A Doctor's Christmas Family

by Meredith Webber

  Gloom settled where momentary delight had quivered hopefully, and Bill turned away from her, concentrating on lifting Chloe from the floor without waking her, thinking about what he needed to take with him to the crèche.

  And he’d have to leave a note for Ma…

  Esther sat up and tried to scrub the sleep from her face. Bill had lifted the baby, who’d opened her eyes, seen Esther and smiled.

  Don’t smile at me, she wanted to tell the infant. Don’t you know how badly baby smiles hurt?

  But Chloe had now turned and was reaching out her little starfish hand to her father’s face, grabbing at his nose and gurgling contentedly. And suddenly nothing made sense.

  ‘What did you mean about not knowing if you were married or not? Did Marcie not want to come to Australia? Did she say she’d divorce you if you went? Is that what happened? Though I can’t believe someone could give birth to a perfect baby like this and not be here to see her through every stage of her growth—not be here to see the changes that must happen every day at her age.’

  The smile Bill had been aiming at his daughter disappeared as he turned to Esther, and she sensed he was shutting himself away from both of them.

  ‘Too many questions, Esther, and even if I knew all the answers, now’s not the time. I’ve got to get back to work—you’ve got to get some sleep.’

  He walked away, leaving Esther, tired and, what was worse, sleep-befuddled, trying to work out exactly what was going on.

  Her conclusions didn’t make sense, so she followed him, finding him in a small bedroom with a cot and all the other paraphernalia necessary for a baby.

  ‘They’re not hard questions, Bill.’

  She was addressing Bill’s back as he bent over a change-table, talking quietly to his gurgling daughter as he neatly and efficiently changed her nappy.

  ‘I’ve always been Chloe’s primary carer—with Ma’s help. For a while I tried live-in nannies, but the first young woman was more interested in my belongings than Chloe, and was systematically robbing me of them, then I came home one day and found the second nanny asleep in the room next to Chloe who was hot and feverish and crying fit to wake the dead. Ma stepped in at that stage.’

  He turned to look at Esther, who was trying to sort out what his use of the singular pronoun meant. Did his wife—the perfect Marcie—never live with him—with them?

  Did that matter?

  Her head told her no—marriage could take many forms—but her heart seemed to find it hopeful.

  Hopeful?

  Forget it, heart!

  ‘I couldn’t have managed without Ma,’ he said, and Esther, catching up with the conversation, understood. Gwyneth might drive him mad with her orders and condescension and would certainly drive away any but the staunchest of friends, but she’d come to his aid when he’d needed her, and Esther didn’t need to be a paediatrician to know the little girl was not only well cared-for, but secure in the strong love of both the adults in her life.

  ‘Are you sure you’re happy to take the baby to the crèche?’ Esther asked, wanting an escape from her muddled thoughts.

  ‘Her name is Chloe,’ Bill said, lifting his daughter into his arms and resting her against his shoulder.

  Esther stared at him, more muddled than ever now. She knew what he was asking of her, yet was unable to believe he’d ask it.

  ‘Calling her by her name won’t bring her close enough to you to chip a chink in that armour you wrapped around yourself three years ago,’ he added, apparently to make sure she knew he knew why she was avoiding intimacy with the little one.

  Not that Esther could admit he was right!

  Attack was the best form of defence.

  ‘Very scientific thought processes, Bill Jackson! You haven’t seen me for three years, and you’re making assumptions about what I think and feel. Armour indeed—what fantasy!’

  He moved closer.

  ‘Is it, Esther? Haven’t you always had a suit of emotional armour into which you could retreat when feelings you didn’t want to acknowledge threatened you? It’s understandable enough, growing up the way you did.’

  Hearing her father’s voice, Chloe turned her head and, seeing Esther, smiled again.

  Esther heard the clunk—like an axe on metal—and knew, contrary to what Bill believed, each smile would take another chink out of the armour she’d denied having. But she couldn’t start to love Bill’s child, then lose her—lose a second child of Bill’s—when she returned to Brisbane and Bill returned to the US.

  To the wife who might or might not be part of his life…

  The armour Bill claimed protected her wasn’t doing much to stop the pain caused by her thoughts, so she took refuge where she usually found it—in work!

  ‘Well, if Chloe’s taken care of, I’m going to have a shower then a sleep. I’ve an alarm I’ll set for midday. Could you please ask the driver assigned to me to collect me from here at one? I want to go out to the area where most of the patients live. I’ll call at the hospital for the map and other details on my way.’

  He nodded, as if in acknowledgement of her escape tactics.

  ‘Cover up and wear plenty of repellent. The army driver will have a supply—they’ve been distributing it to everyone in the town.’

  He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but sensing he was about to veer back to personal matters Esther turned and left the room, though the emotion she’d seen in his eyes accompanied her. It had looked like pain, with an undertone of a plea, but Bill wasn’t the pleading kind, so perhaps she’d imagined the pain as well.

  The short sleep made her feel worse, but she knew, as she used a cold shower to combat the lethargy in her head, it would stand her in good stead later. The apartment was silent and she assumed Gwyneth was still out shopping, though when Esther made a foray into the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat—how did billeted people arrange board?—she found a note from her ex-mother-in-law, hoping Esther had slept well and informing her that lunch was in the refrigerator.

  Wondering at this gesture of hospitality, Esther opened the refrigerator door. There, under plastic wrap, was a delicious-looking salad. With nothing but a few stale sandwiches inside her, Esther fell on it with delight, and had just finished washing and drying her plate and cutlery when a knock sounded on the front door.

  She opened it to find a tall, blond, good-looking and smartly dressed soldier standing there, and almost laughed when he saluted as he said, ‘Dr Shaw, ma’am?’

  Esther acknowledged that’s who she was, adding, ‘But, please, call me Esther. And I’m sorry, but I can’t tell from your brass bits what rank you are, so what do I call you?’

  ‘Corporal Randall, ma’am.’ The young man snapped the words at her as cleanly as he’d saluted. She wanted to ask him if the army taught all its men to speak in sharp, staccato bursts, but decided against the flippancy, remembering they were to be companions for the next few days at least.

  ‘I have to call at the hospital for some maps and files, then I’d like to go out to the neighbourhood where the outbreak occurred. Do you know the area?’

  ‘I do, ma’am,’ Corporal Randall assured her, summoning the lift then ushering her inside. ‘And I’ve orders to take you to the hospital first.’

  Oh, yes? Esther mused. Whose orders? What if I hadn’t wanted to go there first? I thought you were my soldier!

  The suspicion that Bill might be pulling strings fluttered in her mind, but that didn’t make sense. Why would he want to know where she was or what she was doing? All he’d be interested in were her findings and her suggestions for control.

  By this time they were outside the building, and her soldier was holding open the back door of a new model SUV.

  ‘You’re not my chauffeur, you’re my helper,’ Esther told him. ‘I’ll sit in the front, thanks.’

  Corporal Randall looked a little startled, but rallied and opened the front passenger door for her. He drove efficiently, speaking into a small micropho
ne attached to a headset, no doubt reporting his movement through the city. Though that seemed like overkill to Esther.

  They pulled up in front of the main entrance to the hospital and there was Bill. Had Corporal Randall’s microphone been a hands-free phone connection? Had he been reporting to Bill all the way?

  Esther shot out of the car.

  ‘I thought this was my part of the job, that the corporal was my soldier.’

  Bill smiled at her crankiness.

  ‘Heaven forbid I should steal him from you,’ he said in mock horror. ‘I’ve just brought down the map, some questionnaire forms and the names and addresses of all the patients. Also some official bumf so you look as if you belong to the hospital—ID, computer access codes, letter of introduction from the CEO. You’ll need to see everyone in the area, and it will take more than one day, but knowing which households were affected might give you a good starting point.’

  He passed her a rolled map and a plastic folder, then touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘Plenty of repellent, remember,’ he said, his blue eyes, less tired today, looking down into hers as if trying to convey another message. ‘Corporal Randall will drop you back at the apartment later. Remember the climate here is much hotter than you’re used to. Don’t try to do it all at once.’

  Esther would have liked to tell him not to fuss, and that she was just back from Africa, which was far hotter than this, but the unspoken stuff, passing between them in invisible waves, had confused her too much for her to do more than nod agreement before she got back into the car.

  They drove through some areas where most of the houses had only minor damage, then others where heavy machinery was demolishing what structures remained. It was depressing, but at the same time frightening, a reminder of the frailty of human endeavour.

  ‘This is where the city limits end.’ Corporal Randall waved a hand towards the window, where the battered remnants of suburbs had given way to green fields and wide sweeps of flood water. ‘After the cyclone, the state government appointed an administrator to oversee the work that had to be done. The immediate problem was getting all the essential services operating again and, concurrently with that, to remove all debris and to demolish any dangerous structures.’

  ‘But his job stops here? Is that what you’re saying?’ Esther asked as they passed a small strip of damaged shops.

  ‘More or less,’ the soldier explained. ‘Essential services—water, power and sewerage—out here are all linked to the city’s supplies. Water and sewerage are working everywhere, but power is still off in parts of the city and out here.’

  ‘So the people we’re going to visit will be using what? Candles? Gas lamps?’

  ‘The State Emergency Service has provided generators to a large number of people without power. Out here, I’m not sure.’

  They were entering what looked like a small village, clustered on one side of the main road.

  ‘This is Robinson, probably named after someone who lived here. This is the place you want.’

  Corporal Randall pulled up opposite what looked like a general store. He parked beneath a huge fig tree, which appeared to have escaped the worst of the cyclone’s ravages. Someone had threaded tinsel through the leaves on the lower branches, reminding Esther again that this was not a good time of the year for destruction and tragedy.

  ‘Now, before you leave the car, you have to slather yourself with repellent.’

  Resisting the urge to snap a salute, Esther accepted the small bottle of repellent the soldier handed her and sprayed it liberally up and down her arms and legs. Then, spraying some on her hands, she spread it across her face and ears, almost gasping at the sweet, sickly perfume it exuded.

  ‘Phew! It’s ghastly. Isn’t there anything we can use that smells better?’

  ‘This has been tested by our experts as the most effective defence against mosquitoes,’ Sergeant Randall informed her, in his impersonal, robotic tones.

  Wondering how she could break through his so proper reserve and make him at least partially human, Esther climbed out of the car and moved to the front of the car where she could unroll the map on the hood. Asking the corporal to hold the far side of it for her, she studied it, noting the street names and comparing them to the addresses Bill had given her.

  ‘It looks as if we should start down this street,’ she suggested, pointing to a black line where red dots now replaced the pins, ‘and talk to everyone we can find. While I’m doing that, Corporal, you might have a look around the yards and under the houses. Explain to the occupants you’re looking for anywhere mosquitoes could breed. Empty out anything that’s holding water.’

  She hesitated then said, ‘I can’t keep calling you Corporal. Surely you’ve got a name I can use.’

  ‘It’s Byron, ma’am,’ he said, and she detected a faint flush under his tanned cheeks.

  No wonder. How on earth had he survived basic training with a name like Byron? Esther was sorry she hadn’t stuck with Corporal.

  ‘Well, let’s go, Byron,’ she said, aware as they walked away from the vehicle that another SUV was pulling in behind them.

  ‘Newshounds,’ Byron muttered, and Esther’s heart sank.

  ‘Oh, no, don’t tell me they’ve got wind of the fact that this is the outbreak’s hot spot. The one thing we don’t want is the kind of hysterical publicity that could lead to panic. Let’s hurry.’

  She led the way determinedly in the direction they wanted to take, ignoring the noise of people unloading cameras, chatting about shots, behind them. Their way ran down along the side of the shop, but though the beginning of the road was there, barely fifty yards along it there was an open drainage ditch, a tilted wooden footbridge some distance away indicating there’d once been a crossing for pedestrians.

  ‘It’s not very wide. We can jump it,’ Esther said, anxious to get away from the media.

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ Byron muttered dubiously, but Esther was already stepping back so she could take a run at it.

  She ran, and leapt, realising it was a little wider than she’d thought, but, still, she’d make it to the lower slope of the opposite bank and could scramble up. This flashed through her head just as the corporal’s agonised cry of ‘Ma’am!’ blasted through her head, and there, right where her feet were about to land, she saw the crocodile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE corporal must have been jumping as he yelled, for his shoulder struck Esther before her feet touched, sending her spinning away to land sprawling on the muddy, murk-encrusted bank. There was a splash behind her, and she turned to see the tracks where the animal had slid back beneath the shallow water.

  Where he could lurk! Attack!

  She tried to scrabble up the bank, but the mud was thick and slimy, her feet kept slipping, carrying her back towards the animal’s watery home. Panic rose like bile in her throat, choking her breath, blocking her thought processes. Then suddenly she was lifted, strong arms holding her, carrying her, a man’s voice assuring her she was safe, everything would be all right.

  ‘You saved my life,’ she murmured to the soldier, who’d now set her gently on her feet but was still supporting her with his arm around her waist.

  She looked up into his dark eyes, and saw the remnants of her own fear reflected there.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and she reached up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

  Byron Randall looked pleased, touching his hand to where Esther had kissed him, holding her a second longer as if he needed the physical contact to be certain she was all right, then he stepped away from her, saying, in the soldier’s voice he’d used earlier, ‘You probably weren’t in any danger, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, I was, and now I’m filthy. What’s more, I’ve spread mud all over your uniform as well. I think we should head for the first house and beg some water to clean up and maybe a cup of tea to soothe our nerves.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea, ma’am, given that the press are on
the other side of the ditch.’

  Esther glanced that way and, seeing a television camera pointed in her direction, all but scampered towards the nearest house.

  A young woman was standing in the doorway and, as Esther approached, gestured for them to come in.

  ‘You can wash in my bathroom,’ she said, but Esther had recovered from her initial shock and was now incensed by what had happened.

  ‘Do the authorities know there’s a crocodile in that ditch?’

  ‘He’s only been there since the cyclone,’ a young child who’d followed them into the house offered. Esther turned towards him to find he was in the vanguard of several other people, apparently intent on studying the strangers. ‘Mum says he’ll eat me if I go near. My uncle rang the telly people, and they’ve all come to take pictures.’

  More voices joined in with stories of how they’d first seen the monster in the flood-drain a few days after the cyclone.

  ‘Why don’t you mend the bridge?’ she demanded, remembering it was ten days since the cyclone had struck. ‘How do you get across to the shop, with it out of commission?’

  ‘We jump like you did,’ one of the women said. ‘Nellie, she doesn’t jump, she’s too fat, so we do her shopping and stuff.’

  ‘The children jump across there, with a crocodile underneath them?’ Esther demanded, anger and disbelief warring inside her. She knew that how these people lived their lives was their business, not hers, but she could no more let this situation rest than she could order the tide to turn back. A confirming nod from one of the men pushed her into full fighting mode.

  ‘But that’s recklessly endangering their lives,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the army in town—can’t they catch a crocodile? Have you asked them? Or what about people who keep and breed the reptiles? There’s a famous crocodile farm in Jamestown. Surely someone from there knows how to trap the creature?’

  A man shrugged.

  ‘We tell people but no one comes.’

  Esther glared at him, then thought of something else. ‘Surely it wouldn’t take much effort to fix the bridge. Corporal, you’ve seen the situation. If you took a few of these men along with you, could you drag it back into position?’