by Di Morrissey
It was a mixed group but he had a special friendship with Dennis, an apprentice jockey who had taken a bad fall during a race. His arms as well as his legs had been injured and another mobile patient pushed his wheelchair along. TR recognised the young boy was going through the same thing as he was. Dennis was swamped in depression and self-pity for a promising career over at seventeen.
Gently TR tried to explain what Jenni had told him. ‘Getting over a bad accident isn’t just dealing with the broken bones, mate. It’s in the head and mind too. We have to go through the various stages of the grieving process. I feel just like you do. So hang in there, kid.’
The boy looked unconvinced despite the fleeting grin he gave in gratitude for the kind words and caring smile.
‘Hey, TR, your slave-driver approaches,’ announced one of the group.
TR pretended to groan as he saw the slight figure of Jenni in her pale blue uniform marching towards them.
‘Can’t a bloke enjoy a bit of a yarn with his mates?’ asked TR as she started to shake a finger at him.
‘You were supposed to meet me at eleven. Smoko’s over, boys. Come on, TR. We’re walking today.’
‘Just like that? Up and bloody walk,’ said TR in genuine amazement.
‘Good a day as any, I reckon,’ responded Jenni, grasping the back of his wheelchair and turning him back towards the path. ‘See you fellows later.’
‘Don’t chase the nurses, TR.’
‘Break a leg as the actors say.’
‘See you on the basketball court.’
The good-natured banter echoed after them as Jenni pushed him firmly towards her ground-floor exercise room.
‘You serious about this then, are you?’
‘You sound nervous, TR.’
‘I’ve just got the hang of this damned chair. Am I getting one of those walker contraptions or dragging myself along the parallel bars or what?’
‘Now your arm is okay we can get you onto crutches.’ They went through the automatic doors into the hallway leading to what TR called Jenni’s torture chamber.
Inside the room with its familiar smell of rubber and liniment, TR looked at her and muttered sheepishly, ‘I’m afraid of falling over’.
‘That’s normal,’ Jenni said sympathetically. Slowly she explained how he had to balance on his good leg, taking the weight in the upper part of his body. ‘We’re just going to get you up first then worry about taking a step or two.’
For TR this was another major hurdle and he felt himself break out in a sweat as he struggled to balance on the two seemingly fragile pieces of wood.
When he stopped wobbling, Jenni moved behind him and grasped him round the hips. ‘I’ve got you, TR, you can’t fall; now push that crutch forward and let’s move it.’
Biting his lip, TR managed an agonising shuffle, taking two steps.
‘Bravo!’ Jenni squeezed his waist. ‘Off we go again.’
She was genuinely pleased at his progress and her spontaneous gesture caused her a flurry of confused feelings. She knew she was important in TR’s life — she represented support and a way of getting him back on his feet again. There was always a bond that developed between patient and physiotherapist, and it was necessary in helping the recuperation process. But Jenni was not prepared for the sudden realisation that this particular patient was becoming very special to her.
By the end of their session, TR had shakily negotiated six metres and allowed Jenni to help him settle back into the wheelchair.
‘There, aren’t you proud of yourself? The next hurdle is travelling a little further each day and getting in and out of your wheelchair by yourself.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then you’re mobile. You’ll still need regular treatment and some nursing assistance, and you’ll still need physio sessions but you’ll be able to go home.’
‘I can’t do that.’ TR was almost shouting. ‘I want to stay on here. I’m not ready to go back . . . there.’
Seeing how distressed he was, Jenni didn’t argue but instead reached out and squeezed his hand.
Queenie arrived at the hospital two days later and as she was walking down the hallway to TR’s room she saw him coming towards her in his wheelchair, a look of fierce concentration on his face as he propelled himself along. He slowed when he saw her and glided to a stop.
‘TR! This is wonderful. You’re mobile.’
‘Kind of. I’m having a struggle with the crutches, a bit wobbly on them. I still spend a heck of a lot of time on my back in bed. How’s everything with you?’
‘Good.’ She looked at him carefully. ‘You don’t seem too pleased with your progress.’
‘All the movement aggravates the pain. Sometimes I wish they’d just cut my damn leg off and be done with it,’ he said grouchily.
Queenie began pushing his wheelchair towards his room. ‘I know the pain must be bad, but it’s not like you to be so negative.’
‘Well I don’t know how I’m supposed to be, do I?’ he snapped.
Queenie was silent as they entered his room and found a nurse putting fresh sheets on his bed. She stood by quietly, feeling helpless as she watched the nurse manoeuvre TR onto the mattress. TR bit his lip and closed his eyes in pain until he was settled back on the bed.
Queenie opened her bag, anxious to focus on the trivial rather than see TR in such discomfort. ‘I’ve brought you new pyjamas, a book — just a light novel — and a book about Tingulla. Is there anything else you’d like?’
He shook his head.
‘TR, I know you’re doing well in here, and we’re all so proud of you, but it seems to me you might do a lot better back in your own environment. I’m making arrangements to have you moved back to Tingulla. Familiar surroundings might just trigger your memory . . . ’
TR raised his hands in protest and interrupted. ‘Wait a minute! I need special care. I can’t be stuck out on some remote station. And what right have you got to take over my life? Make decisions for me? I’m not an imbecile. I’ll decide what’s best for me!’ His voice was raised and he glared at her angrily.
‘You’ll have the best of care, round the clock,’ said Queenie in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘Look, everyone tells me your heart simply isn’t in it here. You’re not really motivated.’
‘Motivated!’ snapped TR angrily. ‘You try lying here feeling like someone is shoving hot irons into your body. When taking a bloody breath can feel like a knife stabbing you. Aches and pains and weird sensations, and a head like an empty shell.’
Queenie reached over and laid her hand on his arm and spoke gently, deeply disturbed by the heat of his anger. ‘I’m trying to understand, TR, but don’t forget that I know you. I know you as well or better than you know yourself. And my head and my heart tell me I have to get you back to Tingulla. It’s your home, a place you love, TR. I just know it will be more beneficial and healing than this sterile hospital.’
‘I won’t leave Jenni. She’s the only one who can get me up and about,’ he said stubbornly.
‘Fine. Then we’ll take Jenni home with us.’
TR stared at her. ‘You’re very used to getting your own way, aren’t you?’
‘If you think I’m some spoiled rich bitch, you’re dead wrong, TR. But I’ll fight for what I want and right now I want you better no matter what. If I arrange for a physiotherapist to live in and the doctors agree, you can at least give it a try. You’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.’
‘Not a physiotherapist. Jenni. And if she stays here, I stay.’
It was on the tip of Queenie’s tongue to ask why he felt so strongly about this Jenni lady, but she kept quiet, hoping he was just putting obstacles in her way. ‘But if she agrees, you agree?’
TR didn’t answer. ‘I’m not able to travel yet.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ Queenie rose.
‘Christ, let me at least think about it,’ muttered TR closing his eyes and wishing Queenie and her plan would go aw
ay. ‘I’m not ready to face all that unknown out there,’ he said in a tired voice.
‘TR I really believe that the sooner you make this move the sooner you’ll be on the road to recovery. I know it seems a big step,’ said Queenie gently.
‘You’re not a doctor, Queenie . . . are you?’ He opened his eyes to stare at her, a challenge in their blue depths.
She smiled at him. ‘No, TR. But when it comes to you, I think I know best.’
She left the room and TR groaned aloud. What a stubborn bloody woman.
The hospital contacted Jenni and told her that Mrs Hamilton had asked her to phone her as soon as possible. It was Jenni’s day off, but she called Queenie at the Riverside Terrace apartment.
‘This is Jenni Brown, your husband’s physio, Mrs Hamilton. Is there a problem?’
Queenie reassured her there wasn’t but suggested they meet and invited her to the apartment for coffee.
When she arrived, Queenie opened the door. Her first thought at the sight of the pretty blonde woman in her early twenties was how delicate she seemed; fine bones, small build, medium height and a sweet smile.
Jenni had heard how beautiful Queenie was, but found the tall and striking woman before her also very naturally lovely. They smiled, each liking what they saw.
‘Come in, come in. Can I call you Jenni? And please, call me Queenie.’
They settled themselves on the sofa and after some small talk, Queenie got down to business. ‘Jenni, it seems to me TR has a problem in his attitude and approach to getting better. He is very negative which, I have to tell you, is totally alien to his normal behaviour. I know you are doing a splendid job with him, and he seems to have a great attachment to you.’
‘It happens all the time. You must have their trust or you don’t get their cooperation.’
‘I understand. In his case he has, of course, the additional problem of his memory loss.’
Jenni nodded. ‘He doesn’t talk about it, but I know it’s causing him bouts of depression and it’s certainly one of the factors against his progress. He does need to change his approach.’
‘So we agree. Jenni, I want to get him out of that hospital and home to Tingulla as soon as possible. I mean very soon.’
Jenni looked at Queenie, recognising a strong-willed woman when she saw one.
Queenie missed Jenni’s penetrating gaze and went on, absorbed in explaining her plan. ‘I think being back in familiar surroundings could trigger his memory. He can’t stay in his cocoon at the hospital forever. The sooner he is at home the easier the transition back to his life will be.’
‘It could work, but he will need very specialised care Mrs . . . Queenie,’ said Jenni, pausing to acknowledge Queenie’s smile. ‘Virtually a full-time carer, as well as the physio programme. And he won’t be ready to travel for a week or more, and even then it’s risky. I sympathise, I know how anxious you are to see him turn the corner. But don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit?’
‘Possibly. But provided we can get him home safely, and set up whatever he needs, I think it will be to his advantage. I know my husband, Jenni. He doesn’t remember what Tingulla means to him. To us. I do.’
Jenni was thoughtful. ‘I see. As I said, it would mean a lot of dedicated attention and work. All the love and well-intentioned care in the world can’t replace specialised treatment.’
‘It requires someone very special. That’s where you come in. Would you consider coming out to work with him, live in for however long is needed?’
Jenni stared at her. ‘Me? I’m attached to the hospital. I’m sure we could find someone . . . ’
‘No. He wants you. I realise this could cause a bit of an upheaval in your life, but we’ll make it worth your while,’ said Queenie anxiously.
‘It’s not the money. Physios don’t generally take on other nursing duties. You’re asking me to be his full-time medical and personal carer?’
‘Yes. Work with him every day. Millie and I will assist you in any other way. Though I sense a reluctance from TR to let us do even that. Is there a problem with the hospital? Are you under contract?’
‘Not really. I could take leave without pay. But I’d like to think this over. I’d also have to talk to TR.’
‘Of course. Give me a call in the next few days. I’m going over to Cricklewood to check on the bulls and cattle we have there. We’ve started an embryo implant programme along with the semen sales.’
‘You mean you transplant embryos into surrogate cattle?’ Jenni was interested.
‘Exactly. The good mothers are plain old stock who bear the progeny of champions.’
‘Sounds fascinating.’
‘When you come to Tingulla we’ll arrange a trip to Cricklewood if you’d like,’ smiled Queenie.
Jenni grinned back. ‘I haven’t given you my answer yet. I’ll be in touch in a day or so.’ Jenni put down her coffee cup, determined not to be bulldozed by Queenie, but it was certainly an offer she’d seriously consider.
Within a week TR could manage his crutches well and it gave him a new sense of independence. He still needed the wheelchair to cover long distances but Jenni was pleased with his progress.
‘You get a gold star, TR. In fact, do you know what I think . . . I think you can go home in a week or so.’ She crouched beside his wheelchair and took his hands. ‘Now don’t close up on me and look like that. You’re going to have to face this hurdle at some stage. It might as well be now. In fact,’ she added gently, echoing Queenie’s words, ‘you might find being in a familiar environment will trigger the memory process.’
‘It’s not a familiar environment. This is. And who is going to work with me? I can’t manage all that well . . . not without you, Jenni.’
‘Well, maybe that will be possible. Queenie has offered me a job . . . to live in at Tingulla and continue what we do here on a full-time basis. A concentrated programme. How would you feel about that?’
‘How do you feel about it?’
‘I’ve thought about it carefully. I had a bit of a talk to the boss here . . . and the long and the short of it is, I’m ready to hit the road. I’ve been doing this job a few years and I feel I’m in a bit of a rut. When Queenie made the suggestion it seemed like the time to get out of the city. I’m ready for a change. Tingulla sounds like a nice place. Do you think you could stand being bossed and pushed around by me for a while longer?’
TR smiled at Jenni. ‘You’re very special to me. I don’t know where I’d be without you. It makes sense to have you take me on as a full-time job — that is until I’m on my feet.’
Jenni looked at the handsome man who needed her so much, and felt a sudden flush of confusion about her motives for taking the job. It was time for a change. The idea of being at Tingulla was exciting. And the prospect of devoting her skills to helping TR was appealing, but she couldn’t quite decide whether that was for professional or personal reasons.
She stood. ‘Now listen, TR. This will have to be a very businesslike arrangement and your family will have to understand that I’m in charge of you medically, but soon you’ll have to start letting other people help you. They won’t break you, you know.’
‘I’ll start working on it. But I’m glad you’ll be along, Jenni.’
She smiled and gave him a thumbs up sign, but she left the room fully aware that TR’s real fear lay in adjusting to married life with a stranger.
Chapter Twelve
Colin studied the documents spread before him. A company search and a contact hacking into bank computer files had revealed Queenie’s full worth — and it was substantial. And that didn’t include TR’s assets and Guneda. Colin was only interested in Tingulla and Cricklewood, the two Hanlon properties left to Queenie in their father’s will.
A seething anger burned in his gut as he looked at the figures on the paper. She’d certainly increased their worth. It crossed Colin’s mind he might have done the same with the block of units in Double Bay and the large sum of money
and shares he’d been left by his father if he’d been as clever as Queenie. Well, his turn was coming to outsmart her.
According to the lawyer Colin had approached he had no legitimate claim on any of the estate. But with a little creative thought and skill Colin felt sure he could devise a way of challenging his sister. It had worked once, although he’d had the backing of Dina and her father then. This time he would have to move cautiously so Dina had no clue as to his plan. Colin would keep his eyes open and keep ferreting away.
In addition to getting his hands on some money and getting away from the Cambonis, the last and best laugh would be to show them all he was cleverer than anyone gave him credit for. He wished he had a sizeable amount of cash now. Camboni’s betting scam sounded like it could come off in a big way. He wished he could dump a very large amount on the race when the day came. Still, it was a long way off. There was still time.
Cash was a sensitive issue. The episode with Antonia had cost him more than expected. To recover from the secret abortion she had demanded he pay for a holiday in Switzerland. He figured she couldn’t be too fragile if she was going skiing, but he didn’t argue. He’d persuaded her to sign a letter in return for the cash. He wasn’t about to have her sucking him dry for money forever and Colin had made it clear he would hold good to his threat of exposing her if he ever heard from her again. He’d heard nothing since. Paying her off had been costly but it was better than risking Dina cutting off his money supply.
Queenie checked the horse float in the rearvision mirror as the LandCruiser swirled a column of dust behind them.
Ernie, sitting beside her, his arm dangling out of the window, noticed the look. ‘Honey will be glad to get to Cricklewood, eh?’
‘Me too. How are you doing, Ernie?’
‘Number one, boss. You want me to drive this last bit?’
‘It’s okay thanks, Ernie. I’m looking forward to boiling the billy though.’
