English Doctor, Italian Bride

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I’m not worried.’ Carmel gave a tired smile. ‘Well, a bit. You just don’t seem yourself, moping around here each evening. You’ve only had one night out since you’ve been at home.’

  ‘I’ve been off sick!’ Bonita pointed out. ‘And what with Dad, I just don’t feel in the mood for a girls’ night out.’

  ‘You haven’t even made a move to go back to the flat.’

  Oh, that!

  ‘Actually…’ Bonita gave a nervous swallow ‘…I’m thinking of moving out.’

  ‘To where?’ Carmel asked slowly.

  ‘Back here.’

  ‘No!’ Carmel shook her head. ‘Absolutely not—I do not want a babysitter.’

  ‘It’s not about that…’ Bonita attempted, only how could she tell her mother? Sure, it would be the easy option. Her mum would understand in an instant if she found out Emily was seeing Bill. But Bonita couldn’t go for the sympathy vote here. She couldn’t taint Emily with the very brush that should be colouring herself. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Is there anything you want me to do?’

  ‘Actually, yes!’ Carmel stood up and headed to the kitchen, returning a moment later with two vast casseroles. ‘Can you drop these round at Hugh’s?’

  ‘Hugh’s?’

  ‘He’s had that flu…’

  ‘He’ll be back at work in a couple of days,’ Bonita quickly interrupted.

  ‘Which means he won’t feel like cooking and will need a good meal when he gets home. Come on, Bonita, he’s done a lot for us these past few weeks, and I’ve got more casseroles and dinners in the freezer than I know what to do with.’

  ‘I’ll give them to him at work when he’s back.’

  ‘Fine!’ Carmel said in the martyred voice she did so very well. ‘I’ll take them to him myself, though I did want to get these thank-you cards from your father’s funeral finished today.’

  How did she do it?

  Wild dogs couldn’t drag her to Hugh’s, yet one pained sigh from her mother and she was grinding the car’s gears, two casseroles bouncing on the back seat, as she headed towards Hugh’s plush bayside apartment.

  Well, she assumed it was plush from the address her mother had given her, and the glittering bay views that swept into vision as she hit the beach road.

  It was a sign, Bonita decided, parking the car and marching towards his apartment. A sign that she should do something about the appalling awkwardness that would descend again when he was back at work. An opportunity, in fact, Bonita told herself as she took the lift up to his floor, to get things out in the open—to find out how they were supposed to deal with the fact that, like it or not, their lives merged at times.

  She could do this! Taking a calming breath, Bonita attempted a brisk knock, which was rather difficult, considering she was balancing two casseroles.

  Maybe the fact that he wasn’t home was also a sign, Bonita decided a couple of moments later. She placed the casseroles on the floor and scrabbled in her bag for a pen and paper, relief flooding her at the prospect of leaving a note.

  Dear Hugh, she started, then screwed it up.

  Hugh, Mum wanted…

  ‘Can I help you, Bonita?’

  There were certain people who could wear white shorts and a skimpy white T-shirt and look stunning, and though Bonita wasn’t one of them, Amber certainly was! Smooth long brown legs greeted Bonita as she was crouched down to write. She retrieved the casseroles and stood, noticing Amber’s equally smooth brown crossed arms.

  ‘Sorry, I thought no one was home.’

  ‘Hugh’s asleep—I was out on the balcony.’

  ‘My mum wanted me to drop off these…’ Bonita gave her the two dishes, hoping, hoping the lids were on properly and a massive smear of tomato sauce wouldn’t taint that lovely top, but Amber’s arms were still folded. ‘Just a couple of casseroles for Hugh—given that he’s been unwell.’

  ‘From your mum?’ Amber asked, taking the two dishes and, thankfully, smiling.

  ‘Yep, she worries about him.’

  ‘Hugh thinks the world of her. I’ll see he gets them,’ Amber said. Bonita gave a relieved nod and turned to go, but Amber halted her. ‘If you ever come here again, Bonita—’ and there was something in Amber’s voice that told Bonita she should not turn around ‘—then you’ll be wearing this casserole!’

  Unsustainable.

  It was a word frequently bandied about in the emergency department. When a situation—because of staffing levels, or patient influx, or a patient with calamitous injuries or vital signs—just had to be dealt with before the consequences became dire.

  And over the next couple of days Bonita came to the unpalatable conclusion that her situation was just that—unsustainable.

  Whether or not Hugh had had a moment of guilt and confessed what had happened, Amber clearly knew there was something between them—or had been.

  And though her night with Hugh would never be repeated, though there wasn’t a thing Bonita could do to erase what had happened, there was one thing she could do for Amber—take herself out of the equation.

  She could do it for herself, too.

  At the tender age of eleven she had fallen in love. Yes, at first it had seemed a silly girl’s crush but, as immature as her parents might have considered her, Bonita was actually very astute. The love that had breezed into her life the first day Hugh had appeared at the Azetti dinner table had been a love that had endured more than a decade. A love that, despite what had taken place, for Bonita at least still endured.

  But reckless choices made for bitter consequences—and now she had to face them. A move to the city would, as she had told her mother, be good for her career and a major teaching hospital had vacancies in Emergency. And it was only an hour or so’s drive away, so she could come home on her days off. Now, at twenty four, it was time to lug her broken heart to new surroundings.

  She waited for a lull in the department and asked Deb if she might have a word in the office while things were quiet.

  Sensible?

  Yes.

  Agony?

  Of course.

  ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’ Deb gave her a kind smile. ‘You shouldn’t be making any major decisions now.’

  ‘But I have to make some major decisions now,’ Bonita pointed out, because she did. Because, aside from Hugh and Amber, despite the fact she was OK with Bill and Emily, she couldn’t go back to living at the flat. And even though they were getting on now, staying with her mum was just a temporary solution.

  ‘I could wring Bill’s neck.’

  ‘Bill’s my friend,’ Bonita said firmly. ‘No one, apart from Bill and I, knows what went on between us. We went to great lengths to keep our relationship out of work, and now that it’s over suddenly everyone thinks they’re entitled to an opinion. Well, it’s not helping and, given I’m here for another month, I’d really appreciate it if you could call off the firing squad. Bill doesn’t deserve it and it’s not helping me.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Deb nodded. ‘I’ll have a word with everyone. That’s the problem with smaller hospitals—everyone knows everyone’s business.’

  ‘Or thinks that they do,’ Bonita responded, terminating the interview, standing up and taking charge. She headed out to the floor and talked to Emily who was about to go on her coffee-break. Bonita did not really care what anyone thought any more. She was just ready to get on with her life.

  ‘How was it with Deb?’ Emily fished.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Coming for your coffee-break?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Bonita said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I just want to chat about the flat.’ Emily scuffed the floor with her foot. ‘About when you’re coming back.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Oh.’ Emily flushed, but quickly recovered. ‘What about the rent? We agreed one month’s notice.’

  ‘You’ve had your month,’ Bonita said, standing tall and just a little bit proud.

  ‘Oh.’

  �
�I’ll bring the ute around tomorrow. Pick up the last of my things.’ And breezing into the first available cubicle, Bonita got on with the job in hand.

  Except Hugh was already in there!

  Edna Williams was seventy-four and had collapsed at the shops that morning. She had presented with right-sided weakness. She was already in a hospital gown, but Bonita could tell without looking that the clothes that were bagged under the trolley would be immaculate. Mrs Willliams’s hair was carefully cut and her nails were painted, her lovely lined face beautifully made up. Bonita could see she was also beyond embarrassed at being there and very distressed at the difficulty she was having with speaking.

  Hugh, though, was lovely with her.

  ‘Try not to get distressed, Mrs Williams,’ he soothed, his very English voice clipped yet somehow comforting. He told her to rest back on the pillows and asked Bonita to dim the lights as he carefully looked into Mrs Williams’s eyes, telling his patient how well she was doing. When the lights were back on, he performed a comprehensive neurological examination. And when a very worried Mrs Williams attempted to ask questions, her speech slurring, her face anguished at the hopelessness of her lost words, Hugh, just as he had been with Bonita’s father, was infinitely patient.

  ‘We’re going to give you a CT scan—like an X-ray of your brain,’ Hugh calmly explained. ‘Now, I know you can’t speak very well, but for a moment I want you to listen. When the paramedics first arrived, you had no movement on your right side. Since you’ve arrived here, that has improved, which is encouraging. So let’s get you around to X-Ray and then I’ll know more what’s going on and I’ll come and talk to you properly then.’

  ‘Will you go with her?’ Hugh asked Bonita.

  ‘Of course.’

  Once they were left alone Mrs Williams gave a crooked smile and Bonita introduced herself properly. The older woman looked at her name badge, smiled, nodded and relaxed a touch.

  “Do you know my mum?’ Bonita asked, not in the least surprised when Mrs Williams nodded again. ‘Then I’d better take extra good care of you or I’ll have my mum to answer to.’

  The CT area of X-Ray was routine for Bonita, but she knew how terrifying it must be for Mrs Williams. And even though she felt more than a touch uncomfortable when she realised that Amber was the technician on duty, the patient wouldn’t pick up on anything. By unspoken agreement they were polite and formal and, as always, Amber was kind to the patient, telling Mrs Williams in detail what to expect.

  ‘Just stay as still as you can.’ Amber explained. ‘I’ll talk to you through the microphone. We can see and hear you at all times, so just do your best to stay still and relax and we’ll get this over with as soon as we can.’

  The entire procedure took around twenty minutes, but for Bonita it was agony. She stood behind Amber’s blonde head as Amber tapped away at the controls, images appearing on the screen. Neither woman attempted small talk.

  ‘You’re doing very well, Mrs Williams,’ Amber said, leaning forward, pressing on a button and speaking into her microphone. ‘I just need you to stay still for a few more moments, and then we’ll be finished.’

  ‘How is she?’ Hugh asked, coming in as the investigation concluded. Guilt was a horrible thing to live with, Bonita thought as she looked at Hugh and Amber together. She knew that her discomfort today had nothing to do with Hugh and everything to do with herself. She had just assumed things had been over between the two of them, as they had been with herself and Bill—had been so wrapped up in her own grief, her own pain she hadn’t factored the pain she might be causing another.

  ‘How does it look to you?’ Hugh frowned at the images. ‘Doug, the medical registrar, is coming directly down to see her. I really thought she’d had a stroke.’

  ‘Well, I’m not allowed to comment,’ Amber said, ‘but it all looks pretty good to me. There doesn’t appear to be anything acute anyway.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. Right, let’s get her back, then. Don’t worry about calling for a porter,’ he said as Amber went to pick up the phone. ‘Bonita and I can get her back.’

  Which sounded sensible, given he was going that way, but Hugh hung around, chatting to Amber and looking over the images, and Bonita’s impatience grew.

  ‘I need a hand to get her onto the trolley,’ Bonita explained, giving him a very strained smile. Well, if Hugh wanted to play at porters he could damn well do their job.

  But in the time they’d been away Mrs Williams had again improved. She managed to slide herself from the CT bed to the trolley, with only minimal assistance, even saying a clear ‘Thank you’ when Bonita covered her with a blanket.

  ‘Probably a TIA,’ Hugh said once they had settled her back into her cubicle. A TIA was a transient ischaemic attack. It looked at first like a stroke, but recovery was often near complete. Still it was considered a serious warning. Hopefully, with the right medical care Mrs Williams would be prevented from having a full stroke. ‘Her neuro obs are good,’ Hugh commented without looking at Bonita, ‘though she’s still hypertensive. Doug wants to arrange for a carotid Doppler.’

  ‘Then he’ll have to order that from the ward or Outpatients,’ Bonita reminded him, ‘as per procedure.’

  ‘Is this how it’s going to be, Bonita?’ His words were as direct as his stare. ‘I know I started this procedure nonsense, but I’m ending it right here. If we’re going to work together as a team, then something has to give.’

  ‘It already has.’ Bonita flashed her eyes at him. ‘I just handed in my notice.’

  She didn’t wait for his reaction—just got on with her work. And thankfully there was plenty. By the time lunch came around a much perkier Mrs Williams was sitting up on the trolley, surrounded by relatives and eating a sandwich, as Bonita, having caved in, tried to organise a carotid Doppler!

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Hugh said. ‘She’s being admitted to the medical ward. Nice old girl—I’m glad it wasn’t a stroke.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  Cool but civil.

  It was certainly an improvement on their last encounter.

  She could surely live with that for a month. Though from here it seemed interminable.

  The next patient was a sixty-year-old farmer with sudden onset of chest pain.

  ‘Bruce Eames,’ the paramedics introduced him cheerfully, their mood matching that of the patient. He was of solid, muscular build, a real salt-of-the-earth type. He managed a joke or two as they shifted him from the ambulance stretcher to the hard bed in the resuscitation area.

  ‘Not exactly designed for sleeping!’ Bruce grinned, but Bonita could see the dart of fear in his eyes as he took in his surroundings. ‘Do I really need this mask?’

  ‘Just for now.’ Bonita smiled, placing a probe on his finger to check his oxygen saturation. ‘And don’t worry about all these machines,’ Bonita said. She taped over the IV the paramedics had inserted, just to ensure it didn’t come out, then shaved a few areas on Bruce’s chest before she attached the pads. ‘They’re so that we can keep a close eye on you. Here’s the doctor to see you now.’

  He’d come back too early from sick leave—Bonita could see that as he grabbed a drink from the water cooler before heading over to Bruce. Hugh’s complexion had a sickly grey tinge, and though he chatted easily to his patient, from the beads of sweat on his forehead, Bonita knew he was struggling to see the day out.

  ‘Have you had anything like this before?’ Hugh asked as he took the history, but Bruce shook his head. ‘Any heart problems?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re not on any medication at all?’

  ‘Nothing—Oh, the ambulance guys gave me some aspirin.’

  ‘Who’s your GP?’

  ‘I haven’t seen a doctor in twenty years—thank God. No offence.’ Bruce grinned. ‘You’re just not my type!’

  ‘None taken.’ Hugh smiled back.

  ‘He’s as fit as a fiddle.’ His wife joined them then. Bonita knew it was his wife without
any introduction, just from the smile on her face, from the way she looked at her husband. It reminded Bonita of her mother all of a sudden. Normally she’d have asked Mrs Eames to take a seat outside for a moment or two while they ran some obs and did a quick ECG but instead she pulled over a chair and told her to have a seat. She was aware that her father’s illness and death had changed the way that she nursed.

  ‘OK, if you can just lean forward. Bonny,’ Hugh said as he put on his stethoscope to listen to Bruce’s chest, ‘could you arrange an urgent portable chest X-ray and some morphine?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Quietly, she made the necessary calls, bagged the bloods that Hugh took and arranged a porter. She gritted her teeth then forced a smile as Amber came around in her lead coat to take the portable chest X-ray.

  ‘Would you mind waiting outside for this, Mrs Eames?’ Bonita asked, pulling a lead apron on herself. ‘We’ll only be a couple of moments.’

  ‘Of course. I might ring Hannah,’ she said to her husband, kissing him softly on the cheek, ‘I’ll be back in a moment, darling.’

  And it was that quick! A row of ectopics flashed across the screen and Bonita frowned, but even before the machine raised the alarm Mrs Eames called her husband’s name urgently.

  ‘Bruce!’ She said it once, then said it more loudly. ‘Bruce!’

  ‘Just wait outside,’ Bonita said firmly. The wavy lines of ventricular fibrillation were on the screen now as the alarm kicked in. Bruce’s eyes closed and his jaw suddenly went slack as Bonita called his name loudly. She gave him a swift shake of the shoulders before lowering the bed flat and pulling out the pillows.

  Mrs Eames’s shout had everyone running before Bonita even had time to hit the emergency bell. Bonita flicked the machine to charge and commenced cardiac massage. Deb put out an emergency call and took over the airway as Hugh slapped pads on Bruce’s chest and picked up the paddles of the defibrillator. Meanwhile, Bill, just coming back from lunch, guided Mrs Eames to the interview room.