In Dr. Darling’s Care

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I’d believe that,’ Lizzie said, still staring at the corner, ‘but she’d hardly have hauled her basket with her.’

  Silence. There was a soft thud, thud behind them and Harry was right there. His crutch was making his arrival distinct.

  ‘Where the hell-?’

  ‘What have you done with Emily and Edward?’ Lizzie demanded, momentarily distracted, and Harry shrugged.

  ‘They’re talking weddings. I think they’ve hit a vein. They’ve tapped into something more important than world hunger. Where’s Phoebe?’

  ‘She’s gone,’ Lizzie said blankly, but Harry was already looking closely at the kitchen floor. Then bending to look closer.

  ‘The basket’s been dragged out the door. Look.’

  The floor was made of polished boards. The boards gathered dust fast and no one had swept that morning. The trail where something had been pulled across the floor was clearly visible and on the edge of the screen door a splinter had jagged the edge of the blue cotton basket, leaving a sliver of material still attached.

  ‘Why would Phoebe drag her basket-?’

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ Kim said. The vet was starting to look concerned. ‘Not that I’m casting aspersions on your dog’s intelligence, Lizzie, but to figure she’d go somewhere else to have the pups and think about taking her bed with her…that’d take at least two neurons.’

  ‘Which is one more than Phoebe’s got,’ Harry added, but he wasn’t smiling.

  ‘So someone’s dragged her basket…’

  ‘With Phoebe in it, at a guess. I mean, otherwise they could just have picked up the basket.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Lizzie said faintly. ‘Who’d steal a basset?’

  They stared at each other uncomprehendingly.

  ‘She’s not even a pedigree,’ Lizzie whispered. ‘Grandma found her when she was six months old. She reckoned someone pushed her out of a moving car. No one wants Phoebe.’

  ‘She’s mostly basset,’ Kim said. ‘But that tail…there’s something else there.’

  ‘It’s a cute tail,’ Lizzie muttered, and Harry’s arm was suddenly round her shoulders.

  ‘It’s a great tail. The fact that it’d look better on a Dalmatian is immaterial. Look, what have we got here? One lost dog? One stolen dog? Neither makes sense. My bet is that someone like Jim has come in and decided that Phoebe shouldn’t be alone. They’ll have taken her home to watch over her.’

  Lizzie brightened. Harry being right beside her was enough to make any girl’s mood lift, and what he was saying was sensible. Dog-nappers didn’t make sense.

  But… ‘Jim wouldn’t have dragged the basket,’ she objected.

  ‘If Phoebe wouldn’t move and he wanted to shift her, I’d imagine he might well have dragged the basket. Do you imagine anyone carrying that dog further than he had to?’

  ‘That’ll be it,’ Kim said, relieved. She glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’m having a bit of trouble here. My cow’s had her calf but I need to go back and check on her again. I took a few minutes off to check on Phoebe but…’

  ‘But if we can’t find her-’

  ‘I’ll be back in half an hour,’ Kim said. ‘Or I’m on the end of a mobile phone. Call me if you need me.’

  ‘I’ll go and call Jim,’ Harry said. The door had closed behind Kim, but Lizzie was still standing looking at the place where Phoebe’s basket had been.

  She shouldn’t have left her.

  It was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Jim had taken the dog to take care of her. She’d left her for half an hour and the vet had said it’d be OK. She wasn’t irresponsible.

  This was Grandma’s dog. She’d cared for Grandma and therefore she was responsible for Grandma’s dog.

  No. It was more than that, she thought savagely. Responsibility didn’t come into it any more.

  It was Phoebe herself. Her great dopey basset with the Dalmatian tail. She’d tried so hard to stay dispassionate. She’d tried. It hadn’t worked. She’d fallen for a great lumbering hound of a mutt. She’d fallen for a community.

  She’d fallen for a doctor called Harry.

  His hand was still on her shoulder and he was watching her, his eyes steady and warm and reassuring, and she wanted to turn into his shoulder and weep. She wanted to hold on and hold on and not let go.

  No. She had Phoebe to worry about. Everything else had to be put on the back burner for now.

  Or… Everything else had to be put on the back burner for ever.

  She hauled herself away from him and she could only hope that he didn’t guess what a Herculean task it was to step away from the warmth those arms promised.

  ‘Find Jim,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll have a look outside. Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case your dog decided to take her bed outside for a bit of morning sun?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘As I said, one neuron too few.’

  ‘Criticise your own loved ones,’ she muttered. ‘Leave mine alone.’

  And she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

  She’d walked ten yards down the garden path before Amy found her. The little girl came flying along the cliff path, her pinched face white with shock. She cannoned straight into Lizzie before she saw her. Lizzie caught Amy’s shoulders and set her back, steadying her, noting the tear-stained cheeks and the eyes wide with terror.

  ‘Amy.’

  It was one word, but it steadied her. The child stared up at her, mute.

  ‘Amy,’ Lizzie said again, more gently, and gathered the little girl into her. She was stooping, kneeling, cradling the child against her, and out it came, great whooping sobs that racked the slight body until it seemed she’d tear apart.

  ‘Amy, no.’ Lizzie gave her a hard squeeze and then put her away from her, holding her at arm’s length. She took off the child’s glasses, wiped them and popped them on again. ‘Stop this. You need to pull yourself together to tell me.’

  ‘They can’t… They’ll kill… She’s gone over… Phoebe…’

  Lizzie’s heart clenched within her. But somehow she kept her face impassive, her voice stern.

  ‘They’ll kill who?’

  ‘They took Phoebe. Kylie and Rose. They thought it was really funny. They hauled her into the back of Kylie’s brother’s billy-cart and they hauled her along the cliff. They were going to stick her in the cave. Hide her. Just…just ’cos everyone’s been making a fuss of the pups and I’m having one.’

  ‘They told you this?’

  ‘Kylie’s brother told me. He’s in my class and I knew they were doing something. They were giggling all yesterday and writing notes. Billy’s not bad. They’re mean to him, too. So I asked him and he told me and I followed. They’re bigger than me and I thought…I thought I’d just watch and see where they took her. But she was too big. They hauled her into the billy-cart and she was really heavy and they pulled it along the cliff and then as it turned a corner and started to go downhill it sort of lurched and Rose let it go and…’

  ‘And…’ Lizzie was feeling sick.

  ‘And it rolled over the edge of the cliff and smashed on the rocks below. She’s lying there. Kylie and Rose ran away and I came… I can’t get down there. I can see her and… Oh, Dr Darling, I think she’s dead.’

  Big breath.

  Another big breath.

  Do not panic, Lizzie. Do not…

  ‘Where on the cliff?’ she asked.

  ‘Up there.’ Amy pointed to the headland. ‘Where it turns. If you look down you can see.’

  ‘You’ve found me. You’ve done really well,’ she told Amy. ‘It’s up to me now. Go into the hospital and tell any of the nurses-or Dr McKay-what’s happened. Tell them to call the vet. Run.’

  Lizzie stared down the cliff face. Here the beach was unapproachable except by boat. But Phoebe wasn’t on the beach. She was about fifteen feet down the cliff face and there was a drop of another ten feet to the sea.

  The cliff wasn’t shee
r but it sloped at a frightening angle. Phoebe wouldn’t have dropped straight down. There were skid marks on the path. Here the path dipped and turned and it was easy to see what had happened. With the dead weight of Phoebe inside, the cart had lurched out of control and run over the edge. It must have crashed down onto the ledge. There were a couple of wheels lying on the ledge, but Lizzie could see timber from the remains of the cart crashing about in the waves below.

  And Phoebe.

  Like the wheels, she remained on the ledge. She was a huge liverish blob, unmoving.

  ‘Phoebe,’ Lizzie yelled, but the dog didn’t move.

  Phoebe…

  It was all too much. Phoebe. Grandma.

  Harry.

  They were all caught up in her mind. Four weeks ago she’d been Dr Darling, independent career-woman. Now… Her grandmother’s death had smashed the first layer of her armour. It had made her see she wasn’t invincible. And now she stood on the top of the cliff and she knew exactly what she was going to do.

  Something really, really foolish.

  It was crazy.

  She did it anyway.

  She sat down on her backside, she said a silent prayer to whoever looked after pregnant bassets and really stupid doctors and slid over the edge.

  As big dippers went, it was a beauty. The surface was loose shale. Lizzie was wearing tough jeans and they acted as a buffer, but once she was over the edge there was no stopping.

  She hurtled downwards, fiercely balancing, aiming to one side of Phoebe so she wouldn’t squash what was left of her dog.

  ‘Oweee…’ Where the squeal came from she had no idea-a kid on a big dipper had nothing on her.

  And somehow she did it. She hit the ledge. Her legs shot out in front of her and hit the slight rise before the ledge gave way to the drop to the sea, and she sprawled to an ignominious halt.

  Ouch.

  She lay winded and looked up at the sky. She was still alive.

  Good. Great. She felt a few limbs and tried a few breaths just to see if they’d work and, magic of magic, they did. There was a bit of pain in the seat of her jeans but, hey, that was nothing. Gravel rash?

  Phoebe.

  She slid around and thought, Whoops, maybe gravel rash has a downside. But she was a doctor. She had a patient to attend to. Triage. Gravel rash could wait.

  Phoebe was alive.

  She wasn’t stirring. She lay on her side, her flanks heaving. Her one visible eye looked up at Lizzie, desperate, and Lizzie found herself cradling the big dog, holding her close and…yep, she was crying. Good professional technique, Dr Darling. Sob all over the patient first thing!

  What damage?

  She hauled herself back and made herself turn into a doctor-sort of.

  Phoebe didn’t even have gravel rash.

  What the…?

  She ran her hands over the dog’s big body, lifting-well, heaving-following the folds of flab. Nothing.

  Not a scratch.

  She’d come down in the cart. She’d been thrown out and the cart had smashed, but Phoebe herself was unscratched.

  But why wasn’t she moving?

  The puppies…

  Phoebe’s eyes were almost speaking. She whimpered and whimpered again.

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong, girl?’

  Phoebe was straining. As Lizzie watched, a spasm seemed to shake her and a tremor ran through the big body. Another whimper.

  How long? How long had she been straining? Lizzie had read up in her dog books. Second-stage labour in bitches took at most about half an hour. If things were going wrong…

  ‘Lizzie?’

  She looked up, and there was Harry. He was standing at the top of the cliff and his voice sounded desperate. ‘Lizzie!’

  ‘I’m down here,’ she called, and she could almost see him sag with relief.

  ‘I can see that you’re down there,’ he said carefully, with what seemed almost superhuman restraint. ‘Very good. Very informative. How the hell did you get there?’

  ‘I slid.’

  ‘You slid.’

  ‘On my backside.’

  She turned back to Phoebe who was moaning and heaving again.

  ‘I think she’s in trouble,’ she called. ‘I think the puppies are coming but they might be stuck.’

  ‘Lizzie…’

  ‘Mmm?’ She was concentrating on Phoebe.

  There was silence from the top of the cliff. Harry seemed to be having trouble taking things in.

  Finally he asked, ‘Is she hurt, apart from the puppies?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘That figures,’ he said. ‘With that fat.’

  ‘That’s right. In time of crisis insult the patients.’

  ‘Are you aware of the risks you took?’

  ‘Fetch Kim.’

  ‘Stay there,’ he ordered.

  ‘Yeah, right. Where do you think I’m going?’

  But he was gone.

  Where were the puppies? How far away?

  How dilated did dogs’ cervixes get? Lizzie wondered. This one looked ready to go. Phoebe was straining. Why wasn’t anything happening? Had she been hurt in the fall? Internal injuries? What-?

  ‘Move over.’

  She stared up. Harry was at the top of the cliff. He had a backpack on and he was holding a rope.

  ‘You can’t.’ She was on her feet. ‘Are you mad? You’ve got a broken leg.’

  ‘And you could have broken your neck. I have a rope. Attached to a tree. I’ve been a rock-climber in my time, Liz. There’s only one damned fool in this picture and that’s you.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she repeated. ‘Harry, your leg…’

  ‘Move,’ he ordered, and slipped over the edge of the cliff and came down to reach her.

  He had indeed done rock-climbing. The way he slid down the rock-face was nothing short of amazing. He was controlled every step of the way-he’d fastened his rope to a tree and was belaying, or whatever rock climbers called it, but he looked thoroughly professional-even if he did have a leg in plaster.

  He looked wonderful, Lizzie thought. Just wonderful. And when he landed beside her it was all she could do not to grab him and hold him and…

  She didn’t need to. He grabbed her and held her and put his face in her hair and started swearing. Over and over and over.

  She didn’t care. She could feel his heartbeat. If this was what it took to get him here, then…

  Phoebe.

  ‘Um…Phoebe,’ she murmured, and he hauled her in closer.

  ‘Have you any idea what I thought when I heard you scream?’

  ‘I love you,’ she said tangentially.

  ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘I love you lots.’

  ‘I’ll wring your neck. If ever you do anything so damned stupid again…’

  He loved her. She could feel it. He just had to stop swearing and admit it.

  But they did have a patient in labour.

  ‘Phoebe,’ she tried again, and this time he heard. He sighed, held Lizzie away from him-with real reluctance-and turned to look down at the dog.

  ‘She’s in trouble?’

  ‘She’s panting. She’s been straining. She doesn’t look hurt but, oh, Harry…’

  ‘Dogs always pant in labour.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He grinned and pointed to the phone on his belt. ‘I rang Kim. While I ran here. Until I heard you scream. She’s probably still on the end of the line.’

  She wasn’t. Nor was she when they tried to contact her again.

  ‘She was out in the middle of a paddock when I called,’ Harry said, running his hands over Phoebe’s flank. ‘She said she’d come straight away. The reception’s awful between here and the farm she’s been working on.’

  ‘So do we wait?’

  They were stooped over Phoebe. Harry had sat, his plastered leg before him.

  ‘I should scrub,’ he said, and Lizzie looked startled.

 
‘Scrub?’

  ‘She’s a big dog. They’ll be big puppies. I don’t see why the logistics shouldn’t be the same as for people.’ He hesitated. ‘If I use surgical gloves they’ll be antiseptic enough. And lubricant.’

  ‘You brought those things with you?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ he told her, trying not to sound smug-but he looked smug.

  ‘You’re in for it now,’ she told him. ‘Really in for it.’

  ‘Why?’ He was pulling his gloves from the backpack.

  And there was nothing to tell him but the truth.

  ‘Harry McKay, if you’ve brought surgical gloves and lubricant down this cliff to save my puppies then I intend to marry you. I’m sorry, but there it is. You don’t marry me, I’m abducting you. Em doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in a bushfire.’

  ‘Neither does Edward,’ he told her, but before she had a chance to respond to that, he became intent on what he was doing with Phoebe.

  Silence.

  ‘I think…’ He frowned. ‘I’m not sure what I’m feeling but it seems as if there’s one stuck. She’s straining against it.’

  ‘Can you…?’

  ‘I need more lubricant.’

  She handed it to him. It was like an operating theatre-the world’s weirdest operating theatre.

  She was kneeling, her face intent. ‘What-?’

  ‘Shh.’

  She shushed.

  Phoebe gave a long, low moan and shuddered again, and Harry winced. ‘They’re some contractions.’

  ‘Can you shift…?’

  ‘I think… Wait…’

  ‘Don’t push, Phoeb,’ Lizzie said, holding the big dog’s head. ‘Pant.’

  Phoebe stared up at her-and panted.

  ‘Hey!’ It was an exclamation of surprise from Harry. ‘Hey…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s moving.’

  And ten seconds later the first of Phoebe’s eight puppies slid out into Harry’s waiting hands.

  Memo:

  Must remember what it is to be professional after delivery.

  Must remember…what?

  Must remember this moment for ever.

  The puppies were wonderful. As they cleared the membranes from each perfect little nose and Lizzie handed the puppies to Phoebe to be licked and inspected and gathered to the maternal bosom, she thought she’d never seen anything so wonderful in her whole life.