The Doctor's Outback Baby

by Carol Marinelli

  And suppose she did tell him, suppose she took the biggest gamble of her life and laid it all on the line, where could it possibly lead? He might adore her, want her, but he certainly didn’t need her.

  Timothy was going to be a surgeon while she was a true Tennengarrah girl. The rules had been laid down at the start—it was she who had broken them.

  For a second she wavered. Toyed with the idea of going with him, exploring Australia, taking a diving course, following her heart…

  Prolonging the agony.

  And it would be agony, Clara realised, pulling off a wad of loo roll and blowing her nose loudly. Because one day his visa would run out, one day the dream would have to end, and far worse than the hurt she felt now, far worse than the confusion in his eyes she had witnessed this morning, would be the pity.

  The pity in his eyes when she told him she loved him.

  ‘Where’s Ross?’ Walking out of the loo, she looked around the empty clinic, frowning at Timothy’s bemused expression.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Timothy shrugged. ‘There’s no one here.’

  ‘But he has to be here.’ Pushing open the staffroom door, Clara peered inside as Timothy caught up with her.

  ‘He isn’t. I’ve checked everywhere.’

  ‘The door was open.’ Clara frowned. ‘Ross would never leave it unlocked, never.’

  ‘Maybe there was an emergency,’ Timothy suggested, but Clara shook her head firmly, a gnawing bubble of panic starting to well inside her throat.

  ‘There’s often an emergency,’ Clara countered, her heat skittering into a gallop as she eyed the clinic again, pushing doors open and calling out his name before turning back to Timothy. ‘But Ross always locks up behind himself, it’s second nature.’ Running over to the drug cupboard, she fumbled with her keys and wrenched it open, shaking her head at the neat boxes staring back at her, everything in its place just as it should be. ‘We haven’t been robbed.’

  ‘Maybe he got a call-out, maybe—’ The sound of footsteps running towards them had them both letting out a mutual sighs of relief, grins appearing as Ross bounded into the clinic.

  But their relief was short-lived.

  One look at his grey, angst-ridden face had Clara’s heart spinning into free fall, her usually steady hands trembling as she reached out to her colleague, her voice shaking. ‘Ross, what on earth’s happened?’

  Oh, she tried to stay impassive, tried to put on her best calm expression as Ross’s terrified eyes met hers, but even before he’d finished speaking a small wail of horror escaped Clara’s lips.

  ‘It’s Matthew.’ She could hear the terror in his voice as he said his son’s name, the fear, the panic all rolled into one as this normal weekday suddenly exploded into a nightmare, as everything safe and good was swept from under them. ‘He’s gone missing.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STRANGE who performed in a crisis.

  Such an irrelevant thought, but as Clara stood there, momentarily stunned, as Ross physically crumpled, she watched in grateful awe as Timothy took over. The most junior, the most inexperienced of all of them snapped into leader mode in an instant. His friendly, open face strong, his steps purposeful as he walked over to Ross and in clear uncompromising tones demanded answers to the questions he rapidly fired.

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Midnight.’ Ross was sobbing openly now. ‘We checked them before we went to bed. Normally Shelly goes in before her shower but Abby rang this morning—’

  ‘Forget that.’ Timothy dragged him away from irrelevancies. ‘When did you realise he was missing?’

  ‘Shelly rang.’ Ross balled his fists into his eyes, forcing deep breaths into his lungs in an effort to hold it all together. ‘Maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago.’

  ‘Have you called the police?’

  Ross nodded, but the panic in his voice reached hysterical proportions as he continued. ‘But Jack’s two hours away, there’s some campers trespassing over at Winnycreek…’

  ‘He’s coming, though,’ Timothy checked, almost shaking Ross as he forced his attention. ‘And did he say he was calling in help?’ A small nod was the only answer Timothy got, but he turned his attention to June, who had burst through the doors, a wide smile on her face as she saw her permanently hungry young doctor coming towards her.

  ‘June.’ Timothy’s voice was incredibly calm. Taking the bemused woman’s hands, he spoke in low tones. ‘Matthew has gone missing.’ As she started to whimper he gripped her hands tighter and Clara watched as he gave the terrified woman instructions. ‘I need you to stay calm, I need you to go and knock on every door you can think of and get someone to do a ring around. I want everyone who can help at the clinic, CFA members, anyone with a Jeep, a plane—do you understand?’ He didn’t wait for an answer and as June scuttled off he addressed Ross.

  ‘Go back to the house.’

  ‘I have to look—’

  ‘Look again through the house and the garden,’ Timothy broke in. ‘Look in every cupboard, under every bed, every shed—he’s likely to be close by. And then report back here in half an hour. But you have to keep looking. Is there anywhere you can think he might have wandered to, anywhere?’ Ross shook his head, fear turning to anger as hopelessness took over, as Timothy pushed harder. ‘Come on, Ross. Is there anywhere you can think of?’

  ‘He doesn’t go anywhere on his own. For heaven’s sake, he’s three years old, he’s got Down’s syndrome, he wouldn’t know how to cross a road!’

  ‘Ross.’ Finally Clara found her voice, and on legs that felt like jelly she led Ross to the clinic door. ‘Do what Timothy’s saying, go and look with Shelly.’

  As Ross raced towards the house Clara ran a shaking hand through her hair, willing herself to stay calm, to think, to form some sort of plan.

  ‘We’re going to find him.’

  ‘Oh, and you know that too, do you?’ Her tear-streaked face turned to him. ‘It’s going to be forty degrees today, Timothy. A little boy on his own in the outback won’t last a morning. There’s dingoes, snakes, dams—that’s if the heat doesn’t kill him first.’

  ‘We’re going to find him.’ Not for a second did his voice waver, the optimism in his voice so strong Clara almost believed him. ‘But we have to all pull together.’

  And pull together they did.

  The whole of Tennengarrah poured into the high street, all determined to play their parts, all determined to bring a special little boy home. Bruce setting off in his plane before the first trestle table had been hoisted up, clipboards appearing, maps spread out, the CFA volunteers pulling on their orange uniforms as they pored over the maps, chewing on cigarettes as they formed a plan, shouted orders, organised groups and gave out whistles.

  Timothy was in charge for now, and every one knew it. Mike, the aboriginal medicine man, appeared with a group of his men, ready to share their knowledge of the bush, to utilise their tracking skills and search for clues in their own unique way. And though Timothy had only been there a relative five minutes, though his knowledge of the land was minuscule, it was him they all deferred to, him they all ran their plans by. A leader was needed and Timothy filled the part, his crisp English accent authoritative, his manners impeccable as he thanked everyone profusely, no matter how small their contribution—even the cup of tea a tearful June pressed into his hands got the same polite, grateful response. Even Hamo, Timothy’s unofficial arch-enemy, bordered on approachable as he handed Timothy a fluorescent jacket and told him to put on the hard red hat. Timothy did so without comment, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Clara who chose that moment to slip back to the clinic.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Timothy pulled her aside the second she emerged again. ‘Everyone’s ready to head off.’

  ‘I’ve just set up a bed for him, turned up the ice machine, set up some fans…’ Registering his frown, Clara realised that, despite his air of authority, despite the leadership he was showing, this was uncharted territory f
or Timothy and she patiently explained her movements. ‘Unless he’s found in the next hour or so, Matthew’s likely to be suffering from heat exhaustion. A couple of degrees centigrade either way will be the difference between survival and death, between walking away unscathed or brain damage. Our first priority will be to cool him. I was just making sure everything was ready.’

  She watched as Timothy put his hands up to shield his eyes, squinting at the morning sun only just starting to show its bite, and almost felt the surge of fear that engulfed him, registered a nervous swallow as he turned to the gathered crowd.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ Timothy called above the anxious chatter, demanding attention, which he respectfully received. ‘Now, remember, only search the area you’ve been allocated. When you’re sure it’s clear, come back and Hamo will brief you again. We have to keep in touch.’

  ‘Ross is coming.’ The hope in Clara’s voice faded as his ashen face came into view.

  ‘You go to Shelly,’ Timothy said firmly.

  ‘I should be searching,’ Clara argued. ‘I know the land like the back of my hand.’

  ‘So do most of the locals,’ Timothy pointed out. ‘But Shelly needs you now. You need to keep her calm, let her ramble if she wants to, but anything she says, no matter how small, if you think there’s a clue there, let me know.’

  Clara nodded. Turning to go, she swung back around and for a second, despite the hub of activity, despite the crowd that surrounded them, it was as if only the two of them were there. ‘He’ll be OK, won’t he?’ As contrary as her words sounded, as furious as she’d been at him for his blind optimism, suddenly it was everything Clara needed, hope to cling to as she faced Matthew’s mother, strength to feed from as she dealt with the agony ahead.

  A tiny smile softened his features for a second.

  ‘He’s going to be fine,’ Timothy said softly, before turning back to the crowd, back to the search teams he had organised, back to the people who also needed his quiet strength.

  Shelly didn’t even look up as Clara slipped quietly inside. Trapped in her own private hell, she sat on the edge of the sofa, staring unblinkingly at a tattered book she held in her hands as Clara sat beside her.

  There was silence for a moment or two before Shelly finally spoke.

  ‘It’s his favorite book.’ Shelly ran her finger over the cover. ‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve read it to him. He gave it to Kate when she was born, but he still sneaks it out of her bookcase every night for me to read, then he insists that I put it back.

  ‘He’s going to be OK, isn’t he, Clara? They’ll find him, won’t they?’

  And though she had seen Ross’s agony, though she had seen fear and pain in more patients than she could truthfully remember, as Shelly dragged her eyes to Clara, Clara witnessed there and then the utter devastation of her friend, and she felt grateful, so grateful for Timothy’s optimism, for the ray of hope she could offer. Even if it was a false promise, even though the answer couldn’t possibly be known, now wasn’t the time to take hope away.

  ‘He’s going to all right.’ Clara took one of Shelly’s cold hands and held it tightly. ‘Everyone’s out there, looking for him, and they’re going to find him, Shelly.’

  ‘I should have looked in on him first thing. I always do,’ Shelly sobbed. ‘But Abby rang, and I was just so grateful the kids were still asleep so I could have a proper chat, and all that time—’

  ‘You did nothing wrong,’ Clara said firmly. ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  ‘Oh, it is.’ Shelly was inconsolable. Used to grief, Clara let her talk, let Shelly voice her fears as she herself sat quietly holding Shelly’s hand.

  ‘His whole little world has changed since Kate came along. He’s so much more clingy and jealous, and I tried to give him more time, tried to be there for him, but there was always something going on, always a shift that needed to be filled…’

  ‘Oh, Shelly.’ Tears brimmed in Clara’s eyes as she watched her friend and colleague struggle just to remember to breathe, and only then did Clara realise that Shelly’s supposed insensitivity at times had nothing to do with her. Shelly was another mum battling to do it all, to somehow find enough hours in the day. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known, I’d have done more.’

  ‘You couldn’t have done any more.’ Shelly shook her head. ‘You do too much already. Abby rang this morning, she said she had some great news and she sounded so happy, so excited that for a second I thought they were coming back, that we’d finally have more staff and I could stay home with the kids. But she told me they were getting married and instead of being happy for them I was disappointed. What sort of person does that make me?’

  ‘Normal.’ Clara wrapped her arm around Shelly’s heaving shoulders. ‘Everyone misses them, and though we’re thrilled they’re happy it doesn’t mean we can’t be disappointed that they’re gone.’

  ‘Matthew misses Kell.’ Shelly gave a soft laugh. ‘He used to make Matthew laugh, called him “big guy” and played hide and seek with him. Kell would know where to look, he’d know what to do.’ Her voice was rising, panic overriding sense now.

  It was the longest morning of her life.

  Like a pendulum Shelly swung between hopelessness and despair, bursts of manic laughter as she recalled some of Matthew’s more endearing traits countered almost immediately with rasping, desperate hopeless tears as Clara fought to comfort her, to somehow be a friend and a professional, to hold out hope yet attempt to face the truth. The minutes that had dragged by suddenly started to gallop, the cool crisp morning evaporating. She tried to ignore the searing heat and its effect on a three-year-old boy dressed in a pair of pyjama bottoms.

  ‘We should ring Kell.’ Shelly’s voice was firm. Standing, she started to pace as Clara sat quietly on the sofa. ‘He might know what to do, where to look.’ Shelly’s eyes were wide. She was grasping at straws perhaps, but a shred of hope was better than none at all. ‘We have to ring Kell.’

  Clara hesitated, momentarily torn, not wanting to head down the wrong path, indulge Shelly’s whims only to see her dejected and spent when deep down she was sure Kell could offer no better solutions than the ones already in better in place. And yet…

  Kell had been close to Matthew, Clara realised with mounting excitement. During the last few weeks of Shelly’s pregnancy Kell had often turned up at the clinic with Matthew, giving him a few crayons to draw with as he himself got on with the work, taking him for walks during his breaks. Hope started to flare. Clara rushed into the hall. Maybe Kell could offer some insight, could perhaps suggest something they hadn’t already thought of.

  With Shelly watching like a hawk, wringing her hands with frustration, begging her to hurry up, Clara rang the number, cursing inwardly at the recorded message.

  ‘It’s an answering-machine,’ Clara said helplessly. ‘He must be at work.’

  She left a brief message, urging him to ring the second he returned. Shelly started pulling out phone books, frantically searching for numbers.

  ‘Ring him at the hospital—I’m sure he’s working with Abby.’

  It took an age to get through, the switchboard messing up the connection, the emergency ward redirecting her twice, and if the answering-machine message had been cold and impersonal it was nothing compared to the haughty voice Clara encountered that told her Kell Bevan couldn’t possibly come to the telephone right now.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Clara begged. ‘This is an emergency.’

  ‘Which is exactly what Mr Bevan is dealing with,’ came the impassive response. ‘I’ll pass on your message as soon as he’s available.’

  Shelly was inconsolable. As fruitless as the call might have been, it had offered her hope, something to cling to, something to focus on, and now that it was gone. Now there really was nothing she could do she seemed to crumple before Clara’s eyes. Even though she knew emotion was good, that it was better out than in, as Shelly’s screams echoed through the house, as baby Kate awoke dema
nding attention, oblivious to the hell around her, Clara toyed with the idea of sedating Shelly just to restore some sense of order. Instead, she left her momentarily, picking up Kate, hot and angry at having been left so long, and changing her nappy, praying Shelly might settle, would hold it together for just a little bit longer.

  ‘She’s hungry.’ Clara bought the wailing infant through to the lounge, deliberately ignoring Shelly’s agitation, determinedly talking normally. ‘She needs to be fed.’

  With infinite relief she watched as Shelly checked herself, and though Clara’s heart ached for Shelly she kept her voice matter-of-fact. ‘Sit down, Shelly, and feed her.’

  Mercifully she obeyed, little Kate latching on and sucking hungrily as Shelly kissed the soft blonde down of her baby’s head, breathing in her sweet baby scent as if it was the life force she depended on, the one life raft she could cling to in this awful turbulent time.

  ‘I forgot your birthday.’ Looking down at her baby, Shelly’s voice was a tiny whisper, and though it was so irrelevant, Clara followed her thread, irrelevance far more palatable than the hell they were facing. ‘You’re being so nice and I’ve been so awful. If it hadn’t been for Timothy…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Clara said gently, sitting on the sofa beside her. ‘You probably did me a favour—it turned out to be the best birthday ever.’ Fingering the tiny opals in her ears, she finally understood. ‘Shelly, stop beating yourself up. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. I’m here for you.’

  ‘You always have been.’

  The ringing of telephone caught them both unawares. Clara jumped up first, fixing Shelly with her best version of a firm glare. ‘I’ll get it. You carry on feeding Kate.’

  Only when she picked up the telephone did Clara realise the tension that had engulfed her. Hearing Kell’s voice, so normal, so utterly oblivious to the hell on the other end of the line, had Clara momentarily lost for words. Leaning against the hall wall, she let out a long low moan, tears trickling down her cheeks when finally she spoke.