The Scandalous Kolovskys: Knight on the Children's Ward. Carol Marinelli

Annika.’

      ‘I mean it, Ross.’

      ‘Of course,’ he said patiently. ‘Annika, do you know where the ten gauge needles are kept? They’ve run out on the IV trolley …’

      And he was so matter-of-fact, so absolutely normal in his behaviour towards her, that Annika wondered if she actually had asked him out at all. At six a.m. on a Saturday, when he hadn’t asked for a time, or even an address, she wasn’t sure that she had.

      CHAPTER SIX

      ‘HOW’S the children’s ward?’ Elsie was wide awake before Annika had even flicked the lights on.

      ‘It’s okay,’ Annika said, and then she admitted the truth. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s over.’

      ‘What have you got next?’

      ‘Maternity,’ Annika said, as Elsie slurped her tea.

      She seemed to have caught her second wind these past few days: more and more she was lucid, and the lucid times were lasting longer too. She was getting over that nasty UTI, Dianne, the Div 1 nurse had explained. They often caused confusion in the elderly, or, as in Elsie’s case, exacerbated dementia. It was good to have her back.

      ‘I’m not looking forward to it.’

      ‘What are you looking forward to?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Annika admitted.

      ‘How’s your boyfriend?’ Elsie asked when they were in the shower, Annika in her gumboots, Elsie in her little shower chair. ‘How’s Ross?’

      ‘I don’t know that either,’ Annika said, cringing a little when Elsie said his name. ‘It’s complicated.’

      ‘Love isn’t complicated,’ Elsie said. ‘You are.’

      And they had a laugh, a real laugh, as she dried and dressed Elsie and put her in her chair. Then Annika did something she had never done before.

      ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Nervous, she went to the fridge and brought out her creation.

      It was a white chocolate box, filled with chocolate mousse and stuffed with raspberries.

      ‘Where’s my toast?’ Elsie asked, and that made Annika laugh. Then the old lady peered at the creation and dipped her bony finger into the mousse, licked it, and had a raspberry. ‘You bought this for me?’

      ‘I made it,’ Annika said. ‘This was my practice one …’ She immediately apologised. ‘Sorry, that sounds rude …’

      ‘It doesn’t sound rude at all.’

      ‘You have to spread the white chocolate on parchment paper and then slice it; you only fill the boxes at the end. I did a course a few years ago,’ Annika admitted. ‘Well, I didn’t finish it …’

      ‘You didn’t need to,’ Elsie said. ‘You could serve this up every night and he’d be happy. This is all you need … it’s delicious …’ Elsie was cramming raspberries in her mouth. ‘This is for your man?’

      ‘I’m worried he’ll think I’ve gone to too much effort.’

      ‘Is he worth the effort?’ Elsie asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then don’t worry.’

      ‘I think I’ve asked him to dinner tonight.’

      ‘You think?’ Elsie frowned. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘That it sounded very nice.’ Annika gulped. ‘Only we haven’t confirmed times. I’m not even sure he knows where I live …’

      ‘He can find out,’ Elsie said.

      ‘How?’

      ‘If he wants to, he will.’

      ‘So I shouldn’t ring him and check …?’

      ‘Oh, no!’ Elsie said. ‘Absolutely not.’

      ‘What if he doesn’t come?’

      ‘You have to trust that he will.’

      ‘But what if he doesn’t?’

      ‘Then you bring in the food for us lot tomorrow,’ Elsie said. ‘Of course he’s coming.’ She put her hands on Annika’s cheeks. ‘Of course he’ll come.’

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      IT KILLED her not to ring or page him, but Elsie had been adamant.

      She had to trust that he would come, and if he didn’t … Well, he had never been going to.

      So, when she finished at the nursing home at nine a.m., she went home and had a little sleep, and then went to the Victoria Market. She bought some veal, some cream, the most gorgeous mushrooms, some fresh fettuccini and, of course, some more raspberries.

      It was nice to be in the kitchen and stretching herself again.

      Melting chocolate, whisking in eggs—she really had loved cooking and learning, but cooking at a high level had to be a passion. It was an absolute passion that Annika had realised she didn’t have.

      But still, she could love it.

      She didn’t know what to wear. She’d gone to so much trouble with the dessert that she didn’t want to make too massive an effort with her clothes, in case she terrified him.

      She opened her wardrobe and stared at a couple of Kolovsky creations. She had a little giggle to herself, wondering about his reaction if she opened the door to him in red velvet, but settled for a white skirt and a lilac top. She put on some lilac sandals, but she never wore shoes at home—well, not at this home—and ten minutes in she had kicked them off. She was dusting the chocolate boxes and trying not to care that it was ten past eight. She checked her hair, which was for once out of its ponytail, and put on some lip-gloss. Then she went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. The chocolate boxes hadn’t collapsed, and the veal was all sliced and floured and waiting—and then she heard the knock at her door.

      ‘Hi.’ His voice made her stomach shrink.

      ‘Hi.’

      He was holding flowers, and she was so glad that she had taken Elsie’s advice and not rung.

      He kissed her on the cheek and handed her the flowers—glorious flowers, all different, wild and fragrant, and tied together with a bow. ‘Hand-picked,’ he said, ‘which is why I’m so late.’

      And she smiled, because of course they weren’t. He’d been to some trendy place, no doubt, but she was grateful for them, because they got her through those first awkward moments as he followed her into the kitchen and she located a vase and filled it with water.

      Ross was more than a little perplexed.

      He hadn’t known quite what to expect from tonight, but he hadn’t expected this.

      Okay, he’d known from her address that she wasn’t in the smartest suburb. He hadn’t given it that much thought till he’d entered her street. A trendy converted townhouse, perhaps, he’d thought as he’d pulled up—a Kolovsky attempt at pretending to be poor.

      Except her car stuck out like a sore thumb in the street, and as he climbed the steps he saw there was nothing trendy or converted about her flat.

      There was an ugly floral carpet, cheap blinds dressed the windows, and not a single thing matched.

      The kitchen was a mixture of beige and brown and a little bit of taupe too!

      There was a party going on upstairs, and an argument to the left and right. Here in the centre was Annika.

      She didn’t belong—so much so he wanted to grab her by the hand and take her back to the farm right now, right