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

hurried up the wide stone steps.

A well-dressed woman with a shiny tight blonde chignon showed us to a table. We took our seats and she disappeared, leaving us a menu with no prices. I wasn’t a big drinker, but when a waiter came over and placed two gin cocktails on the table, I was glad to glug down what tasted like pure alcohol. I thought of grisly ends again, rape and torture, and decided that from then on I’d watch how much I drank.

‘Rose, please relax.’

I sank into the upholstered chair. ‘Okay. I will.’

‘What do you fancy to eat?’

‘I eat anything.’

‘That’s good.’

Despite having sworn to drink no more, I was helping him with a bottle of very good red that tasted like gooseberries and vanilla.

He sat back in his chair, studied me. ‘Variety is the condiment of life. Maybe try something different to what you’d order usually.’

‘I think I will.’ I was already doing something different just being here. I hadn’t been out for months.

Once we’d ordered, we chatted easily. I felt comfortable with him and tried to analyse why. I think it was because he appeared so open, so at ease, and I liked that, because often I was not at ease with myself.

I discovered he was half Moroccan. His father was a doctor, now retired, who had married an Englishwoman. They’d had two children – Daniel and his sister.

‘Do your parents live locally?’

‘They moved back to Morocco.’ He looked at me, and I mean really looked. ‘He said he was fed up of waiting for grandchildren. Family is important to him.’

‘And your mother’s waiting too?’

‘My mother died.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Long time ago now.’

‘You have a very English name,’ I said, diverting the conversation away from what was obviously a painful memory.

‘I took my mother’s surname, and my parents gave my sister and me English first names.’

‘Has your sister given your dad grandchildren yet?’

‘Nope.’ Suddenly he sounded sad.

‘You’ll be telling me next that he expects you to have a son to carry on the family name.’ I didn’t wait for his reaction and tried a smile. ‘Although it wouldn’t be his family name… Complicated.’

He didn’t respond.

‘I’m only kidding.’

His face cracked into an unadulterated grin. ‘I know. People have such a stereotypical idea of other cultures.’

‘Erm, you’re second generation and as English as they come.’

He nodded. ‘But, you know… it would be nice to have kids.’

I took another sip of wine and hoped I hadn’t smudged my lipstick too badly. ‘Anyway, back to parents. They can be funny, and I don’t mean in the ha-ha way.’

He picked up an olive, swallowed it whole. ‘They certainly can. Tell me about yours.’

‘My dad left after my brother was born. My mum brought us up alone.’

‘Must have been tough.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’

‘But you’ve done well?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Are you close to your mum?’

‘Not really,’ I replied quietly. Mum was hard work, and if the truth were known, sometimes I didn’t like her, even though, of course, I loved her.

He didn’t answer, but a tender expression had settled on his features. He was so attractive when he smiled. So attractive when he didn’t. My body was weight-free and in a state of anticipation just looking at him. His shoulders were broad, his neck long. He was sitting sideways in the chair, one firm leg crossed over the other, the outline of his thighs covered in dark brown linen. My eyes travelled upward towards his waist, and then quickly settled on the empty glass in front of me. He picked up his own and tipped it back, moving both legs safely underneath the table, not taking his gaze away from me.

‘So why didn’t you pursue an active career in medicine?’ I said, breaking the pleasant silence.

‘Not for me.’

‘Fair enough. It’s a vocation.’

‘Your vocation?’ he asked.

‘My only vocation.’

‘But room for other things?’

‘Yes, eventually.’ I lifted my glass and touched his.

It was nearly midnight when we rose to leave, and knowing how much wine had been consumed, my thoughts turned not to torture and rape but a drunken collision. The blonde maître d’ went to get our coats. Being a waitress myself, I understood her attentiveness. The service charge was probably huge in a place like this.

Daniel turned to me. ‘I’m going to get her to order a taxi. I’ve drunk far too much.’

‘Good idea. I need the ladies’, though. Be five minutes.’

I made my way to the door signed Powder Room. The restaurant was insanely old-fashioned. An enormous mirror took up the whole back wall. I considered my reflection; I was radiating happiness. I didn’t think I’d ever felt like that before.

On leaving the comfort of the plush loos, I saw Daniel gesticulating to me. ‘Taxi’s arrived.’

‘Thanks for bringing me here,’ I said to him. ‘It’s so liberating to get away from my books, and Mussels.’

‘Thank you for coming. I’ll get the taxi to drop you home first.’

Inside the taxi, I shivered, and Daniel placed his jacket around my shoulders.

‘Thanks, it’s freezing tonight.’

‘Yes, it’s going to be a cold Easter weekend. Due to warm up next week, apparently.’

‘That’s good,’ I replied, turning to look at him. After the copious amounts of wine and spirits we’d got through, he looked more his age. He was too old for me, and the minimal psychology I’d studied as part of my medical training filtered through my mind. My dad had left when I was seven – my brother had only been a year old. If I were looking for a father figure, Daniel wasn’t a bad choice. I liked the way he was so in control. It meant I didn’t have to be, and I was enjoying the feeling of not having to be sensible. I felt the corners of my lips lifting into a smile.

‘What’s caught your imagination?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’ That wasn’t true, though, because it was Daniel who’d caught my imagination. A deep intuition was telling me that there was something Daniel needed rather than wanted. The veneer of him was gossamer, like a running stream – although I