Children's Doctor, Meant-To-Be Wife

by Meredith Webber

  ‘See!’

  Grubby and Bruce were standing by the stainless-steel bench where fish were scaled and gutted. Beth had wondered whether small children needed to see this process but although most of the girls made noises of disgust, the boys seemed to love watching.

  ‘Wow!’ Beth said, for it was a truly wonderful fish. A pinkish red, with a high snout—exactly the kind of snout an emperor should have. ‘That’s a great fish!’ she told Sam. ‘Did you take a picture of it?’

  ‘Benita did and she sent it on her phone to my mum and dad and they texted back to say ‘Wow’ just like you did. Grubby’s going to cut it up and I’m going to give a piece to Lily because fish is very good for getting better when you’ve been sick.’

  ‘You’d better not leave it on the deck,’ Beth said, thinking of the flower.

  ‘Of course not, silly. Malcolm the cook will cook it ’specially for her, and he’s going to cook some for me and some for Benita and some for all the other kids. Would you like some?’

  Beth shook her head.

  ‘No, you guys eat it,’ she told him, ‘but thank you for letting me look at it.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m going to lunch now,’ Sam told her, and with that he took off, busy as ever, a little boy packing a lifetime of experiences into every day.

  Beth wandered back to her hut, not wanting to get into conversations about pyjamas or condoms with any of the staff or volunteers. She’d have a bowl of cereal for lunch, then catch up on some e-mails, maybe have a rest…

  It all sounded good but as she climbed the shallow steps to her deck she knew she was returning to her cabin in case Angus came, stupid though that might be!

  Immature as it undoubtedly was!

  But she did do busy things, keeping herself occupied until mid-afternoon when she heard the noises of the camp children returning along the beach from an exploration of the coral reef that was visible at low tide. Wearing thick-soled sneakers, they were able to walk in the shallow pools and enjoy the sight of the bright coral polyps and vivid waving tendrils of the sea anemones, watching small fish darting around and molluscs moving across the sand in search of food.

  She’d joined in the reef walks the previous week, marvelling at the life beneath the water. Now, peering out at where the little group chattered as they walked along the sand beside the translucent blue-green water of the lagoon, she was sorry she hadn’t joined them, while the sounds of their talk and laughter reminded her of the joy inherent in this job, and she found herself relaxing for the first time that day.

  So the scream didn’t mean much at first. Kids often screamed—with laughter or pretend fear, or sometimes for no conceivable reason at all.

  The second scream, though, was of pain and terror, and she took off, leaping her steps and racing to the beach, where she could see figures now huddled together.

  ‘Get the kids back,’ she said to Benita, who was kneeling on the sand beside a young boy—Sam! ‘Do you know what happened?’

  Benita shook her head.

  ‘He just screamed and fell down,’ Benita said, looking as puzzled as Beth felt.

  ‘Take the other kids back to the camp and phone the medical centre—tell them to send the medical cart.’

  Beth was holding Sam’s wrist as she spoke, feeling the fast beat of his pulse, but his chest was barely moving. Respiratory arrest?

  ‘I’ll take his towel,’ one of the children said, reaching for a bundled-up blue towel that had evidently fallen from Sam’s hand.

  Respiratory arrest!

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ Beth snapped, bending her head to breathe air into Sam’s lungs. ‘Just go.’

  She didn’t want to panic the children and hoped the urgent look she gave Benita would tell her to hurry.

  ‘Breathe, Sam,’ she prayed, settling her knees more firmly on the sand, then pinching his nose and breathing into his mouth again, short sharp bursts of air, head turned as she breathed in so she could watch his chest move as she filled it for him. Expired air, not good enough, but all she could offer until the cart arrived with oxygen.

  She counted and breathed and prayed they’d get there soon, counting, breathing, praying, warily eyeing the towel from time to time.

  ‘Respiratory arrest?’

  The voice broke her rhythm, then Angus was kneeling on the other side of Sam.

  ‘I’ll do the breaths, you take a rest,’ he said. ‘I saw the group near your hut. The emergency cart should be here before long.’

  Beth sat back on her heels and watched Angus for a minute, then she looked around, seeking a stick of some kind—a lump of driftwood, though not, this time, to hit Angus with it! Saw a piece a few metres away and went to get it, then, using it, she unwrapped the towel.

  ‘Damn!’ she muttered, and as Angus raised his head momentarily, she pointed the stick at the shell.

  ‘That’s a cone shell,’ a strange voice said, and Beth turned to see a tanned man in faded shorts and little else standing behind her. ‘Poisonous.’

  But Beth had no time to be chatting to strangers, although he had confirmed her thoughts. She knelt beside Sam again, remembering where the towel had been lying near his hand, searching his skin for a break where venom might have been injected.

  ‘Here!’

  It was on his little finger, and she reached across and pulled a handkerchief out of Angus’s pocket. Thank heavens he was a man of habit—of course there’d been one there!

  She wrapped it tightly around the finger, and then the hand, not certain what good it would do but remembering, when she’d studied all the dangers on a coral reef, that pressure immobilisation of the affected part was recommended.

  ‘Four hours!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Clinical recovery has been documented after four hours.’

  Angus glanced up at her, but she didn’t have her thoughts enough in order to explain to him.

  Besides, his attention had to stay on Sam, and on breathing for him.

  The cart arrived, and Luke jumped out. Beth used the stick to drag the towel, with the small, innocuous-looking shell on it, out of the way.

  ‘He’ll need to be bagged,’ she said, as Luke set up the oxygen tank and mask. ‘Assisted ventilation and a mild sedative—the pain must be what caused him to pass out, although not breathing wouldn’t help.’

  But as Luke slid a cannula into the back of Sam’s hand and prepared to give him the sedative, the little boy’s eyes fluttered open.

  ‘Hurts,’ he said.

  Beth held his bandaged hand.

  ‘I know it does, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘But just lie still and Dr Luke will make that better soon.’

  The eyelids drooped closed again and Beth looked around. Should they keep treating him here or transport him to the medical centre?

  ‘Do you think he’s stable enough to move?’ Luke asked, putting her thoughts into words.

  ‘Maybe stay here for a few more minutes,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see him breathing on his own but if he doesn’t then we’re better off in the medical centre, where he can go on a respirator.’

  ‘Good thing we’ve taken Susie off it,’ Luke said. ‘What happened?’

  Beth pointed to the shell on the towel, but although the towel remained, the shell had gone.

  ‘Cone shell. It was wrapped in the towel. A man was here, he knew it was poisonous so I suppose he took it to dispose of it. I saw him pick it up so he knew how to handle it. He should be safe. I don’t know them all by name but it looked like the geographus, which is the most poisonous.’ Luke looked surprised.

  ‘I was coming to work on an island where these things live—of course I looked them up. Irukandji jellyfish, seasnake, stonefish and cone-shell envenomation just to name a few. That innocent-looking shell is a cone shell. They shoot out poison through a toothed harpoon in the narrow end of the shell. My guess is Sam picked it up at the fat end and, because all the kids know you’re not to touch shells or plants or anything in the national park, he wrapped it
in his towel to hide it. It stung him through the towel, which should have further minimised the amount of poison that got into his body, but he’s small…’

  She stopped talking and started shaking, thinking how close a call it was for the little boy she’d grown so fond of.

  ‘He’s breathing on his own,’ Angus announced, and Beth looked down to see he was right. He’d stopped bagging and Sam’s chest was rising and falling naturally.

  ‘Let’s get him up to the centre,’ Luke suggested.

  ‘Sit in the cart, Beth.’ Angus kept his eyes on the child as he spoke. ‘I’ll pass him to you.’

  Had Angus seen her shaking?

  Not that it mattered. She climbed into the cart and watched as Angus lifted Sam gently and carefully, while Luke handled the oxygen bottle and kept the tube from kinking.

  Angus bent to put Sam in her arms and their eyes met, so many memories flooding back, so much history, so much pain and sadness flashing between them.

  She’d been mad to think they could go back—mad to think having an affair with Angus would give her special memories. More heartache, that’s all it would have given her…

  ‘The towel.’

  Thank heavens Angus hadn’t been distracted by a look between them.

  ‘The towel…’ She hesitated. ‘I’m concerned about the towel. I don’t know if the cone shell barbs detach, in which case one could be in the towel and still be potent.’

  ‘I’ll bag it and see it’s destroyed,’ Angus responded. ‘There’s a shop at the resort where we can buy Sam a new towel.’

  We?

  We sounded so good but Beth knew she shouldn’t give it any special meaning. It was only a figure of speech. It probably included Luke as all three of them had worked together to save Sam.

  But Angus had come over to the camp, presumably to see her—to talk…

  She could feel the tremors she’d felt earlier returning, but they weren’t relief this time.

  Stupid thinking!

  She held Sam carefully, talking to him, assuring him it would be all right, turning her thoughts resolutely away from Angus, thinking instead how weird it was that the scene that had played out only two days earlier with little Danny being driven up off the beach should be repeated.

  Although Sam would be all right, she was sure of that.

  Two hours later, feeling unutterably weary and with her shoulders tight from sunburn she’d suffered when she’d knelt on the beach, she made her way slowly back to her cabin.

  Settling Sam into bed had taken far longer than she’d anticipated and although Luke was in charge, she had stayed with the little boy, knowing he trusted her and wanted her near. Wanted her to hear his story, how he’d picked up the shell so he could show it to Lily because she’d missed the walk.

  Now, with the wound excised and dressed, and with a mild sedative dripping into his veins, Sam was sleeping and she was free—at least until eight when she was due on duty again.

  Her cabin was in shadow, the sun already down below the mountain, but not so deep in shadow she didn’t see the movement on her deck.

  She stopped, remembering the intruder who’d photographed her the night before, but as the figure stood up, she realised it was Angus.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you’d have gone back to the resort. I should have let you know I was delayed.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done anything. I knew you’d want to see Sam settled. He’s okay?’

  Beth nodded, stopped now at the bottom of the steps, not wanting to go up them—to get close to Angus.

  But she could hardly stand there for the next four hours and her shoulders were stinging. A hot shower might help.

  She came up the steps into the light and heard his oath, looked at him, puzzled, but he wasn’t looking at her face but at her shoulders.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Beth, of all the harebrained ideas I’ve ever heard, someone with your fair skin coming to live on a tropical island must be one of the worst. Get into the shower, stand under cool water—not too cold, you could go into shock. I’m going over to the kitchen and I’ll be right back.’

  He strode away—long, angry strides.

  So much for diamonds, Beth thought tiredly, unwinding her sarong as she made her way into the bathroom.

  Where she saw what Angus had seen—bright red shoulders!

  ‘Damn it all!’ she muttered, then she sat down on the toilet seat and thought about having a really, really good cry.

  The thought of Angus returning from the kitchen—why the kitchen?—and finding her with red eyes as well as red shoulders put paid to that idea, so she stood up again, started the shower, and did as he’d suggested—stood under lukewarm water, which felt so good she considered staying there.

  Until she heard his footsteps on the deck and knew she didn’t want to be naked when she saw him. Naked meant vulnerable—very vulnerable.

  She dried herself, patting the red bits gently, then wrapped a clean sarong around her body and walked into the living room. Angus wasn’t there. He was in the kitchen and, if she wasn’t hallucinating, he was peeling cucumbers.

  ‘Come in here and sit on the stool,’ he ordered, his voice suggesting she’d better not argue with him right now. ‘Let’s try this.’

  Totally bemused—by the cucumbers as well as this officious, bossy Angus—she went, and sat, then sighed with pleasure as cool inner flesh of the cucumber skin rested on her reddened shoulders.

  ‘I have no idea if there are any scientific benefits in cucumber skin, but once when I was five we had a holiday at the beach and I got sunburnt and my mother put cucumber skin on it.’

  Beth sat motionless beneath his ministering fingers. Even if she’d wanted to move, she doubted she could have, for in all the time she’d known him, Angus had never, ever, mentioned his mother.

  Let alone suggested the family had ever done anything as ordinary as having a holiday at the beach.

  ‘But as I was saying earlier, Beth, it really is the height of stupidity for someone with your fair skin to live in the tropics.’

  He was back to scolding her, yet there was a note of something she couldn’t quite put a finger on beneath the cross, hectoring tone.

  Something soft—fond almost…

  ‘And running away,’ he continued. ‘That doesn’t solve anything. We both did it, I know that.’

  He moved, taking fresh skins and putting them across her shoulders, flinging the used bits in the sink.

  ‘Didn’t talk. Stupid, really, because I knew where you were coming from with not talking—not about emotions—but with the way you were brought up, who could blame you? But me—well, you’ve met my father, know my upbringing. But you’d think intelligence should have made me realise how wrong he was.’

  Angus’s voice was softer now—far-away somehow—but nothing he was saying was making much sense, although Beth knew, deep down, it was important.

  ‘You’ve never mentioned your mother before,’ she ventured, and felt a piece of cucumber skin slide lower down her back.

  Heard Angus sigh.

  ‘Part of not talking,’ he said gruffly, moving the skin across her skin, pressing coolness against the heat. ‘They fought—that’s my only memory of them together—raised voices, bitter with recriminations and hot with accusation and counter-accusation. One morning, I was seven…’ His voice faltered and he held the cucumber firmly against Beth’s shoulder as if needing to hold on to her right then. ‘It was particularly bad. I stayed in my room until the last minute, thinking I could just dash out and up the road to school and not see either of them, but then my father left and as I headed for the door, I heard my mother crying in the kitchen.’

  Beth held her breath, not daring to move, wanting so much to hear the rest of the story—wanting even more for Angus to tell her, to talk to her.

  ‘I went in there and she tried to pretend she was all right, but her eyes were red and there were tears on her cheeks. I put my arms around her waist and
told her I loved her, then I went to school.’

  Long pause.

  ‘When I came home she was gone. I never saw her again.’

  Beth bent forward, holding her head in her hands—not crying, but in so much pain for Angus she could barely breathe. Then she stood up, forgetful of the cucumber skins, which cascaded to the floor around her, and moved towards the man who, pale and gaunt, faced her across the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, Angus!’ she whispered, and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest, feeling his hands tentatively settle on her waist. ‘Oh, Angus!’

  What else could she say?

  How could she explain the pain she felt for the little boy he’d been and for the man he’d grown into—the one who dared not say ‘I love you’ for fear of losing the recipient of that endearment.

  His chin rested on her head and she felt so comfortable and at peace it took her a moment to realise he was talking again.

  ‘It made me over-cautious about love, and as for expressing it—impossible! Then you were pregnant and we married and that’s when I should have said it, but you’d never mentioned love and I figured if I said something, I might frighten you away. I was so happy, Beth, and it seemed to me that you were, too, even without words. But deep inside where betrayal lived I couldn’t believe someone as alive and vibrant as you could love a dry, emotionless person like me. I had doubts…’

  He paused again, but Beth knew there was more, and she stayed where she was, in Angus’s arms, listening to him purge the past.

  ‘That was weakness on my part—and further weakness when you went into labour. I hated the thought of seeing you in pain, scared the words I hadn’t said to you would be torn from me, and I’d lose you, too. I let you down, not being there from the beginning at Bobby’s birth, but I let myself down even more when I walked away from you after Bobby’s death, burying myself in my work. When I didn’t argue. When I told myself it was what you wanted—that I was doing it for you—but if I’d been half the man I should have been, I’d have fought, Beth. Fought for your love, fought to win it.’

  The words brought not understanding but a thousand questions, and as comfortable as she was within the warm circle of his arms Beth had to move.