The Doctor Calling

by Meredith Appleyard

  He said her name and then realised he was talking into an empty space. He stood up, resisted the urge to fling the phone across the transit lounge. He closed his eyes, told himself to get a grip. Was it only four days ago that he’d walked out of her kitchen, and out of her life, like the coward he was? For such a brief acquaintance she’d been on his mind an awful lot.

  He’d put over 6000 kilometres between himself and Potters Junction and Laura but whenever he thought about their conver­sation early that Sunday morning, how he’d wrapped her in his arms, he wished, yes, damnit, he wished their platonic hug had been something much more. Whenever he remembered the silky warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, the way her lips turned up at the corners when she was amused, it left him with a hollow feeling deep inside.

  He paced back and forth, ignoring the curious stares of his fellow travellers. For a minute there he’d thought, hoped, she was calling to ask how he was. But no, it was all about Neill. Of course he’d said goodbye to the old man when he’d left last Sunday. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket, sat back into the uncomfortable plastic seat and dropped his head into his hands.

  She was right, damn her, he’d said goodbye but he hadn’t said his goodbyes. He was running away again. But how long would it take for him to make good on a lifetime of hurts and things unsaid? Longer than Neill had left, so did it really matter? He slapped his thigh. Why couldn’t people just mind their own fucking business?

  And then there was Jess.

  ‘Fuck,’ he spat. For a moment guilt and self-loathing threatened to suffocate him. The woman on the seat beside him gave him a filthy look, stood up and walked away.

  But then the boarding call came over the public address and, with a skill born of many years of experience, he pushed everything but the immediate to the back of his mind. Concentrate on the here and now, he told himself. And really, they were all a lot better off because he’d left; they probably just didn’t realise it yet.

  It seemed only minutes since she’d hung up on Jake, and Jess was calling again. Laura scooped her phone up off the floor, grateful she hadn’t broken it.

  ‘He’s not coming back.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘He’s in Singapore, on his way to Istanbul, as we speak.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Jess, we’ve done what we can. We’ve asked. He is a grown man.’ Of that she was certain. ‘And he’s capable of making his own decisions.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘Angry. I pretty much hung up on him.’

  ‘Go girl,’ Jess said. ‘He probably deserved it. I love him but he can be a stubborn sod. I just wish I had some idea what happened between him and Dad. I’ve asked him and I’ve asked Dad. Jake clams up and Dad says he doesn’t know for sure, that’s what makes it so hard on him. At least if he knew, he could try to talk to Jake.’

  ‘It’s a pity, Jess, all round. He’s not coming back, but I promise I’ll help you with your dad. We can talk about exactly what your dad wants during his last months. I can find out about what palliative care services are available, and things like delivered meals.’

  Jess’s relief was almost palpable. ‘You are a doll. I don’t know what we did to deserve you, but I sure am glad you’re living next door to Dad.’

  After Jess disconnected she sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. It was well and truly dark outside, she was exhausted, beyond hungry, and felt as if her emotions had taken a flogging since Milt Burns turned up on her doorstep late that afternoon. She yawned, ignored her grumbling stomach and went to bed.

  Neill was up and at the door the following morning when Laura came back with Skip.

  ‘Gorgeous day,’ she called as she chained up the dog and refilled his water bucket. ‘I slept in. How are you?’

  ‘So-so.’

  ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Pain?’ She peered at him through the screen door. He pushed it open and she followed him inside.

  ‘Plenty of that,’ he said. ‘It’s like toothache, only in your whole body.’

  ‘Your medications aren’t doing their job. Are you taking enough painkillers?’

  ‘They make me woozy. After that fall I worry I’ll fall again.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Laura washed her hands at the kitchen sink, dried them on the towel hanging on the handle of the oven door. The kettle was hot, just needed to be brought to the boil again, and Neill had cups sitting side by side on the table. When she lifted the lid on the teapot the tea had already been spooned in.

  Laura went to the fridge for the milk. ‘I’ll look at those stitches while I’m here.’

  The water sizzled when it hit the tea-leaves. ‘They’re starting to itch like hell, so it must be healing.’ He carried the teapot to the table, poured the tea, pushed a steaming cup and saucer across the table towards her. ‘Jess rang last night and said Jake’s definitely not coming back.’

  Laura stirred the brew and murmured, ‘It’s a shame.’

  ‘Yep, that about sums it up. But there’s no need for you to worry.’ He blew on his tea, took a tentative sip, the cup rattling in the saucer when he put it down.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No, thanks, lass. The boy was never the same after his mother ran off with that bloke.’ He gave a phlegmy cough. ‘Don’t suppose any of us were. But Jake was a teenager, restless, resentful, always looking for an argument. Then he eventually took off.’ He reached for the biscuit tin, grappled with the lid. ‘Don’t know for sure what made him bolt. I don’t like to think the need to get away from his family was the only reason he left.’

  She silently cursed Jake for leaving her in this position. ‘What happened to her, to Jake’s mother?’

  ‘As far as I know she married the bloke. She could have more kids for all I know, lives in WA. Never bothered with Jake or Jess. Broke Jess’s heart. Jake got angry.’ He stabbed a biscuit into the milky tea.

  ‘What about you, how did you cope?’

  ‘Just got on with it. Had two kids to raise. A farm to run, bills to pay. Jess was only eleven, Jake fifteen.’

  ‘Did you ever see her again?’

  He plucked out another biscuit and pushed the tin towards Laura. ‘Funny thing, that. She walked out the door with two suitcases and I’ve never clapped eyes on her since. We talked on the phone a couple of times, but I haven’t seen her. Strange. Sixteen years of marriage, two kids, and poof.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘She was gone. She didn’t want anything in the way of money, either. She just wanted out at any cost.’

  Laura watched as he dunked the biscuit, wondered if he’d ever thought he’d paid enough – raising a boy that wasn’t his. ‘Do you want me to make you some toast, an omelette?’

  ‘Jess ask you to look out for me, did she? Make sure I was eating, sleeping?’

  Laura glanced down at her hands, a slow smile lighting up her face. ‘What if she did,’ she said, and he laughed, and then coughed, his face a rictus of pain.

  She fetched him a glass of water, pushed the box of tissues closer. There were splotches of blood on the wadded tissues in his hands.

  ‘Does Milt know about that?’

  He nodded. ‘You know,’ he gasped when he finally caught his elusive breath, ‘as much as he’s a good doctor, and a good friend, Milt Burns can be an interfering old bugger.’

  Laura’s eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘He sometimes pokes his nose in where it doesn’t belong.’

  She gulped her tea and burned her tongue. That’s exactly what Jess had said Jake thought.

  When they’d finished Laura took away their empty cups, washed up and wiped down the table.

  ‘I’ll look at those stitches now.’ She was satisfied the wound was healing. ‘They’ll be ready to come out on Saturday. Jess said she’d be in this afternoon but you ring if you need me.’

  Laura left without another w
ord but she worried about leaving him on his own, and in her mind she rehearsed again what she’d say to his son if she ever got the opportunity.

  On Saturday morning Laura made her decision.

  She would take up Milt Burns’s offer and go back to work part-time. It was the right thing to do. It was time. Since her conversation with Alice last weekend, with Meghan Kimble on Monday and Doctor Burns on Wednesday afternoon, Laura had thought of little else. In her mind she’d envisaged the pros and cons and then on a sheet of paper she’d drawn up two columns and written them down.

  The pro side was considerably longer. Two days’ work a week would leave her time to work on the house and garden; she would be utilising her skills; it was better to ease back into her chosen profession where no-one knew her; she missed working; and the money would be helpful.

  The first dot-point in the cons column read, Not being able to cope and having another meltdown, and it had her heart rate picking up every time she glanced at it.

  The only one other dot-point in the cons column, Hospital emergency and after-hours cover, had her mouth going dry.

  It wasn’t because she wouldn’t be able to manage it. Until six months ago she had been diligent with her continuing medical education and refreshers. Since Brett’s death she’d picked up a weekend a month in A&E at one of the large private hospitals. It’d kept her busy and allowed her to re-hone her A&E skills.

  But it had been a while since she’d crawled out of bed at three in the morning to see a sick kid, a drug overdose or a road trauma victim. And here in Potters Junction, if Milt Burns was out of town she’d be on her own, apart from the nurses and a voice at the other end of the phone. That was where country and metro general practice really differed.

  Decision made, Laura was bursting to tell someone, so she rang Alice. She knew her sister would be sitting on the deck reading the paper and drinking green tea at this time of day.

  ‘I’ve been offered a job and I’ve decided to take it,’ she said without preamble.

  ‘Okay.’ Unflappable Alice. ‘What would this job be?’

  ‘Medicine, of course, what else would it be?’ Silence. ‘Alice? Speak to me.’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here. I’m just a bit choked up, that’s all. I’ve been so hoping to hear you say that, I’m so pleased, Laura! Tell me more.’

  ‘I don’t know much more yet but the local GP heard about me on the grapevine and he called in last Wednesday and offered me some work while I’m here.’

  ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘I’ll contact him on Monday and take it from there. He said he wants to cut back and I thought maybe I could do two days a week.’

  ‘You must have about half of your leave left. Will you come back to Adelaide then?’

  Laura contemplated her paint-encrusted fingernails. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. I do know I want to stay here until my neighbour dies. He’s a nice man and he’s in the terminal phase. I like his daughter, she’s a real battler, and —’ She paused, thinking how to put her feelings into words.

  ‘You want to be there for him, the way you couldn’t be for Mum because it all happened so fast with her.’

  Laura’s grip on the phone relaxed. ‘You were always good at summing up. No wonder you’re the lawyer.’

  ‘And you’re always good at the caring stuff, that’s why you’re the doctor. Now listen to me, Laura, before you go back to work you need a complete makeover. You need to do something with that hair. And I bet you haven’t had your legs or your eyebrows waxed in six months.’

  ‘I’m not cutting my hair! But I will do something about the other stuff. Promise. And I’ll need more clothes —’

  ‘The ones in my spare room. That would be terrific. I could have my spare room back.’

  They agreed to meet in the Clare Valley the following weekend. It was about halfway for both of them. Alice would load her car with Laura’s clothes, shoes and whatever else she could fit in. They’d find a dinky little B&B to say in on Saturday night and do the clothing swap there. They’d go somewhere nice for dinner, share a bottle of wine, and catch up in person.

  ‘Yes!’ Laura said when they disconnected. She had the promise of a job she was looking forward to, and it felt wonderful. How did that saying go? Something about everyone needing something to do, someone to love, and something to look forward to. Two out of three was a good start.

  The next two weeks flew by and the butterflies in Laura’s stomach felt more like a flock of corellas when, on a bright and warm Monday morning in late October, she sat down at the desk in consulting room two at Potters Junction Health Centre. She checked her lipstick in the mirror above the handbasin and rearranged the things on the desk, for the third time.

  Wiping clammy palms on her linen trousers, she tried to ignore the sound of her rushing pulse as she prepared to see her first patient in almost seven months. She wriggled back in the chair. It felt different, but the same. The gyprock walls, melamine desk and fresh but simple appointments of the room were far removed from the stone walls and wood-and-leather furnishings of her consulting room in Adelaide; her current view of an asphalt car park and native shrubbery no competition for her leafy green vista in Glenelg. But this felt good, right, and the only word she could think of to describe the way she felt was excited.

  ‘So, you’re all set? Ready to go, Doctor O’Connor?’

  Kaylene Curtis, the practice manager, stood in the open doorway of the consulting room. She was a tall, slim woman, her short, stylish hair glossy with highlights. The tailored navy blue blouse had Potters Junction Health Centre embroidered in gold lettering above the pocket.

  Kaylene had shown Laura through the health centre ten days previously, after her meeting with Milt Burns where they’d worked out the terms and conditions of her employment. The health centre was a brick veneer building about five years old. There were four consulting rooms, a meeting room, a huge lunch room, a treatment room and the usual utility areas. The reception and waiting room were large, light and airy with colourful prints lining the walls.

  They’d agreed she’d work Mondays and Tuesdays. Milt Burns would be there the first week but after that he’d take those days off, and they’d alternate the weekends on call. They had discussed the on-call at length, Laura voicing her concerns.

  ‘I can see that a country GP needs to be prepared for anything. I’m a city GP and, okay, I did weekends in A&E and I’ve kept my skills up as much as I could, but I haven’t worked at all for over six months.’

  Milt Burns pulled at his jowls and reiterated that support for country GPs from a major metro teaching hospital was only a phone call away.

  ‘And the nurses know what they’re doing. Well, most of them.’

  ‘But I’m the doctor on the spot,’ she’d said, ‘and a phone call can only offer so much support.’

  ‘Call me if you’re worried or you ever need a second pair of hands. And I know Meghan Kimble wouldn’t mind at all if you called her if I wasn’t around. No doubt she’ll be busting to get back to work.’

  His comments had allayed her anxiety a little. But Laura knew she wouldn’t sleep much the nights she was on call.

  ‘We are so pleased to have you, Doctor O’Connor,’ Kaylene said as she walked into the room. ‘Doctor Burns isn’t getting any younger.’

  ‘My pleasure, Kaylene. I’m all ready to go.’ The practice manager had given her a brief orientation to the computer software and medical centre routine. Everything was stocked and the first patients waiting.

  ‘Any questions, remember I’m just down the corridor. Our other receptionist, Susan, starts at ten and goes through until six. She’s part-time. There aren’t any visiting specialists today and I’m sure Doctor Burns won’t mind being interrupted if you need anything.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure it won’t take me long to settle in.’ She mirrored Kaylene’s bright smile, forced the rising bubble of apprehension back down her throat. ‘I guess we’d better get on with it
so I’m not behind before I start.’

  Laura followed Kaylene out to reception to collect the first patient, an unwell young mum with two toddlers in tow, and with what turned out to be a urinary tract infection.

  From there, the day progressed like any day in general practice. After her third patient, an older man with a chest infection, Laura felt like she’d never been away from it. When five-thirty came around and there’d been no emergency call-outs to the hospital Laura mouthed a silent thank you. In fact, apart from the surprised, and then curious looks on the patients’ faces when Laura collected them, nothing unexpected had happened. As she packed her things into her bag she couldn’t help but feel satisfied. It had been a momentous day. In her lowest moments Laura had wondered if she’d sit this side of a consulting desk again.

  Laura let herself out the back door of the health centre and stepped into a wall of late-afternoon heat. It’d been in the mid-­thirties, hot for a spring day, the smudge of smoky-grey clouds on the horizon the only indicator of the forecast change. Throwing her bag onto the passenger seat she started the car and the phone rang before the air conditioner had begun blowing cool air.

  ‘How’d it go?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Good. The practice staff are terrific. No emergencies at the hospital, thank God, but there were a couple of frustrating things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘No podiatrist at all, and the dietician only comes once a week, and there’s a two-month waiting list for outpatients. They’ve been trying to recruit a podiatrist for three years. Would you believe it!’

  ‘No visiting podiatrist?’

  ‘Nope. The practice manager said there was one for a while, but he got fed up with all the travel. Patients have to drive to Port Augusta, two hours away.’