The Road to Hope

by Rachael Johns

  If God had heard her resolution in the church, she reckoned he was laughing now after placing Tom Lewis in her way.

  Finally, Lauren ventured out into the rest of the house and went about some chores. She vacuumed, dusted, put on a load of washing and then went to the Co-op to restock the pantry. For the first time in a long while, she thought about the needs of someone else as she perused the aisles. Generally she ate very healthily—mostly fruit, veggies and some whole grains—but she paused in the junk food aisle and then again at the biscuits, wondering what treats took Tom’s fancy.

  ‘Is Frank back?’ asked Simone, the checkout operator on duty. Her tone was hopeful. Like Lauren, Simone hadn’t yet found Mr Right and was always eager for news of her spunky and perpetually single brother.

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Lauren began loading her items onto the checkout.

  Simone gestured into the trolley. ‘You’ve bought a lot more than you usually do—and you don’t usually buy ice-cream.’

  Lauren tried not to scowl. Was nothing sacred in a small town? Surely she could add a few extra items to her weekly shop without getting the third-bloody-degree. ‘I’ve just got a house guest.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Although she would soon and likely she’d be just as interested in Tom as Lauren was. When you got to thirty and were still single in a small country town, new male blood was almost as exciting as a new episode of Offspring. Almost.

  Lauren continued to unload her trolley and, as Simone scanned her items, pack them. She and Simone were friends, but as she wasn’t in the mood for small talk, she made a quick exit the moment she could. She went home, unpacked her shopping, had a salad wrap for lunch and then watched mind-numbing daytime TV to kill the time until her shift. As the hour approached, nerves bubbled in her stomach. It wasn’t the thought of maybe running into Tom—that thought brought with it a different kind of nerves—but rather the prospect of resigning.

  She didn’t know how Steve, the hospital manager, would take it and she wasn’t looking forward to telling some of her favourite elderly residents. But even scarier was the prospect of what to do next. Once she’d resigned, that was it. No turning back and returning to Hope Junction with her tail between her legs. Although coming home had worked for Ellie, Lauren didn’t have a jilted lover waiting to welcome her back with open arms.

  Half an hour before her shift, she decided it was now or never. After donning her uniform, she locked up and drove the short distance to the hospital. A few minutes later she was knocking on Steve’s office door.

  ‘Afternoon Lauren.’ He smiled as he leaned back in his swivel chair and rubbed his hand over his neatly trimmed beard. ‘I hear you’ve got our new doctor staying at your place. Good of you to make him feel welcome.’

  The way he said the last part made her skin crawl. ‘He’s a friend of Frank’s,’ she said defensively.

  ‘So I hear.’ He raised his dark, thick monobrow. ‘Anyway, to what do I owe this visit?’

  She took a deep breath, stepped further into the office and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Must be serious,’ Steve muttered.

  ‘I’m handing in my resignation.’ She leaned over to pass him the letter she’d typed up. ‘I’ve given the necessary two weeks notice, but if you can get cover for me, I’ll happily go earlier and take some of my holiday leave.’

  Steve put the envelope down on his desk and frowned. ‘I must say this is a shock. Can I ask why?’

  Lauren held her chin high, a zillion reasons whirling in her head. Let’s see… The fact that everyone thinks I’m the town slapper, the love of my life has just got hitched to someone else, my best friend is obsessed with babies, I have no family here, I’m still living at my parents’ place, I want to travel, I need to expand my nursing experience… She settled for something vague. ‘I need a change.’

  ‘Change, huh?’ He picked up the envelope and put it in a tray marked ‘To Deal With Later’. ‘I do understand, but your timing is terrible. Heading into Christmas, it’ll be almost impossible to find a new permanent nurse, and we already need more relief staff than the agency can provide.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Steve, but my decision is made.’

  ‘It’s a pity.’ He sighed. ‘You’re the best nurse we’ve got here. You’re efficient at the medical side of things and the patients adore you. This town is lucky to have such a dedicated nurse. I’ll be honest, Lauren. I don’t want to see you go, but if you must, I’d really appreciate it if you could see out the Christmas craziness. If you still want to leave after New Year, I’ll throw you the best damn going away party this town has ever seen, but I really don’t want to open this letter before then.’

  ‘You really think I’m a good nurse?’ His kind words had blindsided her. She’d never felt particularly good at anything. Frank was the brains in her family; even the theory side of her nursing degree had been an effort. But she respected Steve as a professional so his praise meant a lot.

  ‘Of course,’ he said as if she was crazy to think anything else. ‘So what do you say? Will you stay?’

  She seriously didn’t know how she’d survive living with Tom for more than a couple of weeks—her libido would combust if she didn’t jump him—but neither could she ignore the warmth in Steve’s words.

  And whatever some people in Hope Junction thought of her, she didn’t want to let down her town. ‘Just until after Christmas.’

  Tom hadn’t had two seconds to take a sip of water or go to the bathroom since he’d walked into the surgery that morning. There’d already been people lining the waiting room, and Eileen the receptionist had been hugely apologetic about his packed appointment list. At least that’s what he realised she was trying to say by the time he’d deciphered her strong Irish accent.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he’d told her as he picked up the folders of his first few patients.

  Now it was almost three o’clock and he couldn’t face another old dear trying to elicit his life story.

  ‘Sarah Dixon?’ he called, wondering if she was a relation of Nancy Dixon, a resident in the nursing home. He felt like he’d met half the town over the last few hours and yet the waiting room was still full. A young woman with bright red hair, a face full of freckles and a double pram with identical little girls in it started towards him. On the top of the pram she balanced a large Tupperware container.

  ‘Here you are.’ She thrust the container at him as he shut the door behind them. ‘Rumour has it you’re staying with Lauren Simpson—’ she made a tsk-tsk noise with her teeth ‘—so I whipped you up some of my homemade sausage rolls. They have meat in them.’

  Tom didn’t like the tone she used when speaking about Lauren and hoped it was merely because she wasn’t a vegetarian herself. ‘Thanks,’ he said, his jaw locked. She wasn’t the first patient who’d mentioned Lauren, and very few had been complimentary. If local gossip were true, she would be using her well-practised feminine wiles to lure him into her bed before the week was up.

  ‘You be careful,’ one old gossip had told him this morning. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t got her claws into you already. She hasn’t, has she?’

  Obviously he’d ignored that question and steered the conversation towards the woman’s medical complaint. He wasn’t one to listen to idle chatter or to judge. Besides, the way Lauren had acted around him so far, he found it hard to reconcile the woman they spoke of with the one he knew.

  ‘Just heat them up for a couple of minutes in the microwave,’ Sarah Dixon was saying. ‘Or if you prefer your pastry crispy, ten to fifteen minutes in a moderate oven. They should last a few days in the fridge.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Vowing to forget about Lauren and concentrate on his patients, he put the container down on his desk. ‘Now what can I do for you today, Mrs Dixon?’

  ‘Do you play a sport?’ she asked as she rocked the pram back and forth. Her two adorable girls looked up at him, both sucking furiously on dummies.
>
  ‘Tennis and football, and I also surf.’ The answer rolled off his tongue before he realised that what he did in his free time was no concern of hers. ‘Are you not feeling well or is this a routine check-up?’

  ‘Fabulous.’ Sarah beamed. ‘You should come to social tennis next week. Pity you’ll be gone before the Hurricanes start their season. Flynn and the boys could use another strapping player like you.’

  Tom realised he was going to have to be firm. ‘Mrs Dixon, I have a busy schedule today. How can I help you?’

  Her cheeks coloured slightly. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit of a chatterbox sometimes. I was wondering if you could help me with some contraception. I’ve finished breastfeeding the girls and Trav hates using condoms, so I think I should go on the pill again.’ She gestured to the pram. ‘These two are definitely our last.’

  ‘I’ll need to ask you a few questions, take your blood pressure and check a few things and then we can run through your options.’

  After sending Sarah Dixon off with a script, Tom made sure he established a professional tone the moment the rest of his patients entered the room. If they tried with the salacious local prattle or personal questions, he cut them off. Even so he received about fifteen invitations to dinner and one woman even asked him to join her book club. He politely declined them all and almost collapsed with exhaustion when Eileen locked the door on the last patient.

  ‘Well done, Dr Lewis,’ she said with a knowing smile. ‘You survived your first day. Only legitimate patients and emergencies from here on in. Have a good night.’

  ‘You too Eileen,’ he said, realising he barely knew anything about her—he’d not had a chance to ask. He’d noticed a wedding ring on her finger and she had photos of teenagers on her desk, so he guessed she had a family to get home to.

  Him? He had no such prospects. He had barely been able to bring himself to even talk to his family in months. Guilt ate at his insides every time he thought about the need to phone them, but he’d become expert at ignoring it. Tonight, his avoidance tactics would include spending time with the residents in the nursing wing section of the hospital. And, if he were lucky, a few interactions with nurse Lauren.

  That thought had him eagerly heading for his ute.

  Chapter Seven

  On his way down the street, Tom stopped at the service station to grab a sandwich and scoffed it down in record time. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a Diet Coke for Lauren. He’d noticed her drinking a fair bit and thought she might need a pick-me-up after their late night.

  Then he drove the short distance to the hospital, parked in the allocated doctor’s car space and then used the code Hannah had given him to get inside after hours. Unlike the city hospitals he’d worked in, the one long hall that stretched down the middle of the building looked deserted.

  There were only two patients in the hospital aside from the elderly residents. He walked past their rooms but didn’t stop as they both looked ensconced in TV soap operas, no doubt Lake Street because of Ellie, their local superstar. As he rounded the corner that led to the residential care facility, he came upon a nurse at the desk.

  ‘Oh hello,’ she said, looking him up and down. Her name badge read ‘Sheila’ and she looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Very matronly. ‘You must be Dr Lewis.’

  ‘Yes. Nice to meet you, Sheila.’ He held out his hand and as they shook he resisted the urge to ask her where Lauren was. After the gossip he’d heard today, he didn’t want to say or do anything that might add to it.

  ‘What brings you here tonight? Is there some sort of emergency?’ Sheila looked confused. ‘We haven’t had anything called in.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I just thought I’d come say hi and get to know some of the residents.’

  Sheila nodded her head slowly, raised her eyebrows as if highly suspicious, and pointed down the corridor. ‘They’ve all had their dinner and we’re going to settle them into bed soon.’

  Tom wasn’t sure if this was an indirect message to him not to hang around too long and mess with their routine. Either way he felt sorry for the old people who lived here day in day out. He shuddered to think about losing your independence to such an extent that you couldn’t even decide on your own bedtime.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, already turning towards the residential wing.

  This part of the building was set up in a similar fashion to the rest of the hospital. There was a shared lounge area with a dining room off to one side. In the middle sat a table with a bunch of old people’s bibs on it. Another shudder ran down Tom’s spine. He’d always found geriatric care heartbreaking, but the prospect that lay ahead of him now made this kind of sight even more distressing. He couldn’t help but wonder how long before he might need to be institutionalised. How long before he might need to wear a bib and be spoon fed.

  Three of the reclining chairs in the lounge were occupied and Lake Street blared from the TV in the corner. Two of the old ladies he’d met on Saturday afternoon were leaning forward in their seats, eyes glued on the box. An elderly gentleman, Ned, sat alongside them, struggling to hold up a newspaper, his fingers shaking with the telltale signs of Parkinson’s. Tom was torn between offering to help and not wanting to make him feel any more useless.

  ‘Oh, hi Tom.’

  He turned to see Lauren coming up behind him and his breath caught in his throat. She was carrying a basket full of little bottles of nail polish and she looked amazing, her uniform hugging every curve. He’d been around women in nurses’ uniforms for years but none had ever made his whole body thrum with awareness like she did. Every time he looked at her he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He stepped back, reeling, and almost lifted the icy-cold can in his hand up to his forehead.

  ‘Hey Lauren.’

  ‘Have you come to get your nails painted?’ asked May, one of the residents he’d met on Saturday. If Tom’s memory served him correctly, she’d had a stroke last year and lost a lot of mobility. Until then, at age 97, she’d been living by herself in a cottage on the family farm.

  He laughed and held up his hands. ‘Could be an improvement, but I think I’ll pass. Is that what’s about to happen in here?’

  Lauren nodded and then stepped past him. She dumped the basket on a small table, then pulled up a stool in front of May’s recliner. ‘Barbara, May and Nancy are kind enough to let me practise my manicure skills on them.’

  May held up her wrinkly hand. ‘A lady should always look her best.’

  He smiled. ‘Where’s Nancy?’ There were currently only four residents in the residential section, although it held enough beds for six. Dr Bates had told him they’d lost two long-time patients recently but that the beds weren’t usually empty for long.

  ‘She’s in her room. Her husband is reading to her,’ Lauren explained. ‘Go in and say hi. I’m sure Alf would love to meet you.’

  ‘I will. And this is for you.’ Tom handed the Diet Coke to a surprised-looking Lauren and then put his hand on Ned’s shoulder, not divulging that he’d met Nancy’s husband briefly that morning when he’d stopped in to do his rounds before going to the medical centre. ‘You fancy a walk?’

  Ned put the paper aside and looked up. ‘Sure. I’ll come see Alf and Nancy with you.’ He started to get up, obviously struggling, but Tom saw determination in his weary eyes and he shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to help. Finally the old man got to his feet and reached for his walking frame. ‘Blasted thing,’ he muttered. ‘I should have done myself in before I got this bad.’

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Tom said encouragingly, then winked at the girls. ‘We’ll see you ladies soon.’

  They shuffled down the hallway—Tom slowing to Ned’s pace—and headed towards Nancy’s bedroom. As they approached, Tom heard the dulcet and comforting tones of an elderly gentleman reading aloud. Her husband had been there eating breakfast with her too, determined to spend as much time with his wife before dementia completely sto
le her away.

  He and Ned paused in the doorway and Alf looked up from the book which—judging by its dusty, plain jacket—looked like a classic. Nancy sat beside him in her recliner, nursing her doll.

  ‘Good evening, Dr Tom,’ Alf said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  ‘Hello Alf. Ned and I were just taking a walk and thought we’d pay you a visit.’

  Alf grinned and turned to his wife. ‘Hear that, love? It’s Ned and the new doctor come to say hello.’

  Nancy attempted to push herself up. ‘I’ll have to get the kettle on.’ She looked at Tom. ‘I made some pumpkin scones earlier, can I tempt you?’

  Tom stepped into the room and Ned followed behind. ‘They sound delicious but I’ve just had dinner,’ he said. ‘We’ve just come for a quick chat.’

  ‘We could play Monopoly?’ Nancy flopped back into her seat but her eyes sparkled as if a light had come on inside her head.

  Tom looked to Alf to take his cue.

  Alf put a hand on Nancy’s arm. ‘You don’t like Monopoly anymore, love. You say it gives you a headache.’

  ‘Do I?’ Nancy’s gleeful expression fell, the light fading.

  Tom wondered if he’d made a mistake coming this late. Dementia patients were sometimes confused by a change in their routine.

  ‘I used to love a good game of Monopoly,’ Ned mused, leaning against his walker.

  ‘There’s a board in the cupboard in the dining room,’ Alf said.

  ‘Well, in that case, I say let’s give it a go,’ Ned declared, smiling for the first time that evening.

  ‘Yay.’ Nancy clapped her hands.

  They all agreed, but by the time Tom returned with the board, Nancy had forgotten their decision. ‘I don’t like Monopoly.’ She pouted at the board like a toddler being forced to play with a toy she didn’t like. Then she rocked her doll a little harder.