Beneath the flannelette pyjamas there was nothing to him. When his father stopped to catch his breath and steady himself, grey and gaunt, against the edge of the bed, Jake easily scooped him up and onto the mattress.
‘What did Laura want?’
‘To say hello, to see how you were.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He closed his eyes but his face was pinched with pain.
Covering him with a sheet and blanket, Jake gazed down at the man who for all intents and purposes was his father. Was the only father he’d ever know. Where had the vital, self-possessed man he’d grown up alongside disappeared to? All that was left now was the husk of that man. As he stood beside the bed and watched the jagged rise and fall of his father’s chest, he wondered if the decay had set in way before the cancer. Had it set in about the time his wife, Jake’s mother, had left? During that time, Jake had begun to rebel against everything and everyone – and the one man who had no blood ties to him but had loved him all the same had taken the brunt.
Jake’s gut clenched. He’d left without a backward glance, at a time when this man had probably needed him the most. He’d lost his wife and, in the self-centredness and single-mindedness of early adulthood, his only son had walked out as well. The anguish Jake felt at that moment almost winded him. Was it a lifetime of malignant grief that had slowly eaten away at his father, that finally manifested itself in the invasive, cancerous growths?
The air in the room was heavy, thick with the cloying stench of sickness. It pressed in on him and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He lunged for the window and threw it open, sucked the night air in like an elixir.
His father moved in the bed, coughed. Out of the shadows rose his voice.
‘Son, sit with me awhile, tell me about your day on the farm.’
As weary as he was Jake couldn’t refuse, so he perched on the chair beside the bed and surprised himself when half an hour later he was still talking, and Neill had drifted into a fitful sleep.
Later, alone in his single bed, Jake wondered how, after losing so much, Laura had managed to pick herself up and make a new life. Was the grief different when the ones you loved the most were taken as cruelly as her husband and mother had been? When they were so irrevocably gone? Was it any different to the grief he’d felt when his mother had left him and Jess? Was it different to the grief Neill felt when his wife had left him for another man, and when the boy he’d generously, and lovingly, taken on as his own son had walked away? Could you ever come to terms with knowing the people you loved were out there, somewhere, and it was they who’d decided they didn’t want to be with you anymore, didn’t want your love anymore?
He rolled over in the bed, guilt, regret and grief swamping him. Why had it taken him so long to see things for how they really were? The dying man in the bed in the room across the passageway was a far better man than Jake would ever be. He’d taken on someone else’s child and brought him up as his own, he’d remained stoic when that child had blamed him and rejected him. With a groan he shoved his fist against his mouth to stop from crying out. How, in the short time left before the cancer destroyed his father completely, could he ever make it up to him?
Somehow, forgiving and asking for forgiveness didn’t seem like anywhere near enough.
Laura was dragged from a deep sleep by the raucous screech of her phone. She fumbled for it, blinking, dazzled by the bright white light of the screen. It was the Potters Junction hospital.
‘A fight, after the pub closed,’ the night duty RN said. ‘I wouldn’t bother you but I reckon he’s concussed; he has vomited and the laceration on his head definitely needs stitches. Hard to tell what his GCS is with so much grog on board.’
‘Give me fifteen minutes,’ she said and hung up. It was a quarter after midnight. She threw back the bedclothes and dragged on a pair of cotton capris and a t-shirt.
An enrolled nurse let her in the front door when she buzzed. The corridor was dark except for pools of yellow where the night-lights shone; the A&E was a long way from the nurses’ station.
The patient lay prone, snoring, on the narrow bed, the cot sides in place. He had a mullet haircut and a sleeve of tattoos. The sweet-and-sour smell of stale alcohol and vomit almost made her gag as she approached. A pad had been placed over the gash on his forehead, blood had congealed and dried in his eyebrows, and one eye had swollen shut. A thawing icepack lay discarded on the bed beside him.
With a sigh she looked at the latest blood pressure reading on the portable machine beside him before going to the bench and reading the notes handed to her by the RN.
‘Obs are okay. GCS is thirteen. Probably drunk, not concussed. Pupils are equal and reacting,’ the RN said. ‘Never seen him here before so don’t know his tetanus status, or allergies or anything. He just tells me to eff off when I ask him.’
‘Was anyone with him when he came in?’
‘Nope. The ambulance brought him in. Cops broke up the fight and said they’d ring again when the patient sobers up.’
‘Was anyone else hurt?’
‘The ambos said the other bloke disappeared. Wasn’t as pissed as this one.’
‘Was he glassed?’
‘Don’t think so. Nothing in the paperwork to indicate there were broken glasses or bottles involved. It happened in the pub car park.’
Laura gloved up, noting the name at the top of the chart before she returned to the bedside and laid her hand on the patient’s arm. ‘Carl,’ she said. ‘I’m Doctor O’Connor.’
He groaned, opened an eye.
‘I need to examine you, suture the cut on your forehead. How long since you’ve had a tetanus injection? Are you allergic to anything?’
‘Fuck off. Lemme sleep,’ he said, the words slurred.
The RN grinned. ‘And here I was thinking it was me.’
Undeterred, she examined the laceration, careful to duck out of the way of Carl’s poorly aimed swipes.
‘Why don’t you leave it until the morning? Let him sober up,’ the RN said, pushing the trolley with the suture tray out of the way of his flailing arms.
‘I’m here now,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I have things to do in the morning.’
With the help of the enrolled nurse, they managed to restrain his arms while she injected the local anaesthetic. He eventually calmed down and stayed calm while she put eight stitches into the ragged laceration.
‘You’ll probably have a scar,’ she said.
After the RN had given him a tetanus shot, she sat down at the desk to write up the notes. They’d admit him for the night, continue the head obs, and if there were any changes she’d order a CT scan in the morning. It was unavoidable – she’d have to visit him first thing tomorrow and brief Milt.
The nurses settled him into a room nearer the nurses’ station and Laura checked on him before she left for home.
He was awake, balancing precariously on the edge of the bed while the stoic enrolled nurse helped him with a urinal. He seemed to have sobered up a bit.
‘You’ll have a headache in the morning,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll write you up for some painkillers.’
‘Nah, don’t worry about that, Doc. I don’t like taking that shit, it’s bad for ya.’
She nearly choked and she could see the nurse making a mighty effort not to smirk.
‘What about the half bottle of Bundy you drank earlier? You reckon that’s not bad for you?’
He grimaced, eased back onto the white pillows. ‘Nah, mother’s milk,’ he said. He closed his uninjured eye and was snoring in seconds.
It was Thursday afternoon, another hot summery day in spring. At Neill’s request, Laura had just finished reorganising his front sitting room so his recliner chair was closer to the window. It was the only room with an air conditioner and when he wasn’t in bed, he now spent most of his time in there.
As promised to Jake, Laura had downed tools at lunchtime and visited her neighbour. Half a cup of yoghurt and a chopped banana was all he’d
eaten but Laura knew if she hadn’t prepared it, he wouldn’t have eaten anything. Jake was right. Neill was beginning to look like a skeleton with paper-thin skin stretched over it.
Neill sighed as he sank back into the chair. ‘It’s good to see what’s going on outside. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to – I heard you go out early this morning.’
Laura plumped the crotchet-covered cushions on the two-seater sofa and sat down. ‘I thought I’d have a patient to see at the hospital first thing but he discharged himself, so I went for a run. I’ve been painting ever since. I finished the passageway and just have the woodwork left to do.’ She scraped at the paint caked under her fingernails. ‘In hindsight I probably should have left the passage until last, after I’d done the other rooms, but I was tired of looking at all the cracks.’
‘Dorrie let the place go a bit. It got too much for her, and back then I was too busy on the farm to offer any help. And Milt was never a handyman.’
‘Milt Burns?’
‘Yep, he used to visit her at least once a week, right up until she died.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Not many people did.’
‘To my knowledge she wasn’t sick. It was quite a shock for everyone when she died.’
‘No, as far as I knew she wasn’t sick. I was as shocked as everyone else.’
‘So they were friends, then?’ Why else would the local GP be a regular visitor?
Neill quirked an eyebrow.
Laura pursed her lips. Milt Burns would have to have been fifteen or so years younger than her great-aunt. ‘Oh well,’ she said and levered herself to her feet. ‘Many a secret has gone to the grave.’
Then she remembered what Jake had told her, and heat spread up her neck and into her cheeks. Neill didn’t seem to notice and she hastily went back to tidying up the room. She moved the coffee table closer to Neill and flicked on the vacuum cleaner to suck up the dust bunnies from where his chair had been previously. While she was vacuuming, Laura remembered there were several boxes of Dorrie’s papers stacked in the dining room, waiting to be sorted through. Perhaps she’d make a start on them soon. Who knew what they’d reveal?
‘What about the television?’ she said when the room was quiet again. She eyed the monstrous screen and the solid cabinet it sat on. ‘You won’t be able to see it from there.’
‘It’s heavy. I’ll ask Jake to move it,’ Neill said from over his shoulder. Something caught his eye and he leaned forward in his chair and peered out the window. ‘There’s Jess.’
There was delight in his voice. Seconds later a key rattled in the front door and a voice rang out.
‘Dad?’
‘In here,’ he said, a smile splitting his face.
Jess surveyed the sitting room. ‘Bloody hell, Dad, what’s been going on here?’ And then she saw Laura and the vacuum cleaner by her feet. ‘Did you do this?’
‘He wanted to see out the window,’ Laura said and winced at how defensive she sounded. Of course Jess would feel territorial about her father.
Jess seemed to deflate. ‘Don’t mind me, Laura. Thank you. I’ve been a bit preoccupied this past week.’ She looked at her father. ‘Sorry, Dad, I know I’ve neglected you.’
He waved away her apology with a bony hand, he appeared far too pleased to have his daughter with him then to mind her recent absence.
‘I didn’t mind doing it.’ Laura turned to Neill. ‘I’ll put the vacuum cleaner away and leave you two to catch up.’
‘You don’t have to go,’ Jess said.
‘But I do. I have paint brushes to clean and a heap of other things to do. I’m still trying to find my routine where work’s concerned.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Jess said and picked up the vacuum cleaner. ‘I can put this away. I’ll be back in a minute, Dad. I’ll just see Laura out.’
When they were out of Neill’s earshot, and had manhandled the vacuum cleaner into the broom cupboard, Jess touched Laura’s arm and said, ‘Thank you for the sleeping tablets. I don’t know how I would have made it through the week without them.’
‘But —’
‘I know you know Darren has left me, and Sam and Mikey,’ Jess interjected. ‘And I know you suspected something was going on that day I brought Mikey to the health centre. I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.’
‘I’m glad the sleeping pills helped. And when you are ready to talk, I’d be more than happy to listen.’
Jess swallowed and quickly nodded her head. ‘I better get back to Dad.’
Two hours later Laura was in the aisle of the Foodland supermarket shoving groceries into her trolley, when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She’d already given the passageway woodwork its first coat of paint and was shopping while it dried.
‘Laura?’
‘Julia?’ Laura’s eyes widened in surprise. Why was the Magpie Creek practice manager calling her?
‘The locum hasn’t come back from lunch. He left over two hours ago and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.’
‘Have you tried his mobile phone?’
‘Of course I have! It goes straight to message bank. I’ve phoned the bakery and the hotel but they didn’t see him there. I asked the maintenance man at the hospital to check their locum accommodation – the cottage is empty and there’s no sign of his car.’
‘What about his patients?’
‘If he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll have to send them home. Some have already left. Should I call the police?’
‘The police?’
A shopper gaped at Laura as she passed with her trolley. Laura moved the phone to her other ear, turned to face the rows of pet food.
‘I’m sorry, but there’s no-one here to call,’ Julia said. ‘They’re all at a management meeting in Port Augusta.’
‘But why the police?’
‘What if he’s keeled over somewhere? Had a heart attack or something? Dropped dead?’
‘Unlikely, if his car’s gone and the accommodation is empty, but . . .’ Laura closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I guess if there’s no other option, and it’s what you’d usually do, then it’s the police.’
‘I’ll keep you posted,’ Julia whispered and the phone went dead.
Barely fifteen minutes later Julia rang back. Laura was stacking the bulging bags of groceries into the car when the phone buzzed.
‘Found him. Well, sort of,’ Julia said. She didn’t sound at all relieved.
‘Sort of?’ Laura prompted.
‘He quit. He’s probably halfway to Adelaide by now. The locum agency rang me after he’d rung them. They’re in a state, too. They had him booked to go elsewhere for another three months after he completed his three weeks with us.’
‘And the police?’
‘The locum agency rang first, which saved me the call and the embarrassment. I sent all the patients home. What a debacle.’
Laura heard Julia inhale and she knew what was coming. ‘I’ll do tomorrow, Julia, and Thursdays and Fridays until the next locum arrives, but that’s all. No weekend visits unless there’s a genuine emergency. I’ll check any inpatients at the hospital when I’m there.’
‘Thank you. I’ll see you Friday morning. First patient’s at ten.’
Laura stashed her phone back in her pocket and felt a stab of sympathy for the absconding locum. Being the solo GP in a semi-remote community was a hell of a responsibility. She could understand why, at his age, he’d suddenly decided he didn’t want that responsibility anymore, decided he didn’t need the pressure anymore. It was just a bit irresponsible to up and walk out, though.
It was almost dark when Laura arrived home the following evening after a hectic day at Magpie Creek medical centre. Much to her dismay there were ants traipsing in military-like formation across the kitchen sink to the sugar bowl on the bench. The sugar inside the bowl was black with them. With a muttered curse at her absentmindedness, she dropped her bag on the table, grabbed the torch fro
m the windowsill and took the bowl outside to throw the contents on the compost heap, swiping at the ants crawling over her hand as she went.
As she walked down the cement path she splashed the light over the vegetable patch, expecting to see the plants wilted after a hot day without water. But they looked lush and the ground damp. When she threw the sugar out there was a pile of rotting leaves and other debris on top of the compost heap.
Jake.
He’d watered her garden and cleaned the gutters. Her fatigue and the frustrations of the day lifted for a moment. As soon as she’d changed, she’d go next door to thank him.
Jake heard the car the moment it turned into the street. He didn’t need Skip’s yap to know it was Laura and though he wouldn’t admit it, he’d taken to listening out for her whenever he was back from the farm before she was home from work, or when she was on call. He’d heard her leave on Wednesday night, had lain awake until she’d come back at about two a.m.
‘Busy day,’ he said, when he opened the door.
‘And then some. Julia had crammed one and a half day’s worth of patients into one day.’ She brushed against him as she stepped into the house. At the sound of his sharply indrawn breath she glanced at him and, in the dim light of the back porch, their eyes met and held.
‘And you?’ she said softly. ‘I see you’ve been busy cleaning my gutters and watering the vegies.’
‘I took a day off from the farm, did a few things around here,’ he said and hungrily scanned her face. He knew she’d kept an eye on the old man the day before, but he hadn’t seen her for two days. ‘I’ll look at the verandah light tomorrow. It should have dried out by now.’
‘How’s Neill? It was good to see Jess here yesterday. I’m glad she’s told him.’ She followed him into the kitchen.
‘Beer, tea, coffee?’
‘No, thanks. Just a quick visit to thank you for being my odd-job man. And to say hello to Neill.’
The Doctor Calling Page 19