by Becky Wicks
When they reached the medical stations bright sunlight was streaming into the clearing and a line of people had gathered, waiting to register. Three volunteers were taking their details, all of them in their trademark Medical Extremes T-shirts and hats. The rain had cleared in the night, and there were only a few fast-evaporating puddles to show for its appearance.
Madeline was talking to a small group of kids who’d gathered around her in a corner of the camp. Sunshine danced in her long hair. She was wearing a white tank and khaki shorts, exposing long, milky legs, and she was handing out the rest of the colouring books and pencils. Her eyes caught his as he passed her and he tried not to flinch visibly.
She was doing something good, of course, and having her do something practical around camp was better than her scribbling reams of notes about his shady past. But the sight of her caused something in his stomach to shift.
For a moment she looked as though she was going to say something, but he tore his eyes away before she had the chance, followed Maria into one of the medical stations and flipped the switch in his mind he always flipped when it came to focussing entirely on a patient in his care.
‘What seems to be the problem here?’ he asked as he approached a guy lying flat on one of the makeshift beds.
He was bare-chested, wearing faded red shorts down to his knees, probably in his mid to late thirties. His forehead was clammier than it should be, even in this thick heat, and several raised lesions on his legs and arms showed clear lines of demarcation at the edges.
Erysipelas lesions, he noted. It was a bacterial infection, common in these parts—simple to treat but dangerous if left too long.
He walked to the airtight container in the corner of the station, aware now of Jake in the other corner, filming him. He pulled out one of the kits inside as Maria translated the man’s answers from his quick Spanish. He’d been feeling ill for two days, with headaches and vomiting, but had tried to push on without telling anyone. The muddy splashes on his legs showed he must have walked at least some way through thick jungle to get to them.
‘We’ll soon have this under control,’ Ryan said, pulling on a pair of gloves and getting out the antihistamine. He’d have to be given prophylactic antibiotics, too.
He was explaining what his patient would have to do to ensure the lesions healed properly when a whirlwind seemed to sweep into the station. He turned and saw a little girl with braids in her long hair, no older than four or five, waving her arms around, bolting towards them.
‘Daddy!’ she shouted, reaching them in a flash and placing her little hands on the side of the bed.
Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her pale blue dress was covered in mud. His patient reached for her hand and started comforting her with soothing words in spite of his obvious torment. Ryan’s heart broke a little.
Two seconds later someone else entered the station. Madeline.
‘There you are,’ she said to the little girl, walking over to her and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Come on, they’re treating your daddy and we have to let them work.’
She swept a hand through her own hair and Ryan was thrown for a moment—not least by the sight of her standing beside him. She switched to Spanish and, he assumed, repeated what she’d just said. The little girl gripped her hand.
This time he let his eyes linger on Madeline’s as he pulled the packaging away from the hydrocortisone. He tried to ignore the rush of adrenaline he felt tearing through him as her sea-green gaze seemed to rip straight down the wall he’d been building around himself after their somewhat heated debate.
She stood there talking to the girl and ignoring him as he cleaned the man’s wounds and bandaged the worst one, then made him promise to take it easy for a few days while the antibiotics did their work.
As he and Maria worked Ryan was aware of Madeline heading to the corner with the child, away from the camera, making her laugh, making her tears all but disappear. He wished he could hear and understand more of what she was saying.
By the time his patient was walking towards his daughter to receive a welcoming hug Madeline seemed to have become firm friends with her. Ryan tried not to give the impression that he’d noticed, but a part of him was more impressed with her than ever. What the hell had made her quit nursing? She obviously had a way with people—especially children. And hadn’t she at one point during their extensive chats told him that she’d worked at St David’s in London? The children’s hospital? That must have been where she’d honed her skills at earning their trust.
He watched her step outside—saw the way she immediately became swarmed over by the kids. He was about to follow but another patient was being brought inside, this time by Mark. As the makeshift plastic sheet that served as a doorway fell down after him he heard her telling them all to follow her to the shade—that much he understood in Spanish.
‘She’s pretty good with those kids,’ Mark said, sitting the patient—a lady in her mid-twenties—down on the chair beside the now empty bed.
‘Who? Madeline?’ Ryan said nonchalantly, stripping the paper from the bed and shoving it into a plastic bag.
‘Yes, of course Madeline! She’s got them all colouring under the trees out there like friggin’ Mary Poppins. Usually they’re running around under our feet by now and asking to wear the stethoscopes. Impressive Spanish, too. Did you know she was fluent in that as well as Portuguese? I think she said she lived in Colombia for a while.’
‘Yes.’
Maria stifled a smile as she marked their last patient’s notes on a clipboard.
‘She’s quite a hit out there,’ Mark continued, oblivious to Ryan’s curt tone. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I told her she could make a start on the dental hygiene project if she wanted something to do. Gave her the toothbrushes and worksheets. I figured Evan would have done the same thing. I know you guys are working on the memoir together, but—’
‘The more hands on deck the better,’ Ryan cut in, before the questions and the digging could start.
He had a feeling the team had all talked about the damn memoir behind his back already, and it made him uncomfortable to say the least. He caught Maria’s sideways glance as he took his new patient’s blood pressure.
‘Everything OK?’ she asked.
‘Fine.’
He reached for a bottle of water. It was barely nine a.m. and already hotter than hell. The rain hadn’t cooled things off for long, and there was undoubtedly more on the way. More patients, too.
It was several hours before he stuck his head outside into the sunshine. Evan and the others had fetched more antibiotics and yet more boxes of fruit. There was talk of a swim in the waterfall that he registered vaguely before Madeline caught his attention again.
He swigged from his water bottle, then stretched out his muscles, battling the urge to walk over to her. He’d been on form—performing routine duties one after the other, talking to the camera, trying not to let her creep into his thoughts. He was tired, he realised. And their argument was bothering him again.
From where he stood she seemed to be fully absorbed in what the children were doing, and he noticed that someone had stacked several cardboard boxes on the plastic sheets they were sitting on. She was laughing and smiling in the sunshine, her skin glistening with sunscreen and probably DEET. Maybe both.
He wandered over to her. Shutting her out was even more exhausting than letting her in.
‘Colombia?’ he said, clearing his throat, leaning on a nearby tree. ‘You lived there for two years on and off? Is that right?’
The wind ruffled her loose hair, and from his stance looking down at her sitting cross-legged on the ground he could see her bra and the way it hugged her breasts beneath her tank top. He tried not to look as she fixed her gaze on him.
‘Well remembered. Medellin, then Cartagena.’
A yellow and
brown butterfly fluttered between them.
‘I was writing a book.’
‘Another geopolitical thriller?’ he asked, folding his arms.
‘A romance, actually.’
Her tone was blunt, and for the first time he considered that perhaps she was angry with him for what had happened yesterday. He had kind of turned on her out of the blue. Not that she hadn’t deserved it after prying where she wasn’t invited.
‘It didn’t really go anywhere. Guess I’m not too great with romance.’
He frowned, swallowed an apology before it bubbled out of him—she had to know there were lines she couldn’t cross. And more that he couldn’t cross, he added to himself.
‘So, how do you feel about being involved in this?’ he asked, gesturing to the dental hygiene boxes around them and the paper she had already handed out to the kids along with the colouring books.
‘I think it’s a great idea.’ She got to her feet and faced him. ‘Was it one of yours?’
‘Actually, it was Maria’s. It was kind of a joint wish for all of us to promote healthy eating, dental hygiene, basic first aid...all that as we go along. You start with the kids and it filters through to the elders, you know? How are those mosquito bites?’
He pointed to one on her arm—a small red welt. She covered it with her hand. ‘I’ll survive. Anyway, I think this is a good thing to be involved in. Teaching them basic health education while you’re playing games—they think it’s all fun.’
‘Exactly. We wanted to focus first on helping them learn about brushing their teeth.’
Madeline nodded, looking at the fact sheets in Spanish about exactly that. Ryan noted one of the boxes was open, so she’d clearly seen the six hundred toothbrushes they’d brought with them.
‘I’ve been colouring, then stopping to talk through the fact sheets, then colouring again...’
‘Good start. And if you want to add songs at any point they love that.’
‘Songs?’
‘Evan plays guitar sometimes—makes up words. How are you at improvising?’
She shrugged. ‘I guess I could give it a shot.’
Once again he was impressed. Having another pair of hands on the project would be a blessing. In other places where they’d tested the programme they had already seen an improvement in dental health and knowledge about how to prevent parasite infestation. It was one of their success stories, but they still had so much more to do.
Madeline shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Listen, Ryan, about last night...’
‘It’s forgotten,’ he said quickly.
She let out a sigh. ‘No, it’s not, I can tell.’
He took her elbow, led her three steps away from the kids and lowered his voice. His hand tingled, just feeling her skin against his, and he withdrew it quickly, slightly shocked.
‘Like I said, there are things I don’t want to talk about, Madeline. Ever. I know you have a job to do, but if we could leave certain things out I’d appreciate it.’
‘It’s not going to work like that,’ she said, frowning at him. ‘You know the publishers will want answers about Josephine.’
A planet-sized rock shot up to his throat. Her name...her name...coming from Madeline’s lips sent chills straight through him.
‘We can write around it, but the stories...or the half-stories...are out there already.’
She reached for his arm. That spark again. He had to take a step back. His fists balled of their own accord.
‘We can work this out,’ she hurried on in a hushed tone, closing the gap again. ‘You have to trust me, Ryan. Just trust me with the truth.’
Another butterfly caught on the wind beside her as he ran his eyes over her lips, her ears, the apple dangling on a chain around her neck. He wanted to trust her. He really did. She had some kind of strange effect on him... And maybe it was finally time for the truth.
He considered it for a second. Josephine and the real story behind that day had turned him into a walking wreck for the most part—shot a bullet through any real chance of a romance ever since. They’d all wanted to know what had happened and he’d flat out refused to say, building a wall up brick by damn brick till it was suffocating for all involved. Maybe it was time.
He opened his mouth, but one of the kids—a girl in a muddied shirt—jumped up and screeched with laughter, dragging a little boy with her over to Madeline. They both started talking to her excitedly in fast Spanish, pulling at her hands.
He closed his mouth.
‘Sorry—you were saying?’ Madeline said after a moment, breaking free.
The look of expectancy in her eyes tore him to pieces. He bit his cheeks. What the hell was he thinking? It wasn’t time. It would never be time. He was letting his unnamed emotion and the heat interfere with his mental processes and it could never happen again.
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ he said quickly, before his heart could hold him back.
He’d expected anger, and prepared himself to take the hit, but instead he watched confusion flood Madeline’s eyes, then perhaps a hint of pity.
‘That’s a shame,’ she replied softly. ‘You must be really lonely.’
Then she sat down again with the kids, leaving him speechless.
CHAPTER TEN
MADELINE SAT ON the edge of the lake, drawing circles in the murky water with her bare feet. She clutched her coffee cup, turned the page of the book she was reading, but the words weren’t sinking in.
She sighed, putting it down on the wooden deck, watching the dragonflies skimming the surface and leaving tiny ripples in their wake. One week in and she was growing to know each creature that dared to show itself around the camp—thanks to a book Maria had leant her.
She knew the iridescent Rhetus periander butterflies, with their vivid blue wings and red blotches, the black grasshoppers with their beady indigo eyes and bright yellow polka dots, the russet-coloured caterpillars which clung resiliently to leaves throughout every rainstorm and the sand flies that nibbled in invisible silence at her legs and feet, leaving marks she needed to remind herself constantly not to scratch.
Madeline knew a lot about her new surroundings already. But she still didn’t know enough about Ryan.
Time passed slowly in the jungle. In seven days she hadn’t once looked at herself in a mirror, but she could tell she’d lost weight. Her shorts were loose on her, as were her dresses. Even her bikini, which she was wearing now, wasn’t as figure-hugging as it had been when she’d bought it. Rice and fruit were now the essentials to stop a rumbling stomach rather than something to enjoy.
Her phone had died three days ago. When Evan had offered her the solar charging kit she’d told him she didn’t need it, instead charging her Dictaphone for yet another interview with Ryan that she knew wouldn’t go anywhere.
In every awkward chat since that day under the tree he’d refused to step any closer towards the place she needed him to be—and that was the place where Josephine came into the picture.
She furrowed her brow at the shimmering water ahead. Madeline would only get paid if she delivered the kind of manuscript the editor had in mind. She was trying not to feel defeated but she couldn’t really help it.
She couldn’t help the chemistry still more than evident between her and Ryan either. Even thoughts of Jason were dwindling by the day. Their break-up had been a meteoric crash in her world, but she felt so far away from that now. Since coming out here she’d been swept into another existence entirely—one in which she was perpetually hot, sticky and dancing in dangerous circles around Ryan.
She shivered, even in the heat, remembering the night before.
Ryan had agreed to another interview on the condition that she accompany him fishing. Mark and Evan often went out on the river at night, and she’d been once, just for the boat ride and to clear her head.
She’d never been off camp with Ryan. When he’d asked her to join him she’d been surprised, nervous and grateful all at the same time, because he’d chosen to spend most nights alone up till then, preparing equipment, stock-checking, talking to the camera or just hiding himself away in his tent.
She shivered again, twirling the water with her toes as her mind replayed what had happened in the boat.
‘Ever tasted a piranha?’ Ryan had asked, casting his line out into the blackness of the water.
The moon had been a bright yellow bulb above them, and with no other lights they’d been able to see a million stars. They’d also heard bats and monkeys in the treetops as they’d discussed his training days and a family vacation to the UK for the memoir.
Madeline had felt the Amazon closing in on them as he’d rowed them further away from camp. She’d sensed a thousand eyes and ears around them in the darkness—furry spies, she’d hoped, as opposed to any kind of drug runner.
She’d gripped the side of the small boat, watching his profile and keeping an eye out for caimans. ‘Never,’ she’d replied in answer to his question. ‘What do they taste like?’
‘A lot like sardines. They’re pretty good when they’re crunchy off the grill, but they’re bony little things. Kind of a mission to get the meat off. Here—hold this.’
He’d thrust the fishing line at her then, and reached behind him to the small box he’d brought along and shone a flashlight into it. She’d seen raw chicken.
‘They go crazy for this,’ he’d told her, reaching for the line again.
His hand had brushed hers and he’d stood just an inch behind her, hooking tiny chunks of the white meat onto the end of the wire. She hadn’t wanted to ask why they weren’t being fed this luxury.
‘Now, throw it in.’
‘Me?’ she’d asked, still processing the jolt she’d felt at his touch.
‘This is a good spot. Don’t panic—you’ll be OK.’
He’d put the line back in her hands and moved up close behind her. Very close. So close that she’d felt his breath tingling over the nape of her neck below her ponytail. He’d put his hands over hers and lifted the line, helping her throw it into the water—hard.