Emergency at Bayside

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Oh, spare her, Meg—the poor lass spent two hours with her this morning,’ Jess responded cheerfully. ‘She’s probably seen Annie more than her boyfriend this week, haven’t you, Carla?’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t got a boyfriend.’

  ‘What? A pretty young thing like you?’ Jess clucked. ‘Surely there must be some young man you’ve got your eye on.’

  Carla shrugged, but not before her cheeks darkened, and Meg watched her gaze flick over to Flynn, who was obliviously writing notes in the corner of the annexe.

  ‘Well, there must be some cupboards that need to be sorted,’ Meg said quickly, before Jess followed Carla’s gaze.

  ‘All done—by my own fair hands. Now, why don’t you go and have your afternoon tea? And maybe for once the early shift can get out on time—though I’ve probably just jinxed myself and there’ll be a busload pulling up now.’

  ‘Well, if we’re expecting a rush on…’ Flynn recapped his fountain pen ‘…I might get myself something from the machine to tide me over.’

  Jess clapped her hand to her forehead. ‘That reminds me—the machine’s not working, I’d best ring the canteen.’

  The kitchen seemed to have shrunk to minuscule proportions as Meg attempted to make coffee. The brief display of affection, the reference to Saturday— all seemed to be crackling in the air around them as Flynn opened the fridge and pulled out a rather sad-looking yellow jelly. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind.’

  Meg screwed her nose up. ‘Yuk—and it’s diabetic jelly,’ she added, looking at the hospital canteen label.

  ‘Any bread in the bread bin?’

  ‘What? At three o’clock? We’re right at the end of the food chain, bar the night staff.’

  Even the cornflakes box was empty.

  It was only then that Meg remembered her mother had dropped her off some supplies. Knowing Mary, there would be enough to feed a small third world country. She dashed off to the changing room and returned triumphant with a large thermo bag packed full with a flask and a mountain of sandwiches. ‘At least some of us come prepared,’ she said, depositing the bag on the kitchen bench. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Flynn asked, opening the bag with all the relish of a child on Christmas morning.

  Why Meg fibbed at this point she never knew. What she hoped to gain by having Flynn think she was a whiz in the kitchen not only eluded her, it also belied all Meg’s feminist principles. But the small white lie was out before she could stop it. ‘Just some soup and sandwiches I made.’

  ‘Great.’ Pulling out the shiny foil packages, he turned casually. ‘What’s in them?’

  It was an obvious question and one, to Meg’s dying shame, she realised she couldn’t answer. Ignoring him, Meg concentrated on spooning sugar into two mugs.

  ‘What’s in the sandwiches?’ Flynn persisted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she responded, flustered. ‘Ham, cheese—whatever was in the fridge. It’s hardly decision of the day!’

  ‘I only asked,’ he muttered, carrying them through to the staff room as Meg followed with the drinks.

  Just as they started eating Jess appeared. ‘Oh, you found them. Flynn did remember to tell you that your mum had dropped off your lunch—I thought he might have forgotten.’

  ‘This chicken’s just delicious, Meg,’ Flynn said with a mischievous glint in his eye as he took a huge bite. ‘You must give me the recipe.’

  Jess flashed him a quizzical look. ‘Nice to see a man who enjoys cooking. Now, Flynn, this lass with the ulcer in cubicle three—did you want me to use Comfeel or Aquacel for her dressing? You didn’t write it on the cas card.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Flynn quipped, grinning at his own warped humour. ‘Comfeel, Aquacel—whatever’s on the dressing trolley. You choose, Jess. After all, it’s hardly decision of the day.’

  As a slightly bemused Jess wandered off Meg picked up a magazine and pretended to read, ignoring his grin.

  ‘Great sandwiches.’

  ‘So you’ve already said.’

  ‘What’s in the flask?’

  ‘Soup—help yourself.’ Meg looked up. ‘And, no, I didn’t make it.’ Turning her eyes back to the magazine, Meg pretended to be engrossed in an article about the latest Hollywood scandal.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m not a fan of soup.’

  Meg didn’t respond, just carried on pretending to read, her cheeks still flaming.

  ‘These will tide me over. I might head off to the new wine bar on the beach front tonight; it’s supposed to be good. Have you tried it?’

  ‘No.’ Why couldn’t he leave her alone to die of shame quietly?

  ‘What time do you finish tonight?’

  The blush that had only just started to recede was coming back for an encore.

  ‘Nine-thirty,’ she responded, as casually as she could with her heart in her mouth. Surely this wasn’t what it sounded like?

  ‘Do you fancy joining me?’

  Turning the page of her magazine, she found a glossy supermodel grinning back at her, brown, lithe and with an overabundance of self-confidence.

  ‘I would,’ Meg said lightly, though her heart was doing somersaults. ‘Except I don’t think I’d get in in a bikini and blood-stained sarong.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Flynn laughed. ‘The dress code’s supposed to be pretty laid-back. Still, we could stop at your place if you want to get changed.’ Standing, he screwed up the tin foil and casually tossed it into the bin. ‘How about it?’

  Her resolve was weakening—the threat of changing her resumé a poor argument in the face of such delicious provocation. It was only a drink, Meg reasoned, and after all lots of nurses moved around. If the worst came to the worst she could always join an agency.

  The clock was ticking as Meg wrestled with her conscience, and she knew that if she didn’t answer quickly then Flynn might realise the profoundness of his invitation. ‘Okay,’ she answered, in such a voice that would make even the laid-back Carla sound edgy. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Great, I’ll catch up on some paperwork, then. Give me a knock on my office door when your shift finishes.’ And he strolled out of the room as if he’d just asked her to drop by a pile of admission notes.

  The supermodel was still grinning at her, and Meg found she was grinning back.

  An evening with Flynn Kelsey.

  Now, what girl could ask for more?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHAVING your legs with a disposable hospital razor could be risky at the best of times. But shaving them in a handbasin with a heart-rate topping one hundred and hands shaking with nervous anticipation was a feat in itself, particularly as she was only supposed to be nipping out to the loo for five minutes. Eying the shaky lock, Meg debated whether to risk shaving under her arms.

  Stop it, she warned herself. It’s just a casual drink, and even if it was a date—a real date—she was hardly going to rip off her clothes and jump into bed with him.

  Hardly.

  Tossing the plastic razor into the bin, Meg took a deep breath. Gorgeous he might be—stunning, even—but she was on the rebound, just getting over a broken heart, and more to the point casual sex simply wasn’t her style.

  Yet…

  There was nothing casual about Meg’s feelings for Flynn. Since the day she had met him, since those moments trapped in her car, there had been an attraction—an undeniable attraction. The kiss they had shared hadn’t been an accident, hadn’t been a passing whim. It had been an inevitable consequence—a necessary outlet for the pressure cooker of steam that seemed to build up whenever they were thrown together. The occasional bickering, the sometimes stilted conversations, were more an attempt to stem the tide, to defuse the atmosphere, than a sign of incompatibility. And now they were finally doing something about it.

  Who knows? Meg tried to reason. After a glass of wine he might not look so appealing—and if that was the case at least they’d know. But then again, Meg thought with a fluttering excit
ement that gnawed at the very pinnacle of her being, suppose things did move on? Suppose by the time the last drinks were served, the attraction was still most defiantly mutual…?

  Mary O’Sullivan must have thought someone was walking over her grave as Meg rummaged guiltily through the bin and retrieved the razor. Her mother would never understand, Meg realised, but then how could she be expected to, when Meg herself didn’t understand the feelings Flynn Kelsey ignited in her? How six months of steely resolve and heartfelt resolution could so easily be discarded by the crook of his little finger…

  * * *

  ‘All finished?’

  Meg nodded. She’d been willing the shift to pass, but now the time had come suddenly she longed for the relative comfort of work, half hoped Flynn’s pager would go off and there would be a legitimate excuse to end whatever they had started here and now. But his pager didn’t go off, and it was a tentative, nervous Meg that walked quietly alongside him out to the car park.

  ‘Flynn!’

  The voice calling out in the darkness made them both jump a fraction, but, seeing Carla rushing towards them, Flynn instantly relaxed.

  ‘Carla, what’s wrong?’

  ‘The car.’

  Flynn groaned. ‘Again? You’re going to have to do something about it, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Carla replied breathlessly, eyeing Meg with some suspicion. ‘Look, sorry—I didn’t realise you were on your way somewhere. I can call out the breakdown services.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Meg finally found her voice. Suspicious of Carla’s motives she might be, but acting all proprietary when they hadn’t been for so much as a drink together wasn’t her style, and anyway, fanning the flames of the hospital grapevine was the last thing she needed after her time at Melbourne City. ‘Flynn was just giving me a ride home. Given what happened with Toby at the beach, I’m a bit stranded today.’

  In an instant the slightly petulant expression that had been marring Carla’s usually pretty face vanished. ‘Of course.’

  Handing Meg his keys, Flynn pointed to a rather impressive silver sports car. ‘Meg, why don’t you wait in the car? It’s a bit cooler. I’ll just see if I can work my magic on Carla’s pile of junk.’ He winked at Carla as if sharing an old joke. ‘Again.’

  Meg sat there trying desperately to relax. She watched him hunched over the bonnet, watched Carla leaning against it, tossing her shaggy blonde hair, her little bust jutting out of the skimpy top she was wearing, and just knew that it wasn’t an outfit Carla had casually thrown on after her shift.

  When Carla slipped into the driving seat Meg rolled her eyes and gave a cynical snort as, lo and behold, the car started first time.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Grinning, slightly breathless, Flynn slid in the car beside her.

  ‘What was wrong with it?’

  ‘Search me. It’s happened a couple of times. I’ve told her to get it seen to.’

  ‘Flynn?’ The single word was out before she could stop it and she watched as he turned to her, a searching look on his face. ‘There’s nothing wrong with her car.’

  ‘Meg, it’s a pile of junk. It’s no wonder it’s always breaking down.’

  ‘So it’s happened a few times?’

  She watched his hands grip hard on the steering wheel and wished she could somehow retrieve the words that had just slipped out of her mouth, take back the accusing, slightly jealous tone that had crept into her voice.

  ‘Yes, it’s happened a few times. And for the record, your honour—’ he was trying to make a joke, but neither of them were smiling ‘—Carla’s father is an old colleague of mine. I know her family well.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain. I mean, I wasn’t suggesting…’ Her voice trailed off and she felt like opening the car door and making a bolt for it. The night was ruined and they hadn’t even left the car park yet!

  ‘I know you weren’t.’ His voice was softer now, and when Meg looked up she realised he was smiling at her. ‘How about we make a move? I’ve still got to stop for petrol, and at this rate we’ll be lucky to make it for last orders at the bar.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Meg forced herself to smile back, and as he started the engine and the car slid off she leant back in the soft leather seat, willing herself to loosen up, to relax. But she couldn’t. All their sparkling repartee, the backchat and witty answers, seemed to have vanished, and they drove in uncomfortable silence for the next couple of kilometres.

  ‘I’d better stop at this garage or it will be me calling out the breakdown services.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you want anything?’

  Meg shook her head, letting out a rather strained breath as he closed the door. God, he was probably wondering what had possessed him to ask her, she thought as he filled the car with petrol. The forecourt was bright, and Meg watched as he strode across to pay. His wallet sitting on the dashboard caught her eye about two seconds after Flynn started patting at his pocket, and she held it up as he grinned and beckoned her over.

  Maybe it was nerves, or just her rush to fetch it for him, but as she dropped his wallet on the forecourt Meg felt as if her world had suddenly ended. The photo Flynn kept in his wallet was smiling back at her. There, younger, a touch slimmer, but unmistakably him, stood Flynn—and Jake too, for that matter. Both men were smiling happily, not a care in the world, their arms wrapped around the woman between them.

  The bride between them.

  And from the adoration in Flynn’s eyes Meg knew that the bride was his.

  Flynn was walking towards her, calling her name as his eyes darted from the open wallet in her hands back to her stricken face.

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ She threw it at him. ‘After you’d taken me out? Or were you going to sleep with me first?’

  ‘Meg, I can explain.’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’ Her voice was rising and people were starting to look, but she didn’t care. ‘What? Doesn’t your wife understand you? Come on, Flynn, try me. But I can guarantee I’ve heard it before.’

  ‘Meg, just listen, will you…?’ He grabbed at her hand, pulling her towards him, but Meg refused to be quiet.

  ‘Or maybe she doesn’t realise the pressure you’re under at work. Or is it that she’s too wrapped up in the children and doesn’t pay you enough attention?’ Tears were coursing down her cheeks—choked, angry tears. She was utterly unable to believe it was all happening to her again. ‘I suppose Carla couldn’t make it tonight so you thought I’d do to pass the evening! My God, why don’t I ever learn?’

  ‘She’s dead.’ He loosened his hand and Meg’s arm fell to her side as the words hit home. ‘Lucy’s dead.’

  He crossed the forecourt to pay.

  Mortified, all she could do was stand there—stand there and watch him through the glass, going through the motions, nodding at the checkout girl. Every eye was watching, waiting for the next instalment.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could manage as, grimfaced, he walked back towards her.

  ‘Get in the car. I think we’ve provided enough entertainment for one night.’

  He didn’t say anything, not a single word as he shot out of the garage, while Meg sat silent next to him.

  ‘It’s left here,’ she muttered as they approached the exit for her flat. Ignoring her, he carried on, and Meg sank back in the seat. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Flynn glanced over, then looked back to the road ahead. ‘That’s your fault; you didn’t give me a chance to tell you.’

  ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Here.’ Indicating, he pushed a button, and Meg watched as the garage door of a townhouse opened and they glided in. For a second they sat in silence, before Flynn pulled on the handbrake. ‘Come on— we’ll talk inside.’

  She felt him brace himself as he opened the door, and once inside Meg understood why.

  Lucy.

  Their wedding photo, almost the same shot he had in his wallet, was the
first sight that greeted her. Sitting on the hall table right next to the telephone.

  She needed a moment—a moment to collect her thoughts, to calm down and work out just how she could even begin to apologise to him.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom?’

  ‘Sure. It’s up the stairs on the left.’

  Lucy was there too. Oh, there wasn’t the usual paraphernalia that women collected, there wasn’t a mass of heated rollers and hair tongs, tampons and moisturisers, but her perfume collection still stood on the shelf, and the picture hanging on the wall was so overtly feminine Meg knew at a glance Flynn hadn’t chosen it. And what man would ever put an incense burner on the bathroom ledge?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said for the second time, coming down the stairs. ‘I really am.’

  Flynn nodded and handed her a glass of wine. ‘The worst part,’ he started as Meg took a sip, ‘was losing a wife who actually did understand me.’

  Meg winced, recognising the hurtful words she had so recently thrown at him.

  ‘I was going to tell you tonight, actually.’

  Meg nodded. ‘I know that now. Flynn, I shouldn’t have jumped in; it’s just I had no idea—none at all. You don’t seem like…’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Like a widower?’

  Meg nodded. It was such a sad, lonely word, conjuring up images of pain and desolation. Nothing like the vibrant, easygoing man she was beginning to finally know.

  ‘How do you expect me to be?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Walking around with a permanent air of sadness? Crying into my beer at the local pub every night?’

  ‘No,’ Meg said slowly. ‘It’s just that you seem so content, so unruffled. You don’t look like someone who’s had an awful past.’

  ‘But I haven’t.’ His words confused her and Meg looked up, her mouth falling open but no words coming out. ‘I’ve had a wonderful past, with a very special woman. It ended too soon, far too soon, but we still had a great marriage and shared an amazing journey together. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life being bitter, feeling cheated, when in truth I’ve been luckier than most.’

  He sounded so sure, so confident that Meg almost believed him.