Her thoughts inevitably led to her and Andy. Though things were better between them, they were still living apart. Perhaps she and Andy should formalise their separation—people could be separated and continue living in the same house.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be with anyone else, but Andy might... Despite the kiss, he’d made no further moves, so maybe he didn’t want to be with her.
But that thought, and the one that followed it—separation usually led to divorce—made her feel cold all over.
Could she live without Andy?
It was impossible even to envisage such a thing. Just imagining it filled her with a deep, primeval pain. Losing Andy would be like losing part of herself...
But if he wanted his freedom, surely she should—
No!
A future without Andy was like looking into a bottomless pit or a black hole. It was emptiness, nothingness, a space she didn’t want to inhabit...
It was better to think about other things, like the Men’s Shed. They’d need a shed, of course, but from what she’d seen, sheds were common in this country town, and there was an old School of Arts building—very dilapidated, but perhaps their first project could be renovating it.
For which they’d need money.
Maybe they could ask one of the service clubs in town to help them raise funds. Ellie had already volunteered to bake cupcakes on the last Friday of each month for a stall raising money for soccer uniforms.
But the Men’s Shed would need more money than a monthly cake stall could provide.
Who among her patients might belong to a service club?
Madeleine’s arrival in the kitchen stopped further thought.
‘I didn’t think I hurt anything in the accident,’ she said, with no hint of apology for disturbing Ellie at the weekend. ‘But it’s my knee. It was fine yesterday but this morning, after I left the hospital it felt a bit swollen and sore, and now it’s getting worse, and I feel really unwell.’
She did look ill, so Ellie led her into one of the spare bedrooms and asked her to lie down.
The knee was red and inflamed but there was no hint of a scratch or graze that could have led to infection.
Was it because none of the other areas of pain Madeleine had complained of—the neck and shoulders—had been likely to swell, that Ellie had leaned more towards fibromyalgia than lupus? Joint pain and swelling definitely pointed to lupus.
‘I know it’s painful, but it might mean that we can pin down what’s wrong with you and give you a proper diagnosis that fits all your symptoms,’ Ellie told her. ‘There’s a strong possibility that it could be lupus.’
‘Is it curable?’ Madeleine asked.
‘Unfortunately not,’ Ellie told her. ‘But a short course of corticosteroids will ease the pain and the inflammation in your knee. If it is lupus, your immune system is attacking you. All your joints have small fluid sacs, bursae, in them to protect the bones and their attached muscles and tendons as you move. Your immune system is attacking that fluid in your knee. The tablets will help you now, but we’ll have to look at a longer-term solution to keep you as symptom free as possible.’
Madeleine frowned at her.
‘So it’s not going to go away like measles or something else contagious?’
Ellie shook her head.
‘Are you going back to the city for the Christmas holidays?’ she asked Madeleine.
‘Yes, I’m going down to stay with my parents in Sydney.’
‘Then I’d like you to see a specialist in clinical immunology while you’re down there. I can make the appointment for you, because you’re more likely to get in to see someone at short notice if a doctor asks. I can do most of the tests so he or she will have all the results before your visit.’
‘But if you do the tests and have the results, why can’t you treat me?’
Ellie sighed.
‘I could, but a specialist will be able to do more for you, and make more appropriate suggestions about your treatment long term. Then I can follow up on it. There are drugs that can help when you have a flare-up like your knee, some drugs that can suppress your immune system, which might provide a little protection, and drugs like anti-malaria drugs that affect the immune system, but all these drugs have side-effects. If we have a specialist giving an overview of your treatment, we’ll be getting advice about new treatments and suggestions when things don’t seem to be working.’
‘Will it kill me?’
Ellie shook her head.
‘It shouldn’t, but it can affect your kidneys and your liver, neither of which you want to damage. A specialist will advise on the best way to protect and watch over them.’
She was silent for a moment, dredging up all she knew about the disease.
‘A lot of people go for long periods with no problems, beyond an occasional flare-up like your knee. They take non-steroidal anti-inflammatories when they have aches and pains, and cortisone when there’s a painful attack like you’re having now. I’ve some tablets in the surgery I’ll give you to take now as any steroids are best taken in the morning—’
‘So I’m not totally hyper at bedtime,’ Madeleine said, and Ellie smiled.
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you a script for more, but they are things you can’t stay on long term because of side effects, but you also can’t come off them suddenly. You should take one full tablet for four days, then a half for four days, then, believe it or not, a quarter for four days, then stop until you get another bad attack. You rest here while I slip down to the surgery.’
And to her surprise, Madeleine reached out and touched her on the arm.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been a nuisance, but I’ve always been so healthy and all the aches and pains took me unawares.’
Ellie grinned at her.
‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry we didn’t get it worked out sooner, but I think we’re onto it now.’
She hurried down the stairs, mentally listing all the tests she’d want to repeat and the new ones she’d have to order before Madeleine saw the specialist.
* * *
Andy had noticed Madeleine limp away from the group on the veranda, but he was far too busy trying to get his squad in order for some warm-up drills to wonder what was wrong with her now.
It didn’t seem to matter how far and how fast modern medicine progressed, something new was always appearing, although the more he’d thought about Madeleine’s file, the more he’d wondered about lupus.
Ellie had written ‘query lupus’ early in her contact with Madeleine, but the normal tests like a full blood count, erythrocyte sedimentation rate, and urinalysis hadn’t shown anything abnormal. There were more tests, but all testing was expensive, so both hospital doctors and GPs tried to keep to the budgetary restraints imposed on them.
Practice over—the old tennis court had proved its worth—he set the older boys to tend the barbecue and left Chelsea to organise slicing onions and buttering bread. Sausage and onions in a slice of bread was standard fare for lunch before a game, while the icebox contained various kinds of water—plain and lightly fruit flavoured, carbonated and still.
‘This is a far better idea than a barbecue in the park,’ Madeleine said, joining them on the veranda, her right knee bandaged. ‘You can keep them all in one place, not drifting anywhere they fancy. Do we walk down to the field?’
Andy grinned at her.
‘When we’ve got the school bus to take us? No, we’ll conserve all our energy for the game. Woonunga has two teams but as it’s just a trial before the start of the season in the New Year, we’ll just play one game, swapping the players at half-time. We haven’t got two full teams so some kids will have to play a bit longer but we’ll sort it out.’
* * *
Chelsea appeared at Ellie’s side as she sat at the kit
chen table, writing lists of people she wanted to contact about the Men’s Shed, either for advice, donations, or help.
‘It’s their first real game against opposition, and Andy’s got the school bus to take us down.’
Ellie looked at her young boarder, in shorts, a loose shirt and, incongruously, football boots.
‘Someone had a spare pair. And I won’t join the game because Andy checked and I can’t play after the first trimester. I just wanted to feel I was part of it,’ Chelsea explained. Then she looked up at Ellie.
‘Do come,’ she said, and Ellie knew she couldn’t resist.
She started on the sideline, standing next to Andy, feeling the tension in his body as his team took to the field for their first game against an opposition.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers.
‘They’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘And when all’s said and done, it’s just a game.’
He gave her a horrified look,
‘Just a game?’ he echoed, then grinned and returned the pressure of her fingers.
But as soon as the game began, he was racing up and down the sideline, yelling orders. Other people joined her, people she knew as patients, or had met around the village.
‘It’s a damn good thing for the kids that Andy’s started this,’ the butcher told her, and the warmth of pride spread through her body.
To Ellie’s surprise, the Maytown team seemed to be doing well. The young person in charge of the score was a bit erratic, but Ellie knew they’d definitely scored two goals to Woonunga’s one.
But what really surprised her was the support—not only from the parents of participants yelling encouragement from the sidelines but half the town seemed to be there.
‘If we go over there to play them when the season begins in earnest in the New Year, I reckon I can get a busload of supporters,’ the butcher said.
The game finally finished, a three-all draw, and one of the local service clubs put on a barbecue for the players and supporters.
It was an opportunity for Ellie to mention the Men’s Shed idea to one of the women there.
‘Oh, bless you for the wheelchair idea,’ the woman said. ‘A group of us have been discussing getting something started but they need a goal, something to focus on. They don’t want to be learning wood-turning or polishing stones—they need a project they’ll really believe in. You leave it with me now, I’ll get my husband onto it.’
Ellie felt an arm slide around her waist, and Andy was there.
‘Are you lobbying these people for support for your Men’s Shed?’ he asked, smiling at the group who’d now gathered around Ellie.
‘Just talking,’ Ellie replied, through lips that were suddenly dry, while her knees were definitely wobbly.
But the women were all talking to Andy now, congratulating him on setting up the soccer team, explaining how so many of the kids had too much time on their hands in summer when their normal Rugby League football season was over.
There were offers of help with fundraising for uniforms and maybe setting up a regular canteen at matches.
‘With coffee,’ another woman said. ‘I could have murdered a cup of coffee at half-time.’
Realising this was Andy’s show, Ellie was about to step away, but Andy’s hand in the small of her back stopped her moving.
Stay, that touch seemed to say. Stay and share the talk with me.
Excitement built within her. They’d been studying together when their first romance had begun, and now they were kind of working together, occasionally at the hospital and on projects like the soccer teams and Men’s Shed. Andy might like to get involved with that, too, while she could do more to help with the soccer team.
They walked home, just the two of them, Chelsea having gone to look at old bicycles one member of the soccer team knew of, and Madeleine having left early to go home and rest her knee.
Ellie could feel Andy’s closeness through every nerve ending in her skin, could feel the warmth of his body next to hers.
Should she take his hand?
‘If I change Joe—he’s the rather overweight boy with ginger hair,’ Andy announced, shocking Ellie from her wayward thoughts, ‘from that back position to the forwards, then—’
No, she wouldn’t take his hand.
She’d tune back into Andy’s conversation instead, show an interest.
But their shoulders were touching, and his hand was right there, by hers.
‘Then Rangi can go—’
Ellie gave up. There’d be other times they could hold hands and, really, wasn’t being interested in what he was doing more important?
But did she have to be interested in the technical stuff? Wasn’t organising cake stalls and raising money for uniforms just as important?
‘Then Chelsea can give them some goal practice—’
‘Only practice,’ she reminded him as they turned in at their front gate. ‘You’ll work it out.’
Maybe they could sit down and have a drink together.
‘Not if I don’t write it all down. I can already see how it would make a difference.’
Frustrated that her imaginary scenario wasn’t going to play out—at least not tonight—Ellie was about to say, It’s not the World Cup, but she caught herself just in time.
That was the kind of sniping thing they’d said to each other too often in the past months. If she wanted to fix things—and she knew that she did—all that had to stop.
She must have sighed as she climbed the steps, for Andy turned to her, concern on his face.
‘Are you okay? You probably shouldn’t have stayed for the whole game—it was hot out there in the sun. Come inside and I’ll get you a cold drink.’
And he put his arm around her shoulders just as he would have in the old days, and led her into the kitchen, pulling out a chair for her then finding an open bottle of white wine and pouring her a glass.
‘There,’ he said. ‘And let’s not bother with dinner. I’ll run up the road later and get a takeaway.’
After which he went to the far end of the long table where all his soccer papers were and began writing furiously, crossing out and shifting names as if his life depended on it.
* * *
How long since he’d touched Ellie—even for something as simple as an arm around her shoulders?
Yet that touch had stirred so much back to life, Andy knew they had to try again—to give it one last go to find a way back to each other, to the love they’d shared.
For a moment the flood of memories blanked everything from his mind. The pair of them as students, and the overwhelming joy of first love. Africa, where passionate, sweaty sex had helped them block out the horrors they’d seen during the day; where they’d kept going because they’d had each other. More recently their joyous arrival in Maytown, where they had hoped to grow from couple to family, sharing the delight of their new home, and their joy in their new baby.
There was far too much to throw away...
And if they did sort it out?
What next?
Was he willing to concede to one last attempt at IVF?
A huge black cloud immediately descended over his brain and pain tightened his chest.
How could he not have known how much losing a child—even an unborn one—would hurt? Yes, he’d been upset when the IVF attempts had failed, but more for Ellie’s sake as he knew she’d somehow felt responsible.
But then it had worked, and he’d been talking to the bump in her stomach every day, often sharing silly things that had happened at work, sometimes just talking about the weather, the shining sun or sparkling stars.
They’d opted not to know the sex of their child, and somehow, when they’d lost it, finding out that it had been a boy had worsened his pain...
He forced himself to focus on the names
on the paper in front of him, trying to remember all the changes he’d thought of for the soccer team as they had walked home.
Walking home with Ellie had felt so normal—so right—that he’d tried to keep his mind on soccer to stop himself from taking her hand.
If only he could get over the loss of the baby they had finally conceived.
Surely the pain should have grown less by now? Perhaps he should see a psychologist—take some time off and go down to the city. Better yet, find one on-line, someone he could talk to on a regular basis without it affecting his work...
Should they both have done that after the loss?
He tried to concentrate on soccer again.
If he shifted Joe—
But his mind had moved beyond football.
‘I’ll get the takeaway,’ he said, standing up and closing his folder of soccer papers. ‘Thai or Chinese?’
‘Thai,’ Ellie said, setting down her half-empty glass and standing up as well. ‘I’ll pop this in the fridge and come with you.’
He watched her walk to the fridge. Gold-blonde hair tangled by the breeze, slim waist and rounded hips as she bent to settle the wine. Then as she straightened and turned his heart leapt at the sight of his Ellie—her nose and cheeks pink from the sun, her grey-blue eyes smiling at him, her beautifully shaped lips echoing the smile...
His heart began behaving badly in his chest.
Could it be possible that she felt the same way—that she felt an easing of the tension between them?
‘Well, are we going?’ she said, and Andy realised he was standing by his chair, immobilised by the thoughts skittering around in his head, and the emotions churning in his body.
Hope—that was the main one. After all those weeks and weeks of nothingness, he’d felt the tug of a slender thread of hope...
* * *
Chelsea came home with news of bicycles, and talk about the Men’s Shed dominated their meal.
‘I’ll leave you two to clean up,’ Ellie said, when they’d finished. ‘I need to do some research.’
The Doctors' Christmas Reunion Page 7
