The Doctor Calling

by Meredith Appleyard

  The next morning, when Laura let herself through the gate to pick up the dog, the chain was hooked over Skip’s empty kennel. The house was silent, the backyard cast in shadow. She crept through the carport to the front gate, making her way slowly past Jake Finlay’s motorcycle, a black behemoth crouching against the wall. The first rays of sunshine struck the chrome of the exhaust and the flash of brightness caught her in the eyes.

  Neill’s front lawn was overgrown, all tangled weeds and kikuyu grass, and spindly lavender and rosemary bushes clung to life in a neglected garden bed. Neill never claimed to be a gardener, quite the contrary, and Jess had enough to do in her own backyard to be tending to her father’s. Stepping over the front gate, Laura took off in her usual direction.

  The sun was inching over the horizon, the trees along the street throwing long shadows. Laura jogged past the deserted school and out onto the dirt road. The only sound in the sweet-scented stillness were the stones crunching underfoot. Today’s run was going to be a tough one. Her limbs were sluggish and the wound on her thigh burned with each step. When the dog hadn’t been waiting for her, she’d contemplated going back to bed.

  And it was lonely without the dog. Laura kept looking down, missing him. The road stretched out in front. Laura was starting to loosen up a kilometre or so into the run when she heard the pounding of feet and Skip’s familiar yip. Moments later Jake-bloody-Finlay breezed past her. He gave her a brief nod. Sweat was running down his face and his t-shirt was streaked with it, but he ran effortlessly. The dog threw her an apologetic grin and a quick flick of his tail, and continued alongside Jake. Traitor. She sped up and each breath became a short, fiery burst. But the gap between them widened anyway, so she slowed down to her usual speed and watched as they disappeared into the distance.

  When Laura arrived home there was no sign of either man or dog and the blinds remained drawn at Neill’s place. She didn’t dwell on the rush of irritation she felt. Best not to analyse why the change in routine annoyed her so much. The answer might not be the one she wanted. She let herself into the house, focussing on the day ahead – another fourteen hours or so to work herself to the point of exhaustion before collapsing into bed. The upside was that the backyard was taking shape, and if the hardware shop’s garden section had any seedlings left, she was ready to put them into the plot of freshly turned soil. The spring days were mild and rain was forecast the following week – no better time to get the summer vegies in.

  Taking a coffee into the backyard, she paced out the prepared patch, imagining where she’d put what. Her mum had had a green thumb, and so had her husband, Brett. Laura hoped she’d gained enough knowledge from watching and listening to them, and all the reruns of Burke’s Backyard they’d watched over the years, to start her own productive garden. Never before in her life had she found the time to try her hand. Carefully perched on a bale of pea straw, with the sun warm on her back and the dry stalks scratching her legs, Laura sipped the coffee and envisaged her future vegetable garden – lush, green and laden.

  The gate squealed on its hinges, dragging Laura from her reverie. The dog raced towards her. Her welcoming smile dimmed when Jake Finlay followed moments later. Careful not to scrape her gravel rash, Laura brushed the straw from her backside and sank to her haunches to return Skip’s greeting, conscious of Jake standing watching them.

  ‘Hello again.’ She pushed herself to her feet and the dog padded off towards the shed, snout pressed to the ground. She pulled at the hem of her shorts, wishing she’d changed out of her running gear before being sidetracked by coffee and the garden. She didn’t usually feel uncomfortable in her sports clothes, but she was suddenly self-conscious.

  ‘Good run? How’s the leg?’

  ‘It’s okay. Is Neill all right?’

  He kicked at a weed growing through a crack in the cement. ‘Yeah, far as I know.’

  She raised her eyebrows, edged past him on the narrow path. ‘What’s up then? You didn’t come over just to ask how my leg was.’

  ‘Coffee would be good.’

  That stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘I bet you’ve got something better than that forty-three-bean crap Neill drinks,’ he said.

  To Laura’s total bemusement he followed her up the path, across the verandah and inside. He stood in the kitchen doorway and looked around, his expression curious. Since his run he’d showered and changed. His hair was still damp. She hadn’t noticed it yesterday but he had a shallow cleft in his chin – almost a dimple, but not quite.

  ‘How do you have your coffee?’ she stammered, suddenly conscious she’d been staring at him. Laura hoped he’d think her flushed cheeks were a result of sitting in the sun. She quickly turned her back and plugged in the Nespresso machine, one of the few possessions she hadn’t left back in Adelaide with everything else.

  If she’d still been looking at him she would have seen the gold flecks in his eyes glint and his mouth twitch with amusement.

  ‘Short black, two sugars.’ He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe and Laura felt him watching her.

  ‘Let’s sit out back,’ she said minutes later, handing him a fine bone china cup.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘What about yours?’

  ‘I’ve just had one.’

  ‘Have another. I don’t like to drink alone.’

  ‘Are you always this bossy?’ she snapped and he threw back his head and laughed. Laura’s eyes widened. In their short acquaintance he’d struck her as serious; she hadn’t taken him for the belly-­laughing type. It did amazing things to his face – crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes, his teeth gleamed, stark white against the shadow of his beard.

  ‘Yes, I am always this bossy,’ he said.

  They moved out to the back where two ancient, mismatched cane chairs sat side by side. Tubs of plants bordered the northern end of the wide verandah. This time of the year they still caught the morning sun. A galvanised-iron water tank stood on a chest-high stand adjacent to the house, moss growing around the base. Laura sat down. This spot was one of her favourite places and since arriving in Potters Junction she’d only shared it with her sister Alice, the one time she’d visited. The other chair creaked when Jake eased down beside her, kicking long legs out in front and crossing them at the ankles. The dog came and sat down on the cement beside them.

  ‘What are you going to plant?’ Jake tilted his chin in the direction of the freshly turned plot.

  She shrugged, blew on her drink. ‘Tomatoes, cucumbers, zuc­chinis, capsicum, and maybe beetroot and spring onions, if I can get a hold of the seedlings. I’ve got herbs and lettuce in the tubs.’

  He scanned the work-in-progress that was her garden. In two swallows he’d finished his coffee. He rested the mug on his knee, bounced it up and down several times. Neither of them spoke. The dog looked up then dropped his head and went back to sleep.

  ‘Mind if I get another coffee?’ Jake said eventually.

  She opened her mouth, closed it again, felt a bit like a guppy. ‘Sure. Why not? Help yourself.’

  ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, covering the cup with her hand.

  He came back a few minutes later and leaned against a verandah post, gulping the coffee down like it was medicine and gazing out towards the neighbour’s fruit trees. She nursed her empty cup.

  ‘You’ve got your work cut out for you,’ he said at length.

  ‘Yeah, there is a lot to do. But I guess I can see what’s been done.’ She stepped up beside him. ‘You should have seen it before. It hadn’t been touched in years.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the dead tree? And all the junk by the shed?’

  ‘It’s a quince tree; I’ll eventually get rid of it. And the junk, well, I’ll get around to sorting through it and dump what we don’t want.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My sister Alice and I. Great-aunt Dorothy left the place to both of us.’

  He straightened up, ha
nded her his empty mug. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘I’ll bring Dad’s chainsaw and cut the tree down for you.’

  ‘You don’t —’

  ‘Nine o’clock. Have the coffee on.’ He whistled and Skip sprang to his feet, looking up at him with adoring eyes. When he got to the gate he stopped. ‘Damn.’

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘What?’

  ‘The reason I came over in the first place. Neill wants to know if you’ll take him to a seventieth birthday bash on Saturday night. He wants to go but reckons he’s not up to it alone.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ she said, walking to the corner of the verandah. ‘He doesn’t drive at all anymore. He has little stamina for anything.’

  ‘What shall I tell him? Can you take him or not?’

  ‘Why can’t you take him?’

  ‘Won’t be around.’

  ‘You’re leaving already?’ The brief twist she felt in her stomach wasn’t disappointment, it couldn’t possibly be.

  He looked away. Bored, the dog wandered off towards the shed again.

  ‘What about Jess? She’ll be going, won’t she?’

  He shook his head. ‘We talked yesterday, and she can’t go.’

  Two children and neither of them would take their dying father to a community event. She had thought better of both of them. Who knew? Laura chewed on her bottom lip. What she did know was whose birthday party it was; she’d seen the invitation on Neill’s fridge and the announcement in the local paper. The whole community was invited. Just because she’d kept to herself didn’t mean she hadn’t taken notice of what went on around her. And she hadn’t missed the furtive glances, either. She’d seen the unspoken questions in the eyes of the girls at the supermarket checkout, the woman in the post office, and the men at the hardware store when they realised she’d been around too long to be a visitor.

  She coughed against the sudden full feeling in the back of her throat. A large community gathering was not on her immediate agenda. A large community gathering to celebrate the local GP’s birthday was definitely not on her immediate agenda.

  Ease back into your life, her psychologist had told her. You’ll know when you’re ready but don’t put it off for too long. The longer you leave it, the harder it’ll be to return to everyday life. If the thought of a large crowd and the local GP had her pulse racing and her mouth going dry, Laura suspected she’d already put certain things off for too long.

  ‘All right, I’ll take him.’

  With the words out, she tugged at the neckline of her t-shirt, rubbed at her lips with her fingertips. Feeling as if she was losing her balance, Laura put a hand out to the verandah post to steady herself. Then Jake was standing so close she could see the way his thick, black lashes curled at the ends. He was peering into her face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He stepped up beside her and they were no longer eye to eye. He took her arm and began to propel her back towards the cane chairs.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said, and tried to shake his arm off.

  ‘I thought you were going to pass out. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head yesterday morning?’ He let go of her arm, his gaze moving to the raw wound on her thigh.

  ‘I’m all right, thanks. And no, I didn’t hit my head yesterday. It’s nothing. Don’t let me hold you up.’

  ‘If you say so.’ He dropped down onto the path and the dog materialised beside him. ‘I’ll tell the old man you’ll take him. He’ll be pleased. I’ll leave you to make the arrangements.’

  When he was almost to the gate he turned back. ‘You’re sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Too much coffee and no breakfast.’

  Not anxiety.

  His gaze bored into her like a laser, and then he said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thanks? For what?’

  ‘For taking him to the birthday party.’ From where she sat she noticed his mouth flatten. ‘And for not telling him that I’d run you off the road.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all she managed before the gate closed. She heard him talking to the dog and moments later the slam of Neill’s back door. Shaking her head, she went inside to make breakfast.

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  The question was expected. Jake was surprised it had taken Neill over twenty-four hours to ask it. He’d told Jess he’d be gone again by the weekend. Today was Wednesday. She hadn’t said anything in response but her mouth had tightened and her hazel eyes, so much like his own, had hardened.

  ‘I need to be back in Melbourne by Monday. We’re nailing down the funding for another documentary about the Syrian refugee crisis. I have to be there.’

  He didn’t really, that wasn’t his role, he just needed to be ready to roll when the funding was secured. But already, after only a day and a bit, he was restless. The house felt claustrophobic, the smell of death and decay was permeating every corner. The old man’s gaze followed him everywhere and the atmosphere was thick with all the things not said.

  ‘Is there anything you want me to do while I’m here?’

  Neill scraped a hand across the crown of his head. ‘There’s a lot of rubbish in the garage that could go. We could sort through it, load up the ute and the trailer. Dump’s open this arvo and then again Friday.’

  ‘Are the ute and trailer registered?’

  ‘Of course,’ Neill said indignantly. ‘I was driving the damn thing a few weeks ago.’

  ‘All right. Let’s do it.’

  Neill clambered stiffly to his feet and piled the lunch dishes into the sink. ‘I can do them later,’ he said, taking the garage key from the hook by the kitchen door and handing it to Jake.

  The short walk across the yard had left Neill puffing and Jake grabbed a dilapidated folding chair and plonked him down in it. ‘You give the orders, I’ll do the manual labour.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Neill said and Jake couldn’t ignore the anguish on the old man’s face. ‘You probably think that’s all I ever did – give the orders and expect you to do the work.’

  Jake rolled his eyes. He’d never thought that, way back when. He’d been proud to work alongside his father, to learn whatever he could teach him. ‘You don’t know what I think,’ he said and Neill lifted what was left of his eyebrows.

  ‘No, you never would tell me.’

  Jake pushed back the familiar burn of rage, of hurt, of disappointment. No, you never would tell me anything, either. ‘Where do you want to start?’

  Neill recoiled at the hard tone.

  Jake took a long breath, let it out slowly and rephrased his question. ‘What do you want to do first, Dad?’

  Neill shifted in the seat; it squealed in protest. ‘Probably best to move the ute out of here first. That’ll give more room to load the trailer. What do you think?’

  ‘Keys?’

  ‘Hanging up by the kitchen door, son, same place as the shed key.’

  Jake was being a prick and he knew it. This place always gave him the shits, brought out his ugly side. He snatched the keys off the hook. Minutes later the ute coughed to life and in a cloud of diesel fumes he drove it into the yard. By the time the trailer was loaded with rusty drums, wire, bent star droppers and other junk, he was filthy.

  ‘I can’t believe you brought all this back from the farm,’ Jake said. He wiped his hands on a piece of rag. ‘What were you going to do with it?’

  After the rocky start, they’d worked together amiably enough and Neill looked almost happy.

  ‘You know me, never throw anything away.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. The day after you get rid of it you always need it and then you have to go buy a new one.’

  Neill grinned and Jake’s lips twitched as he held back a smile. The number of times he’d heard the old man say that.

  ‘How about I go and put the kettle on?’

  Jake screwed up his face. ‘You wouldn’t have a beer in the fridge?’

  ‘Reckon there might be a couple of stubbies on the bottom shelf. T
hey’ll only be light, though. Doctor’s orders.’

  Jake shrugged, threw the rag onto the bench. ‘Better than nothing,’ he said and they went into the house.

  Later that afternoon Jake knocked on Laura’s back door and waited. Skip stood beside him looking up at the door and wagging his tail.

  ‘You like her, don’t you, boy,’ he muttered, giving the dog a nudge with his knee. ‘I don’t blame you. There’s something about her, especially the legs.’

  He knocked again, louder this time, and then pounded with a closed fist when there was no answer.

  ‘We both know she’s in there.’ He winked at the dog and opened the screen door to try the tarnished brass doorknob. It twisted easily in his hand and before he could change his mind he pushed the door open. He called out. Silence. He stepped inside and into the small utility area that led into the kitchen. Skip bounded past him, through the kitchen and up the passage, obviously more sure of his welcome.

  As he’d imagined when he’d been there earlier that day, the floor plan of the house was simple – kitchen and wet areas along the back, four symmetrical rooms at the front separated by a passageway. It was obvious the kitchen, laundry and bathroom had been added on years after the original four-roomed stone dwelling had been built. The musty smell of salt damp brought back memories of the farmhouse Jake had grown up in.

  Jake walked up the passage, the floorboards creaking beneath the carpet. He glanced into a room where a queen-sized bed was covered with a latte-coloured doona, a white cotton robe flung carelessly across the foot. Laura’s bedroom. Feeling like a voyeur he stepped into the doorway of the room opposite. It had been stripped of furniture and it wouldn’t be long before the carpet went the same way. Laura was on her knees patting the dog.

  ‘So, you really are renovating. Neill said so. I’m impressed,’ he said. She leaned back onto her haunches. Skip looked from Jake to Laura and back again, tail flicking from side to side, and grinning like a fool.

  ‘Who invited you in?’ she said. ‘I thought it was Neill.’ He flinched at her bluntness. Not that he could blame her.