Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  No! She blinked back a new onslaught of tears. Put Jason away…The idea was too monstrous to consider. He was the husband she had loved for more than ten years and for whom she still felt some residue of feeling. And he was the father of her children. She couldn’t look at herself in the mirror or face others if she committed such an abhorrent act. It would be best for the family. Wes’s words echoed through her mind. Perhaps it would, but her conscience could not abide such a decision. Somehow they would stay together and survive.

  She took comfort from the thought that she had the strength to persevere. If Jason’s accident had happened early in their marriage, she may not have had that strength. Being with him all these years, loving him as she had, becoming stronger and more mature, gave her the will to go on, to continue to live their lives one day at a time.

  And so, after all her toing-and-froing, she was back to square one. They would stay at Bindi Creek and work through the problem as best they could.

  A gentle knock on the door brought Brooke’s head up from where she had been writing up her accounts for the month. She wasn’t trading in the black yet; however, she was gaining patients and was optimistic that, month by month, things would get better.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘G’day, Mrs d’Winters,’ Craig Marcioni greeted her as he came into the office. ‘Do I call you Mrs or Doctor?’ he asked with a smile as he approached her desk.

  Brooke had seen him around town a couple of times and had nodded good day to him, but they hadn’t spoken until now. ‘That depends on whether you want my professional advice on a health matter or whether this is a social call.’

  ‘Part of it’s social and part of it’s business.’ He sat in the chair opposite her.

  ‘You’re home for good now?’ She gave him a subtle once-over as he sat down. He looked well. His eyes were clear, he was nicely dressed in dark casual trousers and a long-sleeved striped shirt under a black waistcoat.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been here for three months now. Everything’s fine. I’m drug-free and I intend to stay that way.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve been working my way through the community service hours the court gave me. It’s been interesting, working on outdoor council projects, and up at Wyangala Dam in the recreational area. Next week I’m at the Cowra library, helping to clean out one of the storerooms.’

  ‘Sounds as if you’re being kept busy.’

  He shrugged at her. ‘Busy enough. I’ve got about three hundred hours of community service left to do, then I’m a free man.’ He looked at her. ‘That’s why I’m here, Mrs d’Winters. I want to help you, if I can, using the rest of my hours.’

  ‘Help me, Craig? How?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been hearing things—you know how people around here talk. That the situation has become a bit difficult with the Doc. I’d like to help out in whatever way I can. The court admin officer gave me permission to approach you myself. You see, I’d like to repay you for what you did. Being arrested was the best thing that happened to me. If I’d kept doing drugs the way I was, I might be dead by now.’

  Brooke finger-combed the back of her hair. ‘That’s very nice of you, Craig, but I don’t see what you can do for me.’

  ‘Not for you, Mrs d’Winters, for the Doc. I thought I might become kind of like a companion to him, be with him when you’re at work and the kids are at school. Maybe for five hours a day or something.’

  Brooke’s eyebrows shot up with interest. ‘He’s not an invalid, Craig, he doesn’t have to be fed or toileted, or that sort of thing.’ Her brown eyes probed his. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, I’ve heard that when he’s alone he…does things. Like when he let your horses out of the pasture and they ran down Tyrell Road into the school. That could have been real dangerous, what with the kids in the playground and all. And the time he left the hot water tap on in your bathroom and your hot water service went bust. That’s just a few of the things I’ve heard he’s got up to.’ He leant forward in the chair, his features taut with eagerness. ‘What I propose is to keep him amused, occupied, do things with him so that he doesn’t get up to mischief.’

  Brooke fought a losing battle with the desire to smile as she admitted, ‘Yes, he has got up to the occasional piece of mischief.’ Letting the chooks out of their run was another, and telling the man in the delivery van that he wouldn’t accept the new twin beds she’d bought for their bedroom was still another. And yet, somehow she sensed another person’s hand in Craig’s offer—possibly Wes Sinclair’s. She was too proud to ask, though, and maybe she would rather not know. It was the kind of thing he would organise then pretend he knew nothing about. ‘It’s an interesting proposition, Craig, and I thank you for it. But are you sure you want to? At times Jason can be quite a trial.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs d’Winters, very much. I did a few social work sessions when I was in detox. I’ve got some idea of the difficulties,’ he told her. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a two-week program of activities the Doc and I could do together—to give you an idea of the sort of thing I have in mind.’ He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Some of these things might cost a bit, though—perhaps petrol money for outings and that sort of thing. You know, when I was in detox I sometimes used to visit the rehab ward. I saw the Doc there, struggling to understand what they wanted him to do. I thought then that if I could help him, after all he did for my nonna, then I would.’

  ‘Could I think about it for a day or two?’

  Craig’s offer was an answer to her prayers. Jason needed a minder, she knew that, and this could be a reasonable stop-gap measure. Until…until…She wouldn’t think about that, about decisions that circumstances might force her to make one day.

  ‘Sure. Take your time. My phone number’s on the piece of paper. Give me a call when you decide what you want to do.’ He gave her a salute as he paused at the door. ‘See ya.’

  After Craig left, Brooke studied the program he had written. There were TV programs they could watch together—documentaries and action adventure shows—and time for playing computer games. They could do bushwalks around the town and along the creek, all the way to the swimming hole, though it was winter and not warm enough to swim. Twice a week they could go out on drives to a variety of locations in and around the district. And the program included half an hour of gentle callisthenics each day. The whole thing was well conceived and executed. She smiled to herself as she put the paper down. Either Craig had had help putting it together or he was a natural organiser. Not that it mattered one way or another, she decided. His offer was a godsend and, if the Cowra court approved, she would definitely take him up on it.

  ‘Come on, Dad, just one more step and you’re at the car,’ Sharon encouraged. Beads of perspiration ran under the collar of her pullover, despite the chilly temperature. It had taken half an hour of helping, cajoling and remonstrating with him to get him to the door of the station wagon. An hour before he had had one of his ‘turns’, the second this week—and she’d had enough. She was taking him in to see Dr Honeywell and wouldn’t budge until he gave Hugh and Sharon a satisfactory diagnosis.

  She glanced at her father. He looked so sick but, despite several tests John had organised over the months, no illness had been diagnosed. But something was wrong with him and she had the sneaking suspicion her father thought so too, though he pretended otherwise.

  ‘There, sit on the seat and I’ll swing your legs in,’ Sharon ordered, grunting as she took each leg, one at a time, and manoeuvred them into the car.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled the station wagon up outside the Bindi Creek surgery.

  By chance, Brooke was standing on the other side of the road, talking to Frank Galea. She watched Sharon try to get Hugh out of the car and saw that she was unable to. Curiosity made her bid Frank a swift goodbye and cross the road to see if she could help, even though she knew that the unfriendly Sharon probably wouldn’t want her to.

  ‘W
hat’s the matter?’ Brooke asked as she came up to the Thurtell’s car.

  ‘Dad’s ill,’ Sharon conceded. ‘He’s had some kind of turn. Now he can’t get out of the car. He says his legs and arms won’t move.’

  Brooke looked at Hugh, quickly assessed him and said calmly, ‘You’d better have John come out to him.’

  As Sharon went off to fetch the doctor, Brooke leant in towards Hugh. His eyes were half closed and his breathing was uneven. Her hand felt for his carotid artery. The pulse was thready.

  At her touch, Hugh’s eyes opened fully. He smiled weakly. ‘Hi, Brooke. Not too good today.’

  ‘Tell me, Hugh, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Pain here.’ He pointed to the middle of his chest. ‘Hard to swallow. Feel weak all over.’

  She noted his skin tone; it was grey. Normally he had the tan of a man who spent most of his waking hours out of doors, something he’d done most of his working life. And he was sweating profusely.

  John bustled out, stethoscope draped about his neck, his long legs moving like pistons as he rushed to his patient. As he saw Brooke he teased, ‘Trying to pinch one of my patients, are you, Brooke?’

  ‘No, just keeping Hugh company till you arrived,’ Brooke replied. She stood back to let John in close for an examination.

  ‘You’ve been up to your tricks again, haven’t you, Hugh?’ John said casually as he quickly ran the stethoscope over his chest. ‘Eating things I said should be off your diet, like chilli peppers and spicy foods.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ Hugh’s voice was strained.

  Sharon stood on the kerb, wringing her hands. For the first time she looked concerned about her father. Suddenly she was thinking how big Minta Downs was, and she really didn’t know a great deal about the day-to-day running of the property. Bethany, the favoured one, had always been more interested than her. What if something happened to him?

  Vince Gersbach had seen what was going on and come across. He stood beside Sharon and put his arm around her comfortingly.

  ‘Ahh, Vince.’ John had seen the chemist approach. ‘Could you get some sodium bicarbonate for Hugh? It looks like a bad case of indigestion again.’

  ‘Indigestion!’ Brooke sputtered, unable to help herself. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you, John?’

  John’s head whipped around towards her, surprise written all over his face. ‘What do you mean, Brooke? I’ve been attending Hugh for months. He’s had a barrage of tests and no particular ailment has been found. He’s had dyspepsia before, though—several times, and acutely. Most likely this is just another such attack.’

  Brooke put her hand on John’s sleeve and drew him aside, out of earshot of Sharon and Hugh. She spoke quietly but confidently. ‘John, Hugh’s exhibiting classic symptoms of myocardial ischaemia. I’ll bet his heartbeat was irregular, and just look at his colour and his breathing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ John queried then. ‘How do you know? The cardiac tests we did last month were negative.’

  ‘Do an ECG now. I think you’ll find that Hugh’s had or is still having a heart attack.’

  John’s forehead puckered in a frown. Obviously he still wasn’t sure. He ran the stethoscope over Hugh’s chest again and felt his pulse.

  Brooke said quietly to John as he worked on his patient, ‘Years ago, when Jason was practising in Sydney and I was assisting him, I saw a patient with very similar symptoms to Hugh’s. Believe me, it’s not dyspepsia, though some of the symptoms of dyspepsia are similar.’

  ‘Okay,’ John said, and nodded in agreement. Unwilling to risk his patient’s health by assuming he was having just a severe attack of indigestion. ‘Let’s do it.’ He looked at Brooke. ‘Could you get the ECG machine? I don’t want to move him till we know.’

  Jean was tidying up magazines on the waiting room coffee table. Seeing Brooke’s serious expression as she came in made her ask, ‘What’s up?’ She watched Brooke proceed through to the surgery.

  ‘Jean, where’s the ECG machine?’ Then she spied it at the side of a cabinet. ‘Hugh Thurtell’s ill. Could you get the long lead from the back verandah? John is going to do an ECG on Hugh to see if he’s had a heart attack.’

  Ten minutes later they had their answer. The ECG proved that Hugh had had an anterior myocardial infarction.

  Brooke subtlely took over, organising help to get Hugh settled into the back of the station wagon, where they could lie him down. Sharon would drive and, because John couldn’t leave the surgery, she would stay in the back with Hugh, monitoring his condition until they reached Cowra District Hospital. It would be quicker than getting an ambulance out to take him in.

  After the station wagon had taken off and several interested onlookers had wandered on home, John returned to the surgery, his features tight with shock.

  ‘Mr Winkleton’s in the surgery, Doctor,’ Jean told him.

  He stopped at the reception desk and stared at her, then he shook his head slightly. ‘Guess I’m a bit shell-shocked about Hugh. I thought for sure that he only had a severe case of indigestion. He does like eating spicy foods and chillis. I don’t know how Brooke knew differently.’

  Jean nodded her head. She secretly sympathised with the young doctor. She was familiar with the phenomenon of Brooke’s medical expertise, and had many questions to which she’d found no satisfactory answers. ‘Yes, Brooke amazes us all sometimes.’ As he walked on into the surgery and spoke to Mr Winkleton, she made a mental note about today’s events. She was assembling an interesting dossier on Brooke’s capabilities, and one day she would get her answers. She definitely would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The noise of tramping across the timber verandah alerted Jean to activity in the d’Winters household. She poked her head around the waiting room doorway to see what was going on. ‘Where are you all off to, this fine Saturday morning?’ she asked in that curious, forthright way she had.

  ‘To Sindalee,’ Adam told her. ‘We’re going on a trail ride to an old goldmine site up in the hills. That’s how Wes’s great-grandfather got the money to buy Sindalee. Wes said we could pan for gold if there’s any water in the creek.’

  ‘We’re taking the stuff for a bush barbecue, too,’ added Sheridan, a fact the eight-year-old considered of equal importance.

  ‘Sounds lovely.’ Jean smiled at Brooke as the rest of the troupe came out the front door. ‘Have a good time now.’

  She ruffled Adam’s hair as he went past. The twelve-year-old was her favourite because he had become such a man since his father’s accident. It was a shame that he had had to grow up so fast, but sometimes that happened to kids in the bush. Luke was the peacemaker, always trying to keep the household on an even keel, and young Sheridan had become a real little helper around the house, tidying up the mess her father made without thinking about it, and she helped Craig with him too, when she could.

  Brooke looked past Jean to the empty waiting room and the open surgery door. ‘Where’s John?’

  ‘It’s okay. He decided that, as there weren’t any more appointments today, he’d take off early. He wanted to visit a doctor friend in Newcastle—someone he went to uni with.’ Jean grinned conspiratorially at her as she added, ‘Seeing how he’s not around, I’m going to give the place a spring clean. It’s long overdue. The filing system needs tidying up, too, and that cupboard in the surgery, the one with the brochures and pharmaceutical samples, needs to be reorganised.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it, and stop at twelve-thirty,’ Brooke said. She gave Jean one of her stern looks. ‘Please?’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Jean gave in with a grudging sigh. ‘You all have a nice ride now. And Adam, if you find any gold, I could do with a nugget or two.’

  ‘You’ll have to stand in line, I’m afraid,’ Brooke said with a laugh as she helped Jason down the front steps. Occasionally he would stumble over the smallest things—the odd twig or a rock. It came to her suddenly that maybe she should have his eyesight checked, and she made a mental note to make a
n appointment for him on Monday.

  As she herded Jason and the children into the station wagon, she glanced up at the sky. It was clear blue—not a cloud in sight—and the summer day promised to be warm. When she had woken this morning she was surprised to admit that she was looking forward to the day out. Lately they hadn’t done many family things. There were limitations because of Jason, but riding was something they could all do, and at Sindalee there were plenty of horses to ride. She looked at the twins walking ahead of her. They were growing up fast; next year they’d start high school. And Sheridan. She was such a little miss, but reserved and quiet, like herself. Her daughter had retreated into her shell since Jason’s accident, and Wes, with his gruff but sincere ways, was the only one who could really bring her out. It would be good to see Fleece and Drew, too. Since coming to Bindi Creek the Sinclairs had become an extended part of the d’Winters family, and sometimes Wes took the twins for the weekend, to give her time to spend just with Sheridan and Jason.

  She checked that Jason’s seat belt was buckled, because sometimes he didn’t remember to do it, and turned the key in the ignition. The motor sputtered and gurgled, backfired and died. The children gave a collective moan. Their Ford was over thirteen years old and had given good service, but she would soon have to replace it. Hmm. What she’d use for money to buy another car, she didn’t quite know. Maybe she should pray for the kids really to strike gold if they panned for it! She turned the key again. The twins cheered: this time the engine had turned over.

  Waving to Jean as the car backed up the drive, they headed up Tyrell Road towards Sindalee.

  Jean checked her watch as the station wagon left: 11.15 a.m. Not a long enough time to sort the filing system—that would have to wait till another day—but she could get that surgery cupboard in better order.