She picked up Mary-Margaret’s second letter and sighed heavily. Reading it again wasn’t going to change the contents. She tossed it toward the table and it missed, fluttering to the floor like an autumn leaf. The toaster popped and with tightly controlled strokes, she lashed slabs of butter on both slices.
Lorraine came into the kitchen, picked the letter up from the floor and laid it on the table. She stood watching Emma, her hands loosely clasped around the back of the wooden kitchen chair.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you going to reply?”
“No.”
“And you think if you bury your head it will all go away.”
Emma unscrewed the lid off the jar of Vegemite. Waving her knife in the air, she glared at her mum. “I’m not burying my head. I need to work out what to do – how to reply.”
Her phone rang as she was about to take a bite of her toast. The caller ID came up as private. Probably work, needing her to pick up an extra shift.
“Hello, Emma speaking.”
“It’s Winston Chirnside here.” The familiar clipped, businesslike tones caused her world to tilt as a shiver ran down her spine. She dropped her toast on the plate. Why was he calling?
“Good morning Winston.”
Lorraine raised an eyebrow. Emma climbed on the kitchen stool and rested her elbows on the bench, one hand propping up her chin, the other holding the phone to her ear. A headache pulsed.
“Have you received our communication?”
Emma paused. There was no point trying to get around it. “If you mean the letters from your wife, yes.”
“Why haven’t you replied?”
Emma paused again. She hated awkward silences around her in-laws and usually rushed to fill the gaps, but she was tired of them bullying her. “Unfortunately, a friend of mine passed away last week and we’ve had a funeral to plan for.”
“So in terms of the letter,” he said.
Heartless bastard. Didn’t he care enough to ask who had just died?
“You understand why we’re contesting the will, don’t you?”
“No,” she lied.
“No?”
“Mary-Margaret’s letter indicated that she had reason to believe Lleyton was going to seek a divorce.”
“That’s right.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because after seeing you in Sydney with that young doctor, we spoke to our son and shared our concerns that perhaps you were sleeping around behind his back.”
Emma was very glad he couldn’t see the look on her face. Sleeping around? How dare he suggest it?
She drew in a shallow breath and willed her voice to sound calm. “And what was Lleyton’s response?”
“Well, er, he, um, told his mother he didn’t believe her.”
So Lleyton had stuck up for her. That was a first.
“So what do you want Winston?” She knew what they wanted but she wanted to hear him say it, spell it out, make it clear.
He coughed once to clear his throat. “We want Lexton Downs. We believe that after he was made aware of your little, er, indiscretion, he didn’t have the opportunity to change his will before he passed away.”
Winston’s tone, his manner and the inappropriateness of the whole discussion got to her then. “I was not having an affair and I was never unfaithful to my husband. Lleyton left Lexton Downs to me. It is my home now and you are not going to kick me out.”
On the other side of the kitchen bench Lorraine looked on with a worried expression.
“We won’t be kicking you out. You have until the New Year to secure yourself alternative accommodation before we put the property on the market. Naturally, if you choose to stay, you’re more than welcome to put in an offer and we will consider it. Although I’m not sure you’ll be up for the six million dollar price tag even with the life insurance policy I’m sure you received upon Lleyton’s death.”
Six million dollars? Was the property valued at that much now?
She swallowed. Winston took her silence as acquiescence.
“My lawyer is sending you the appropriate paperwork for you to sign. This time I encourage you not to ignore it.”
He hung up.
Emma stared at the phone in her hand as if it was poisonous. She dropped it on the bench and promptly burst into tears.
Lorraine came around and hugged her tight. “You need to call Lleyton’s lawyer. What was his name?”
Her mum was right. She scrolled through her phone until she found Andrew’s number. He answered on the third ring.
“Hi Emma. How are you going?”
“I just got off the phone with Winston.”
There was a long pause.
“Andrew?”
“I’m still here. I heard you.”
“Did you know they’re contesting the will?”
Andrew sighed. “Yes.”
“Can they do that?”
“Not without a massive fight.”
“But they told me I have until after Christmas to get out.”
“Well, they can threaten that as much as they like, but it’s not legal.”
For the next ten minutes, Andrew tried to explain the complexities of the law to her. Most of it went over her head, but she appreciated the amount of trouble he was taking to ensure she understood.
“Winston is bluffing so don’t do anything without talking to me first. And do not leave Lexton Downs. If they want a fight, let’s give them one. I’m sick of living with this secret. It’s about time they knew the truth.”
Emma’s heart stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I told my parents about Lleyton and me.”
“Good for you. What did they say?”
Andrew sighed. “I wish I’d told them years ago. They were incredibly supportive.”
“What about the Chirnsides? Have you told them?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will?”
“Yeah, if I get the opportunity.”
“I’m proud of you and I know Lleyton would be too.”
“Thanks Emma, that means a lot. I know this has been so hard for you.”
“It’s been hard for both of us.”
There was silence as they were both lost in thought.
“So how’s it all going up there anyway?”
“It’s great, really great. Lexton Downs is truly breathtaking. I’d love you to come up and see it sometime. In the last month, we’ve been fully booked and the reviews we are getting on the website are glowing. We currently have a dozen retired racehorses on agistment with enquiries for more. Last week Tom had a call from a Sydney polo club wanting to hold a polo match on the property next year. They want to invite Prince Harry. Tom’s been making enquiries about equine assisted therapy, but there’s lots of red tape so we’ve put that on the backburner for now.”
Andrew chuckled. “What did I say when I handed you those keys?”
“You were right. I truly had no idea this place would change my life.”
“So let’s do whatever it takes to make sure the Chirnsides don’t do anything to take that happiness away.”
“There’s no way I’m letting that happen,” she said.
“So you’re happy?”
“Yes, I am. I’m happy. Very happy.”
“Then so am I.”
Chapter 24
The change in weather in the weeks since Judy’s death and funeral seemed to come from nowhere. One day everyone was wearing jeans and jackets, the next they were rifling through wardrobes for shorts and shirts. Then, after a week of warmth and sunshine and of humidity and heat that had everyone pining for the coast, it started raining. Emma arrived at work for her afternoon shift in a massive rain shower. She walked into the department, quickening her steps when she saw and heard how busy it was. She headed straight for the resuscitation bay where she had been allocated.
Mackenzie waved her over from the other s
ide of the room. “What’s it like outside?”
“Hot and sticky. It’s raining so perhaps we’ll get some relief. I’d forgotten how humid it gets at this time of the year.”
“That’s what makes it hard for asthmatics.”
Emma glanced at their patient. He was a tall young man, with skinny limbs that made him appear more colt than stallion. His flushed face had the remnants of bad acne scarring. He wore baggy shorts, a faded T-shirt and rubber flip-flops on his feet. He sat in an upright position on the trolley and with every strained breath he took, his whole upper body moved as he gasped and grabbed for air. A strand of dirty brown hair was plastered to his forehead and falling into his right eye but he made no effort to brush it away, indicating his lack of energy to do anything other than concentrate on trying to breathe. A Hudson mask was fitted over his face, steam hissing from the small canister attached to the mask.
Mackenzie commenced her handover. “Ben’s twenty and a known asthmatic.”
“Previous ICU admissions?” Emma asked.
Mackenzie pointed to three volumes of medical records, bound together with a thick elastic band, and nodded. “Two. Tubed both times.”
Judging by the look of him, Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up in intensive care again this time. He was using all his accessory muscles in an attempt to breathe.
“We’ve given him all the usual meds with little effect.”
Emma unwrapped her stethoscope from around her neck and placed the diaphragm over Ben’s chest, hearing the high-pitched whistle at the end of every breath. She glanced at the monitor above the bed. His oxygen saturation levels were low – mid-eighties – despite the high flow oxygen and nebs he was receiving.
“Have Intensive Care been contacted?”
Mackenzie nodded. “Yep, ten minutes ago.”
Ben sat forward, his hands resting on his thighs as he continued to struggle to breathe.
“Nice and steady, mate,” Emma reassured him.
“Hey, I’m sorry to hear about Tom’s mum,” Mackenzie said gently, with a look of concern on her face. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s okay. His sister is struggling. They fly out tomorrow and she’s torn because England is home now but she doesn’t want to leave Tom.”
“It’s not easy when you lose a parent.” Sadness crossed her face again and Emma remembered Mackenzie had lost both her parents.
“Cat one to resus.” The ward clerk’s clipped tone over the loudspeaker interrupted them. Category one. Patients with life-threatening injuries who had to be seen immediately.
Emma looked at Ben and back to Mackenzie. “How soon until ICU takes him?”
“I’ll put in another call. You go and take the next patient and I’ll stay here with him.”
Emma glanced at the clock. “Make sure you put in for overtime,” she said as she rushed from the room.
A small team of doctors and nurses had assembled in the other resuscitation bay. Like an orchestra warming up, the discordant sound of their voices filled the room.
“Heads up everyone.” As if the conductor had tapped his baton on the music stand, people stopped talking to look and listen.
“We’ve got a possible ruptured triple A.”
Emma swore softly. If the patient had a triple A, or abdominal aortic aneurysm, and it had ruptured, it was unlikely to end well.
The doctor barked instructions. When he got to Emma he scowled. “Who are you?”
“Emma O’Connor. I’ve only recently started here.”
“Are you happy to take over CPR?”
“Yes,” she lied. A sickening sense of dread filled her stomach. The only time she’d ever done CPR was in practice on the resuscitation dolls. A bead of sweat rolled down her lower back.
As soon as he spoke, the doors from the ambulance bay burst open. Two paramedics wheeled the trolley in – one at the front, the other at the back. A third paramedic, Liam, was attempting to perform chest compressions as best he could as they rushed along the corridor toward the resuscitation bay. She stepped to one side to make room for the trolley then swooped like a magpie to stand beside Liam.
“You right to take over from me, Em?” Liam asked calmly.
She nodded, unable to speak. Her mouth was dry. It was now or never.
“Grab something to stand on,” Liam said, “or you’re going to wreck your back.”
She cast her eyes around until she spotted the footstool. She grabbed it and carried it to the side of the trolley. Liam continued to compress the patient’s chest.
“You ready?”
“Yes,” Emma said as confidently as she could. Her legs had turned to jelly but she stepped up beside her brother and locked her hands in the position she had been taught.
“Okay, your turn.”
Liam stepped aside and Emma took over and began the compressions, surprised with the degree of effort it took. It was so different from doing CPR on the “Resus-Annie” dolls, the mannequins on which they practiced. She concentrated on each compression, hoping she was doing it correctly.
“Good job. It helps if you count out loud too,” Liam said.
Emma shot him a grateful look.
“Your timing is good, but you could go a little deeper.”
Within minutes her arms were tiring and she felt Liam nudge her hip. “Time to swap, sis,” he said.
She didn’t want to admit she was tired, but she stepped aside to let him take over. They continued for a further ten minutes, swapping regularly until it was apparent to everyone in the room the woman wouldn’t make it.
“Everyone stand down. I’m calling it.”
Like a scene from the movies, everything went into slow motion as people stepped back from what they were doing with defeated expressions. Gloves were peeled off and discarded in the trash as staff slowly left the room. Emma gazed around at the mess.
“You did a terrific job,” Liam said. “First time?”
Emma nodded and squeezed her eyes tight. Liam draped an arm over her shoulders.
“She was probably already gone ten minutes before we got here.”
Emma wasn’t sure whether that reassured her or upset her more. She dragged her eyes away from the dead woman.
“Are you saying CPR wouldn’t have made a difference to the outcome?”
“Probably not, but we still had to try.” Liam touched her arm. “How about we have coffee one day this week? I reckon you could use a debrief.”
“I’d love that. I’m free on Sunday if that suits you.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you at eleven. My shout.”
Liam strode off, the reflective patches on his uniform catching in the light as Emma stared at his departing back.
*
Emma was running late for her catch up with Liam. She had to circle the block three times before securing a spot near the entrance to the laneway where Joel’s café, the Bean Counter, was hidden. The café’s outdoor area was packed, everyone lured by the fresh air and sunshine.
Before doing her nursing degree Emma had worked full time at the café, and though she no longer worked there and hadn’t been back as often as she wanted, it felt like a second home. Joel still owned the café, but employed managers to run it because Eagles Ridge Farm now took up most of his time. The managers were a pair of big-bearded hipster baristas who had moved up from Melbourne for a tree change.
The aroma of freshly ground beans greeted her as she clip-clopped over the cobblestones. Outside the café, every table and chair was taken, full of the Sunday morning brunch crowd. People were reading newspapers at a leisurely pace as food and drinks were brought out to the tables by busy waitstaff.
She spied Liam waving to her from a table in the open window and she waved in return. Riders had lined their bikes three abreast against the wall opposite the café. Four tables had been dragged together and these were filled with MAMILs – middle-aged men in lycra. Many had removed their bike riding shoes and were sitting at the tables in the sunshin
e, drinking lattes in their socks and eating large plates of bacon and eggs. Did they not realize they were eating all the calories they’d burned off on their bike ride?
“Hi.” Emma greeted her brother with a quick hug when she finally managed to maneuver her way through the tables of riders to get inside. “It’s so busy.”
“It’s been like this for months, since the new managers started. It was a good idea of Joel’s to hang onto it.”
“Looks like they still make a decent coffee,” Emma said, glancing around her.
“I get the hint. What can I get you? Latte?”
“A cappuccino would be lovely thanks.”
“Would you like anything to eat?”
“No thanks. I had brekkie not that long ago.”
Liam looked at his watch. “Well if you don’t mind, I’m going to order something to eat as well.”
Emma laughed. “Go ahead. It must be at least an hour since you last ate.”
“Two,” Liam said with a grin. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you? They make these amazing focaccia things.” Liam pointed to the specials board.
“All right, perhaps a piece of raisin toast please.” Emma bent down to retrieve her handbag from the floor.
“I said it was my shout. You can pay next time.” He smiled and in two strides was at the counter placing their order.
Emma gazed around the small space and felt herself relaxing. She loved it here.
Liam returned. “So what’s news? How’s Tom?”
“Wow, nothing like leading gently.”
Liam had the decency to laugh. “I’m your brother, I’m allowed to speak to you like that. So come on, spill the beans. I know you’ve been seeing lots of him because Mum says you’re rarely around, but you’re still living at home so obviously you haven’t moved in with him yet. What’s the story? Is it a friends-with-benefits thing?”
“No. We’re just friends. No benefits.”
“Why’s he holding back?”
Emma let out a puff of frustration. “I wish I knew.”
“Have you asked him?”
Emma sighed. “Yeah of course I’ve asked him, because that’s a conversation I want to have. So Tom, why won’t you have sex with me?” She laid her head in her hands and mumbled, “That is not going to happen.”
Life Support: Escape to the Country Page 22