by Mary Hawkins
'Now, before we start,' said Chris crisply, 'I believe you told Sister Howard here that the gentleman you had with you yesterday was my patient's lawyer. Had some papers for him to sign, I believe?'
Dan glanced uncomfortably at Jean before saying, 'I'm not quite sure I did say that.' He ignored Sister Howard's snort of disgust. 'He's my lawyer, actually, and I wanted him to be present while I discussed some important private matters.'
'Could you tell us what those matters were, please?' commanded Chris.
'No, I most certainly won't!' Dan said angrily. 'I just finished explaining it was a very private matter between a son and his father!'
'Not son!'
Dan stared at George, and then a dark, angry red began to creep up his neck. 'Stepson, then!' he snapped.
'Not stepson!'
Dan opened his mouth to speak, but Chris said quickly, 'What exactly do you mean, Mr Macallister?'
'Of course I'm his stepson,' sneered Dan, and then he paused, a slight smirk twisted his lips. 'I hadn't realised how confused you've become, Father,' he said deliberately.
'Never . . . never . . .' Words failed George and he squeezed Jean's hand, his eyes pleading for help.
'George means he never legally adopted Dan,' Jean said very quietly.
'Is that so, sir?' When George had nodded vigorously, Chris turned to Dan. 'So now that we have that settled, perhaps you will tell us what the so-called private matter was about yesterday?'
Dan just glared angrily.
Chris waited a moment, and then in his quiet voice of steel said, 'You may be interested to know I had a very interesting conversation this morning with the gentleman who accompanied you yesterday.' Dan jumped to his feet. 'Sit down, Mr Wallace!'
Jean knew then why Chris had remained standing. His very height, as well as those well filled shoulders, made him a very imposing figure. A very intimidating man. She watched almost gleefully as Dan subsided reluctantly.
'Thank you,' said Chris very politely. His eyes met Jean's for a moment with a quickly appreciative gleam of amusement, quickly hidden. 'I'm afraid your judgement was at fault with him. He rang late yesterday, leaving a message for Mr Macallister's doctor to ring him back, because he was worried in case you tried again to get a not so helpless old man to sign an affidavit giving you power of attorney.'
Julie gasped. She heard a sound from George, and when she tore her eyes from Chris's now angry face she saw he was chuckling.
'Not so helpless,' he laughed triumphantly.
Chris's face relaxed, and he smiled briefly. 'You certainly aren't, George.'
'But he's not capable of handling his own affairs,' began Dan, his face mottled now with fury.
'Oh, yes, he is,' said Jean serenely. She looked steadily at George. 'I think I should tell him about the house, love.'
She ignored Dan's start of surprise as she watched anxiously for her uncle's answer.
He frowned, and carefully nodded his head as he said slowly, 'And also you . . . too.'
She stared at him, feeling the tears fill her eyes. This was George's final renunciation of any ties with his beloved wife's son, and she knew what it would cost him.
'Are you very, very sure?' she asked softly, and to make certain she had not misunderstood him she picked up his hand and kissed it. 'You do mean about our relationship, don't you?'
A sadness entered his eyes as he searched her face. Then it disappeared as he studied her. Suddenly she knew how proud he was of her as he looked away to Chris, who was watching them with a very intent look on his face.
'Very sure,' he said firmly, and Jean was proud of him too, because his voice had strengthened, and there was not the slightest tremor.
She held his hand tightly, as she looked steadily at the suddenly more subdued Dan.
'First, about the house. I understand you have it listed for sale?' she said very calmly.
Dan stiffened.
'It doesn't matter how I know. I would have found out before long anyway, wouldn't I? When you started showing prospective buyers over it, I suppose.'
A look of triumph appeared on Dan's face. 'George was only too happy to sign the consent forms for me,' he gloated. 'It was then I knew he would probably sign anything for me if he was handled prop ‑' He stopped abruptly.
Chris gave an angry exclamation, but then was still again, when Jean looked sharply at George, and grinned.
'That was rather naughty of you, George,' she said gently, and then laughed out loud at the triumphant, mischievous look on his face. 'You old devil!'
Suddenly feeling very cheerful indeed, she turned to Chris. 'I'm really sorry I couldn't tell you at the restaurant the other night,' she said regretfully, 'but I'd ‑'
'You'd promised George,' he finished for her with a rueful smile. 'But for goodness' sake tell us what you two have been up to.'
'Well, you see, that exclusive Sydney private hospital bill was a very big one six months ago. George wouldn't let me pay it for him. So we worked out a compromise. If I bought his house ‑'
'You!' Dan was on his feet, his chair crashing back on to the floor.
Ignoring Peggy Howard's, 'Tut, tut,' as she moved forward to pick it up, he glared unbelievingly at Jean.
Then he sneered cruelly, 'Why don't you pull the other leg? Where on earth would a penniless orphan like you get a loan to buy a large house on such an acreage, on a prime spot on Lake Macquarie? It's worth at least ‑' He stopped short.
'Half a million dollars, Dan?' Jean asked frigidly, quoting the amount he had printed on the brochure. 'No, George wouldn't let me pay anything like that a few months ago.'
'Is it true, Jean? You now own the house?' asked Chris quietly.
Their eyes locked for a brief moment. She thought she could see admiration with a touch of amusement. Then she looked away.
'Yes, I own the house.'
Dan swore violently.
'That'll be enough of that in my ward, Mr Macallister,' Peggy said in her best battle-axe voice.
'I think George wanted you to tell us something else, too,' Chris said huskily after a brief silence.
Jean looked at him helplessly, suddenly knowing that what he thought was really all that mattered. She looked down at George as she felt him squeeze her hand encouragingly. He winked at her.
'When . . . when I was eighteen, I had to get my birth certificate. It was then that George told me he was my real father, not the man who . . . who . . . George's name was on the certificate,' she said simply, tears filling her eyes as she vividly remembered that wonderful day. 'I was thrilled.'
'I . . . I . . .' George frowned with concentration. 'Scared,' he said triumphantly at last, and Jean gave a shaky laugh.
'He thought I'd hate him. It's an involved family story which I don't. . . won't. . . It's nobody's business but ours.' She smiled through her tears at George. 'I already loved him so much, I thought I'd been given the best gift he could ever have given me.'
She bent down and embraced him. He hugged her enthusiastically with his strong arm, and when she at last straightened and fumbled for a handkerchief she realised that only Chris remained in the room. She looked nervously at him, wondering if she would see distaste, dismay. But her heart lifted to see that his face was lit with relief.
'That means you are without doubt my patient's next of kin.' And when she nodded, he bowed mockingly to her. 'Does that mean I have my patient's next of kin's permission to completely ban a certain visitor from visiting my patient?'
She stared, and then-smiled mistily as she nodded enthusiastically. 'You certainly do!'
'There's one more thing . . .' he started to say, and then hesitated, studying George's face. 'But perhaps it could wait if you're feeling tired, sir?'
Jean glanced rather anxiously at George too, and then she laughed softly. 'He'll probably sleep well tonight, but he's looking more lively and wide awake than I've seen him since he came in here.'
Chris relaxed as George continued to beam at him. 'I thi
nk you must have thrived on confrontations over the years. I wanted to talk to you both about George's future.'
Jean saw the smile on George's face disappear. She tensed.
'The staff here have been reporting very carefully your progress since we started doing a bit of training. Like those chair and bed transfers,' Chris said smoothly. 'We are all convinced it's a great shame you never spent some time in a properly set-up rehabilitation unit as soon as possible after your stroke.' He looked from one set face to the other, and said quietly. 'There is an excellent one right here in Newcastle. I would like to try and arrange a bed for you as soon as possible.'
'No!'
Jean and George spoke with one voice. Both were . trembling.
'Look,' said Chris firmly, 'it is not a nursing home. The rehabilitation unit has a multi-disciplinary team of physios, speech, occupational and diversional therapists, as well as trained nurses specialising in rehab.'
He ran a hand through his neatly arranged hair. The tousled curls made him look suddenly younger, causing Jean to catch her breath.
He studied their wary faces for a moment. 'I should have seen it before,' he said suddenly in an exasperated voice. 'You're so much alike with your temper, your pigheadedness . . . You could only be father and daughter!'
He laughed out loud, as Jean and George looked at each other and spontaneously grinned with delight.
'You're also both hopeless. Look, I'm trying my best to make it possible for you to be looked after by your . . . your daughter at home. But you both know she can't keep on coping unless you can be a bit more independent, George.'
The shadow touched George's face again as he exchanged looks with Jean. He nodded slowly.
'How long do you think he would need to be in there for?' asked Jean thoughtfully.
Chris gave ; sigh of relief. 'I couldn't say for sure. You may need to have longer to unlearn some bad habits than if you'd gone there five months ago. But after about three to four weeks we should have some idea how much longer.'
'That long!'
'I'm afraid so,' Chris said regretfully. 'The key is consistent repetition for as long as it takes, to re-train the brain. But please don't think you're suddenly going to lose the paralysis in your muscles in some miraculous way,' he added hastily to George. 'It will be more a case of learning to use what you have more effectively, learning to adapt. You may certainly just get stronger, and will hopefully learn to accept what you can't do any more.' He paused. 'I'd better not get on my pet hobby horse, but I very much believe not enough elderly people are given a chance to learn a few new tricks to help them with the handicaps that age and illnesses can bring.'
Jean had been watching George while he had been talking. To her utter relief, the apprehension in his face had gradually disappeared. He was studying Chris intently.
So, will you go, George?' asked Chris as he stared back at him.
'You . . .'George frowned as he fought for the word.
He shrugged, and wrapped his arm around himself, and then pursed his lips in a kiss.
'Love?' whispered Jean.
George frowned at her, hesitated, and then nodded. He pointed a long finger at Chris, and then at Jean as he cocked an eyebrow. 'You love?'
'George!' Jean exclaimed in horror. She knew her face was scarlet, and couldn't speak or dare look at Chris. She didn't take her eyes from George as he looked intently at Chris. A gleam of delight suddenly lit George's face, and then she did venture to look at Chris.
His expression was unreadable. Looking at her steadily, with no hint of amusement or the scorn she had dreaded, he said huskily, 'I think George is asking if I care about you and him. And he's right. I do. I care about all my patients.'
He looked up as the door opened, and Sister Howard popped her head around the corner.
'Did you need me again for anything, Doctor?' She smiled apologetically. 'Afraid we're pretty busy just now.'
'No, thank you, Sister,' Chris said, and Jean thought she heard a trace of relief in his voice at the interruption. 'I'll write some notes on the chart for you. Just two things. Mr Wallace is banned completely from contact with our patient, although I doubt he'll try. And Mr Macallister has agreed to my booking him in at the rehabilitation unit.'
Peggy beamed at them all and then disappeared.
'I've also got to go. We'll let you know when a bed becomes available. It may take a quite a few days. If we're lucky,' he said ruefully. 'There's usually a waiting-list.'
After he had gone, Jean and George looked at each other.
'You love?' he shot at her fiercely.
She had never been able to lie to him. Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. He reached out his arm to her, and then he was holding her. She gave a deep, quivering sigh as she relaxed against his chest, wishing she could be the young girl again whose world he had been able to put right.
After a while, she raised her head and wiped her eyes. George was smiling tenderly at her with all his love for her in his dear face.
'He seems to despise me, though, George. I can't really understand him. One time he is so kind and . . . and . . .' She blushed, and closed her eyes at the memory of those devastating kisses. 'Besides,' she added firmly, 'even if by some miracle he came to . . . to really care for me, I could never commit myself to anyone who wouldn't or couldn't put me first in his life.'
George was frowning when she looked at him. 'No,' he said strongly, and after a moment an even more emphatic, 'OK?'
She forced a smile. 'Yes, I'll be OK.'
Somehow. Somehow she would have to be OK. But her desolate heart was telling her it would take a long, long time.
They did not see Chris again the next day. Sister Howard told them that he'd rung. It seemed there could be at least two weeks before George looked like getting a bed at the unit.
Jean wondered immediately why Chris had not bothered to come over and tell her himself, only to discover later from something overheard at the hospital that he had gone away and would not be back until after the weekend. She could not help the feeling of hurt that he had not thought she was important enough to tell her his plans. Then she told herself how ridiculous she was being. He could not have made it plainer that she was only a patient's relative, even a nuisance of a neighbour.
To try and take her mind off her aching heart, Jean finished the curtains in record time, and then indulged in a frenzy of cleaning. The autumn days were still sunny, but a chill entered the air each evening with the warning that winter was just around the corner. Making the most of a particularly warm day for the time of year, she spent a couple of hours in the front garden on Sunday morning.
She saw Mrs Jones peering at her from across the road. More than once Jean had wondered what on earth she could have said to Chris to make him speak to her the way he had on the phone. It certainly had not been like the understanding man she had been getting to know. She hesitated, pain and anger surfacing as she remembered what she had done to Chris that dreadful day. Perhaps she needed to confront her old adversary.
She took off her gardening gloves, and began determinedly striding across the grass. Not entirely to her surprise, the scrawny, grey-haired woman turned her back and scurried inside. Her door closed with a slam.
Jean stopped. Was it worth the inevitable row? Surely Chris knew now she wasn't the . . . the tramp he had called her. Jean shrugged and returned to pick up her gloves. But the energy suddenly drained out of her, and she went listlessly back inside.
What was the use of probing? Even if Chris had changed his mind about her, even if by some miracle he were to grow fond of her, there was still the hurdle of his priorities.
Over the weekend she had told George there were things she had to catch up on, and she would only be able to spend every afternoon and evening with him. So he looked at her with some surprise when she arrived shortly before lunch.
'I was feeling a bit lonesome,' she said with false cheer, knowing she would not fool him for a moment.
He
r mirror had told her the black shadow around her eyes and her pale face would give away the lack of sleep the past few nights. But she knew George would respect her privacy until she was ready to share with him.
He stared at her, smiled gently, and then let the patient nurse keep drilling him with his walking technique along the corridor back to his room. She had brought in his metal tripod walking aid at Chris's request. He had frowned slightly when he'd seen the type of aid, but had said nothing, just shown the nurses the walking drills after Peggy had admitted a little defensively that she'd had very little experience with recent rehab techniques.
'Geriatric rehabilitation is becoming more and more a specialised field now,' she had said briskly in her own defence.
Now Jean watched keenly again the way George was being instructed. Suddenly a fortnight seemed a very long time for him to stay at this hospital before going away for goodness knew how many weeks to the rehab unit. And she had been telling the truth. She was lonely in that huge old house, even more so, strangely enough, when she knew Chris was home.
His light was on when she reached home that evening.
A sudden longing to see him filled her. There was something she really needed to ask him, she convinced herself, as she started eagerly across the yard separating the two houses.
The veranda floorboards had been repaired, she noted, as she reached out to ring the doorbell. As she saw the door swing open, she only realised she was holding her breath when she let it out with a whoosh. It was not Chris who stood smiling at her.
The young woman was beautiful. Her rich, dark auburn hair seemed alive as it bounced around a well proportioned face as she stared at Jean consideringly. Slowly the smile disappeared, and Jean realised she was staring.
'Can I help you? If you want Dr Hansen, I'm afraid he's just got into the shower. We haven't long been home after being away all weekend.'
'I . . . I'm sorry,' Jean managed to say, 'I'm just his next-door neighbour.'
The woman's face changed dramatically. She tilted her chin, and her brown eyes were suddenly like blocks of ice.
