A Magical Christmas

by Patricia Thayer

  Mak wiggled his feet and moved his limbs. There was less foot room than there’d been earlier, but his feet weren’t trapped.

  ‘I’m conscious and feeling no pain so I assume I’m okay and, yes, my feet are free. What did we hit? I didn’t see anything ahead of us and there certainly wasn’t anything on the road as we came out.’

  ‘It’s a camel, I just looked. I’d heard there was a mob of them out here, but hadn’t believed it. They’re usually further west, around Alice and over in the Western Australia deserts. By the look of things it was already dead—maybe the ambulance hit it a glancing blow on its way back to town. The damage is on your side so I doubt your door will open. Here’s a knife, can you cut your way free of the airbag? I’ll phone a tow truck.’

  He felt the knife press into his palm then heard her move away, speaking quietly, no doubt phoning for help, but when he made his way out of the vehicle she wasn’t on the phone. The headlights, still working on the driver’s side, illuminated a macabre scene, the slight woman kneeling by the big animal, talking not to it but to a young calf that stood making bleating noises at its mother, no doubt waiting for her to get up.

  ‘She had this calf—the poor wee thing. See the cord—it’s not very old.’

  The pain in the woman’s voice pierced Mak’s heart and he heard his own voice saying, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after it.’

  We?

  He was here for a month and what did he know about raising camels? Raising anything? Okay, so he’d thought he’d be a father—once upon a time—and he’d liked the idea, but his marital experience still rankled. It wasn’t something he was likely to repeat.

  ‘I’d like to get a rope around his neck,’ Neena said.

  Mak smiled to himself, feeling the words were a great segue to his thoughts, then he realised she was trying to hold the struggling baby camel.

  Struggling baby camel? The animal was kicking its ridiculously long legs and the woman holding it was pregnant.

  ‘Let go,’ Mak ordered. Guessing she was about to argue, he added, ‘If it kicks the baby, you’ll be sorry.’ He lifted it out of the way, standing up with it and wondering what to do next.

  He supposed it was fate that the tow truck should arrive at that moment so he was illuminated by its headlights, standing in the middle of the road, a baby camel in his arms.

  ‘You guys been having fun?’ The tow-truck driver got out of his cab and surveyed the scene. ‘Not your baby, is it, Neena?’

  ‘It is now,’ Neena told him, standing up and moving across to where the driver was examining the calf. ‘We’d better put him in the back of my vehicle and get him out when we get to town. Can you drag the mother’s body off the road a bit before you hitch up to my car, Nick? Oh, sorry, Nick, this is Mak—Mak, Nick.’

  ‘New doctor in town, I heard,’ Nick said as he offered his hand to Mak.

  ‘Word gets around,’ Mak said, shaking hands with the man, although it did puzzle him just how this had happened in the early hours of a Saturday morning, especially as the town had been deserted when he’d arrived.

  He didn’t puzzle over it long, putting the calf into the back of the vehicle then helping Nick wrap a chain around the dead camel and walking in front of the tow truck as it pulled the animal off the road and into bushes well off the track. Next, Neena’s vehicle, with its badly damaged bull bar and left wheel arch, was attached for towing, and Neena, who had settled the calf in the back of her big four-wheel-drive, talking to it all the time, was persuaded to leave it for the drive back to town.

  ‘Birds like ducks and geese attach themselves to humans if they don’t have a mother—do you think camels might do the same?’ she asked as she climbed into the tow vehicle, moving across the bench seat to make room for Mak in there as well.

  ‘Patterning, don’t they call it?’ Nick said, and Mak’s world became a dream again. Crammed into the cab of a tow truck as a brilliant dawn coloured the eastern sky, the smell of diesel fuel filling the air, and a slim, pregnant, beautiful woman squashed beside him, chatting on about the patterning habits of birds, stirring heat in his body again…

  He’d put it down to tiredness and ignore it, that’s what he’d do, but, exhausted as he was, the night was not over. As Nick pulled up outside the big old house and Mak wearily alighted, his hostess was already making plans.

  ‘My office is the first room on the left, the computer’s on the desk,’ she said to Mak. ‘Could you hop on the internet and see what you can find out about camel milk? The little one will need a drink. And Nick, if you wouldn’t mind carrying it out to the stables. A rubber glove, that would do for a teat do you think, until I can get something sent out?’

  ‘It’s no use arguing,’ Nick said to Mak, as Neena made her way to the back of her vehicle to release the calf. ‘Once she’s got a bee in her bonnet about something, there’s no stopping her. I’d better catch up or she’ll lift the damn thing out herself.’

  Nick hurried after her while Mak wearily climbed the front steps. They felt as high as Everest, but as tiredness cramped his legs he had to wonder just how tired a pregnant woman must be feeling. Not that he intended using her office for the internet search on camel milk.

  Was he really about to do that?

  Yes, he was, but he’d use his laptop—that’s if wireless worked out here. One day in four, she’d said—was that when it did work or it didn’t?

  He sighed, too tired and confused to think about such irrelevancies. Though wasn’t the constitution of camel milk an irrelevance?

  Not in Neena Singh’s opinion!

  He ate the sandwich as he searched the ‘net, and even drank a cold cup of tea, making notes at the same time.

  ‘Camel milk is lower in fat and lactose than cow’s milk and higher in iron, potassium and Vitamin C,’ he reported, after finding his way around the back of the house to what had obviously been stables at some time and entering the one that was brightly lit from within.

  Neena, seated on the stable floor with the calf’s head in her lap, looked up at him and smiled, although he was so far beyond smiles he wondered how she’d managed it.

  ‘That’s great. We can work out some kind of formula but to begin I’ve given him some newborn infant formula I had out here from when we were looking after an injured foal. There’s no vet in town, you see, and the stables aren’t used most of the time. Someone told me about rubber gloves and he seems to have taken to it because he drank quite a lot before he went to sleep.’

  She held up a two-litre soft-drink bottle to which she’d attached a rubber glove, the fingers tied off so the thumb formed a soft teat.

  Mak shook his head, although was feeding a camel calf through a rubber glove any more unbelievable than the rest of the occurrences of the night?

  ‘You should be in bed yourself,’ he said, knowing if he didn’t lie down soon he’d probably fall down but not wanting to portray such weakness in front of this apparently inexhaustible woman.

  ‘I’ll go soon. You go—have a shower and leave your clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. Ned will take care of them for you. Grab something to eat in the kitchen if you’re hungry. You won’t sleep otherwise.’

  ‘And you’re going to do what?’ Mak demanded, sensing she had no intention of following her own advice and going to bed.

  ‘I’ll doze here. From the moment I was pregnant I took up dozing. I can doze just about anywhere. And I don’t want Albert waking up and finding himself alone.’

  ‘Albert?’

  She smiled at Mak and he felt a now familiar stirring deep inside him. Tiredness!

  ‘He’s got a noble look about him and I think Albert is a noble name, don’t you? I did consider Clarence— Clarence the Camel, you know—but he might think that’s a bit sissy when he grows up.’

  ‘And Albert isn’t?’ Mak muttered, but not loudly enough for Neena to hear because right now he didn’t want to get involved in an argument over the naming of a camel calf. Besides, she was talk
ing again.

  ‘When Ned gets up he’ll rig up something for him, some way that Albert can feed on demand and some music or something to keep him company, but until then I’ll stay here. There’s straw and bags, I’ll be perfectly comfortable.’

  Mak knew he should argue, but with what—the on-demand feeding? What did he know? Her staying there? He doubted he’d budge her.

  He walked away, but the image of her, sitting on the floor, dirty and dishevelled, the camel’s head on her lap, wouldn’t go away.

  Might never go away.

  And that thought made him shiver…

  Neena watched him go, her mind churning. A man who’d check out the constitution of camel milk in the early hours of the morning couldn’t be all bad. But what if her suspicions were right—what if he’d come to take her baby from her, if not physically, then at least to persuade her to let the child be part of a family of which she had a very poor opinion?

  She had to be wary of him—and not be taken in by little acts of kindness. Except that kindness, right now when she was feeling so terribly, terribly tired, seemed particularly important.

  She studied the calf’s funny face through teary eyes and told herself it was just pregnancy making her weepy, and thinking of the pregnancy—of her baby’s welfare— she stretched out on the bag-covered straw and settled the calf so its legs were stretched away from her, then she patted Baby Singh, talked softly to him for a few minutes, telling him about the little camel he’d have for a playmate, wondering about family—a concept not all that familiar to her, although deep down she knew that every child deserved to have a family.

  But that family?

  She wouldn’t think about it now. Mak Stavrou was here for a month. She’d work it out before he left; right now she needed to sleep.

  But every time she closed her eyes an image of her visitor was fixed to the inside of her eyelids and she was forced to study his face and try to work out just why it had so appealed to her.

  It couldn’t just be the strength of his facial bones, obvious because of the way his tanned skin stretched tautly over them, or the thick black eyebrows above dark hazel eyes, or the long nose kept from perfection by a thickening in the middle, or lips, pale but rimmed with a line of even paler skin so the sensuous fullness of them was emphasized.

  ‘Oh, boy! Talk about trouble,’ she told the sleeping Albert. ‘Six months pregnant and I’m fantasising about a stranger. And not just any stranger—a Hellenic Enterprises stranger!’

  As if one stranger from Hellenic Enterprises wasn’t enough!

  She patted the baby then curled her hands around the bump.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she told him. ‘We’ll work it out. Together we can conquer the world.’

  But the promise lacked conviction so she added, ‘And if we can’t there’s always Ned and one thousand, four hundred and forty-two other Wymaralongites. Who needs family when we’ve got all of them?’

  And on that note, she finally slept.

  ‘How could you let her bring that animal home?’ Ned demanded, when Mak, refreshed from four hours’ solid sleep and now starving, made his way into the kitchen.

  ‘You could have stopped her?’ Mak enquired, and the old man shook his head.

  ‘Nah! Never been any different, she hasn’t,’ Ned admitted, twiddling a knob on the coffee machine and pulling a mug out of a cupboard. ‘Kittens, puppies, tortoises she picked up off the road, a duck one time, a galah with a broken wing—you name it, we’ve nursed it or reared it or sometimes had to bury it. But a camel—that’s going too far. What’s she going to do when it grows?’

  ‘I imagine there are camel farms somewhere that will take it, or some tourist operator on the coast who uses them for beach rides. A sanctuary perhaps. I’ve never come across a baby camel before so am not sure about what one does with it when it grows.’

  ‘Tourists riding on her camel? Yeah, I can see her letting that happen! People peering at it in a sanctuary? No, we’re stuck with it.’

  Ned handed Mak the mug of coffee, and waved his hand to milk and sugar on the table, somehow making the simple act a gesture of acceptance. Although Mak guessed Ned might be looking to him as an ally in some endeavour. Persuading Neena to part with her new pet?

  Whatever it was, the man’s suspicion of the previous night seemed to have vanished.

  ‘Has she gone to bed?’ Mak asked, and Ned nodded.

  ‘Under protest, but I told her if she didn’t sleep it would harm the baby—that usually works if ever you need to get her to rest.’

  Definitely an ally, Mak realised.

  ‘And the calf?’

  ‘Happy as Larry,’ Ned assured him. ‘I’ve rigged up a bag of old clothes and I’ve got formula in a plastic bottle inside it. The calf nudges and sucks and as long as the milk comes out he doesn’t know he hasn’t got a mother.’

  Mak shook his head, aware this was becoming a habit, but it was obvious from Ned’s conversation that he was just as dedicated to Neena’s strays as she was. Or perhaps he was just used to being the one who had to work out how to feed them! A strange relationship, the wizened old man and the beautiful young woman—Mak would have liked to ask about it, but he didn’t think the alliance between him and Ned was strong enough just yet.

  Until Ned spoke again and he realised the alliance was less about the camel than about practical matters.

  ‘Neena usually does a few hours on Saturday mornings at the surgery. Young Paula Gibbons is the nurse-receptionist on duty and I phoned her to say we’re running late, but with Neena not long gone to bed I thought you might do it. Meet some people, talk to them about the town. You are a doctor?’

  So Ned’s suspicions were still alive and well, Mak realised, and the old man had just been manoeuvring him towards this moment.

  ‘I am and I’m happy to do it, but won’t Neena—’

  ‘Object? Sure she will. She’ll mutter about people taking over her life but if we didn’t do that occasionally she’d run herself ragged. Here, eat this before you go.’

  Mak had been taking little notice of what Ned was doing as he talked, but now a beautiful omelette appeared in front of him, golden brown on the outside and within its fold melting cheese and fine slices of ham and tomato.

  He ate, had a quick wash then followed Ned’s instructions to the surgery, where Paula, a bright redhead, guided him through the patients for the morning, every one of whom asked him if he was Neena’s locum for maternity leave and every one of whom had only good things to say about their local doctor.

  Could someone so obviously not only respected but loved in this community be the devious woman he suspected she was?

  Or was he only questioning his opinion of her because he was attracted to her?

  Instantly attracted! This was something that had never happened to him in his entire life and therefore something of which he should be extremely wary—maybe even suspicious. Other experiences had taught him that attraction could make you forget common sense and for many years, as far as women were concerned, common sense had ruled his life.

  And would continue to rule it. No matter how wonderful the townspeople thought this woman, he had to judge her for himself, and that would be impossible if he let the attraction get in the way.

  He saw the last patient for the morning, had a chat to Paula—another Neena admirer—and headed back to the house. He wanted to go out to the geo-thermal site and speak to Bob Watson, head man out there, having ascertained the previous evening that Bob would be on duty today.

  Neena woke to bright sunshine flooding through her window, and stared confusedly around her. She was on her bed, wrapped in her lightweight cotton robe, clean and naked, though she couldn’t remember showering.

  Or could she? Memories of Ned chasing her out of the stables, threatening to turn the hose on her if she didn’t go immediately. Somehow she’d made it to her room, stripped, showered—even washed her hair, from the feel of it, still slightly damp—then collapsed on the be
d. But when? How long had she been asleep? And what was happening to her house guest? Ned might have turned him out by now.

  Which, considering how she kept remembering the feel of his fingers touching hers as he’d taken the calf from her, was probably a good thing.

  She’d think about the calf—about Albert!

  She smiled and patted Baby Singh, picturing the camel calf’s rubbery lips and curly eyelashes, his huge, soft, doe-like eyes.

  ‘Such fun to have a pet again,’ she told the baby, then she heaved herself off the bed and began to dress, anxious now to check that all was well in her small world. She hadn’t phoned Brisbane to see how the burns victims were, or visited the hospital—though someone would have phoned if she’d been needed. And—

  Her eyes fixed on the small digital clock beside her bed.

  She’d missed morning surgery!

  She shot out of her bedroom and blasted down the hall to the kitchen door.

  ‘Ned, why didn’t you wake me? It’s lunchtime. My patients—’

  ‘Have been seen. I brought back some notes in case you were concerned about any of them.’

  Neena stared at the man who’d answered.

  Her house guest, far from having been turfed out by Ned, had achieved the honour of being allowed access to the kitchen. In fact, he was sitting at the kitchen table—in her chair—eating lunch and chatting amiably to Ned.

  ‘You saw my patients?’ she demanded, anger and disbelief holding her motionless in the doorway.

  ‘It’s what I’m here for after all,’ he said coolly. ‘To gauge your workload, and even after less than twenty-four hours I can see you need another doctor.’

  ‘So now you know that, maybe you can leave,’ Neena snapped, then realised just how ungracious that sounded. But her kitchen, now she’d entered it, seemed to have shrunk, making the man seem closer than he was, the atmosphere thick and heavy.