‘She’s saying she wants to have them in Bilbarra but she’d be better off in Brisbane, wouldn’t she?’ he asks GR, before we’re even in the consulting room. Mel was booked as first patient so we could both see her before GR starts operating.
‘Yes.’ GR agrees with the anxious father-to-be. ‘Not because we couldn’t handle the multiple birth but because we might not be available if something happened and you needed help urgently, Mel,’ he adds, holding her hand and looking down into her flushed face.
‘Down in the city there’s always someone available, and the very best neonatal care. And you should go down there soon—like next week. You know your blood pressure is up. You need more constant monitoring than we can give you.’
‘We can go today,’ Angus says, then as Melanie starts to argue, he quells her with a frown. ‘Of course we can. We’ll fly on down from here. You don’t fit into any of your clothes so you can buy a whole new wardrobe.’
Surely music to any woman’s ears, but Melanie is still looking fretful.
‘But you won’t be there,’ she says, and he leans down and kisses her. ‘You bet I will,’ he promises. ‘If that mob back at home can’t run the property without me for a few months, then that’s too bad. I’m coming with you and I’m staying with you,’ he says, taking hold of the hand GR had been holding and looking very masterful. ‘We’ll get through this together.’
Of course, Melanie starts to cry and GR looks immediately at me, so I blink a few times and swallow hard and smile to assure him I’m not being overcome with maudlin sympathy.
GR suggests a specialist friend of his who’ll take Melanie as a patient, and goes off to phone him. Angus goes as well, to ring various agents he has in the city and organise accommodation close to the hospital.
I stay behind to do doctor things, like taking blood pressure, testing urine, talking to Mel about how she feels.
‘Terrified,’ she admits. ‘It’s far worse, knowing all the things that can go wrong. I’m also a bit worried about Angus. He’s going to drive me nuts, fussing over me for the next twenty weeks.’
‘You won’t go full term,’ I remind her, ‘so it won’t be quite that long.’
‘Well, thank you, but as I can’t imagine Angus with nothing to do for a couple of days, even two weeks with me as his sole project is terrifying.’
‘Get him a computer and let him do the business work of the property from Brisbane,’ I suggest, knowing that worked when Joel broke his back in a motorbike accident and had to stay in Brisbane for months for therapy.
‘Brilliant idea. I might also be able to get him involved in something at the hospital. I can’t see him as a visitor, but maybe there’s a charity of some kind that could use a man with too much time on his hands on a temporary basis.’
‘And you’ll have to shop. Or he will. You might not feel like doing the rounds of the baby stores, but someone will have to.’
Melanie looks up at me.
‘Do you think so? Do you think I’ll be able to carry them? Keep them all?’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I tell her, and for some reason I’m confident I’m right.
Dave flies us home. We talk about Bob, who is still in the coronary care unit in Brisbane because he’s had a triple bypass by now and is recovering from that.
‘Jake will take you tomorrow. He’s flown for the flying surgeon and knows the towns you’ll visit. It’s Turalla tomorrow, isn’t it?’
GR confirms this and I wonder how many more towns I’ve yet to visit. We do fortnightly trips to some places, monthly to others, and from what I remember of the schedule, some are visited every six weeks.
He’s talking to Dave so I can see most of his face, and I’m thinking of weeks—of twenty-one weeks, in fact—the twenty-one weeks left in my twenty-four week contract out here.
Will I be moving on?
I take a great gulp of air to stop the panic I can feel just thinking about not being with or near GR.
Gregor…
Can I use his name?
Is it safe?
I’m still lost you know where when we touch down. GR’s mobile rings and he pulls it out, talks to someone, frowns, then suggests that Michael drives me home. Nothing else, no explanation, no ‘see you later’.
But he’s frowning, and I realise it’s Tuesday and I can’t help wondering if it was Lydia who phoned and if that’s where he’s going.
He’s an honourable man, my head tells me. Too honourable to be seeing Lydia while he’s having an affair with me. But this rational information doesn’t stop my heart behaving as if it’s been severed from its ties.
Michael drops me back at the quarters, and Gran’s there.
‘I thought you’d moved back in with Charles,’ I tell her. ‘I’m OK now. I can look after myself.’
She sits down at the table and I realise she’s pale—not like herself at all.
‘Gran, you’re not sick? Don’t tell me I’ve given you the flu.’
‘No, love,’ she says, ‘but something’s happened. There’s something I have to tell you. Come and sit down.’
‘Uncle Joel? Jill?’
‘No, it’s not bad,’ Gran assures me. ‘Just unexpected.’
She’s frowning as I sit down opposite her.
‘Very, very unexpected.’
‘You’re going to marry Charles,’ I guess, glad it’s not something bad but puzzled as to what could have sent her into a spin.
She shakes her head.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I demand. ‘Or do I have to keep on guessing?’
‘It’s your father,’ she whispers, reaching out to take my hands and hold them tight. ‘Apparently he came to Australia, looking for your mother, and flew up to Rosebud, which was the only address of your mother’s he ever knew, and saw Joel.’
My heart’s racing, I’ve definitely got palpitations, my hands are sweating and I realise I’m angry. No, I’m more than angry, I’m furious.
‘After twenty-eight years he’s come looking for my mother?’ I yell. ‘What a hide! How dare he? Did Joel tell him to get lost? To stay away? To drop dead?’
Contrary, isn’t it? I really have, deep down, always wanted to know at least something about my father, and now he’s in the same country I want nothing to do with him.
‘Joel told him about you. He didn’t know Nell was pregnant when she left. He’d been upcountry and got back to the city where the stables were—where she was living—to find she’d gone.’
‘It was still twenty-eight years ago,’ I remind Gran, who seems as if she’s willing to forgive this man.
‘He was married,’ Gran says. ‘In a country, and with a religion, where marriage vows are taken seriously.’
‘But not seriously enough for him not to cheat on his wife—to have an affair with my mother.’
Gran doesn’t answer. She looks at me for a moment, then shakes her head.
‘Joel told him about you, Hillary,’ she says quietly. ‘He’s on his way here, to meet you. Gregor’s waiting out at the airport to meet him and bring him into town.’
‘Gregor’s waiting there? How did he come into this?’
‘I asked him,’ Gran says. ‘I kept phoning until he touched down and turned on his mobile. I explained I’d have to talk to you but that you’d probably be upset. He wanted to do whatever he could to help.’
I close my eyes. I’m confused enough about having a love affair, now I have to handle having a father as well.
‘I’m still getting over flu,’ I remind Gran. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’
Gran just looks at me as if she has no idea how to help me. Which she probably hasn’t. I’ve no idea how to help myself!
A car pulls up outside before I’ve time to get my knees sufficiently under control to put the going-to-bed plan into action.
‘They’re here!’ I’m panicking in earnest now and not a chocolate nibbly in sight. ‘I don’t want to see him, Gran. I’m not ready for this. I don’t need a
father now.’
Then GR’s striding down the veranda. Alone.
‘Need chocolate?’ he asks, smiling so sympathetically I want to burst into tears.
‘I don’t need a father,’ I tell him.
‘Perhaps not, but think about whether you’d like to meet him as a person who, I think, from what he’s told me, genuinely loved your mother. Your grandmother probably told you he was married. What he didn’t tell Joel was that his wife was an invalid, injured in a riding accident and confined to a wheelchair. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her, and your mother—and you—suffered as a result.’
He drops into a chair beside me and takes my hand.
‘You show compassion to your patients, Blue. Couldn’t you spare just a little for this man?’
He reaches out and takes my chin, tilting my head so he can look into my eyes.
‘Didn’t you tell me you’d like to know about your father? About your family? Wasn’t it one of the reasons you told me I shouldn’t consider marrying you—that you didn’t have a proper father?’
Gran’s probably having conniptions by now—seeing Gregor touching me, hearing marriage talk—but I’m mesmerised by the way his eyes are challenging me so I can’t check on Gran’s reaction.
‘He’s very proper,’ Gregor adds. ‘I’ve dropped him at the Buckjumper Motel and told him I’d phone after I’d talked to you.’
‘To tell him what?’
I’m confused, angry, terrified—I can barely make my lips work to form the words.
‘To tell him your grandmother and I have talked to you, and that you’re thinking about things. Or I could tell him that all three of us will join him there for dinner tomorrow night. We wouldn’t let you go through this on your own.’
Boy, is it ever hard to stop eyes leaking when this kind of conversation is happening.
I take a deep breath, blow it out, then nod.
‘I guess if I’ve got to meet him then it’s best to get it over with. But if we make it tomorrow night, I won’t sleep tonight and I’ll be useless tomorrow.’
Then I look at Gran and see how tired she looks and realise this is just as momentous for her as it is for me. How has she felt all these years? Has she thought of this man as responsible for the death of her daughter? Has she harboured bad feelings against him?
I can’t imagine Gran harbouring bad feelings about anyone, but I’ve never lost a daughter.
I put a hand on her arm.
‘Maybe we should leave it until tomorrow,’ I say to Gregor, then I turn to Gran. ‘Is that all right with you?’
Gran nods.
‘I think it’s better if we have a bit of time to get used to the idea,’ she says, colour seeping back into her face.
Gregor nods, then stands up.
‘I’ll be going,’ he says. ‘I think you two women have had enough excitement for one night.’ He bends down to kiss me on the cheek, says goodnight and pulls out his mobile as he walks away from us.
Then he turns.
‘I’ll pick you up in the morning, Blue,’ he reminds me, and the smile that accompanies the words reminds me of so much more I want to beg him not to go.
But Gran’s upset, so it’s my turn to tend to her, and I need to get my head around having a father before I start work tomorrow. I don’t want to be upsetting sick or pregnant women in Turalla.
I fix some dinner for us both, and we talk, not much but saying things we’ve never said to each other before. Me, how much I love her, and how much I appreciate the wonderfully happy childhood she and Grandad provided for me.
She, how much I mean to her and how proud she is of me.
‘And Gregor?’ she asks, when we’ve done the dishes and are sitting in the lounge chairs looking at a blank TV screen. ‘What about him?’
‘I don’t know, Gran,’ I tell her, answering as honestly as I can. ‘I love him, I know that much. He’s attracted to me, but whether it’s love on his side is a whole different matter. He wants to explore it, but I’m afraid if we do, and he finds it isn’t what he’s looking for—’
‘That you’ll be hurt.’
Gran finishes the sentence for me but offers no advice. We both know there isn’t any to offer.
Turalla’s different. Oh, it’s got huge grain silos and a railway line, but from the air the first thing you see is the massive, open-cut coal mine just out of town. You see these going out from Bilbarra, too, but nowhere near this size.
A wardsman meets us in the Health Department car and drives us to the hospital. It’s yet to be remodelled as most of the places we visit have been, and is an old timber building with wide verandas all around it.
A man in a crisp white shirt and tailored shorts comes out to greet us.
‘Hi, Gregor, Michael,’ he says, then puts out his hand towards me. ‘I’m Mike Nelson, Director of Nursing. Welcome to Turalla.’
Gregor, who’s said very little but has stayed deliberately close to me, even putting Michael into the front seat in the plane, introduces me.
‘Nice to see a woman back in the job,’ Mike says. ‘For a while there I thought Gregor had frightened them all away.’
The man’s so nice I smile at him.
‘He tried to frighten me but it didn’t take,’ I tell him, as he leads us into the hospital.
Turalla is our only stop, because of the distance from Bilbarra and also because we only come here every six weeks. There’s a full list of patients to see and GR has a big day ahead of him in Theatre, so he won’t he able to help out if I get behind.
This, I tell myself, is a very good thing as I’ll have no time at all to think about what lies ahead of me this evening.
As if I can not think about it. There’s a bit of my brain chewing away at it the whole time, like a dog with a rag toy.
I’m shown into a spacious room. New hospitals are nice, but some of them tend to be a little cramped. This is great. I’m looking admiringly around, acknowledging an introduction to Anne Jackson, who’ll be the nurse assisting me, when this gorgeous blonde zooms in.
‘Hi, I’m Caitlin and I wanted to catch you before you started to say Connor and I want you to have lunch with us. Don’t say no, I won’t listen.’
Then she’s gone again.
I look at Anne—dark-haired and attractive, with a glow about her as if good things are happening in her life.
‘That’s Caitlin. She and our local GP, Connor Clarke, are getting married next week. She’s also a doctor, but she does research.’
In Turalla? I think, but part of me is also acknowledging how adaptable medicine is as a career. Maybe GR is wrong about O and G for women—surely there’d always be something we could do!
My first patient is Mrs Robinson. She’s in her eighties, and has just discovered a lump in her right breast.
‘I’ll need to speak to Dr Prentice about this,’ I tell her. ‘The problem is, I can use a needle to take a little sample of the tissue in the lump, but even though we’ll have the results back in a few days we won’t be back here for another six weeks to talk to you about it.’
‘I’m going to Brisbane to stay with my daughter next week,’ she tells me. ‘I could go to her doctor down there.’
‘Can you stay down there if they want to operate?’
She nods.
‘My daughter wants me to stay down there for ever, but I’d miss my friends and the things I do here. I work at the craft gallery on Tuesdays, and on Thursdays I read to the old people at the nursing home, and on Sundays I teach Sunday school…’
I’m still wondering how old the ‘old’ people she reads to are, while she continues the list.
‘Well, seeing your daughter’s doctor while you’re down there is probably an excellent idea,’ I tell her, when the recital of good works finishes. ‘You can sort everything out while you’re in the city and come back ready to go again.’
I don’t give her a referral, because her daughter may already have an O and G specialist she will want her
mother to see, but I write a note for her to take with her and wish her well.
I work through the morning, and am about to stop for lunch—GR having put his head in the door to see if I’m ready—when Anne comes in, looking worried.
‘It’s Betty Russell. The Russells are a big family in town, and though she hasn’t got an appointment she’s just seen Connor at the surgery and he’s sent her straight across. Prolapse.’
Once again, the six-week gap between visits seems way too long.
‘Send her in then find Gregor. He’ll have to try to fit her in this afternoon. She can’t wait six weeks for attention.’
I examine Betty, and Gregor appears as I’m explaining to her what has happened and that the situation is so severe only an operation will fix it.
‘That’s OK,’ Betty says cheerfully. ‘I’ve had my kids and my husband’s gone off sex so I don’t have much use for that bit of my body anyway.’
‘We don’t actually sew it up,’ I tell her. ‘If your husband gets interested again, it’ll be the same as before. It’s further inside you, the bit we’ll take out.’
GR grins at me and the excitement I can’t totally control when we’re together blots out, for an instant, the worry about my father.
He takes over the explanation, getting oral permission for the operation, while I go off to get forms for written consent and to alert Michael to the fact we’re squeezing in another op.
GR’s discussing possible reasons for Mr Russell going off sex when I return, and Mrs Russell’s looking quite excited about getting him checked out by the local doctor.
‘I do miss it,’ she confides to GR, who smiles, then winks at me.
‘As you would,’ he says calmly.
Michael’s been summoned, and he and Mike take Betty through to the theatre anteroom.
GR turns to me.
‘You’ll assist?’
I nod, unable to speak as I look at this man who, in such a short time, has come to mean so much to me.
He must be able to read my mind because he leans forward and kisses me very gently on my lips.
Doctors in Flight Page 15
