The Doctor's Outback Baby

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Oh, Kell.’ If only she’d turned at that moment, if only she’d registered Timothy pushing open the fly door, walking in unannounced, maybe she’d have changed her tone, rephrased her words somehow. ‘If ever I needed you, it’s now.’

  Looking up, seeing the agony on Timothy’s face, for a second she thought the worse had happened, that he was coming with bad news.

  ‘Where’s Shelly?’ Timothy’s voice was barely a croak.

  ‘Feeding Kate.’

  ‘I’m here.’ Pale and trembling, Shelly stepped forward, Kate in her arms as her terrified eyes turned to Timothy. ‘Have you found him?’

  So devastated was his expression that when Timothy shook his head Clara almost dropped the telephone in relief, so sure had she been that the worst possible outcome had actually transpired. ‘It’s Kell.’ Handing the phone to Shelly, she took Kate and walked through to the lounge, Timothy following a step behind.

  ‘What you just heard,’ Clara ventured as Timothy stood there, his face rigid, his eyes guarded, ‘wasn’t what it sounded like. Shelly was hysterical. She got it into her head that Kell might know where Matthew had gone. I was in two minds whether to sedate her—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Timothy shrugged off the hand on his arm and shook his head, but then seemed to change his mind, his guarded eyes flashing with anger, ‘You really think Kell’s going to save the day, don’t you, Clara, that Kell’s going to come through for you? Well, guess what? I’m here and I’m real, not some fantasy you’ve got locked in your head. I’m the one dressed in fluorescent orange waterproofs when it’s thirty-five degrees outside, I’m the one rallying the troops and organising search parties. Where’s Kell now?’ His lips snarled around the words. ‘Where’s Kell when you need him, Clara?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS probably a matter of seconds but it felt like hours. Clara bit back a smart reply as Timothy suddenly relented, dragging a hand through his sodden, sweat-dampened hair as he shook his head. ‘Now’s not the time.’ Clenching his fists, he took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for.’

  It had been uncalled-for and now most definitely wasn’t the time, but as she looked at him she ached physically ached to put her hand to his taut, exhausted cheek to somehow put him right, but all that mattered here was Matthew. There would be time for that later.

  ‘Is Jack here yet?’

  Timothy nodded wearily. ‘Everyone’s here. The Flying Doctors just came in, Hall’s checked the bed you set up and he’s happy everything’s ready. June’s even icing sheets and boxing them up in Eskys to wrap him in the second he’s found. People are coming in from all over, just wanting to help, to do something, anything. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen people pull together in that way.’ Sitting down, he rested his head in his hands as Clara started to pour a glass of iced water from the jug. Realising the waste in energy, she just handed him the jug which he took without comment, downing the water in one, not even wiping away the rivers that spilled onto him. Clara quietly watched, sensing his weariness, knowing the force of the harsh Australian sun while simultaneously trying not to imagine a little boy out there alone with the elements.

  ‘Take your jacket off.’

  ‘I have to get back.’

  ‘Two minutes,’ Clara implored, pulling the heavy jacket off as Timothy took a tiny, much-needed break. ‘What does Jack say?’

  ‘That he has to be near.’ For the first time since sitting down he looked up and Clara felt like weeping when she saw the devastation in his eyes, the hopelessness of the message he imparted. ‘They’re bringing in the police divers, they’re going to search the dams.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘He’s hiding somewhere. He’s just a baby, for heaven’s sake, and he’s going to be fine.’

  ‘Clara.’ His eyes couldn’t meet hers. Instead, he stared at the empty jug in his hands, and she truly couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears that ran down his exhausted face. ‘He is just a baby and this is the outback.’ She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, heard the tremor in his voice and she wanted him to take it back, to some how snap back into the wonderful optimist she’d berated before, for hope to impinge on hopelessness, but again he shook his head, ‘The police are asking questions, you know the sort of questions as well as I do.’

  She shook her head fiercely. ‘Well, they’re wrong and it’s a waste of time even going through it. Their time would be better spent looking for him than heading up that path.’

  But Timothy hadn’t finished. ‘They want to know if Shelly suffered any postnatal depression, if there’s any family dynamics, any history that might point to—?’

  ‘No.’ Screwing her eyes closed, Clara took a mental swipe at him, or maybe her hands made contact. No matter how many times afterwards she relived the moment she could never be sure, but suddenly Timothy was beside her, holding her heaving shoulders and begging her to stay strong.

  ‘We have to do this, Clara. Yes, Ross and Shelly are friends, yes, we’re all close, but at the end of the day you’re the nurse and I’m the doctor. When the tough talk comes, it’s going to be us.’

  ‘But it’s not like that,’ Clara said forcefully. ‘Ross and Shelly adore him.’

  Timothy nodded. ‘We know that, but the police don’t. They’re not pointing the finger, it’s just the system.’

  ‘The system?’ Jumping back, she stared at him, eyes wide, almost deranged with the preposterousness of the world. ‘What does the “system” know about love, what does the “system” know about devotion? Ross isn’t Matthew’s biological father.’ She watched as Timothy flinched. ‘Can you imagine the “system’s” response to that? I can just imagine the press with that little gem, just imagine the innuendoes, the snide little remarks, when the truth is that Ross loves Matthew more than his biological father. Ross would die before harming a hair on that child’s head, so don’t you stand there and tell me to be professional, don’t you stand there and expect me to ask the tough questions because I won’t do it, Timothy, I just won’t.’ Her voice trailed off as Shelly returned, but there was a determined edge to it as she turned to meet her friend. ‘I’ll resign here and now before I go there, Timothy. I simply won’t do it.’

  ‘Kell doesn’t know where he could be.’ Shelly’s voice trembled as she walked towards them and Clara instinctively took Kate from her arms, sensing the desolation before them. ‘They went for walks, but only along the main street. He took him to the park, to the milk bar, but apart from that he can’t think of anything. They played peek-a-boo…’

  ‘The barn.’

  Timothy’s voice forced their attention.

  ‘The barn,’ Timothy said again, breaking into a run.

  Clara quelled the adrenaline that surged inside her and resisted running after him. Instead, she handed Kate to Shelly and forced an air of authority as her pulse pounded in her temples and instinct told her to follow.

  ‘Shelly, wait here.’

  The air was hot in her lungs, too hot to run, but nothing could have stalled her, nothing could have made her stay put as she pounded the red earth on legs that felt like jelly, her chest exploding as she followed Timothy through the town, the locals parting as they blazed a trail through the centre, oblivious of Hamo as he shouted behind them.

  ‘We’ve already checked it. He isn’t there.’

  ‘He has to be here.’ She watched with mounting despair as he turned over hay bales, shouting Matthews’s name, prodding into the dark, damp mounds in a fruitless, hopeless last effort. ‘He was playing hide and seek with Kell at the ball, climbing into empty beer kegs.’

  ‘There are some more kegs out the back.’ Hamo frantically beat on the door, wrenching the wooden plank that barred the back entrance as Timothy raced through, the searing heat of the morning sun harsher now after the relative cool of the barn.

  ‘Matthew.’

  Something in his voice stilled her.

  Something told Clara i
t wasn’t false hope that surged inside her.

  ‘Matthew!’

  But jubilation was short-lived, joy had its downside as Timothy pulled the flushed, limp body from an upturned keg. Hamo rushed to smother him with one of June’s iced sheets as Timothy barely paused for breath, pulling the cool cotton around the limp little boy and running towards the clinic as if his own life depended upon it. Cheers went up as the gathered locals parted to let them through.

  And Clara followed, perfecting her mental plan of attack as she ran. Running through the town, she begged an answer, prayed to a God that must surely be listening that there must be a reason, some sense to it all. That, yes, he was three, and he had Down’s syndrome. But the fact he still used a bottle at night and had wandered off with his bottle of juice in his hand might just have saved him.

  Professionalism took over then, emotions put aside as they laid the limp body on a gurney. Jack pulled Ross outside and Clara, Hall and Timothy worked together. Hall, the most senior, took the head of the gurney, calling orders in his thick Australian accent.

  ‘What’s his temp?’

  ‘Forty point five degrees,’ Clara answered, not even looking up as she placed ice bags around Matthew’s head, in his groin and under his arms, then filled a burette with fluid as Timothy slapped Matthew’s veins, slipped a needle in and enabled the lifesaving fluids to enter his system to hydrate the tiny body that lay on the gurney. ‘But cooling started a few minutes ago, he would have been warmer when we found him.’

  ‘Aim to cool him at point two degrees a minute,’ Hall ordered.

  They worked on almost in silence, Hall occasionally requesting something, but the words were barely out before his requests were met. Clara, ever efficient, the consummate professional, despite her fraught emotions, sprayed the little boy with tepid water, aiming the fans over his body.

  ‘What about a cool bath?’ Timothy asked, answering his own questions as he worked diligently on. ‘Or would that be too much of a shock?’

  ‘Evaporative cooling is the best,’ Hall answered knowledgeably. ‘This is the best way to get to this little tacker’s temp down. Let’s get some blood gases on him, Clara. Timothy, put a catheter in—we need to monitor his renal function.’

  On and on they worked, trying to ignore Shelly’s screams in the background, Ross’s fruitless attempts to be let inside.

  ‘What’s his blood sugar?’

  ‘Four.’ Clara looked up, perhaps for the first time.

  ‘Temp?’

  ‘Thirty-nine point two.’ For the first time she remembered to breathe again properly, watching as the tachycardia signs on the monitor over them became slightly more even, the little dry red face of Matthew grimacing as he pulled at the oxygen mask over his face, scared blue eyes opening momentarily, a fat little hand pulling at the drip in his arm, his eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to focus.

  ‘Looks like we’re winning.’

  It had to be sweat. Hall was the most experienced, the most laid-back doctor Clara had even had the privilege to work with, but for just a second as Matthew tugged at the oxygen mask and four little limbs moved the way four little limbs should, as Matthew’s parched, cracked lips attempted to form a word, Clara could have sworn a tear trickled down the side of Hall’s sun-battered cheeks.

  ‘Kell?’ The single word was the sweetest they had ever heard, the blue eyes that gazed at Timothy like two precious jewels as Timothy shook his head, gently stroking the little boy’s face as he stared down at him.

  ‘Sorry, buddy, you’ll just have to make do with me.’ He made a pretty good attempt at a calm voice as he called out, ‘Let Shelly and Ross in.’

  But for all his strength, for all the optimism and hope he had imbued, Clara knew Timothy wouldn’t come out of this turbulent time unscathed, and as she led Ross and Shelly in, as they gazed in wonder at the life that had so nearly been taken, she looked up and realised that it was the first time she had seen Timothy cry.

  ‘He needs intensive care.’ Hall’s voice was gruff but there was gentleness behind it as he addressed Matthew’s parents, deliberately ignoring the fact that Ross was a doctor and Shelly a nurse, knowing that now more than ever a terrified mum and dad were all they wanted to be. ‘His temperature was very high when he came to us, which can cause a lot of problems, but thankfully he seems to have avoided any serious damage. Neurologically he’s responding well and he’s putting out urine, which are good signs. Still, I’d be happier to have him at a major centre.’

  Ross looked up helplessly and Timothy responded without prompting. ‘We’ll manage fine, Ross—just go.’

  ‘You’ll stay at the house?’ Ross checked. ‘There’s an emergency bell on the clinic door, it rings directly through to the house. If you leave a note people might not be able to read—’

  ‘We’ll stay at the house,’ Timothy said firmly. ‘Don’t worry about the clinic—you just concentrate on your family, for as long as it takes. We’ll be fine.’

  Slinging a weary arm around Clara as the stretcher was gently loaded onto the plane, Timothy pulled her nearer. ‘Won’t we?’

  ‘I hate being a grown-up,’ Timothy moaned as, fed, showered and changed, he finally collapsed on Ross and Shelly’s sofa. ‘I’ve just had the most terrifying day of my life and I can’t even relax with a glass of wine in case that bloody bell goes off.’

  ‘It kind of makes you realise what Ross and Shelly have to put up with each and every night, doesn’t it?’ Clara said, listlessly picking up toys from the floor and piling them into a massive wooden box.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune.’ Timothy teased, halfheartedly pinching her on the bottom as Clara retrieved the umpteenth piece of Lego, locating a dusty toast crust along the way. ‘I thought you were the misunderstood one.’

  ‘I thought I was, too,’ Clara admitted, giving in to the mess and plonking herself down on the sofa beside him. ‘Today kind of puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? I mean, dramas happen here often, and as much as I moan about the hours I put in at least when I go home I can switch off. For Ross and Shelly it’s twenty-four seven. Throw in breastfeeding and a special needs child and you can see why Shelly asks me to work over—’

  ‘Doesn’t make it right, though,’ Timothy said loyally, but Clara just shrugged.

  ‘But it makes sense.’

  ‘Things will change now.’ Stretching and yawning, Clara had to wait for him to elaborate. ‘I know he was beside himself, I know it was fear talking, but from the way Ross was ranting, the health department wants to watch itself. He’s all for closing the clinic down unless they come to the party and organise more staff.’

  ‘Ross would never let this place close,’ Clara said assuredly, but her conviction wavered as she turned to Timothy. ‘Do you really think it could come to that?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Timothy yawned. ‘But Ross nearly lost his son today and Shelly’s got every reason not to want to fill in shifts any more. You can’t do it all yourself, Clara. It’s either a part-time clinic or a hospital, not somewhere in between, and I think today might just be the catalyst. Anyway, enough. I need my bed.’

  She stood first, made a half-hearted effort to haul him off the sofa.

  ‘Carry me,’ Timothy grumbled.

  ‘Carry me,’ Clara moaned, and then as Timothy gestured to do so she blushed furiously and changed her mind. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she mumbled, purposefully heading for the guest bedroom. ‘You’d rupture yourself.’

  Sleeping in Ross and Shelly’s guest room was rather like being in a hotel, without the luxury of a chocolate on the pillow and a bar fridge, of course. Climbing into bed, they plumped the pillows, admired the counterpane then lay there awkward and rigid, staring at the white ceiling and wishing the curtains closed enough to stop the annoying chink of moon-light that was filtering through.

  ‘It won’t ring,’ Clara whispered, sensing Timothy’s tension, though why she was keeping her voice down was anyone’s guess. ‘Everyone knows Ross is
away. It will only go off if there’s an emergency.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I’m afraid of,’ Timothy mumbled, lying rigid beside her, staring into the darkness with a tension that was palpable. Cuddling in beside him, she moved slightly to make room for the arm he clamped firmly around her, closing her eyes against the soft down of his chest and running her hand tentatively down the flat plane of his stomach, acknowledging the slight increase in his breathing, a low, almost inaudible moan as her hand moved ever lower.

  A woman of the twenty-first century Clara certainly wasn’t. Oh, she knew her own mind, was independent, but when it came to sex there was still a refreshing naïvety about her. She’d read all the glossies, devoured television soaps as easily as a box of chocolates and she knew deep down that women could make the first move.

  She just never had before.

  It had always been Timothy who’d instigated their love-making with Clara still in a state of perpetual surprise that anyone could fancy her so much, that someone so divine could actually want her.

  But tonight she knew he needed her.

  Needed the sweet release their love-making brought, needed to escape from the horrors of the day, however fleetingly.

  Capturing his swollen warmth in her hand, she held it for a moment, revelling in its beauty, thrilled and terrified and excited all at the same time as it sprang to life in her hands, as it responded to her gentle, tentative touch. And his obvious delight in her boldness made her brave, guided her on as her touch became firmer, her lips dusting its length as he gasped beneath her.

  ‘Make love to me, Clara,’ he urged softly.

  He knew this was hard for her, knew it was uncharted territory, and as she slowly climbed over and lowered herself onto him he registered the nervousness in her eyes, could almost feel the endearing embarrassed blush as she stared down at him, bracing herself for rejection yet knowing she was wanted.