by Lilian Darcy
Lindsay gave everyone a brief greeting.
‘Not sure how much detail you got on the radio,’ Joe continued. His habitual good cheer seemed forced today, which was no surprise. ‘I’m hijacking the plane because I think he’s ruptured already, and we still have patients to see. Not to mention a thirty-mile drive back being less than ideal for young Shane.’
‘How bad is he?’ Christina asked.
‘Not as bad as you’d think. Pain-wise, that is. He had the characteristic protective walk when his mother brought him in—he didn’t want to come, still doesn’t. Very tender when I got him lying flat and had a feel, but the tenderness was atypical. Mildly febrile. No nausea, although his mother said he had some last night. No vomiting, though. Then when I was debating what we should do with him, he started telling us something had popped and it wasn’t hurting nearly so much any more and could he keep on with his model now, please?’
‘His model?’ Grace queried.
‘The thing he’s holding. It’s a design for the new swimming pool and it’s got some terrific ideas, actually. I said he could bring it with him, since he wasn’t one bit keen to come without it.’ He stepped closer to the plane and raised his voice. ‘Charles, could we swap jobs for the rest of today?’
‘Me take over the clinic with Lindsay?’ Charles called back. ‘Makes sense. I’d like to spend a bit of time out here. They’ve been through such a lot lately.’
They all knew that with his wheelchair he couldn’t do anything useful, medically, in the confined space of the plane, and that having Joe back at the hospital could be vital if resources were stretched thin by any other emergency. Cal would operate.
‘Glenn?’ Charles said.
‘Yep.’ The pilot knew what to do. He had soon jumped down to the hard-baked clay of the strip to unfold Charles’s wheelchair for the short transfer to the vehicle. Charles’s upper-body strength and agility made the shift from chair to front passenger seat smooth and fast, and the wheelchair was re-folded and put in the back, along with some equipment they hadn’t needed that day.
‘Am I going in the plane?’ Shane asked.
He looked about ten. Straw for hair, sleeveless flannel shirt, big eyes like glossy buttons. He could have obtained gainful employment as a scarecrow, he was obviously a handful, and you liked him as soon as you looked at him.
‘Yes, you’re going in the plane and, yes, you can bring your model,’ Joe told him.
‘It’s the best one,’ Shane said. ‘Did you see Roddie’s? It wasn’t as good, but he says he’s making it better. Everyone’s working on ’em now. It was my idea!’ He sounded affronted.
‘We’ll have a competition,’ Charles announced with dour satisfaction from the passenger seat of the car, his face still as grim as it had been since they’d picked him up. ‘It’s perfect. All the kids at Wygera, anyone who wants to enter. This pool is not just going to be a big cement bathtub surrounded by dirt. It’s going to be properly landscaped, really attractive, almost a water park, if we can manage it. It would be great to get the kids’ ideas. The prize for the best model is…Dammit, what’s the bloody prize? Fast-food vouchers? It’s got to be something better than that. I’ll have a think. Lindsay?’
‘The prize?’ The older nurse looked startled and a little blank. She didn’t know that her hospital administrator had decided to force the sale of his family heritage that afternoon. Grace looked as if she was tempted to give over the goss right now.
But of course there wasn’t time.
‘No, I mean, let’s drive, finish that clinic,’ Charles answered the other nurse.
‘Shane, up you go,’ Joe was saying. ‘Your mum’s coming in the car with Dr Wetherby when he’s finished at the clinic. She wants to pack an overnight bag for you first.’
Back in the plane, as Lindsay and Charles drove off, Christina was already getting out the IV equipment. They would need to hit him with a barrage of antibiotics, and they wouldn’t wait for confirmation that the appendix had indeed blown. Shane looked uncomfortable, in more pain than he was letting on, but still consumed with the issue of the pool design.
‘If there’s a competition, there should be a prize for whose idea it was to make models, as well as for the best one,’ he said. ‘Tell that other doctor. The weather one.’
‘Dr Wetherby? We will,’ Christina answered. ‘But not right now.’
‘He’s selling, Joe,’ Grace came in. ‘He told us today. He’s using his part-ownership to force through the sale of Wetherby Downs.’
Joe whistled.
‘Yes,’ Grace agreed. ‘I’m pretty shocked.’
Christina didn’t join in. She thought Grace was probably attempting to take the heat, distract Joe and herself from each other.
Thanks, Grace. Yes, it’s tough, being shut up in a plane with Joe. You’re right, I want to cry or yell, so if you can keep the conversation ball bouncing, I’m grateful. And, yes, you’d probably also like to hear, at some point, what he and I talked about on Monday night, and how angry I got.
She hadn’t found the right opportunity for that conversation with Grace yet. Probably could have if it had felt easier to open her mouth on the subject. But it felt…hard. Her stomach sank with reluctance every time she thought about it.
She swabbed a patch of skin on the inside of Shane’s elbow with antiseptic, coaxed a vein into greater prominence and slipped the needle in. Shane didn’t flinch. He was still clutching his model, which was made out of plastic margarine containers and cereal packet cardboard and silver and gold cigarette pack paper and half a dozen other makeshift things.
‘See, it has to have water jets, and a couple of slides…’
‘This tube is going to stay in for a while, Shane, so I’m going to tape it in place, OK?’ she cut in.
‘And a wading pool for the little kids, and a deep bit for the slide to go into…’
Glenn began his preparations for taxi and takeoff.
‘And it has to have grass, and shade, and look like…like…you know, you have to go there, you can’t stay away. What’re those places? Oh-ay-sisses.’
‘An oasis?’
‘Yes. Has to be like one of those.’
‘It sounds great, Shane.’
‘I’ll be bringing togs and towel out to Wygera myself,’ Joe agreed. ‘Should see the splash when I do a bomb into the water. People scatter. OK, now we’re giving you some medication, Shane. But that’s going through the IV so you don’t need to worry about a bad taste in your mouth.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Grace came in, ‘if it’s hurting, I can give you a squirt of this stuff, Shane. It tastes OK, you’ve probably had it before.’
The flight was uneventful, including a textbook-smooth landing and no smiles from Glenn.
‘He’s a good kid,’ Joe commented to Christina as the noise level in the aircraft subsided and they taxied towards the ambulance waiting beside the tarmac.
Shane was lying quietly, probably still thinking about his model. The double transfer from plane to ambulance to hospital when an emergency admission came by fixed wing aircraft wasn’t ideal. The helipad was better placed, directly adjacent to the hospital, even though the cost had been higher to have it that way.
‘Good patient, too,’ Joe added.
‘I like the model,’ Christina said.
‘Wouldn’t want to contemplate the budget for it.’
‘Charles seems very determined that it won’t be an issue.’
‘Do you think he’ll really force the sale?’ Joe looked sceptical.
‘Well, he said himself, after we’d picked him up from Wetherby Downs, that it was blackmail.’ Instinctively, because she was talking about something so sensitive, she leaned closer, and both she and Joe noticed, felt the familiar intimacy.
His dark gaze flicked down to her arm close to his, and lifted again, moving over her body almost like a caress. The very air between them felt different. Her skin felt different. The way her lungs filled.
&nbs
p; She took a careful breath and continued, ‘But even if the sale doesn’t go through, I’ve had the impression that Wetherby resources could find enough capital for a community swimming pool without liquidising their major asset.’
Joe dropped his voice. Had he been listening to what she’d just said? She didn’t think so. ‘Are you going to the party at the doctors’ house tonight?’ His jaw jutted, making him look strong and stubborn.
Party? No, she was going out to dinner with Brian. But she didn’t want to tell Joe about that because it sounded like a transparent piece of rebound dating.
Which it wasn’t. She wasn’t remotely ready for rebound dating yet.
‘Party?’ she echoed.
‘Dora Grubb’s birthday, spur-of-the-moment idea of Cal’s.’ Dora and her husband Walter were stalwarts on the house-keeping side of hospital activity. ‘She’s been a treasure lately, taking care of Gina and Cal’s young CJ, and they thought Georgie could do with a nice night, too, after dealing with her mother’s death. I think you should come, Tink.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t have an answer. Probably because her question had been sharp and angry and pointless.
‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ she said.
‘Because you’re not going to come?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Because I snapped at you. I’m not angry with you about…’ She waved a hand. ‘Party invitations.’
‘But you are angry. Still.’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll talk about it tonight.’
‘Sheesh, Joe! Two years we don’t talk about anything important—’
‘No?’ He looked startled.
‘No! But suddenly this week talking is the magic bullet?’
‘I think we talked about a lot of things that were important,’ he said quietly.
She ignored him. ‘We talked on Monday—’
‘You know, talking about mowing the lawn can be important if there’s the right spirit behind it. Saying, please, pass the milk, or did you see that goal in the last minute of the game? Talking isn’t everything. It’s the actions behind the talk that count. The spirit behind it.’
Christina was in no mood to listen to this kind of philosophy. ‘And we ended up angrier!’ she finished.
‘You’re snapping again, Tink.’
‘Well, this time there’s no apology!’
But there was a safety in feeling able to show her anger that she didn’t fully understand or appreciate until she was out with Brian that night. She’d gone straight home after the flight and hadn’t heard an update on young Shane, so she was happy when Brian could give her one.
‘The appendix was ruptured, as Joe thought,’ he said over dinner. ‘It was tucked behind the bowel so Cal couldn’t get it out via laparoscopy. He had to go in through an old-fashioned incision, but he didn’t muck around in there and the boy will be fine once the infection’s brought under control.’
‘That’s good to hear, Brian.’
Christina was a lot less happy about the ambient backdrop to the update.
Brian had brought her to Mike Poulos’s parents’ very swishy three-star restaurant, which was part of the Athina hotel.
Low-key, she wanted to protest. You promised me it would be low-key. Pizza or burgers. And that was the only reason I said yes.
With its glorious ocean views, wall-sized aquarium of tropical fish, imported chef and prices to match, the Athina’s restaurant was not low-key!
And Brian didn’t pretend to think it was either. He had arrived at her door earlier with a dozen roses, and had persuaded her to change into ‘something dressier’ before he would head out. She’d abandoned her denim skirt and cotton shirt and put on a pair of elegant black trousers and a shimmery top in rich metallic colours that fell from thin straps to drape across her front and left her shoulders bare. She’d even put her hair up with pins.
This time she fitted the bill…which was going to be huge. Brian had called ahead to the restaurant to order some special lobster dish for two that wasn’t on the menu, he’d chosen one of the most expensive Chardonnays on the wine list and he kept requesting love songs from the live musician.
Christina was furious.
But how could she say so?
It was just conceivable that you could yell at a man for treating you like a cheap date, but to yell at him for the opposite reason? Because he was lavishing a two-hundred-dollar dinner and large quantities of special attention on her when he’d insisted this was just between friends?
She would have yelled if it had been Joe.
Light-bulb moment.
She was comfortable with Joe. They were safe enough with each other to get angry. Couldn’t he see how important that was?
But she couldn’t yell at Brian.
And couldn’t he see how wrong this whole evening was?
‘I’ve always thought you were pretty special, Christina,’ he told her.
No, no, no! I haven’t been sending out those kind of signals!
‘Well, you know,’ she joked deliberately, ‘I did my medical degree at Sydney University and my professors were pretty happy with me.’
‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it.’
Yes, darn it, I do know it, but take the hint!
He didn’t.
‘I know it’s too soon—’
‘It takes time, doesn’t it? I think Jill’s only just getting over her divorce. She’s a terrific woman, Brian. I hadn’t seen it until recently, and I think she really values your support,’ she gabbled desperately.
‘And, of course, I’m happy to give it, but Jill is not who I want to talk about right now. Tell me more about the real Christina Farrelly. Is she the fabulous woman I think she is?’
No, she’s a complete hag, with a definite depletion of brain cells this week, Christina thought, and she should never have come out with Brian.
‘She’s pretty tired,’ Christina said truthfully. She didn’t want to hurt him. Where was the human compassion in doing that? Not to mention the career advantage.
By skipping dessert and gulping her wine, she brought the evening to an earlier finish than she’d been afraid of. Brian looked at his watch. ‘I’ll run you home, but let’s call in at the hospital first. I have a couple of errands to take care of.’
He wanted to show off the fact that they’d been out, she soon realised.
Not to Joe.
After some embarrassing encounters with people like Cal and Georgie, which Christina was sure Brian had engineered in order to parade their date, meeting up with Joe was the one chance event of the evening, and she was so relieved to see him that she couldn’t help letting it show.
Joe Barrett, I’d a hundred times rather spend an angry evening with you than a smoochy evening with Brian. Can I tell you that? Does it mean something? Will it help? Can you save me from Brian right now?
‘Joe?’ She grabbed his arm and steered him down the corridor towards the surgical ward, while trying to make it look as if he was steering her. ‘Give me an update. You’re looking in on Shane?’
‘Just have. His mother’s with him and he’s doing pretty well. Pretty groggy from the PCA.’ The abbreviation stood for patient-controlled anaesthesia. ‘He’s pressing the button for it a lot.’
‘What’s he having? Morphine?’
‘Yes. He’s still on oxygen, fluids, anti-emetic, antibiotics. Cal did a good job as usual. Didn’t have him in Theatre too long.’
‘Routine, then.’
‘So far. And we’re getting bowel sounds. Which means he should be back to working on his swimming-pool design in a few days.’
‘I hope Charles goes ahead with his competition idea.’
‘Have you ever known Charles not to go ahead with any of his ideas? Eh, Brian?’
He smiled dutifully, while Christina laughed.
‘Good point,’she said. ‘I’d like to see Shane myself. Do you mind coming back with me, Joe? Now?’
Please?
She turned the minimal acceptable number of degrees back in Brian’s direction. ‘Brian, thanks for a really lovely meal. Don’t worry about getting me home. I’ll thumb a lift with someone.’
He frowned. ‘Christina, that’s dangerous.’
She hadn’t meant it literally. ‘I’ll make sure it’s someone whose last name I already know,’ she told him patiently, and didn’t wait for his reaction.
Still dragging Joe with her, she took a couple more determined steps in the direction of the ward, and Joe murmured, ‘I like this arm-clutching exercise. New anger-management technique?’
‘Oh, Joe…!’ It was almost a sob.
‘Hey…Tink!’
‘Don’t make me laugh when I’m feeling like this.’
Brian had gone, finding some discretion at last. Joe and Christina both slowed and stopped.
‘Forcible laughter induction procedure against the patient’s will,’ Joe teased, his voice only for her. The rest of the universe seemed to disappear. ‘Grounds for a medical malpractice suit, I’d reckon.’
‘Stop!’ She pressed her hands to the sides of her head.
‘Listen…’ His voice dropped even lower. ‘If I can get you to stop feeling angry, I’ll do it, using fair means or foul. I never wanted us to get to this point.’ He traced a soft line across her hand with his finger.
She gave a helpless sigh. ‘You know what I’ve started to think? Being angry isn’t such a bad thing, especially if we’re talking about it. At least it means we have something real!’ She reached out and brushed her knuckles against his forearm, loving its strength, no longer willing to surrender her right to touch him.
‘Do we still have something at all, Tink?’ His dark eyes wandered over her, and they stood even closer, enough to feel each other’s heat. ‘I thought we didn’t.’
‘Oh, we have something.’ Her hand hovered over his shoulder, then dropped away again. If she touched his neck, he’d bend and kiss her. She knew he would, and that would be too hard to deal with.
‘Great big wounds, if nothing else,’ he suggested.
‘Yeah? You have them, too?’
