Currawong Creek

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Tom went back into the waiting room, keeping one eye peeled for the wayward snake. Willow stood clutching the shoe box, her facial piercings glistening with tears. ‘Where’s the patient?’ he asked. A tortured squeal came from the box. Willow offered it to him with trembling hands. Inside was a distressed piebald rat. Tom heaved a great sigh. It was going to be one of those days.

  Tom gently took the rat from Willow. It was a warm morning but Minnie felt cold, a sure sign of shock. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and her ears and mucous membranes were pale. Blood oozed from beneath her tail, and every now and then she squealed in pain. He fetched a heating pad and laid the little creature on the examination table.

  ‘Blade said you’ll just do a caesarean and then she’ll be fine,’ said Willow, her expression hopeful.

  ‘Did he just?’ Tom looked up to see the Goth boy in the doorway. Curse Blade for raising such unrealistic expectations. Rat caesareans were notoriously difficult and he didn’t have the right small-scale implements. On top of that, it wasn’t feasible to deliver the young and then repair the uterus. A full hysterectomy would be necessary, meaning Minnie wouldn’t be able to produce milk even if the babies could be saved. Without a foster mother, her pinkies would not survive.

  ‘I’d like to try something first —’ began Tom, then froze. Cleo was gliding along the floor behind the unsuspecting Willow, a telltale guinea-pig-sized bulge in her body. She slid behind the bags of dog food in the corner. He took a deep breath. On the bright side, at least he now knew where she was. ‘Oxytocin injections can stimulate a tired uterus to contract,’ he said, trying hard to concentrate. ‘First I’ll X-ray Minnie to check there’s no extra-large pup stuck in the birth canal, otherwise strong labour could rupture her uterus.’ Willow crossed her legs and turned white. ‘Perhaps you should wait outside,’ said Tom. The girl nodded and left. Tom quickly X-rayed the rat, keeping one eye on the corner. Good. They were normal sized pinkies, well positioned, and only five of them. Now to take a guess at dosage.

  Clare came in, looking cool and collected. Tom saw a flash of flickering tongue and pale scales as the snake slid across the room and disappeared behind the filing cabinet. He tried to remain calm. Should he tell Clare? No, he just couldn’t do it. He’d scare her again for starters and look like a complete incompetent again to boot.

  Clare pointed to Minnie. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Pet rat in labour.’

  Clare made a face. ‘Don’t take too long. You’ve got a Mr Baker with his bassets at nine for vaccinations.’

  Tom groaned. Brian Baker always insisted on having Tom express his dogs’ anal glands, whether it was needed or not. ‘Better out than in,’ he’d say in a smug voice, then head for his car, offering no help at all. It was normally a simple enough exercise, but not with Brian’s bassets. They howled and leaped and growled, making the procedure downright dangerous for everybody involved. On top of that, Brian’s bassets were simply the smelliest dogs in the world. The place always stank to high heaven after their visits. Clare couldn’t be there for that. She’d never be able to think of him in a romantic way again. He’d have to get rid her.

  Tom injected Minnie with the oxytocin, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the tiny rodent and hoping her exhausted frame could withstand the strain of renewed contractions. He placed her and the heating pad in a box, took it to the hospital ward and then went to talk to Clare. He’d taken a few steps when he returned and put a lid on the box, just in case Cleo had designs on Minnie for breakfast.

  Clare was behind the counter, entering treatment notes into the computer. ‘You should set some time aside to catch up on these,’ she said in a chastising tone. ‘There’s quite a backlog.’

  ‘Why don’t you take Jack for a drive in the Bunya Mountains,’ said Tom. ‘I can manage this morning. I’m off on farm rounds at eleven anyway.’

  Clare looked up, clearly puzzled. ‘It’s such a busy morning. Are you sure?’

  He didn’t answer, pretending instead to examine stock on the shelves.

  Clare went through the appointment list. ‘You’ve got the Baker bassets, some crazy man who thinks his wife is poisoning their Siamese cat, a Boxer with toothache, a Newfoundland with indigestion, a kitten with a rash, a litter of puppies for vaccinations and health checks, and a lame goose . . . and there are bound to be walk-ins. Still want me to take off?’

  He looked out the window. Brian Baker was pulling up with his dog trailer. Tom dashed for the door and waylaid Brian as he was unloading his hounds.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tom, ‘but I’m flat out. Tricky labour. An emergency caesarean might be all that can save the pups. Can we do this tomorrow?’

  ‘Course we can, Doc,’ said Brian, juggling a tangle of excited bassets. ‘Course we can.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t suppose you blokes know what will land on your doorstep next, eh?’

  Tom nodded and smiled. ‘Got it in one, mate.’ This was going better than he’d hoped.

  A voice from behind startled him. ‘How’s Minnie?’ It was Willow.

  Best to hurry the girl away before she put her foot in it. ‘I’ve given Minnie an injection that will hopefully restart her labour,’ he said. ‘Come and we’ll check on her now.’ Willow nodded, her expression taut with nerves, and started to follow him back to the clinic.

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ Brian called out after her. ‘Doc here will save them pups, and their mum too.’

  Willow stopped and gave him a grateful smile. ‘I hope so. Minnie’s my favourite rat.’

  Chapter 16

  Tom was acting very strangely, even for Tom. Why did he want her to leave? She hadn’t been so confused about a man for a long time, maybe even never. Clare thought back to her early days with Adam. His dazzling advocacy had been the talk of Brisbane’s legal set, and she’d been more than a little star-struck when the hot-shot young barrister had asked her out. Feeling flattered wasn’t a good way to start off though. It had set the pattern for their whole relationship. Her trying to impress, feeling not-quite-good-enough. Him acting superior. Tom was very different. Adam looked for an angle and Tom took people as he found them. Adam earned top dollar and Tom was paid in piglets. Adam had a killer streak and Tom saved the lives of pregnant rats. He was rough and ready true, but she had to admit he did exude a sort of raw, unconscious sexuality. Clare suddenly imagined him pulling her in close, in tight, and kissing her with hard, searching lips.

  A soft, scraping sound in the corner distracted her from the daydream. Clare inspected the wall, trying to ignore the tattooed teenage boy sneering at her from across the room. Was that something moving?

  Tom and the pierced girl came in and headed straight for the ward. A man with a bevy of basset hounds burst in after them. That must be Brian Baker, their first appointment for the day. Clare couldn’t stop staring. She’d heard of people growing to look like their animals, and in this case the resemblance was astonishing. Brian had his dogs’ same sagging cheeks and long face. His nose was large and shiny and his lids drooped over red, rheumy eyes. His expression however, wasn’t hangdog like his bassets. It was angry.

  ‘I won’t be fobbed off, Doc,’ said Brian. ‘Not for a fucking rat.’ Pierced girl burst into tears and Brian looked abashed. ‘Sorry, love, but they’re vermin. What do you want to go around saving vermin for? I just spent a fortune at my place exterminating the little buggers.’ Brian noticed Clare and seemed surprised to see her. He looked to the crying girl and then back to Clare, took off his hat and wrung it between his hands. ‘Pardon my French.’

  The girl cried harder, and his face softened. ‘It really is your pet then, is it, this rat?’

  She gulped and nodded. ‘I love her.’ The words were little more than a choking sob, but they lent the girl a delicate vulnerability. Beneath the piercings, she suddenly looked about twelve.

  ‘You do, do you?’ said Brian. ‘You love this rat?’

  She nodded. ‘Minnie’s my heart rat.’ The tears continued to flow.
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  ‘Well, I’ll be.’ He plucked a box of tissues from the counter and offered it to her. ‘Can’t believe I’m saying this,’ said Brian, shaking his head, ‘but I sure do hope the doc can help you out, love.’

  ‘Clare?’ Tom’s voice came from the ward. ‘Can I have you, please?’ She found Tom hovering over a shoebox, looking pleased. Clare peeked inside.

  Two tiny blind pink babies were squirming and squeaking on the paper towel. Minnie was holding another in disturbingly human-like hands, nibbling at it with little pointy teeth. ‘Is she eating it?’ asked Clare, horrified.

  Tom put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His touch made her momentarily forget all about the rat. ‘She’s cleaning it,’ said Tom, ‘and eating the afterbirth. Rats are devoted mothers.’

  A scream and a barking chorus erupted from the waiting room. Willow rocketed in. She’d gone very pale. ‘There’s a snake!’

  Clare glanced at Cleo’s cage. Empty.

  Tom shoved the shoebox at the panicky girl. ‘Here, Willow, take Minnie. She needs a midwife.’

  Willow became suddenly brave, oohing and aahing over the babies. ‘I won’t let that big old snake get you.’ Tom grabbed a long pole with a deep hook and emptied out a rubbish bin, then went back into the waiting room. Clare tentatively followed him. Cleo was apparently holed up beneath a cupboard, to go by the basset pack milling around in full cry. The noise was deafening.

  ‘Get them out of here,’ yelled Tom. Brian didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Get them out,’ he yelled, louder this time, and pointed to the door. Blade helped Brian drag the dogs outside.

  Tom expertly hauled the python out. There was a curious bulge in her sleek lines like she had swallowed something. Tom manoeuvred the hook roughly to the middle of her body, lifted her in one smooth motion and deposited her in the bin. In no time Cleo was safely back in her cage.

  ‘Cool,’ said Blade, now hovering in the inner doorway, watching. ‘I like snakes. What’s that bump in its stomach?’

  ‘That’s Ginger, the guinea pig.’ Tom brought a hand to his forehead. ‘My patient.’ His voice was strained. ‘Now its six-year-old owner will be traumatised and her mother will probably sue.’

  Clare’s jaw dropped. Ginger? She’d seen the weeping, golden-haired girl when the little animal had arrived yesterday morning. ‘I don’t care what it costs, just fix the bloody thing,’ her mother had said, showing a distinct lack of affection for her daughter’s pet, but a healthy respect for her daughter’s temper. ‘Melody will have a fit if it dies.’

  Tom checked in on Minnie, who was birthing her fourth baby. Blade’s sneer had vanished. Instead he wore a broad grin, like a proud father. Even Clare felt a warm glow as Minnie groomed her newborn pups.

  ‘My sister’s got guinea pigs,’ said Blade. ‘What colour was this Ginger? Sort of reddish-brown?’ Tom nodded. ‘Short haired?’ Tom nodded again. A look of comprehension dawned on his face. ‘Boy or girl?’ asked Blade.

  ‘Boy,’ said Tom. ‘A fully grown reddish-brown male guinea pig.’

  Blade gave him a sly grin.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Clare. ‘It’s completely unprofessional. Completely unethical.’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ said Blade, and dashed off.

  ‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ Tom said to Clare and escaped outside. She looked out the window. He was crossing the car park to where Brian was tying his bassets to the side of his trailer. The two men began an animated conversation. What were they saying? They’d been speaking for a minute or two, when Brian burst out laughing, a raucous sound that made Clare jump. For some reason he pointed to the surgery and bent over with mirth. She ducked out of sight and went to see how the rat count was going.

  ‘Five,’ said Willow, her voice bursting with delight. ‘I think she’s finished.’

  Clare had changed her opinion of little Minnie. At first she’d wrinkled up her nose and agreed with Brian. Why would anybody want a rat as a pet? But now she had a sneaking admiration for the new mother. Minnie had arrived near death, exhausted, her frail body wracked with pain. She’d endured the cramping agony of forced labour, without the benefit of pain relief. Clare’s cousin, Miriam, had gone through an oxytocin-induced labour with her second child. She said the artificial contractions were infinitely stronger, more frequent and more painful than natural ones.

  Yet Minnie had bravely rallied from her ordeal, and was crouching over her babies to encourage suckling, despite her own weariness. The mother’s devotion was plain. It gave Clare a whole new appreciation and sympathy for rodents. Tom was back inside, talking to Willow. ‘You have quite a rat there,’ he told the beaming girl. He looked very handsome – the sun catching copper tones in his hair, and a warm smile on his face. Clare’s heart missed a beat. Life at Currawong Creek was becoming more interesting by the minute.

  Chapter 17

  Marlene Price produced her credit card to pay the bill, while Melody stroked Ginger . . . mark two. ‘Ginger must like the food here,’ the girl said to Clare, hugging the guinea pig close to her face. ‘He’s grown so big and fat.’

  Tom held his breath. Would Clare give the game away? She looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.

  ‘Look, Mummy,’ said Melody. ‘Ginger’s all better now.’

  Marlene shrank away from the creature, with a look of distaste on her perfectly made up face. ‘Thank god for that.’ She favoured Tom with a smile. ‘I would never have forgiven you, Tom. Not if you’d let my daughter down.’

  Tom avoided Clare’s eyes. He mumbled something about just being here to help and escaped outside with his veterinary bag to where Brian was waiting.

  ‘Thanks for levelling with me, Doc. The buggers do pong a bit when you squeeze their glands.’ He presented the first dog for vaccination. ‘Wouldn’t want to offend the little lady, eh? Might scare her off. You reckon that catching hook of yours would work on women as well as pythons?’ Brian was greatly amused by his own joke.

  ‘All done,’ said Tom, giving the dog a friendly slap on the rump. ‘Next.’ Two more cars pulled into the gravel road. ‘Won’t be long,’ called Tom, keeping his tone cheerful.

  Clare arrived, looking confused. ‘Why aren’t you treating the dogs inside?’ she asked.

  ‘Easier and quicker out here, love,’ said Brian. Tom shot him a grateful glance.

  ‘It’s so busy this morning,’ said Clare, gesturing to the new arrivals. ‘Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?’

  ‘Of course he needs you, love,’ said Brian ‘Tell her, Tom.’

  ‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘I could use a hand.’

  Clare smiled, and hurried back to the clinic. Brian winked. ‘That one likes you,’ he said. ‘She’s got that lovelorn look in her eye.’

  Really? Clare had looked pleased when he asked her to stay. He watched her go, her hair swaying in time with her hips.

  ‘Put your eyes back in your head, Doc,’ said Brian, as he pulled another dog over to be treated. The basset hound jumped up and licked Tom’s face with her broad ribbon of a tongue. ‘Violet here’ll get jealous.’

  It was almost twelve before they were done with morning surgery. Harry had dropped by with Jack and seemed in no hurry to leave. Thank god the old man was in a better mood. Jack was making friends with a little boy named Danny, whose mother, Bronwyn, was getting her six-week-old kelpie pups their first shots.

  ‘I’ve never seen that,’ Clare whispered to Tom, as the kids chased each other round the car park. ‘He’s normally violent with other children.’

  ‘Well, he’s doing fine at the moment.’

  They watched the boys collecting gumnuts, making piles on the porch. Jack was examining a particularly large gumnut, obviously a prize. Clare gasped as he added it to Danny’s pile. ‘He’s sharing,’ she said. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Currawong seems to agree with your boy.’ A fancy took him as he watched her sweep a stray lock of hair from her forehead. ‘Next job’s a pony stud. Worming,
checking broodmares, that sort of thing. Would you and Jack like to come along?’

  She gazed at him with cool green eyes. He couldn’t see anything remotely lovelorn about them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Clare. ‘We’ll come.’ Tom tried to hide his excitement. ‘I used to have a pony here at Currawong, when I was a kid.’ She interrupted Harry’s conversation with Bronwyn. ‘Smudge. Remember Smudge, grandad?’

  ‘Top little mare,’ said Harry. ‘Only lost her last year.’

  ‘Really?’ said Clare, looking stricken. ‘I should have been here . . . should have said goodbye.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Harry. He looked suddenly weary. ‘What’s done is done.’

  ‘Bring Jack round some time to play,’ said Bronwyn.

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Clare. ‘Jack doesn’t have any . . . I mean many friends.’

  Bronwyn nodded. ‘Same with Danny. It’s hard when you live in the country, isn’t it? There aren’t always kids the same age nearby. It’s so great you and Jack have come to stay.’

  Tom waited for Clare to protest that indeed she wasn’t staying, that in a week or two she’d be back in Brisbane. But instead, Clare just looked at Tom and smiled. He loved that smile, the way her cheeks grew round, and dimpled just a fraction. ‘Jack likes it here,’ she said finally, ‘and so do I.’

  ‘Is the Brady place your last job?’ asked Harry. Tom nodded. ‘How about I make a few rounds of sandwiches, then? I’ll throw in a packet of bikkies and a bottle of Buderim ginger beer.’ He slapped Tom affectionately on the back. The weariness seemed to have passed. ‘Take Clare and Jack for a picnic in the mountains afterwards. You’ll be half-way there.’

  ‘How about it, Clare?’ said Tom. He searched her face and she flashed him that gorgeous smile again in answer.