The Doctor Calling

by Meredith Appleyard

  ‘Dad’s already gone out in the ute,’ Sam had said. She’d nodded and asked him to check if Mikey was up, and she’d set about her usual morning routine.

  Jess went to their bedroom last. The room they’d shared for eleven years. The room in which they’d conceived both of their children. The room that had been her parents’ room before it became theirs. Jess paused on the threshold.

  And there it was, propped on the bedside cupboard, an envelope with Jess scrawled across the front. The sight of it made her feel light-headed; tiny white spots danced in front of her eyes. She dropped onto the bed, her insides in freefall. Fingers to her mouth she pressed against the rising nausea. The only other times there’d been envelopes with her name written in Darren’s unmistakable hand had been her birthday, Mother’s Day or Christmas. Today was none of those.

  Jess stared at the envelope. Her heart thudded. She felt like her whole body was beating a steady beat, a timer ticking off the minutes, a countdown to something that she was desperate to know and fearful she already knew.

  ‘Mum?’

  She twisted her head around. Mikey stood in the doorway in his shorty pyjamas. The pair with the tractors on them, his favourites.

  ‘Mikey.’ Jess blinked. ‘What’s up, mate?’

  ‘What are you doing? Where’s Dad? I’m thirsty.’

  She carefully stood up. The white spots had gone. ‘Come to the kitchen. I’ll get you a drink.’

  Mikey settled back into bed after a cold lemonade, another dose of paracetamol and his evening antibiotics. The half-peeled potatoes had browned on the sink, the sausages sat in a puddle of conden­sation on the microwave plate. Jess shoved the lot in the fridge and the peels in the compost bucket. When she was sure Mikey was asleep again she went back to the bedroom to check under the bed but all she found were dust bunnies. The suitcases were gone.

  She looked at the envelope propped against the lamp, felt her heart accelerate, her mouth go dry.

  I’m sorry, Jess, it began and so did her tears.

  He’d gone.

  After our argument last night I knew I had to do something. This place is falling down around our ears and I don’t know how to stop it. It’s got so as I don’t care anymore because nothing I do makes a difference. I’ve grown to hate the place. Your old man was right – I’ll never make even a half-decent farmer. When Neill dies you should sell the lot, use the money to make a better life.

  Tell Sam and Mikey I love them. And Jess, I want you to know there’s never been anyone else but you. I’ll be in touch when I sort myself out. I’m so sorry. You married a loser. I know you’ll manage. You always do.

  Darren

  With a fist hard against her mouth she smothered a cry. Her teeth cut into her lip, the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She let the letter flutter to the floor. Away. She had to get away. She walked out of the bedroom, out of the house, across the farmyard, behind the shed. When she was far enough away that she wouldn’t wake Mikey, she collapsed onto her knees in the dirt and let the cry escape, like a dam bursting, the sound rending the still night air.

  Jake couldn’t believe he was back. Dog-tired from what felt like an eternity in transit, and with a feeling of déjà vu, he opened the screen door and knocked on the glass-panelled front door. It was twilight. A liminal time. How many weeks since he’d been in Potters Junction? He listened for the shuffle of feet as Neill slogged his way to the door. The porch light came on and the door opened.

  ‘Son.’

  The single syllable sighed out on a breath, and the old man’s eyes glistened.

  Jake swallowed, conscious of the lump that had formed in his throat.

  ‘I’m back,’ he said.

  For as long as it took for moths to appear and spin with no discernible purpose around the forty-watt bulb, the two men stood on either side of the threshold.

  Jake hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t be welcomed home, but as he watched a range of emotions flit across Neill’s face, the thought now sprang to mind. And with the thought came the realisation that he wouldn’t blame the old man if he turned him away.

  And then came a surge of emotions that left him feeling a bit like he’d been poleaxed. Jake took a small step back, tightening his grip on the gear pack in his hand, ready to turn.

  ‘Well,’ said Neill, after what seemed like an age. ‘Don’t just stand there, come on in.’ The old man held the glass door wide.

  And now, almost twenty-four long hours later, Jake swiped a sweaty palm down the front of his t-shirt and with the same sense of déjà vu knocked on another door, a wooden back door with a loose brass doorknob.

  It was almost dark and light blazed through the kitchen window. When his knuckles hit the timber panel, the door inched open of its own accord, tired old hinges squealing. No answer. He pushed the door wider and walked in, past the bathroom and laundry, pausing in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Laura?’

  A black-clad backside and two feet protruded from under the kitchen table. The backside was decidedly female. A dull thud, followed by a curse and the backside reversed carefully out from under the table.

  It wasn’t Laura. This backside was curvier, wasn’t denim-clad. After the backside came the back, not a thick, chestnut braid in sight. So Laura had left town.

  The stranger finally cleared the table and sank back onto her haunches, looking up.

  ‘Jake?’

  Laura. He sucked in a broken breath.

  ‘Christ. Laura? What have you done to your hair?’

  Her fingers skimmed the short curls.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve warned you before about leaving the back door unlocked,’ he said as he stepped into the room, watching her, updating his memory banks.

  ‘It’s barely dark. I’ve been in and out . . .’

  Her face was a little fuller, her lips glistened as she spoke, and the sometimes sad look in her blue eyes had gone. The emerald-­coloured knit she wore over black linen pants hugged her curves like a second skin. He could have been looking at a different woman. But it wasn’t a different woman, it was Laura. He was pleased to see her, and the intensity of just how delighted he was unnerved him.

  ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t hear your bike. I was probably at the hospital. One of the oldies fell out of bed, hit their head.’

  ‘Jess said you were back doctoring.’

  ‘This is my second week. I’ve been in Magpie Creek today, and again tomorrow. Meghan Kimble had her baby early. I’m filling in until the locum arrives.’

  ‘So Jess said.’

  ‘I bet your dad was pleased to see you.’

  ‘I thought for a minute he wasn’t going to let me in. Wouldn’t have blamed him.’ He closed his eyes, remembered how he’d felt. When he opened them she was watching him.

  ‘Laura, I —’

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  What she’d saved him from saying, he wasn’t sure. A smile tugged at his lips. ‘Ever known me to knock back an offer of a decent cup of coffee?’

  She lifted two cups from the draining rack on the sink.

  ‘No,’ she said, and turned towards the coffee machine, but not before he saw something flare in her eyes and he knew, like him, she was remembering what almost happened the last time she’d made him coffee.

  She fumbled with the coffee machine, dropped the pod onto the floor. He’d come back. The words chased each other around and around in her head as she bent to retrieve the pod.

  ‘Floor’s clean,’ she mumbled, and jammed the thing into place. The machine coughed and rattled; the aroma of brewing coffee filled the room. She heard him clear his throat, then the scrape of a chair as he sat down.

  ‘You’ve seen Jess already?’

  ‘I went out to the farm this afternoon.’

  ‘How’s Mikey?’

  ‘Better. Jess said his temperature is right down.’


  She put the coffee in front of him, took the sugar bowl off the dresser and placed it alongside. This felt surreal – she’d never expected to see him again.

  ‘Sorry, but I don’t have any biscuits.’

  ‘Darren’s gone.’

  ‘What?’ Laura said.

  ‘He’s left her. He didn’t come home Tuesday night, he’d cleared out. She found a note.’

  Laura heard the contempt in his voice. ‘I knew something was wrong,’ she said.

  ‘She doesn’t want the old man to know. Doesn’t want to upset him, but she said things with Darren had been difficult for a while.’

  ‘He already suspects something’s going on. But I won’t say anything to him, if that’s what Jess wants.’ She looked into her drink, swirled the cup and watched the creamy layer on top lick at the white porcelain.

  ‘No matter how bad things got between them, I don’t think she thought he’d leave the boys.’

  ‘She must be devastated.’

  Abruptly, Laura jumped to her feet.

  ‘I’ll go out and see her. She probably isn’t sleeping. I can give her something.’ She made for the dresser to grab her things but Jake caught her arm. She paused, her eyes drawn to his fingers encircling her wrist.

  ‘She doesn’t know I’m telling you, Laura, so maybe not tonight. I don’t think she’s ready to talk to anyone about it yet. I’m going back tonight so I can listen out for the boys and she’ll try to get some sleep. She’s exhausted. Sam’s hardly said a word since she told him, and Mikey keeps asking when his dad’s coming back.’

  ‘Why didn’t she ring me? I could have helped.’

  ‘She already feels bad enough about all you’ve been doing for Neill.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! I don’t mind at all.’ She pulled her hand out of Jake’s grasp, opened the dresser drawer. ‘Here,’ she said and handed him a white plastic bottle. ‘They’re sleeping pills. Ones I haven’t used. Tell her to follow the instructions on the bottle.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘But nothing. Tell her I gave them to you because you said you couldn’t sleep. Make something up!’

  ‘Thanks.’ He wrapped his long, strong fingers around the bottle and dropped them into the pocket of his shirt. He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better get going,’ he said but didn’t move.

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you out,’ she answered but stayed where she was.

  ‘Laura,’ he said. ‘I was a bit of a prick to you on the phone. You didn’t deserve any of it.’

  She held up her hand. ‘Don’t apologise. I practically hung up on you and you didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘I did, and you know it.’

  Their gazes snapped together. He was the first to break away, taking his cup to the sink to rinse.

  ‘How long are you here for this time?’ she said and hoped she didn’t sound desperate. Heat flashed through her at the very sight of him, at the very realness of him standing in her kitchen.

  ‘For as long as it takes,’ he said, his voice low, and they both knew he meant until Neill died. He jammed his hands into his pockets, focussed on his feet. He kicked at the mat with a booted toe.

  ‘I wasn’t coming back again, ever. But then you phoned. I had a twelve-hour flight to think. When I landed in Istanbul I called in some favours,’ he said. ‘It took a while to sort out, but here I am.’

  ‘Neill and Jess would have been so happy to see you.’

  ‘What about you, Laura, are you pleased to see me?’

  ‘This isn’t about me.’

  ‘You reckon?’ he said quietly.

  No words would come but she felt every cell in her body come alive. He smiled. ‘What were you doing under the table when I came in?’

  ‘Salt damp,’ she rushed. ‘The place is riddled with it. I was checking out how far up it went on that wall.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ he said, nodding as if he understood. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Seconds later the back door slammed. She realised her hands were shaking. With a frustrated moan she clasped her fingers together tightly until the shaking stopped. He’d come back when she was sure he wouldn’t. But Neill would be lucky to make Christmas, and Jake wouldn’t hang around for long after that. The wisest thing would be to have as little to do with him as possible, because he would leave again. And then there was Jess, and the bottom dropping out of her world. Her father was dying and now her life partner and the father of her children had walked out on her, right when she needed him the most.

  Laura emptied the remains of her lukewarm coffee, washed the cup and put it on the draining rack next to Jake’s. Bracing her hands on the edge of the kitchen sink she chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared out into the near darkness. It was only weeks ago she’d told herself it wasn’t smart, or safe, to become involved with this family. But here she was up to her armpits in it and if her body’s tingling response to Jake was any indication, she was ready and willing to go even further.

  But who knew what the future held? Jess would eventually move on, Jake would leave and, honestly, Laura didn’t know how long she herself would stay put in Potters Junction either. One day at a time, she thought. After all she’d had firsthand experience of what it was like to plan and anticipate a future, and then have it snatched away in a second.

  With a sigh she trudged to the bedroom and changed her clothes, trying to work up some enthusiasm for dinner. She opened the fridge. There was one lonely egg, a paper bag containing a handful of shrivelled mushrooms, half a punnet of cherry tomatoes and a few limp vegetables in the crisper. Damn. She’d forgotten to do the shopping.

  One thing was certain, she thought as she closed the fridge door and fossicked for the servo’s takeaway menu. She wouldn’t be going anywhere until Neill Finlay had taken his last painful breath.

  ‘I’d say keep it,’ said the beaming man at the counter, ‘but there’s another bloke who wants it. I hadn’t hired it out for weeks, and now suddenly everyone wants it.’

  Laura had hired the sander from the hardware shop the weekend before and it had sat in the front bedroom unused, its very presence an accusation. On Saturday morning she took it back to the shop, bemused by the shop assistant’s sudden transition from Mr Morose to Mr Chatty.

  She’d been a regular customer at the shop since her move to Potters Junction and a grunt was the most she’d ever got out of him. Must have been something to do with her treating him at the health centre and reassuring him it wasn’t a brain tumour that was causing his deafness. His ears were clogged with wax and probably had been for years. After a few doses of softening drops she’d successfully syringed them and, voila, hearing restored.

  She loaded her new tins of paint into the back of the car. They were for the passageway. The cracks had all been filled, the walls were just waiting to be painted. That job was on her afternoon agenda. But for now she’d take half an hour off and wander down the main street, look in the windows.

  Potters Junction was bustling with Saturday morning traffic and shoppers, several people acknowledged her with a wave, and the footpath was an obstacle course of A-frames advertising every­thing from preservative-free mincemeat and lamb-and-rosemary sausages to tissues and toilet rolls. The car park alongside the supermarket was packed. The pharmacy’s front window was crammed with Christmas decorations and gift ideas. Laura hadn’t given Christmas more than a passing thought – it’d really sneaked up on her this year.

  It was just before ten and already heat was shimmering off the bitumen. The cool change had been short-lived and the locals were grumbling that they’d missed spring again this year and slipped straight into summer. Farmers were mumbling about the lack of spring rains, and what there was to harvest would hardly be worth the fuel it cost to get the crop off. She’d already learned the land to the north and east of Potters Junction was marginal, on the wrong side of Goyder’s Line, and seasons like this were the rule rather than the exception.

  On impulse she stopped in at the
Potters Junction Cafe, ordered a chocolate milkshake and sat down in one of the retro booths. She hadn’t had a milkshake in years but it seemed the right thing to do on a hot Saturday morning. The town was beginning to grow on her. When she couldn’t come up with a reason to linger any longer she went home and got started on the painting.

  In the cool of the evening, Laura relaxed on the back verandah and rubbed moisturiser into her hands and arms. She’d showered and scrubbed the paint off her hands, leaving them dry and wrinkled. She was pretending she wasn’t straining to hear the conversation in the yard next door, when her mobile phone rang.

  ‘Doctor O’Connor, it’s the RN on duty at the hospital. I apologise for bothering you, I know you’re not on call. I’ve tried several times to raise Doctor Burns and he’s not answering his phone, and in this patient’s case notes, I noticed that you’d admitted him briefly last Tuesday.’

  ‘Jason Coombes,’ Laura said with a sense of foreboding.

  ‘That’s right. His wife brought him earlier with similar symptoms, his temp’s thirty-nine eight, his BP is one hundred on sixty, his urine has large blood and protein in it and he looks really unwell.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.’

  ‘Should I keep trying Doctor Burns?’

  Laura hesitated. This was new territory for her. Officially Doctor Burns was on call. ‘Yes, I think you should keep trying his mobile. See you in ten.’

  Two hours later Laura was sitting at the nurses’ station desk finishing her paperwork when Milt Burns came blustering in through the front door. The nurses were down in A&E cleaning up after the patient had gone – transferred via ambulance to the regional hospital in Port Augusta.