‘What a shame,’ she said, forcing her voice around the lump in her throat. ‘If there’s anything I can do, Neill, please ask me.’
‘All right, lass,’ he said. She heard defeat in his voice. ‘See you tomorrow when you come back with the dog. We’ll have a cuppa and you can check the dressing then.’
The phone went dead in her ear. She put it back on the dresser, rubbed her hands over her face.
Neill was desperate to reconcile with his son. It would be awful to know there was something wrong, but to not know what, to experience a relationship’s demise, and to have no idea why. Couldn’t Jake see that?
Laura tried to imagine how she’d feel if her sister Alice walked out of her life tomorrow with no explanation. To imagine what it’d be like if over the next twenty years she only saw her a handful of times, and that those times were stilted, stifled and without a shadow of the rich relationship they’d shared. She couldn’t imagine it. If Jake were here she’d shake him until he saw sense.
Monday morning dawned fresh and clear with the promise of a perfect spring day. The streets were still deserted when Laura returned from her run, the dog disgruntled when she chained him up again because it was early and there was no sign of life at Neill’s place.
She sat on the back verandah and ate breakfast, trying hard to concentrate on the paint colour charts spread out on her lap. At eight-thirty when the hardware shop opened she wanted to be there to buy paint for the bedroom, and to get another key cut for the front door. Being locked out would never happen again.
When she’d inspected the window flyscreen before breakfast, she discovered the lugs that held it in place had been ripped out of the wooden frame. Brute strength, he’d said . . . They’d have to be replaced.
She began making a list of other things to buy at the hardware shop. A swirl of wind rattled the gate and her head snapped up. Damn it, she was jittery. She threw down the pencil in frustration and shifted uncomfortably in the cane chair. Barely a week ago she hadn’t even heard of Jake Finlay. In a handful of days he’d managed to disrupt her carefully reconstructed life, and had her wanting things from him she’d never imagined she’d desire again. And now he was gone and she despaired of herself for listening out for his motorbike, for the clank of the gate, for his tread on the gravel path.
Neill was at the Hills Hoist pegging out washing when she let herself into his yard. It was mid-morning and before she opened the tins of paint she was keen to see with her own eyes that he was okay.
‘Good morning,’ she called. ‘Skip and I were out early this morning. Your blinds were all drawn.’
Neill turned at the sound of her voice. Laura could see the simple task of hanging washing was almost too much for him now. Was it possible he’d lost more weight since Saturday? He looked grey and gaunt, and there was a yellowish tinge to the greyness.
‘Hello, lass, I slept in a bit.’
She bent to pick the last items from the basket, taking a handful of weathered plastic pegs from a small tin bucket.
‘How are you?’ The dressing she’d applied to his head was gone and the black sutures were caked with dry blood. She guessed he hadn’t shaved since Milton Burns’s party.
His breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. ‘Can’t complain,’ he said.
‘Is there any more washing to hang out?’ She picked up the empty basket, followed him slowly into the house. She sat the basket on the washing machine and saw the open bag of dry dog food and what looked like mouse droppings by the laundry trough.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Heather comes this week to do my cleaning and she’ll do the sheets and towels for me.’
Heather Bailey was employed by a local community service organisation and came in once a fortnight to clean and do other chores. Laura stepped into the kitchen and realised Heather probably needed to come more often. While there were no dirty dishes in the sink, the floor needed sweeping and washing, and the bench was covered in toast crumbs.
‘Can I make you a cup of tea, Neill?’
He eased himself down onto one of the kitchen chairs, puffing like he’d just run a marathon.
‘I should be making you one, lass,’ he said when he caught his breath.
She filled the kettle at the tap and wiped down the benches while she waited for it to boil, anger building inside. How could Jake just walk out and leave his father to it? Jess had her own home and family to care for, and by the sounds of things, it was tough going at the farm. Couldn’t he see before he left that his father wasn’t managing by himself anymore? And yes, as far as Laura was concerned, Neill was absolutely Jake’s father. The man had reared him as his own, all Jake’s biological father had done was donate the sperm.
She tied the bulging rubbish bag, putting it beside the door to drop in the wheelie bin on her way out. There was a roll of new rubbish bags in the cupboard under the sink.
‘Have you made an appointment to see your GP since you fell?’
He shook his head. ‘My regular appointment is next Monday. And you’re not doing a bad job as my GP for the time being. I don’t mind at all having a lovely doctor make house calls.’
Laura opened her mouth to protest but the words died on her lips. She didn’t mind being the doctor calling if it cheered him up a bit. She found tea bags and sugar. When she opened the fridge for the milk, she was dismayed to find an almost-empty carton right on its use-by date, a six-pack of beer and very little else. It rekindled her anger at Neill’s absent son.
She made the tea and put it down in front of him. ‘Can I get you anything else? Have you had breakfast?’ She was beginning to sound like her mother.
He reached for a battered-looking biscuit tin sitting on the table, dragged it towards him and opened the lid.
‘There’s a biscuit here.’ He dipped an arrowroot biscuit into the tea and caught it just before it fell in. He slurped it loudly. ‘Don’t seem to have much appetite anyway. Biscuits and the odd bit of toast will do me.’
She sat down at the table opposite him. ‘Would you like me to get you a few groceries when I do my shopping?’
He looked at her over the rim of his cup. ‘I can ring the supermarket and they’ll deliver,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Jess’ll pick up a few things for me later in the week. She’s a good kid.’
‘Yes, I know she is, but there’s nothing in the fridge now. I know you most likely won’t phone the supermarket, and I don’t mind getting groceries for you.’
He slowly put down the cup, smoothed a gnarled hand across his bald head. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind, Neill. I’m going to the supermarket anyway.’ Today, tomorrow, it made no difference when she went.
‘All right then. Thank you.’
‘I’ll make a list,’ she said. Today was the day for it. Laura picked up a notepad and pencil from the bench by the telephone and there, on the top page in bold, black script was Jake’s name and mobile phone number.
She quickly scribbled it down on the next page before tearing that page off for the list. For whatever reason, and she wasn’t going to try and analyse it just now, she felt relieved to have his number, to have some way of contacting him. She sat down again, pencil poised.
Who was she kidding? The moment she’d clapped eyes on Jake Finlay out there on the road, clad in black leather, she’d had his number.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘What do you need, besides milk?’ and she started writing.
When she returned an hour later with several bags of groceries, he didn’t refuse her offer to unpack them.
‘Is there anything else I can do before I go?’ she said, folding up the green recyclable shopping bags. ‘Shall I make you a sandwich for lunch?’
He leaned both forearms on the kitchen table; the flannelette shirt and trackpants he’d dragged on sagged on his bony frame. He still hadn’t shaved.
‘Thanks, lass, but I’ll manage. You’ve helped enough.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said, and meant
it.
He shuffled to the fridge and took out the cheese slices and butter she’d just loaded in. She watched while he spread two slices of fresh bread and made himself a sandwich. ‘You see, I am going to eat something,’ he said.
‘Good.’ She picked up the empty shopping bags and her car keys. ‘Well, if that’s all for now —’
‘Oh,’ he said and held up his hand. ‘Before you go, would you mind stripping the sheets off the spare bed? It’s just a bit much for me today and I’d like to have them ready for Heather, when she comes.’
‘Not a problem at all.’ Laura put down her things.
‘You know which room?’
‘Yes, the one opposite the bathroom.’
The bedroom was small and smelled stuffy when she opened the door. She slowly inhaled through her nose, unconsciously searching for a hint of the previous occupant. The bed was made, the faded orange chenille bedspread skimming the floor. She pulled it back to expose stiff, matted woollen blankets with pastel-coloured checks, identical to the ones in Dorrie’s linen press.
The bedhead was a dirty white, the paint scratched and chipped, with a discoloured plastic reading lamp clamped to the top. She dragged off the threadbare flannelette sheets, thinking she wouldn’t be at all surprised if this was the same bed Jake had slept in when he was a boy growing up at the farm. Now, only a hint of his aftershave remained, and when the sheets were laundered, even that would be gone.
She bundled up the sheets and carried them to the laundry, wrangling the tangle of emotions she felt whenever she thought about Jake. He seemed to shove Brett right out of her mind. Brett had been her husband, she’d loved him, and he’d been unfairly taken from her. She dropped the sheets into the laundry hamper, vowing to herself for the umpteenth time that she would not think about Jake Finlay again.
Neill was on the second half of his sandwich when she went back into the kitchen to say goodbye.
‘I’ll take the dog for our usual run in the morning. If you’re not up, I’ll come by again mid-morning.’
‘Thanks, Laura, I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Shut the front gate on your way out, will you, and I’ll let Skip off.’
‘Ring me if you need anything and Jess can’t do it. And make sure you take your painkillers.’
‘You even sound like my GP,’ Neill said, the words choking into a cough.
As she went back to her car, she couldn’t help but think like his GP. It would be all downhill for him from now on. Professionally, she doubted if he had more than three months left in him, if that, although you could never predict. And his needs would escalate as his health deteriorated. Had the family thought this through? Had they talked about it? Did he want to die at home, or was he happy to go into hospital? Was there a plan for his care during the final days? Had anyone asked the questions?
She put the key in the ignition and reversed the car out of his driveway. Without warning an image of her mother’s skeletal frame popped into her head, barely a bump under the sheet, and her vision blurred. Laura felt the familiar prickle at the back of her throat.
Neill’s family would have to step up to the plate soon – Jake with all his baggage, Jess with all her problems. But Laura wasn’t Neill’s GP or even his confidante. She was his neighbour. She sighed, climbed out of the car to close the gate. Becoming embroiled in this family’s grief, their anger, their secrets, wasn’t safe, or clever. She’d end up pouring too much of herself into the mix. She usually did. And they weren’t her problems to resolve. She had enough of her own problems on her plate.
The thought of the empty house, the silence and the unopened paint tins had her driving down the street instead of turning the corner and into her driveway. She didn’t have a destination in mind, she just knew she didn’t want to go home. She turned right onto the main road and headed south, past the fodder place, past the turn-off to the health centre and hospital, past the silos and the roadhouse. When the Magpie Creek signpost flashed by, she wondered if, subconsciously, it was where she’d been heading all day.
‘Laura! Come in, sit down. What a stroke of luck – I’m just about to have a late lunch.’ Doctor Meghan Kimble smoothed a hand across her belly. ‘Will you join me for a coffee? We’ve got this flashy new machine and the coffee is good. Plus, this chair is comfortable, and the toilet is close by.’
‘Coffee would be lovely. You look well, but tired,’ Laura said, noting the bluish-purple smudges underneath Meghan’s eyes. ‘Country practice and motherhood suit you.’
‘Six weeks to go, thank God. I feel like a whale. And I have been well, but it’s always busy. Working, running after Lucy and Sean, cooking for the shearers – it’s never-ending.’
‘I can sort of imagine how it would be,’ Laura replied. She drew in her breath in an attempt to control the punch of grief that, as ever, had caught her unaware. If things had been different . . .
‘But Laura, it is so good to see you. To have someone I can talk to without having to watch everything I say. Small towns are great, but they can also be your worst nightmare.’ She sat down, swivelled the chair towards Laura. ‘Everything is everyone’s business, what they don’t know they make up and, trust me, not everything is as wholesome in the country as the pundits would have you believe.’
‘But you look like you’ve found your niche. All you ever wanted was to be a GP in the country.’ She scanned the neat, functional consulting room.
‘It only took me ten years but I finally got there.’ Meghan shifted in her chair. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to, Laura. How on earth have you ended up in Potters Junction of all places?’
Laura crossed her legs and smoothed the worn denim of her jeans while she considered what to say.
‘My sister and I inherited an old stone cottage there, years ago now. I needed a bit of a break from Adelaide and the house needed some work. If we’d left it much longer, all we’d have had left was a pile of rubble.’
‘I remember Alice. She’s younger than you. She studied law.’ Meghan tilted her head to the side, studying Laura’s face. ‘You’re much thinner than I remember. Are you well?’
‘And you’re definitely much bigger than I remember.’
Meghan looked down at her belly and then back at Laura, her expression sobering.
‘You seem —’ she paused, her eyes narrowing. Laura could almost feel her assessing, clinical gaze — ‘sad,’ she said. ‘That’s it. You seem sad. I noticed it the other night. Are you up here on your own? I’d heard on the grapevine you’d married.’
Laura shifted in her seat, fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt.
‘Oh, damn! There I go again.’ Meghan slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘This is a social call and here’s me making it like it’s a consult.’
‘Probably something to do with the setting,’ she said. There was a knock on the door. The stout woman with the thick-lensed glasses who’d greeted Laura at reception came in bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate with two finger buns on it, gooey with icing.
‘Julia, you’ve brought buns!’ Meghan threw her hands up in dismay. ‘Did I mention not bringing me buns anymore? Have you seen the size of my bottom?’
Julia put the tray on the desk and grinned.
‘Yes, you have told me, many times. No more buns or you’ll be the size of a house. But I thought, seeing as this was such a special occasion, I’d bring buns.’ She winked at Laura. ‘It’s not every day she has an old friend visit.’
Laura reached forward and took a bun from the plate. ‘Thank you, I will have a bun – I’m not watching my weight at the minute.’
‘Lucky you! You’d be pretty much on your own around here.’ Julia turned to Meghan. ‘Your next patient is in twenty minutes.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
When the door had closed, Meghan picked up her coffee. ‘Laura, I’m relying on you to eat both of them because I really mustn’t eat any at all. Doctor’s orders.’
Laura
licked icing off her fingers. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Now, where were we? We might have let the friendship lapse but surely we can pick up where we left off. You haven’t been sick, have you?’
‘No, not really.’
‘What do you mean, not really? Not really sick, or not really sick?’
‘Not really sick, I guess.’
Laura concentrated on a blob of icing at her knuckle. For a time, all those years ago, she and Meghan had been close friends. They’d met when Meghan was on placement in Accident and Emergency. It was one of those intense friendships that develop quickly when people are thrown together in complex and traumatic situations. The working hours meant they were usually exhausted, and they often felt out of their depth. When Meghan had moved on to another placement and Laura had been accepted into the general practice training program, the two had drifted apart.
‘Laura, I know it’s been a long time but if you want to talk, you know you can trust me.’
Laura put down the half-eaten bun and slowly wiped her fingers with a paper serviette.
‘Two years ago my mother died of ovarian cancer, Meghan. You know the story, no specific symptoms, her GP said it was all to do with menopause until it was too late and there were metastases everywhere . . . and Mum kept it all to herself until she was so sick she couldn’t hide it anymore.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘She stayed at home almost to the very end and Alice and I took turns caring for her.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Meghan murmured. ‘I remember your mum. She was such a gentle, loving woman. I could never understand why she didn’t remarry after your father died.’
Laura swallowed, carefully blotted her lips before putting the napkin on the plate with the uneaten piece of bun. She was surprised that Meghan had remembered. Laura’s father had died suddenly when Laura was a teenager.
‘I think she enjoyed being on her own. She had her fair share of suitors. Alice and I probably scared them off.’
‘Ya think? I can’t imagine you getting in the way of someone who made your mum happy.’
The Doctor Calling Page 9