Priority Care

by Mary Hawkins

  She would need to know he loved her so much that she would come first even over and above his dream, his ambition—call it what he would. Even if by some marvellous chance he really did love her, would that love be strong enough to balance against that other love?

  How could she ever know for sure? she thought with despair.

  For another desperate moment she allowed herself to savour the taste of him, the rising passion between them, and then she gradually let her hands drop.

  He stilled, and suddenly pushed her back so that he could look into her face. As he stared at her, she saw bewilderment followed by fear flash across his face. She knew she couldn't keep the agony she was feeling from showing in her face.

  'Jean?' His voice was hoarse. Startled.

  Her hand went up of its own volition and gently, lovingly, touched his face. She shook her head with all the sadness of the ages.

  With a tremendous effort of will, she pushed herself away from him, then turned and fled back to the house. The sudden anguish in his face followed her. Haunted her through the dark hours of the night.

  She managed to avoid Chris for the next few days, despite his determined efforts to get her alone, concentrating all her energies on George.

  She and Peggy had agreed to take it in turns to have disturbed nights with George, and then the one who had been able to get a reasonable night's sleep would take the main responsibility the next day. Jean had been shown quite a few new ideas by the experienced nurse to make life easier for George and his carers. She found herself thoroughly enjoying discussing the differences between her own nursing training and the old hospital training system that Peggy vowed was still far superior.

  'Oh, sure, the old Nightingale model had tremendous problems,' Peggy had conceded when Jean reminded her of the sheer drudgery of the old pan-room syndrome as some called it. 'But hands-on, practical training on the wards is the only way to get to know people. And hospitals are all about people—the way individual personalities react so differently. You poor girls aren't getting anywhere near enough practical experience. Why, I had a new graduate at the beginning of this year who had never even given an intra-muscular injection to a real person, only to a plastic model! And she's employed as a registered nurse—a sister! Supposed to be trained to take charge of a shift, organise the enrolled nurses!'

  Peggy had snorted with disgust, and Jean had been forced to admit to the fear and the feelings of inadequacies some of her old friends had told her about when they had commenced work—those who had been able to get any work, that was! There were very few vacancies in the public hospitals, and private hospitals demanded at least twelve months' postgraduate experience.

  The one thing George had remained adamant about was that Peggy was to shower him. At first Jean had felt hurt, especially when she realised that he would have preferred someone else all along to be doing that for him. But she had been forced to admit it was a considerable relief not to have to worry about that very intimate task.

  As the days passed, and she was forced on several occasions to face Chris, she managed to maintain a cool reserve towards him that she could see puzzled and even hurt him. But gradually he stopped trying to get her alone. He became cool. Distant. And, even though that was what she told herself she wanted, she found herself barely able to stand her pain.

  George and Peggy must have noticed, but beyond a few considering looks they refrained from commenting. But the strain of keeping her love for Chris hidden took its inevitable toll. She lost her appetite, and many nights couldn't sleep, especially after Chris had spent the evening with them.

  Jean wasn't quite sure when she began to feel a little uneasy about George. She had been very much aware that in some areas there had been a definite improvement in his level of independence since his time in hospital. Then, one night when it was her turn to help him into bed, she realised how much harder it was for him to co-ordinate his movements when he was attempting to pull off his shirt and singlet over his head as he had been taught. She at first thought that he must be overtired. But then, when she thought over the last couple of days, it seemed to her there had been other things he was beginning to find more difficult.

  One Sunday morning, Chris arrived unexpectedly while they were finishing their breakfast. When the door opened, it seemed to Jean, as she looked at him, that the sunny breakfast-room, looking out over the sparkling water, became filled with his energy and life. She stared helplessly at him. His eyes sought hers. Something flared in their depths, and she glanced quickly away.

  'Peggy, me darlin', you need a break from this terrible twosome,' Chris said solemnly as he approached them.

  Jean watched him warily. There was something different about him.

  Casually he moved around the table, and snatched a piece of toast from Jean's plate. He had managed to brush his arm against the soft curve of her breast in the process. She jumped as she felt heat jolt through her.

  So many times she had carefully avoided even touching him, and now dared not glance at him in case he had noticed the effect he had on her.

  'Get your own toast,' she snapped at him.

  He settled in a chair and stared calmly at her as he said, 'Well, Peggy, don't you agree?'

  'Well, I should really go back home and wave a duster and mop around,' Peggy grinned. 'You can call that a break from this pair if you like.'

  'How about going for a drive after lunch, George?'

  Jean noticed that George hesitated briefly, then smiled and shook his head at Chris.

  That was something else she had noted. George had not been trying as hard as before to think of the right words. Had even snarled at her the evening before when she had reminded him of a simple one he had previously been using.

  'You don't want to go, George?' Chris sounded disappointed.

  George scowled, then nodded his head.

  'You want to go?' persisted Chris.

  George nodded briefly.

  Suddenly, Jean felt a tense feeling in the air, but then it disappeared when Chris grinned cheekily at her and said, 'Good, that's settled. OK if we take your station wagon, George?'

  This time George got the shaking and nodding of his head right first time, and after a few more minutes Chris stood up.

  'Right. I'd better go and finish off a few things so I'll be free. See you about two.'

  It was good to sit in the back seat, and watch Chris's profile, and the way he chatted quietly away to George, never really waiting for an answer. The dark hair was a little too long and curling around Chris's neck. He needed a haircut, she mused. Perhaps he's as hard as George to get to a barber, she thought, and then blushed as she saw he was watching her in the rear-view mirror.

  The car left the main road, and she realised that they were climbing up the steep slopes of Mount Sugarloaf where the huge television transmitting towers were.

  This time the wheelchair had been permitted, and they were able to push George over the uneven ground to the look-out. With the Pacific Ocean as a backdrop, the magnificent view, on a clear day, stretched the many kilometres from Port Stephens to the north of Newcastle, over the sprawling suburbs and parts of Lake Macquarie, and then south to the smoke stacks of the power station on Lake Munmorah.

  'It's so beautiful,' Chris murmured. 'I'm so glad to be away from living in the heart of Sydney. I think it'll take a long time for me to get used to the wonder of only needing to drive for ten to fifteen minutes to be out of the city and into the bush. I don't think anything would get me back to a big city again.'

  Jean looked at him sharply. That certainly didn't sound like the ambitious man she now believed him to be. Ambitious men would live anywhere that would further their careers.

  'George, would you be all right here while we take a look from the other side of the mountain?'

  Jean had no time to gather her scattered wits before George had grinned at Chris, winked at her, and then watched as Chris tucked her hand in his and pulled her away.

  They
walked through the barbecue and picnic grounds to the edge of the cliffs so that they could look south to the Watagan Mountains and west up the Hunter River Valley.

  'We're lucky this place isn't swarming with people as it is in warmer months,' Chris said blandly.

  Jean nervously wished there were swarms of people, but felt her resistance melting as they stood for a while hand in hand, idly trying to identify the various townships.

  Then Chris turned her gently into his arms.

  'No,' she managed to gasp.

  'Oh, yes,' he groaned.

  She saw the flames leaping in his dark brown eyes just before his head bent and he claimed her lips. The touch on her lips was firm, and then another groan welled up from deep within him. She sighed in helpless surrender as his warmth enfolded her, and any lingering trace of resistance dissolved as her body burst into a flame of red-hot passion and need.

  But suddenly she felt bereft as he stiffened and she felt him push her away. Only then did she hear the car bumping over the rough track to a nearby picnic table.

  Chris let her go and moved several paces away. He stood with his back to her, his hands in his pockets, staring down the mountainside. A stiff breeze was rustling the leaves of the large old gum trees next to them.

  She felt breathless and her body was still quivering. She took a few deep breaths.

  'I just don't understand you, Jean Macallister,' she thought she heard him mutter while she was still struggling for control. Then, before she could say anything, he swung back to her, his face grim.

  'Much as I'd love to thrash a few things out with you right now, we can't leave George too long by himself. Jean, I've got to go away early tomorrow morning to Sydney for a week-long conference. I... I had a phone call late on Friday saying there was every chance a patient would be discharged tomorrow or the next day, and they could then admit George.'

  Jean shivered, and stared at him blindly.

  'I didn't tell you any sooner because there was no point spoiling your time together and . . .' A hand smoothed through his hair. 'And I thought perhaps you might be thinking it would no longer be necessary for him to go if you were managing all right with Peggy.'

  Jean avoided his glance, moving a little away and staring out across the rolling hills. The sun glinted for a brief moment on a tiny matchbox-like vehicle travelling along a road.

  Chris obviously had not guessed about that niggle of concern she had been feeling about George. She hesitated, wondering if she should say anything. But it could be just her imagination. It could be that she'd had unreal expectations that George should be doing at least as much as he'd been able to before his fall. And surely Peggy would have noticed.

  'No,' she said sadly at last, 'I know you're right. He's always been so independent that I know how important it is for him to learn to do as much for himself as he possibly can. It will restore some of his pride in himself. But . . .' tears stung her eyes '. . . I'm going to miss him so much.'

  She heard the crunch of his shoes on the stones as he moved closer. A large arm pulled her against his side, and he hugged her.

  'I know,' he said gently. She felt his cheek rest for a few silent moments on her hair. 'But let me assure you it will be well worth it.'

  They stayed like that for a little while longer, before he sighed, 'We'd better not leave him too long.'

  They silently made their way back to George. He looked at her face. She forced a smile. But she knew she hadn't fooled him when George just smiled slightly at them both, before Chris moved behind him to grab hold of the handles of his chair.

  'Time we made a move,' Chris said cheerfully as he began to manoeuvre the chair to the car.

  They slowly drove back down the narrow, winding road, and then to the main arterial road that came out on to the New England Highway. The highway wound west through the city of Maitland, up the valley to Tamworth and then north to Queensland.

  'One day we might be able to head up there,' Chris said over his shoulder to Jean in the back seat, as they turned east towards Newcastle.

  A shiver of delight went through her as she realised wistfully that he was talking so naturally of a future time together.

  He drove them along the industrial highway past the huge, sprawling industrial buildings mainly belonging to the massive steelworks of BHP. Then they followed the shores of the wide Hunter River, with its large cargo terminals for ships from all over the world, past the wide parks at the foreshore near the central business district and then south along the main beaches on the coast at Nobby's and the Newcastle Baths.

  Jean stared up at the buildings of the old Royal Newcastle Hospital that had suffered considerable damage in the earthquake that was still so fresh in the city's memory. Her class had actually been watching a demonstration in one of the wards, and she remembered that dreadful day when she and some of her fellow nursing students had helped to evacuate the whole hospital to the lawns, next to the beach, immediately after the quake.

  Once home, Chris said he could not stay for their evening meal. But before he left he told George and Peggy together about the bed becoming available. For a moment, Jean saw a flash of relief light up Peggy's face, and knew then that she, too, was concerned about George. George just frowned and sighed, and then smiled sadly at Jean.

  With a heavy heart which she tried to hide behind a cheerful front, she insisted it was her turn to help George to settle and to answer his bell that night. Peggy smiled at them both understandingly, and went off to her room after they finished watching a movie on television.

  Jean broke all the rules, and got out the wheelchair to take George to his room. She felt it was significant that he made no comment, and let her even wheel him into his en suite to use the washbasin and toilet with no more than a grunt. She thought his transfers were sluggish, and was very relieved when he let her undress him. Then she had to put on his pyjama-top for him when he ended up with it hopelessly tangled and upside-down. He returned her hug and kiss goodnight once he was. in bed, and she hurried to her own room to hide her tear-filled eyes. When she turned her own light out, and tried to go to sleep, she lay for some time trying to convince herself it was just that they had let him get too tired.

  It was nearly three in the morning when she heard his bell.

  'Too much excitement ‑' she started to say sleepily.

  'Peggy!' his voice said querulously.

  She was suddenly wide awake. 'Did you forget it's my turn tonight, love?' she asked softly.

  He glared at her, and then roared, 'Peggy!'

  Jean backed away from his bed. A sliver of fear touched her. Before she could speak, she heard the sound of footsteps hastening towards the room, and looked with relief at Peggy as she hurried into the room.

  'I'm sorry. He yelled for you,' Jean whispered. 'I don't know what's wrong.'

  Peggy glanced at her sharply, and then advanced into the room. 'What's the matter, George?'

  George clutched the bedclothes to his chest tightly with his hand. He was scowling at them both. Then he shook his head at Jean, fought for a word, gave up in defeat and waved at Jean to get out.

  A wave of hurt joined the tremor of fear, as she turned and left the room. She went to the kitchen and put on some water to boil. Her head was resting on her arms on the table some fifteen minutes later when Peggy walked into the room.

  'Phew! He's grouchy tonight,' Peggy said cheerfully as Jean raised her face. 'And you look just as miserable,' she added, her smile disappearing.

  'What was wrong?'

  Peggy busied herself at the sink with her back to Jean. She brought the water to the boil again, scorned the instant coffee granules, and reached for the teapot.

  'Another cup?' she asked without looking at Jean.

  'No, thanks. What's wrong with him, Peggy?' Jean said slowly. 'Earlier tonight he seemed . . . clumsier. Has . . . has he seemed any different to you lately?'

  Peggy didn't answer until she was seated across the table from her. in what way
?' she tossed at her casually.

  'I'm not really sure. Sometimes I'd start to think he wasn't coping as well as the day before, and then he'd be OK the next day. But he's definitely been more irritable the last couple of days. I thought it was just the fact that he wasn't looking forward to going back into hospital, but tonight . . .'

  Peggy looked at her steadily. 'I've been suspicious the last couple of days that something wasn't quite right. At first I thought he may be just getting a bit depressed again, too. But last night he soiled his pyjamas and sheets twice. The first time I thought it was just an accident. But he's just done it again. That's why he didn't want you to clean him up. He's worried, too.'

  'Oh, Peggy, do you ... do you think ‑?'

  'I don't think anything,' she said briskly. 'I've checked his blood sugar with the glucometer regularly, and that's fine. There's no sign, that I can tell anyway, that his weakness on his right side is any worse. There's just that slight deterioration in his co-ordination when he's trying to walk, use his hand, and plan any action.' She stood up. 'And there's nothing we can do tonight, except try and get a bit more sleep.'

  When Jean kept on staring up at her with a worried frown, she smiled gently and added, 'Go back to bed, dear. Just be thankful he'll be in the rehab unit very soon. They'll pick it up if anything's happening.'

  Jean followed her advice and went to her room. But she only dozed for brief periods, coming wide awake at last when weak light was filtering through the window. She glanced at her watch, and then flew out of bed. Chris. He might not have left yet. She had to tell him about George.

  But she was too late. His house was dark and empty. She needed him desperately. And he was gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Immediately after breakfast, Peggy rang the staff at the rehabilitation unit, who did confirm there would be a bed vacant that afternoon.

  After she got off the phone, she said quietly to Jean, 'They said he could wait until tomorrow morning, if it was too inconvenient at such short notice. But I told them this afternoon would be great.'