The Doctor’s Special Touch

by Marion Lennox

  ‘But when Social Services checked…’

  ‘If he was using another name, there’d be no connection. If you didn’t contact the police…’

  ‘There was no reason to,’ he said grimly. ‘He wasn’t breaking the law. The children, though… If there’s been abuse that we missed…’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Jerry didn’t want me-that way-until I reached puberty, and all these kids are younger.’ She stared ahead into the dark. ‘I suspect he’s infertile. None of the kids is ever his. He picks up dysfunctional families like mine, or single mums who have babies. Then he acts as if he’s the kids’ father. Until they reach their teens.’

  ‘I should have-’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done anything,’ she said gently. ‘You contacted Social Services when Sam died. You checked the kids every month. And you took me up there this afternoon. So stop beating yourself up. I’m doing enough of that for both of us.’

  ‘You…’

  ‘You know, when I was twelve, I was standing above him up on a cliff when he was having a bush shower. There was a huge rock lying just at my feet and I thought, What if it moved?’ She managed a smile. ‘But I didn’t move the rock and he went on to destroy more lives.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about him. Let’s concentrate on my steak.’

  ‘The important things in life.’

  ‘Right.’

  Darcy lived in a weatherboard cottage set to the side of the Tambrine Creek hospital. He locked the car and turned to find Ally already opening the gate leading to the back door. The catch was tricky. How…?

  ‘I lived here for years,’ she told him, seeing his confusion. ‘This is the doctor’s house, right? I’m the doctor’s grandkid.’

  The thought was disorientating. She’d lived here before?

  ‘And I hope you’ve been looking after it.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Then the back door burst open, swung wide from within by the force of two dogs. Jekyll and Hyde. Jekyll was an ancient black and white but mostly grey cocker spaniel and Hyde was his younger compatriot, a sprightly eight-year-old golden version of the same breed. They bounded down the path with joy.

  ‘Hey, guys.’ Darcy squatted to hug them. They submitted and then wheeled to investigate Ally.

  She promptly sat on the path and hugged back. Enveloped in a mass of wriggling canine joy, she smiled up at him with delight.

  ‘This is your family. Where are the chooks?’

  ‘Roosting,’ he told her. ‘And, no, I’m not waking them up for hugs.’

  She giggled and hugged the dogs again, struggling to her feet. They were gorgeous. Dogs and girl…

  Particularly girl.

  For Ally, the sensation that she was coming home was almost overwhelming. Apart from the dogs. Her grandpa had always refused to have a dog. ‘Pets interfere with your life,’ he’d snapped, and that had been that.

  But Darcy had dogs. Gorgeous dogs. She glanced up at him and he was smiling and she thought…

  Well, she thought she ought to concentrate on dogs.

  Maybe now she could get a dog. Maybe.

  There wasn’t room in her little apartment above her shop.

  Maybe a very small dog?

  He was holding the back door wide and she hesitated. She hadn’t been here for seventeen years. Despite her grandfather’s coldness, she’d loved this place. If it had changed…

  It hadn’t. She walked into the kitchen and it had hardly changed at all.

  Oh, everything was fresh. The room was freshly painted. Shabby gingham curtains had been replaced by new ones. There was a gleaming modern refrigerator and a microwave. But the vast wooden table was the one she’d sat at all those years ago, and her grandmother’s old rocker was still in the corner. Her grandpa hadn’t liked anyone using it but Ally had snuggled into it when he hadn’t been around. In it her mother had seemed closer. She was sure her mother had used the rocker.

  And the stove. ‘You kept the stove. You make toast on my stove.’ She darted across and hauled open the fire-door. Darcy had stoked the stove before he’d left that morning and now it contained a bed of glowing embers. ‘I so wanted the stove to be the same. Yum.’ She opened the oven door and peered into its black depths. ‘I used to put my feet in here every morning all through winter. I had leather slippers and I’d rest my feet in here while I toasted my toast.’

  ‘I still do,’ Darcy told her. ‘All my toast tastes of ancient footwear.’

  And suddenly they were grinning at each other like fools. The tensions and heartache of the day dissipated in this one crazy moment-when he was looking at her with a delight that matched hers. With a grin that…

  Whoa.

  She forced herself to break eye contact, and she was aware that he did the same, breaking away at the same moment. They could be mature adults and ignore this, she thought frantically.

  Ignore what?

  Darcy had turned to the fridge and was delving into the freezer.

  ‘Do you need help?’ she managed, thrown suddenly right off balance.

  ‘I cook steak and salad just fine. It’s my staple diet.’

  ‘You want me to feed the dogs, then?’ she asked, and her voice was still stupidly breathless. Damn, how had he done that to her?

  ‘If you would,’ he said brusquely. Maybe he was as disconcerted as she was. ‘Their food’s in the container on the back porch and their bowls are there, too. A cup and a half each and don’t let them con you into more.’

  ‘I’m a rigid disciplinarian,’ she told him, but she still hadn’t got her voice under control. And when she made her way out to the back porch, she couldn’t stop the sensation that she felt like she was escaping.

  From what? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she intended staying out there for a while, ostensibly watching as the dogs enjoyed their dinner but in reality staring out at the night sky, listening to the sea in the background, smelling the night scent of the gums and trying to adjust to the crazy feeling of unreality that was all about her.

  Maybe it had been a mistake to come back here. The way she was feeling. The way she was feeling about Darcy?

  This was nonsense, she told herself crossly. Just because the man had the most romantic name and he looked like a Hollywood hero…

  No. It wasn’t that. It was the way he smiled at her. The way he made her feel.

  She sat on the back step and hugged her knees. Men didn’t make her feel like this. Relationships weren’t her scene. The way to survive was to keep herself independent. Heart-whole and fancy-free.

  Jekyll finished his dinner and came and nuzzled her hand. She fondled his silky ears and he gazed up with adoration.

  ‘Maybe a very small dog,’ she whispered. ‘But that’s all, Ally Westruther. Anything more would be a disaster and you know it. You have a plan. You stick to it.’

  The steak was wonderful. When Darcy called her for dinner she found steaks that almost covered the dinner plate and the first mouthful had her in heaven.

  ‘Yum.’

  ‘You really do enjoy your food.’ He gazed at her in fascination.

  ‘Hush,’ she said reverentially. ‘I’m eating.’

  He did hush, but she was aware that he was watching her as she ate, and there were still questions in his eyes.

  Hadn’t she told him enough? For heaven’s sake…

  If he asked her more she just might tell him, she thought ruefully. Sitting here in this room, with the hiss of the old kettle on the wood stove in the background as it had been in the background all her childhood. It undermined her defences and left her feeling as if there was nowhere to go.

  In desperation she gazed around the room, searching for the personal. Something that would tell her something about this man and take the attention from her. Deflect it to him.

  There was a photograph on the mantelpiece. It was of a young woman with deep chestnut curls, a wide smiling face, laughing grey eyes. Lovely.

  �
��Who’s that?’ she asked, and he turned to look as if he wasn’t sure who might have been photographed and sitting on his mantelpiece. Then he turned back to his steak.

  ‘That’s my wife.’

  She thought about it. She ate a bit more steak.

  ‘That’s your wife,’ she repeated at last. ‘You mean…as in present tense?’

  ‘She’s dead. She died six years ago.’

  Ally flinched. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Some people would stop there, Ally thought ruefully, but when had she ever stopped when going on could get her into trouble? It was her life skill.

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘Leukaemia.’

  ‘Bummer.’

  ‘As you say.’

  ‘Was that why you came here?’ she asked. ‘To get away from an old life?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Was she a doctor, too?’

  ‘She was, as a matter of fact,’ he said, and he glanced back at the photograph again as if reminding himself of who she was. ‘We were married in med school.’

  ‘And when she died you bolted here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it like that.’

  ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But it’s a good place to bolt to.’

  ‘If you like hard work.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘I like the medicine I’m doing,’ he told her. ‘But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I hate it when I’m in trouble,’ he admitted. ‘I had a woman with a disastrous birth last month. I can’t do obstetrics-with no back-up I send all my mums to the city a couple of weeks before the birth. But Cindy had no intention of going and I couldn’t make her. She went into labour and didn’t call me. By the time she did, she’d been in labour for almost thirty hours and the baby was in dire trouble. I did a forceps delivery but the baby was born flat. An Apgar score of two. Hell, I needed a paediatrician and an anaesthetist and a specialist nursery-and I had nothing. I got the flying squad in-a team of specialists who retrieve babies in trouble in country areas-but it was far too late. She lost the baby.’

  There was such anger in his voice. Fury.

  ‘If you hadn’t been here…’ she said softly.

  ‘Yeah, I know. If I hadn’t been here then Cindy would have died as well as the baby. But it made me feel foul.’

  ‘Hey.’ She reached across the table and put her hand over his. It was an involuntary gesture and why she’d made it she didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d had to. ‘You can’t save the world.’

  ‘No.’ He looked up and managed a smile. ‘I know I can’t. But I can try.’

  ‘Maybe you could try a massage some time,’ she said, half-smiling, and then as she thought about what she’d said, she thought, Was she nuts? ‘Not with me, of course,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But next time you go to the city. It’s great for stress.’

  She knew he wouldn’t. What a stupid thing to say. It sounded like she was drumming up business.

  ‘That was stupid,’ she whispered. ‘A dopey thing to say. I’m sorry.’ Finally she withdrew her hand and watched as he stared down at where her fingers had been. It was like he was confused.

  But before he could respond, the phone on his belt interrupted. Darcy gave her an apologetic nod, then left the table to answer it.

  Her foot was starting to throb.

  She was bone weary, she thought suddenly. Reaction from the events of the day was setting in with a vengeance.

  The dogs were snoozing by the stove and she almost envied them. She did envy them. Move over, guys, she thought as Darcy spoke urgently into his phone behind her. I’m with you.

  Darcy’s voice stopped abruptly. She turned and he was reaching for his bag.

  She’d lived for years with her grandpa. She knew trouble when she saw it. His car keys were lying on the sink, and she flipped them to him before he started looking for them.

  ‘Thanks.’ He was already moving. ‘Sorry. I-’

  ‘You need to go,’ she told him. ‘Just go.’

  ‘The guy who was arrested with Jerry,’ he snapped as he hauled open the back door. ‘He’s tried to suicide in his police cell. They’re cutting him down now.’

  There was nothing to do.

  She tried to let her mind go blank. It didn’t work.

  More destruction. She’d had Jerry arrested and someone had decided to suicide because of it.

  No. He’d have been suicidal anyway, she told herself, turning on taps so violently the water splashed up and onto the floor.

  The memories were overwhelming. Her father…

  By the time Jerry had been arrested when she’d been twelve, her father had had no self-esteem at all. He’d drifted away, a ghost with no hope of regaining any shred of life. He’d died soon after and she’d hated the thought that she’d caused it.

  ‘This isn’t your fault,’ she whispered into the washing-up water. ‘He brought it on all of them and you’ve done your best to set them free. If it’s too late…’

  She was crying, she realised, tears dripping into the suds and she gave her cheeks an angry swipe. Jekyll came over and sniffed her ankles and she gave up on the washing-up and sat down to hug him.

  ‘I’m definitely getting a dog.’

  The phone rang.

  It’d be the ambulance boys, seeing if Darcy was on his way, Ally thought, or the policeman panicking and saying hurry up. Either way there was nothing to be gained by answering it. Darcy should be there by now.

  The ringing stopped. Another ringing took its place.

  It was a different tone.

  She struggled to her feet and checked the phone. It was the fixed line that was ringing now, the instrument on the wall by the door. The first ring must have been to Darcy’s cell phone-which was lying on the kitchen table.

  He’d dropped his cell phone as he’d run.

  No matter. He was on his way.

  But…

  He should be there by now, she thought. His car had screamed out of the driveway and it was only five or six blocks to the police station. He’d be there, trying desperately to resuscitate the suicide.

  So who was ringing?

  She lifted the phone like it was a loaded gun, and a woman’s hysterical voice sounded down the line. ‘Dr Rochester, thank God. Marilyn Lewis has arrested. Intensive Care. Now!’

  The phone went dead.

  This wasn’t a good moment.

  Ally let the receiver drop.

  Marilyn Lewis.

  She remembered Marilyn. Once upon a time Marilyn had run the general store, and there had always been a lolly for Ally.

  Ally’s childhood friend, Sue, was Marilyn’s daughter. Ally had lost touch with the family, but she remembered them with deep affection. Marilyn making scones after school. Marilyn hugging her when her grandpa had been particularly cold. Marilyn tucking her into bed with Sue when Grandpa had been called out at night.

  After all these years, to meet again like this.

  There was no choice. After all her agonising there was no choice at all.

  Ally dropped the dishcloth and, sore foot or not, she started to run.

  What met her was chaos.

  There were two nurses on duty, and clearly both of them were panicking. One, a middle-aged woman, was standing by a bed with a stethoscope-a great help that was-and a younger male was trying to hook up a cardiac monitor. His fingers seemed nerveless, and he looked up as she entered with something akin to desperation.

  ‘Dr R…’ His voice trailed off. ‘You’re not…’

  Of course she wasn’t Dr Rochester. But she was already in the room, edging aside the nurse with the stethoscope and doing a fast visual assessment. Marilyn looked ashen, and there was no movement. Her eyes were wide and she was staring straight upward, seeing nothing.

  ‘How long?’ she snapped, and the male nurse fought to answer.

  ‘Four…five minutes. Leonie was watching her but she went to the bathroom. I was
on supper break. I just stepped out.’

  ‘History of heart condition?’

  ‘Yes. Two…two minor heart attacks and angina. Heart pain tonight.’

  Why the hell wasn’t the monitor attached, then? ‘Get that monitor working-fast.’ She glanced around the room. It was tiny-Tambrine Creek’s answer to Intensive Care was a far cry from a big city hospital’s set-up-but there was everything she needed.

  But first…

  ‘Marilyn,’ she said strongly, taking the older woman’s shoulders and giving her an urgent shake. ‘Marilyn, can you hear me?’ It was a remote hope that this was a temporary loss of consciousness that she could snap out of, but patients had woken before, and Marilyn wouldn’t thank her for broken ribs if this wasn’t a cardiac arrest.

  There was no response.

  Airway.

  She rolled Marilyn onto her side, not waiting for one of the nurses to help her. The older nurse was actually wringing her hands. Of all the useless actions. But she didn’t have time to complain.

  What she was doing now was almost intuitive, drilled into her over and over again. ABC. Airways. Breathing. Circulation.

  Her mouth was clear. Her tongue wasn’t blocking her throat. Airway fine.

  Breathing.

  She put her hand on Marilyn’s breast. Her chest wasn’t moving.

  ‘Mask,’ she snapped, and held out a hand. Her other hand was searching for a pulse. Nothing. ‘Get that monitor hooked up fast.’

  The younger nurse-his label said his name was Paul-was fighting to connect it. He at least seemed vaguely competent.

  ‘Mask,’ she snapped again, and the older nurse finally managed to turn to the trolley and fetch it. Ally still had to snatch the mask from her hands. She fitted it with lightning precision, inserting the Guedel airway with a speed learned from scores of practise sessions on dummies and a few more on the real thing.

  She fitted the bag and squeezed, then stared down at Marilyn’s chest. Damn, she couldn’t see. Marilyn was wearing some sort of frilly nightgown.

  She put her hand in the neckline and ripped the frills to the waist.