Home to Turtle Bay

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I don’t have registration to work in Australia.’ Plus the idea of operating on Muriel terrified me. Doctors didn’t treat their own for a reason. Surgeons and anaesthetists needed to be dispassionate. They needed not to fold if the worst happened.

  If anything happened…

  ‘Does that mean you’re not competent?’ Jack’s harsh demand hauled me out of my funk.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘This is a remote hospital and this is an emergency.’ He’d headed into the next room and was talking through the open door as he was sorting equipment. ‘No one’s likely to throw you in jail for practising without registration, and your grandma’s hardly likely to sue. It’s you who signs the consent forms, remember, and you can hardly sue yourself. If you don’t do it, Janet will be forced to help and she’s a sight less qualified than you are. Now, are you a doctor here, Dr Kelly, or are you a relative? The sink’s here to scrub, or the waiting room’s on the right. Make your choice. Now.’

  Then he turned away. He kept right on sorting equipment. Conversation over.

  Oh, God.

  But then, this wasn’t God’s decision.

  Scrub or waiting room.

  Scrub.

  He might be a surfer, a cowman and a suntanned layabout, but Jack McLachlan’s surgical skills were truly impressive.

  Anaesthetics was hardly my strong point. I was dredging up skills I thought I’d never need to use. But the knowledge instilled in training was still there and, despite her heart condition, Muriel responded well. Once she was intubated there was enough room in my peripheral vision to take note of Jack.

  Dr McLachlan.

  It didn’t make sense.

  This man could make his fortune if he was practising surgery in New York, I thought. Operating on the narrowing arteries of an elderly woman needed the skill of an expert, yet Jack didn’t hesitate. His fingers were deft and sure, and if he was the least bit uncertain there was nothing in his demeanour to show it. He’d said he was a surgeon but it sounded like he was the only doctor for the island. In this age of specialisation, to find a family medical practitioner ready to take on this task was unheard of.

  What else could he do? So far he’d saved one turtle, done our milking, and was now attempting to save Muriel’s leg.

  A thought returned—something Jack had said this morning about Clive and his wife welcoming a new baby. If my guess was right, he’d been rescuing a turtle at midnight, delivering a baby before dawn, surfing at six, milking my cows at seven, and now he was operating on my grandmother.

  I glanced at him and something must have shown in my face, because he grinned.

  ‘The word you’re looking for is hero,’ he said.

  I stared at him, astounded, but his attention was back on the tricky piece of surgery under his hands and he didn’t meet my gaze. He still talked, though.

  ‘My great-great-granddaddy rescued thirty souls from drowning on Corvair Rock. Then he managed to get fifty cows ashore as well. Heroes run in our family, Dr Kelly, so here you are, with the culmination of all that genetic heroism at your service. You owe me, big time. When all this drama is played out I intend to call in that debt.’

  For heaven’s sakes, the man sounded smug!

  ‘Thirty souls?’

  ‘Including the captain but he was said not to have a soul.’

  Deep breath. ‘Can we … can we concentrate on Grandma for now?’

  ‘Can you doubt it?’

  No. I couldn’t doubt it. I turned my attention back to the monitors, feeling more bewildered than ever. I knew nothing about his background. All I knew was that he was a skilled surgeon, here when I needed one most.

  He also had an amazing medical team.

  Janet was assisting Jack, handing him instruments as he needed them and mostly not waiting to be asked. She anticipated his needs with skill. She could be employed anywhere.

  Deirdre was the nurse who’d been at the desk when we arrived. She’d been knitting when Muriel was wheeled in—something pink and delicate that might well be baby booties. She looked like a white-haired, bootie-knitting granny. Now she was organising equipment, moving gear in and out of the steriliser, making sure we had what we needed—and bossing Fraser.

  Fraser was the dogsbody—the gofer. It was a role that in Manhattan was generally taken by the most junior nurse, and to have it performed by someone who looked well into his seventies and like he’d spent most of his life at sea was amazing.

  But the teamwork was magnificent. They joked among themselves but they never took their attention from the main need. Muriel was in the best of hands.

  Jack’s hands.

  I glanced up at Jack again and caught him glancing at me—and blushed.

  What was I thinking? Why was I blushing?

  I ventured another glance.

  He did, too—and winked.

  Deirdre giggled. I needed to feel professionally detached.

  I wasn’t succeeding.

  Finally, it was done.

  ‘I’m thinking she has a solid chance of keeping that leg until she’s a hundred,’ Jack said with satisfaction as he stood back from the table. With the clot cleared, Muriel’s toes were already turning pink, and the sight made me feel dizzy with relief.

  ‘Thank you all.’ I wished there was something more momentous I could say.

  ‘You’ve done a fine job yourself,’ Jack told me. ‘For someone who’s not an anaesthetist.’

  ‘Like you said, I’ve had basic training.’

  ‘Which was how many years ago?’

  A bell rang somewhere in the hospital and Deirdre and Fraser disappeared. Janet was organising antibiotics for the drip. We were left in temporary isolation.

  ‘Hundreds,’ I told him. I lifted the intubation tube from Muriel’s mouth and listened as Muriel’s own breathing took over. ‘At least that’s what it feels like.’

  ‘You’re tired? Jet lag?’

  He was concerned about me? I shook my head in disbelief. ‘I must have slept better than you. Did you deliver Clive’s baby this morning?’

  ‘Um … aye.’ For once he looked embarrassed.

  ‘So why aren’t you sleeping now? What backup do you have?’

  ‘Backup?’

  ‘Specialists on call. Partners on roster.’ Surely there must be someone.

  ‘Heroes don’t need backup,’ he drawled and there was that grin again. ‘Mind, heroes don’t get bags under their eyes.’

  ‘Given that you’ve been delivering babies, surfing, milking cows and … what, taking morning clinic, I’d suggest you don’t beat yourself up too much for looking like a dead man walking.’

  The grin widened. ‘Dead man walking? Hey, I had a break this morning. I even shaved! And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s Sunday. I don’t run a clinic on Sundays—it’s my day off.’

  Some day off. ‘You mean you haven’t saved any souls from drowning in the meantime?’

  ‘No, ma’am. I leave that to my great-great-granddaddy.’

  And then Muriel was stirring, struggling through the mists of anaesthesia to regain consciousness.

  ‘It’s okay, Grandma. I’m here.’ I touched her cheek in a fleeting gesture of reassurance—the touch I’d learned to give my patients. It was contact that right now maybe even Muriel would permit. ‘We’ve removed the clot, and you should be as good as new.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Muriel managed.

  ‘Stopping you from losing a leg.’

  ‘Go away.’ She made a feeble swipe at my hand but she didn’t have the strength to reach.

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Right.’

  Jack was watching with increasing confusion. ‘You two don’t get on?’

  ‘You could say that.’ I was still touching Muriel’s face, whether she wished it or not. I needed the contact, even if she didn’t, and for once Muriel didn’t have a choice. Her eyes had closed again in exhaustion, and
I felt salt sting my eyes. Damn, I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t care. Muriel didn’t.

  ‘You’ll be okay,’ I told her, knowing Muriel wouldn’t respond even if she’d heard.

  ‘We’ll be moving you into the ward now, Mrs Kelly.’ He made no further comment on what had taken place between grandmother and granddaughter, but he’d noticed. Oh, he’d noticed.

  As Richard would, I thought. Richard was keenly intelligent and missed nothing. But Richard had never questioned the relationship between Muriel and me. In fact, he seemed to approve of our distance.

  ‘When can I go home?’ Muriel asked, suddenly awake again.

  ‘Not soon.’ Jack’s deep voice hit just the right mix of comfort and authority. ‘We can’t be sure that tiny edges of clot didn’t break away before we removed it, so we’ll give you medication to dissolve anything that’s left. We’ll be keeping an eye on you for a few days.’

  ‘Jennifer and I are flying back to New York on Friday.’ I had to smile at the sudden strength in Muriel’s voice. No one—ever!—had been allowed to stand in the way of Muriel’s plans.

  Except, it seemed, Jack McLachlan.

  ‘Six weeks,’ he told her, his gaze meeting Muriel’s. ‘Flying around the world with a leg that may have an undissolved clot would be like playing Russian Roulette. You step in a plane in under six weeks, you pull the trigger. Is that what you want?’

  This wasn’t the most reassuring of bedside manners, but maybe it was what Muriel needed. If Jack waited until she recovered from the anaesthetic—if he waited until she was in control again—then she’d never agree.

  But now the faintest trace of moisture appeared in Muriel’s eyes, and that was weakness indeed for her. To my amazement she gave her head a faint shake.

  ‘I … I guess not.’

  ‘Very sensible. I’ll have Jenny reschedule your flights.’ Once again I was stunned. How well did he know Muriel? Talk about striking fast! But Jack had moved on. ‘Now, Mrs Kelly, the nurses are waiting to settle you into a comfortable ward bed so you can sleep.’

  But Muriel’s eyes were already closed. She’d met her match, and she was prepared to concede.

  At least to an extent.

  ‘Bring me my hairbrush and a mirror,’ she murmured as she was wheeled down the corridor, and it was as much as I could do not to burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that.’ We were standing at the sinks. Jack was taking off his gown and I just stood and stared at him.

  ‘What?’ He tossed the gown into the basket. Underneath was his casual wear—his short-sleeved shirt and chinos—and for a moment I allowed myself to be distracted. He looked so…

  Concentrate on Muriel.

  ‘You got Muriel to agree to stay here for six weeks.’

  ‘Is that so amazing?’

  ‘Muriel does what she wants. She doesn’t change her plans for anyone.’

  ‘This is the only sensible plan for her. It’ll keep her alive.’

  ‘Being sensible is not usually Muriel’s preferred option.’

  ‘Maybe staring death in the face is a good time to change.’ Jack’s expression grew thoughtful. I was struggling with the ties behind my neck and he moved behind me to help. ‘What about you? How does that mess with your plans?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She needs to stay for six weeks. I assume you’ll stay on as well.’

  Six weeks. My gown dropped to the floor, unnoticed, as I turned and stared at him in horror. I hadn’t thought this through. ‘I can’t.’ The idea was … unthinkable.

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? I thought of all I’d left behind in Manhattan. I thought of Richard. Most of all, I thought of Isabella. ‘I need to leave by Friday. I don’t have a choice. Muriel will have to cope without me.’

  And just like that, his face closed. He stepped away, as if in distaste. ‘That would be right,’ he said, his voice carefully dispassionate. ‘I’d forgotten. You don’t do family. You didn’t come near your grandfather when he desperately needed you. Now he’s dead you’ll spend six whole days here to put the place on the market and sell his cows to the local knackery, making sure you aren’t fleeced. Six days out of your life to make money, and you can’t spare more.’

  What the … Of all the cruel accusations … I stared at him in shock and all I could see was accusation.

  ‘How dare you?’ My breath felt as if it had been punched from my chest. It was hard even getting the words out. ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I managed. ‘I already told you I didn’t know I had a grandfather. Not until he was dead. To accuse me … Of all the mean, ignorant things to say…’ But I couldn’t go on. I stopped, rendered speechless by shock and fury.

  And more. There was also an element of confusion. In his words were undertones that I couldn’t catch. The tone Jack had used wasn’t of anger but judgement. Mockery. It made me feel small.

  He was wrong and I knew it, but there was something else. What was it with this man that made his judgement so hurtful?

  And he was still judging. ‘So you can’t afford six weeks for either of your grandparents?’ His tone was still that of disdain. It was as if he didn’t understand what made me tick and he wasn’t all that interested in finding out.

  So what? I thought wildly. It didn’t matter what he thought of me. He had no idea. But staying … ‘Muriel will be fine on her own,’ I told him, fighting panic as well as anger. ‘She always has been. If I was ill, do you think she’d worry about me?’

  ‘I have no idea of your relationship. All I’m asking is where does she go from here? Who do you think will look after her?’

  ‘She has money. She can pay someone. I can’t stay.’

  ‘Of course you can’t.’ He was making no attempt to disguise his disgust. ‘But the reason I have such a great little hospital is that the community uses it at need. We don’t abuse it. We look after our own and we don’t use our hospital as a dumping ground.’

  ‘I’m not dumping—’

  ‘You would be,’ he said savagely. ‘In the same way your family abandoned Henry to this community’s care. You don’t give a damn.’

  ‘You think my grandmother—’

  ‘Henry was desperately burned.’ There was anger behind the disdain now, real anger. ‘He needed intense nursing from the time he came back from the war. But did Muriel stay? Of course not. She had your attitude. He had money. He could pay for care—of a sort. So Muriel went back to America with a clear conscience. Henry told me what sort of life she led there. She was a social butterfly. Her social life was so important she deserted him for it. Just like you’re deserting her.’

  I was finding it hard to breathe. ‘How can you possibly know what sort of life Muriel led? How could Henry know?’

  ‘I told you. Henry knew. And as for responsibility, the sort of care Henry needed couldn’t be bought with money. My grandparents took over and I followed. Fifty years of looking after your grandfather, and here you are, dumping another—’

  ‘I’m not dumping anyone.’ I was so angry I was almost gibbering.

  ‘Your grandmother has arteriosclerosis. You know damned well her health’s precarious, yet you’re intending to desert her.’

  ‘I have a fiancé. I have a job.’

  ‘I presume the fiancé’s old enough to take care of himself. Is the job so important?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘If I leave this job then people will die.’ His anger was radiating so fiercely I could almost see it. ‘I’m the only doctor for three hundred miles. Sea miles. Yet you’ll be practising obstetrics in New York, which I’d imagine is hardly starved for doctors. Are you saying there’s no one to take your place?’

  Of course there was. Only about another hundred doctors would be lined up and battering on the door. I’d been amazingly lucky to get m
y job, but it involved total commitment. Now I was taking two weeks off when I didn’t have holidays due. Could I stretch that to six?

  No. I’d go home to demotion. To Richard’s stunned disbelief. There’d be a lawsuit from the Clayburghs, and I’d have to start the long climb up the ladder all over again.

  Why should I even consider it? What had Muriel ever done for me to warrant giving up my career? Nothing, except maybe keep me from foster care—and sometimes I thought that might have offered more security than Muriel ever did.

  ‘I’ll pay for her care at the farm,’ I told him. ‘She can go back there and I’ll pay someone to do the nursing.’

  ‘I won’t accept that.’

  ‘What do you mean you won’t accept it?’

  ‘She’ll need house calls. She needs medical attention. I’m not prepared to give it.’

  I felt my jaw drop. ‘You’re saying you won’t look after her? When you’re the only doctor on the island? Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly, and as he said it his shoulders seemed to drop. He raked his fingers through his hair and I was hit with an impression of a man close to exhaustion. But he closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them he had himself under control. His shoulders straightened, and the look on his face was implacable.

  ‘No more,’ he said. ‘I’m not being ridiculous. Maybe I’ve been ridiculous in the past. I’ve accepted all the demands this community’s put on me. If you’re feeling trapped, multiply that by a thousand for the way I feel. Believe it or not, I’ve only been back on the island for six months, but for me, leaving’s not an option. That’s okay, I’ve accepted it. I’ve taken on the community’s medical needs. I looked after your grandfather for the last few months of his life and I even found it a privilege. I’ve fallen for Drifter and she can stay with me. In times of stress I’ve even cared for your cows. But as far as your family’s concerned, I’ve reached my limit. Muriel’s your grandmother. You’re a doctor. If you stay on here and care for her then I’ll remain her treating doctor, but if you leave then I won’t.’

  There was so much to consider in that last outburst I couldn’t begin to take it in, but one thing stood out. I stared at him in horror. ‘You can’t refuse to treat her.’