Daintree

by Annie Seaton

  Jeremy had as many degrees and qualifications as Alex and Brenton, and indeed had topped his final year at Sydney University, but that alone had not satisfied his father. The expectation had always been that he would join the family specialist practice. The moment he had made it known that he had no desire to practise in the field chosen by his father and brothers, had been the day any relationship with the Langford men—and there had never been much of one—had finally withered and died. The past year had killed any chance of resurrecting it. Losing a family member had been the last nail in the coffin of his relationship with his family. He’d felt so bloody helpless that night. No matter how fast they had worked, it had seemed as though it was happening in slow motion. He should have been able to do more. He should have recognised the syndrome more quickly and seen that Brianna’s body temperature was out of control.

  He still couldn’t think about that night without shutting down. Clinically he knew they couldn’t have done any more to save Brianna. Emotionally, he couldn’t accept that he’d failed.

  Jeremy shrugged. Nothing else mattered if you couldn’t save a life. The degrees, the intent, the prestige of these rooms; it meant nothing.

  Unlike most of the specialists on Macquarie Street, Dr Alan Langford opened his rooms on a Saturday morning; sometimes Jeremy thought his father preferred to be here than at home. He looked at his watch again; the traffic had been heavy on the way to the city. If his dad didn’t appear in the next ten minutes, he would have to go without saying goodbye. He had a plane to catch.

  It had been bad enough seeing the disappointment on his mother’s face this morning. She’d brushed a light kiss across his cheek, her hair stiff and the smell of hairspray mingled with her cloying perfume. He’d called a taxi to bring him from Point Piper into the city, but she hadn’t been able to wait to see him off. A charity breakfast awaited Mother and her perfectly made-up face, which of course was flawless with three plastic surgeons in the family. She was a walking advertisement for the Langford practice—his father probably wrote her off as a tax deduction.

  ‘I still cannot understand why you have to leave Sydney.’ Her voice had been as cold as her kiss. ‘Are you aware, Jeremy, of your father’s disappointment?’

  ‘Yes.’ His nod was brief. ‘Of course I am. But my mind is made up, Mother. I need a change. I can’t stay in Sydney and I certainly can’t work with Brenton. Surely you can understand that.’

  He rubbed the back of his neck as her clipped words continued.

  ‘And poor Polly. She was almost suicidal when you broke off the engagement. I was so looking forward to another wedding.’

  Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek to stem the words that threatened. There was no point. He’d agreed to be the one to break the engagement so that Polly could save face. It didn’t matter to him—just another mark against his name.

  ‘I’ve met someone else, Jeremy.’ The words from his fiancé had been a blessed relief. He was sure they had fallen into an engagement to suit the social calendar of the North Shore set where Polly lived with her lawyer parents. For a while their life together had been pleasant. They’d shared similar interests and had a circle of friends in common. But after the incident, when it had become clear he wouldn’t join the family practice, Polly had lost interest in him and it hadn’t taken her long to find a replacement. She had the looks and the family money to choose whoever she wanted. The relief that had filled him when she’d broken it off had broken into that cold place for a few hours.

  But he was not going to get into another argument with his mother, not today. Not the day he left to start afresh. Nothing was going to interfere with his excitement and the anticipation of moving to another state, to fresh horizons and working in a new position.

  A new life.

  ‘Well.’ She’d gathered up her Prada handbag and car keys, and turned to face him again. ‘Take care of yourself, dear.’

  Jeremy was surprised to see the glint of tears sheening her eyes. But of course it wasn’t the fact that he was leaving. It was the disappointment at how he had let the family down. No fancy, over-the-top wedding in a marquee by Sydney Harbour for her to look forward to. No mention of the third Langford son in the society pages this summer.

  Now the door to the consulting room opened quietly. Oiled and flawless, like everything else in his family’s life. Houses, possessions, and spouses, there was never any noise, no fuss, no bother.

  No life. Always keeping up appearances.

  Until the tragedy. A senseless death and the waste of a young life. The actions of his niece were insignificant when compared to what his parents viewed as his failure.

  His father crossed the room and picked up the coffee pot warming in the small alcove behind his desk. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’

  Jeremy shook his head. ‘No, thank you. My flight to Cairns leaves at eleven.’

  His father put the coffee pot down, turned to Jeremy and held out his hand. ‘As much as this may come as a surprise to you, I do wish you well, son.’

  Jeremy shook the proffered hand and was surprised at the strength his father put into the handshake. The expected sting came in the next words.

  ‘However, I know you will be back. This is your place.’ His father gave an awkward harrumph, and cleared his throat. ‘If you want to specialise in another field, I am sure the practice could accommodate another specialty.’

  The unfamiliar warmth in his father’s voice filled Jeremy with surprise. The arguments they’d had when he’d first made his intentions known had not prepared him for this about-face.

  Jeremy shook his head. ‘No, Dad. Thanks, but we’ve been over this a hundred times. It’s a move to rural medicine for me. And the more isolated the better.’

  His father raised his eyebrows. ‘And Cairns is isolated?’

  ‘I’m not in Cairns. I’ll be based a hundred miles north in Dalrymple, and from there I’ll be travelling to some remote clinics.’

  He may as well have said he was going to the moon. His father’s expression was one of disdain tinged with frustration.

  ‘I thought it was a purely administrative position.’

  ‘It is. I’ll coordinate the setting up of the service and supervise the medical—’ Jeremy’s frustration rose to the surface as his father raised his hand ‘—staff in at least six isolated clinics. It’s a huge responsibility and it’s an opportunity that I am really looking forward to.’ He didn’t mention that he was going up early to help out at the local hospital for a week.

  ‘Enough. What the hell can I do to talk you out of this, Jeremy?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He kept his voice as clipped as his father’s. ‘You know how much I loved those couple of months I did out at Broken Hill. I know I can do this.’

  It was a waste of words and a waste of time. There was no point getting into an argument with his father, nothing to be achieved apart from more ill feeling. His father turned away.

  ‘Wish me well, Dad. Please.’

  This new move was a fresh start for him and he was excited by the opportunity, and he was damn well going to do it. The sabbatical of the last twelve months had been spent completing his MBA and researching positions combining management consulting and clinical practice. The Outreach Program was a perfect match to his qualifications and his needs.

  ‘We’ll miss you at home.’

  Jeremy fought down the usual guilt that burned in his chest. He’d learned to live with it.

  Almost.

  ‘It’s about time I flew the family coop.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry I’ve missed Alex and Brenton. Tell them I said goodbye.’

  His father inclined his head in a cool nod. ‘I will.’

  ‘Goodbye, Dad.’ Jeremy let the air expel from his chest as he closed the door quietly behind him. His shoulders felt lighter as he headed for the elevator.

  *

  Nine hours later, a blast of noise hit Jeremy as he pushed open the door of the hotel in Dalrymple. The air hung
hot and heavy, saturated with the smell of beer and a sweet smell that Jeremy realised came from the smoke pumping from the sugar mill he’d passed. As he’d driven north from Cairns airport his anticipation had built as glimpses of sapphire blue water had beckoned through trees where brightly-coloured birds hung upside down, chattering as they sipped the nectar from brilliant red flowers. The landscape was green and lush, and he smiled as he crossed a river and saw the town sign announcing he had reached ‘Dalrymple: the Sweetest Town on the Coast’.

  He waited until the barman finished serving at the other end of the bar and walked up to the counter where he waited.

  ‘Gidday, mate. What can I get you?’

  ‘I’ve got a room booked here for a couple of weeks.’ Jeremy reached into his pocket for his wallet. ‘Langford.’

  ‘Hi, the new doc! Welcome.’ The barman held out his hand and his grip was firm as Jeremy shook it. ‘I’m Rod Barber. I work at the hospital when I’m not moonlighting here.’ He rolled his eyes as the noise at the end of the bar increased. ‘Fix the bill when you leave.’ He reached under the counter and pulled out a key. ‘Room three. Top of the stairs. If you need anything just holler. Dinner’s on in the bistro from six and it’s a good feed. I’ll talk to you later when this mob goes home.’

  Jeremy took the key and headed up the stairs to check out his lodgings. The registrar had assured him there was no shortage of rental accommodation, short or long term, but he wanted to check out the town before he rented anywhere. He’d picked up a hire car when he’d flown into Cairns and booked it for a few days until he got himself settled. A four-wheel drive vehicle came with the Outreach Program so there was no point having his own car up here. When he decided to leave Sydney he’d sold his silver Porsche and donated the money to a Drug Awareness program in schools. Leaving behind the trappings of his lifestyle had been cathartic, but restlessness still tugged at him mercilessly; he couldn’t settle and sleep eluded him. He was hopeful that this move would dispel the uncertainty that churned inside him.

  He was over the whole Sydney scene. Since that terrible night in the emergency room, the niggling worry that he’d chosen the wrong profession had become a more general dissatisfaction with the purposelessness of his life. Sure he kept up the facade. There were plenty of friends around; he socialised, followed the party circuit, was seen with the right women on his arm at the races and played team sports. He went to the hottest new bars in Surry Hills on Friday nights. But this constant striving—to have the highest paying job, the best water view, the latest model European car—was not for him.

  Medicine was supposed to be a noble vocation, but the only time Jeremy had experienced deep satisfaction was during his clinical placement in the outback. There he’d found it easier to connect with patients. Even though the medical issues were the same, life was slower and there was time to talk.

  One night a few weeks ago, he’d come home and made a life-changing decision. It was either move on or drown in the life he was pretending to live. With his MBA completed he’d found the Outreach position advertised the next week and he knew it was the right thing to do. The two interviews had been conducted by videoconference and he’d waited nervously until he received the call advising him of his success.

  He shook himself and dragged his mind back to the tropics. Back to his new life.

  Dalrymple had surprised him as he’d driven to the hotel. It was well away from the tourist beats of Cairns and Port Douglas. Everywhere he looked there were trees and brightly coloured flowers. Even the sky seemed to be a deeper shade of blue.

  Perfection.

  This new position excited him and he was going to do the best damn job he could. At university he’d been surprised he’d loved his first taste of rural medicine, even though his girlfriend at the time had teased him mercilessly about being away from his favourite barista.

  Emma Porter. Her face flashed into his mind; he hadn’t thought about her for a while. At university they’d been voted the couple most likely to last.

  Em and Jem. He could smile now but it had been hard when it had ended so suddenly. She’d left without a word in their second-to-last year and he often wondered where she had ended up. He should have tried harder to track her down but it had hurt that she had left without telling him.

  He took a deep breath as he walked along the verandah looking for his room. Looking down at the street below, he couldn’t help but compare it to Macquarie Street and the frantic pace of life in the city. A lone cyclist rode along the railway track that ran along the side of the street and crossed the highway. Tropical birds whirled overhead, and screeched as they dipped to the trees. There was one set of traffic lights at the corner and that was it for the whole town. In fact, that was all he’d seen since he’d left Cairns.

  Jeremy’s hopes were pinned on this, the opportunity to be involved with the Outreach Program from the ground up. The contract was for one year; that would give him plenty of time to make a decision about his future.

  The call from the regional director of health last week had surprised Jeremy. ‘How would you feel about coming a bit earlier and filling in at the hospital before your contract starts? For a week or so? We’re short staffed. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get doctors in these rural towns. It’ll give you an opportunity to settle in and get to know the place.’

  After he’d established that he’d be helping out in the wards and the aged care facility attached to the hospital, he’d agreed and made plans to head north immediately.

  As he put the key in the dark timber door of his room his phone buzzed with a text message.

  ‘Sorry I missed you. Kill ’em up there, bro. Ah . . . maybe not.’

  Alex, his oldest brother, was the only one who understood his move to the north.

  Jeremy pushed open the door and smiled.

  Chapter 3

  Sunday afternoon

  Thornton Peak track, Daintree Rainforest

  The sun was high by the time George got back to his battered four-wheel drive ute and drove up Cooper Creek Road into the rainforest. The road from the north side of the river where the vehicular ferry docked was winding and consisted of numerous hairpin curves. You had to have your wits about you because there were always bloody tourists stopped in the middle of the road, taking photos of cassowaries. He’d caught up with Jack, his old mate, on the way yesterday and helped him build a fence and it had been too late to go to the forest. So he’d had a few beers by the fire with Jack and camped out in his swag.

  He passed through two open gates and turned off the road into a clearing, parking in a thicket of trees. No one needed to know he was in the rainforest; it was no one else’s business. He lifted out the old paint tin from the back of the vehicle and slammed the door shut, reaching for a cigarette before he remembered that he didn’t smoke any more thanks to Doctor Em’s persuasion. He dug deeper into his pocket and pulled out a wad of that nicotine gum she’d given him, chewing it for a few seconds before he spat it into his hand with a snort of disgust. He rolled it in a leaf and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

  Blasted stuff was supposed to help but it tasted like chook shit.

  He grinned when he passed the old woman’s house. It was all shut up and there was no sign of life. The curtains were closed and there was no smoke coming from the chimney. Good, he didn’t want to go in there, no matter what nice things Doctor Em said about her. On the couple of times she’d seen him go past, the old woman had stood and stared at him as though she could tell what he was thinking. It gave him the willies. Better to stay away from her. She gave him the creeps with that long grey hair and wrinkled-up face. Not that he was a spring chicken himself. Anyway, the doc would just have to wait for her cocky bark stuff. He had business of his own in the rainforest.

  He left the track for a while and took a shortcut across to the creek where he knew it was shallow enough to cross before he rejoined the track further up the hill. The rough-barked bloodwood trees were heavily blo
ssomed and the forest was filled with their sweet perfume. As he pushed deeper into the forest, the light dimmed and a hush filled the small valley. Granite boulders protruded from the steep hill on his left and the only sound was the leaf litter crunching beneath his feet. As the creek widened at the head of the valley, the babble of water across the rocks filled the silence and the pale green light was diffused by a fine mist drifting down from the peak.

  As George ambled along the track towards the top of the hill, the peace was suddenly broken by the raucous shriek of cockatoos. He stopped and watched as a flock of red-crested black cockatoos swept through the towering, green canopy with a rush of wings. He cocked his head and listened as the birds disappeared into the treetops. The peaceful silence of the rainforest surrounded him again as they settled into the high branches. He made his way towards the clearing.

  Muffled voices drifted up to him. Someone was coming up the hill ahead; whoever it was must have disturbed the cockatoos. It was unusual to see anyone on this track so deep in the rainforest, although he’d heard that rainforest centre bloke was planning to bring tourists out this way on walking tours. If that happened he’d have to find a more secluded clearing for his plants. It would also mean carting the water a bit further from the creek until the rain arrived with the wet season.

  The voices got louder and George stepped quietly off the track into the forest. He reached a wide strangler fig and pressed himself hard against the trunk on the side away from the track. Three-quarters of the way up, the trunk split into two and started spiralling. The curtain of tangled roots that wrapped around the host tree provided a screen for him. For a moment he thought about leaning around but it wasn’t worth the risk. He didn’t want to be seen out here. He wondered who the men were. They’d better not be after his plants.

  ‘Jeez . . . I hate how quiet this bloody forest is.’ The first man’s voice was clear now as they walked up the hill towards his hiding place. ‘Except for when those birds get squawking . . . did you hear the racket those cockatoos made?’