he’d see his new banter partner again, Shannon was tugging on his shirt and pointing towards the parade. Ray, their next-door neighbour, was walking head and shoulders above the rest of the parade. Easily done when he was wearing stilts, dressed as St Patrick in emerald-green robes, wore a mitre on his head, and carried a staff in his hand, chasing several people dressed as snakes.
‘A friend of yours?’ the American beauty asked as they watched his antics.
‘Ray Jackson. My next-door neighbour.’ Despite everyone else’s enthusiasm, Liam couldn’t quite bring himself to join in on the cheering.
‘What’s wrong? Did he steal your outfit?’
‘No. He has an alcohol problem, and it looks very much to me as though he’s been drinking already today.’ Not a good idea to be drunk in charge of stilts, he was sure.
Right on cue, there was a collective gasp from the crowd as St Patrick began to topple, almost crushing one of the green leotard-clad snakes in the process.
‘Can you keep an eye on Shannon for me?’ He didn’t intend letting his daughter out of his sight, even if he had left her with a trustworthy-looking stranger, but being a doctor wasn’t a job that finished at five o’clock, or even stopped on a day off.
‘But I...’
With a patient and friend to attend to, he didn’t wait around to hear the excuse.
‘What are you playing at, Raymondo?’ he asked, running over to assess the damage. The music and laughter had ceased now, happy faces etched with concern, fingernails being bitten as St Patrick lay in a heap in the middle of the road.
‘I think I lost my balance. I’m getting too old for this.’ Ray groaned through gritted teeth.
‘You don’t say. I’m going to have to take these things off you so I can get a proper look at that leg.’ The right leg, which was crumpled under the middle-aged saint, looked to be at an odd angle. Liam gingerly began to undo the stilts fastened around his feet.
‘Stop! Don’t move him,’ a now familiar American twang instructed.
‘Can you stay back, please? I’ve got this. And where is my daughter?’ Now that the redhead was walking towards him minus her charge, nausea began to swell in his stomach. He should never have taken his eyes off her.
‘She’s with her grandmother. Now, please move aside so I can take a look.’ She knelt down beside him, regardless that her white coat would be covered in green glitter and paint from the road when she got up again.
At least Shannon was okay, and he was glad his mum had found time for a break after all—just in time for another spot of babysitting. He glanced over and gave her a thumbs-up when he spotted her hovering at the edge of the crowd. She gestured that she’d take Shannon back with her to the pub, leaving him to focus on the job at hand.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got this,’ he insisted. ‘I’m a doctor.’
‘So am I,’ she countered, bringing them to a stalemate.
‘Good for you.’ He was surprised that an American doctor should have chosen to move to Ireland to work. This wasn’t about egos; Raymond was hurt and currently holding up the entire St Patrick’s Day parade.
He could feel her bristle beside him. ‘You don’t look much like a doctor.’
‘What happened to not being too judgemental? The green hair was “fun dad” showing up for Shannon today. It’s my day off.’
‘And the tattoos?’
He was tempted to tell her they were the marks of a misspent youth. It wasn’t against the medical oath, or any of her business, how he’d chosen to adorn his body. However, it gave him huge satisfaction, seeing her face when he licked his thumb and smudged the Irish flag he’d drawn on his arm this morning to match the shamrocks he’d painted on Shannon’s cheeks.
‘Listen, I’m glad I have two doctors fighting over me—but no offence, Liam, I’d prefer the redhead.’
‘Not appropriate, Ray,’ Liam admonished as he rolled up the man’s trouser leg to uncover a nasty open fracture. The broken bone was sticking up through the wound, the swelling around the area already apparent. Given the fact Ray wasn’t writhing in agony, he suspected the alcohol he’d consumed had gone some way to dulling the pain—small mercies.
‘I suppose this will get done quicker if we work together. Dr Mae Watters.’ She held out her hand for him to shake, which he duly did.
‘Dr Liam O’Conner. First things first, we need to call an ambulance.’ He knew there were probably medical staff on hand to cover the parade, but Ray was going to need to be transferred to the hospital for treatment.
‘I’ve done that, and we know he’s conscious and responsive, if a tad inebriated.’
‘Hey! I—I needed some Irish courage,’ Ray hiccupped, the stench of booze and stale cigarettes making Liam and Mae recoil.
‘We’ll have to stabilise that leg.’ It was necessary to immobilise the limb to prevent further injury until he reached hospital. Without a sterile dressing to hand, Liam used the green silk stole around Ray’s neck to apply pressure to the wound without covering the bone.
‘You can use my belt to fashion something with the stilt,’ Mae suggested, whipping out the tie from the waistband of her coat.
‘Just let us know if it hurts or you start to feel nauseous, Ray. The paramedics will be able to give you something for the pain when they get here,’ Mae reassured him as Liam worked quickly to bind the leg to the makeshift splint above and below the fracture, careful not to jar the leg any more than necessary.
‘Ah, the good stuff...’ Ray trailed off and Liam wondered exactly how much he had drunk this morning. He knew he wouldn’t be honest with him about his alcohol consumption—he never was—though Liam heard the rattle of bottles going into the recycling bin every morning. It wouldn’t be a good idea to mix painkillers with a skinful of alcohol, and he’d be sure to fill the ambulance crew in on his neighbour’s history. At least, what he knew of it, from the drunken ramblings and numerous falls Ray had suffered since his partner had died a couple of years ago.
‘We’re going to be having another talk about your drinking, Ray.’
Ray batted away his concerns with a tut and an eyeroll. They’d both had their personal problems, but Ray had been a visible warning to Liam not to give into the self-pity which had descended upon him too when Clodagh left him just over a year ago. He hadn’t wanted to become another shell of a man who could barely function. Shannon needed more from him than ever. She was the reason he got up every morning, and the reason he didn’t drown his sorrows in the bottom of a glass every evening. He felt sorry for his neighbour; he saw the pity in Mae’s eyes, and he never wanted anyone to look at him the same way.
As much as he might need to blot out the memory of Clodagh cheating on him, ending their relationship and walking out on their family, it would be selfish to do so. Even more than pretending his relationship hadn’t been in trouble, because that would’ve meant admitting his failure as a partner and father. A fact which was public knowledge anyway, now that they were separated.
In hindsight, having a family had always been his idea of an idyll, not Clodagh’s. They had only been dating a few months when she’d fallen pregnant, before they’d even talked about whether or not they wanted marriage and children. It later became apparent that, unlike him, she hadn’t wanted either. Whilst he’d been over the moon at the prospect of becoming a parent, she hadn’t been as enthusiastic.
Still in her twenties, Clodagh had always given the impression she resented being tied down to the responsibility of having a child. Liam had done his best to carry most of the load, doing most of the childcare, giving her the freedom to still go out with her friends. Perhaps somewhere along the way he’d pushed her out, creating a strong bond with Shannon that mother and daughter had never quite mirrored. Liam had no doubt she loved Shannon, but even now she seemed an afterthought next to Clodagh’s work and personal life. He wished he could forget about Clodagh, and her betrayal, just as easily.
When the sirens sounded, the crowd began to part so the ambulance could get through.
‘Yeah, yeah. If you tell me you haven’t been tempted to lose yourself in a bottle since Clodagh left you, then you’re a liar,’ Ray rambled.
Though Mae didn’t comment, Liam could feel her eyes on him. He refused to look up and see that same pity in her eyes for him.
‘I’ve been tempted, Ray, yes. But it doesn’t solve anything, does it? Only makes things worse.’ Liam was relieved when the ambulance arrived so they could stop discussing his failed relationship under the watchful gaze of the entire city. There was one pair of green eyes in particular before which he didn’t want to appear weak. Not when he’d already made such a sterling impression on his new American friend... Despite her being the first woman he’d felt the urge to engage in conversation since Clodagh had left, now he’d be glad to climb into the ambulance and leave her behind.
He relayed Ray’s current condition to the medics and waited as they transferred him into the back of the ambulance.
‘Who’s coming with him?’
‘I am,’ both Liam and Mae chorused.
‘Which hospital are you taking him to?’ he enquired, hoping the geography would give Mae a reason to back off.
‘Dublin City.’
‘That’s where I work.’ He played his trump card with a flourish.
‘Me too.’ Mae killed his sense of triumph dead before he’d even had the chance to blow his horn.
Though she looked surprised by the coincidence, there was no sign of her backing down. If anything, she looked smug that she had as much right to accompany the patient as he did.
If this feisty American was going to be his new colleague, work was about to get a lot more interesting.
