What Matters Most

by Dianne Maguire

  PS: I took your advice and today is Molly’s first day in doggy day school. No separation anxiety for her … but it will only be for a couple of days, before we spend Thursday and Friday on the coast.

  At last she could get back to work, she thought, breathing a deep sigh of relief as she entered the familiarity of the Emergency ward: the children’s cries and struggles to avoid terrifyingly foreign treatments; stoic or hysterical parents, the former’s soothing voices invariably at odds with the worry etched on their faces; medical staff scurrying quickly and confidently like beetles across the floor, hovering over their patients with that reassuring calm only the very best of doctors can consistently deliver regardless of what faces them, regardless of how fatigued they may be.

  It was during a quick coffee break at the admin desk that Mia saw the missed call. The message brought a frown as she slipped into a vacant treatment room and nervously closed the door, searching her mind for a feasible reason as to why the Fleurieu police would be calling her.

  ‘Hello, this is Mia Sandhurst. I’m returning your call,’ she said, surprised by the tremor in her voice.

  ‘Hello, Dr Sandhurst,’ a pleasant, relaxed voice said on the other end. ‘I believe you have found a female golden retriever.’

  Mia’s heart plummeted. She would not have been surprised, if she had looked down, to see her loose heart flapping and beating furiously on the blue carpet at her feet. ‘Yes. that is correct,’ she answered.

  ‘I am not sure if you were aware, but there was a road fatality about five kays from Ackland Point the same day you found the dog.’

  ‘Yes, I was aware,’ Mia said recalling a conversation with Daniel, ‘but no one said anything about a dog.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the officer said. ‘But the deceased’s daughter has just arrived from interstate and has advised us that the deceased person had a golden retriever. We believe the dog may have been involved in the accident. The descriptions are the same. We need to determine if they are the same dog.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The dog I found had no obvious injuries or signs of trauma,’ Mia said, suddenly recalling when she had stopped Molly on the beach and had knelt to pat her that the whites of her eyes had been glaring at her — like those of a steed about to go into battle.

  ‘Nevertheless, we need to know for certain because the dog is someone’s property.’

  Mia felt jammed into a corner she could not fight her way out of. With gut-wrenching reluctance she admitted to herself that she had no choice but to surrender. ‘I understand. I shall be on the Fleurieu again later this week. Is there an address where I can drop her off?’

  The officer gave Mia an address of a house on the opposite side of the Peninsula. It was 40 kilometres out of her way. But it was preferable to handing her beloved Molly over at the front door of her own house, which to Mia had become Molly’s real home.

  ‘Stay hopeful, Mia. It may not be Molly,’ Declan said, patting her hand later that day over lunch in the cafeteria.

  ‘I think I have to face the likelihood that it is,’ Mia said. She sighed and pushed her empty coffee cup away. ‘She is obviously a much-loved family dog. It’s only right that she go back to where she belongs.’

  ‘You’ll have to get another one,’ Declan said.

  ‘You’re so glib, Declan. It wouldn’t be the same. No, I shall just enjoy the time I have left with her. How is Rachel doing with her therapy sessions by the way?’ Mia said, searching for a strong enough diversion.

  ‘Same as when we last spoke. Her second appointment is this afternoon. And you know I can’t tell you anything, Mia, because Rachel is now my patient,’ he said lifting his chin.

  ‘Okay, Declan. You don’t need to get uppity about it. It’s just that I’m doing some research for Rachel about entry into med school and was thinking about dropping in to see her when I’m on the coast later this week. I just wondered how I should expect to find her.’

  ‘You should expect she may be withdrawn and perhaps still hypervigilant. It is, after all, only early days. But I am certain she will be very pleased to see you.’ He hesitated. ‘Um, you’re off to the coast then?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. Mia thought having Declan visit was appealing, but not as appealing as having Noah join her. She decided she should leave the weekend open in case he rang.

  ‘I won’t ask,’ Declan said, lifting a knowing eyebrow.

  ‘No, it’s better if you don’t,’ she smiled.

  ‘Oh — I almost forgot,’ she said, turning to Declan at the cafeteria door as they were on their way out. ‘Eric is back in town. He and Lucinda are finished.’

  Declan’s jaw dropped. ‘Mia, I cannot believe you are telling me this as an afterthought. That is gigantic news.’

  ‘Not to me,’ she replied.

  The sky was the colour of dark ink when Mia left the hospital, heralding a cold spring evening. The prospect of taking Molly for a walk tonight did not fill her with joy, so she hoped the dog would be mellowed out and thoroughly exhausted after her busy social activities at doggy daycare.

  But Molly seemed even more stimulated and energised than usual. Panting with excitement she jumped into the car without prompting and settled into her usual position on the front seat, her brown eyes aimed ahead, supremely confident there would be something exciting to observe on the way home. At the first set of traffic lights, Mia leaned over and ruffled the mane on her neck. ‘I’m really going to miss you. Your family wants you back. That means we will have only one more day together.’ The dog gave Mia a lingering glance, her characteristically pink tongue lolling to the side, before she turned back to gaze at the activity beyond the front window.

  Gloom seemed to gradually descend on Mia over dinner, so by the time she poured a glass of wine and curled into the armchair with her novel, she felt as though she’d been wrapped in an emotional and sexual straightjacket. With her novel lying unopened in her lap she watched the mesmerisingly serene flames flicker in the fireplace and admonished herself for not being harder on Eric last night. She wished the reality away to have the night happen all over again; if so, she would simply demand that Eric leave so that she and Steve could spend what was certain to have been a raunchy fun-filled night together. Instead, she was left feeling empty and unsatisfied and, above all, unloved. And even worse, she had found herself expending the valuable energy she should have been using in other more satisfying ways on soothing her pathetically immature ex-husband’s heartbreak. And after Molly left the day after tomorrow, another dimension of her new life would be ripped away practically before it had started.

  The subsequent thought that Adam would be home soon cheered her, but there was no clarity about when that would be. Her sadness filling her like lead, she thought of Noah’s conspicuous absence. It was obvious her impression that their date had gone well was yet another example she was transgressing into a permanent state of delusion. ‘You’ve lost it, Mia. Just face it,’ she mumbled, climbing out of the armchair and dragging her feet to the bedroom.

  The next morning Molly pushed through the door of the dog yard and ran along the grass to sniff and greet the handful of other dogs present. A Doberman pawed compulsively at his reflection in the water-filled plastic shell and Molly stopped to watch. Mia stood by her, melancholy rising at the knowledge this would be the last day they would enter the doggy playschool together. The dog carer in the green polar fleece sauntered over as he did every morning but before he had a chance to issue Mia with his usual morning greetings she told him, ‘Unfortunately, the police have found Molly’s owner, so we won’t be back after today.’ She watched the smile slip from the carer’s face.

  ‘That’s bad luck. You and Molly seem made for each other,’ he said.

  Her throat filling with what felt like expanding cheese, Mia nodded fleetingly and turned towards the gate, anxious to get away from this sadness and back to the distractions of her work.

  Rachel Hooper stayed firmly in Mia’s mind all morning, des
pite the prospect of Molly’s imminent return home, and the frantic pace of the Emergency ward. During her lunch break, Mia buried herself in an upholstered armchair secreted in a quiet corner of the staffroom and dialled the number, the view of the parklands evoking a modicum of peace as the phone’s rings echoed in her ear.

  ‘Hello, Annie. This is Mia Sandhurst.’

  ‘Hello, Dr Sandhurst,’ Annie Hooper said, obviously nonplussed.

  ‘I’m coming to the coast and I wondered if it would be okay to call in and visit Rachel.’ The silence at the other end of the phone prompted Mia to continue by dint of explanation. ‘She and I have talked about her studying medicine. And I know her teacher is very supportive. I have done some research and thought she may find it interesting.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. Rachel hasn’t been the best since she came home from hospital. She saw Dr O’Leary yesterday and is still not that great in herself. She stays in her room, day in, day out. Perhaps if she knows you are coming it will cheer her up. What day would you like to visit?’

  ‘Would tomorrow afternoon be too soon?’ Mia said.

  ‘I’ll take the phone to her and you can ask her yourself. Just hold on a moment please, Dr Sandhurst.’

  Mia listened to the sound of Annie’s breathing and her echoing footfall. A few muffled words between Rachel and Annie were followed by a weary, ‘Hello.’

  ‘This is Mia Sandhurst, Rachel. I’ve collected some information about med school. I thought I’d drop the folder in tomorrow. How does that sound?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to study medicine anymore.’

  Mia was horrified at hearing Rachel’s words. Never had she imagined the teen would give up the dream that had carried her through such hideous times. ‘Well, there’s certainly no obligation if you’ve changed your mind. But why don’t I call in tomorrow and leave the folder of information with you. You don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to. Just keep it in case you change your mind.’

  Mia slowly packed Molly’s brush, her new bed, the leftover kibble, her new leather lead and the mountain of soft toys that had accumulated through Mia buying something for Molly every time she went shopping. Even the spring sunshine she could see shimmering on the grevilleas outside the bars of the undercroft and the endless chirping of the New Holland honeyeaters as they swarmed brazenly in and out of the shrubbery in search of mates and nests did little to cheer her. She watched solemnly as Molly jumped into the car for their dreaded drive to the coast.

  The western side of the coast was as beautiful as the east, but today she had no interest in appreciating what it had to offer. Molly sat in the front as usual and surveyed all there was to be seen, and then suddenly decided to squeeze through to the back and stretch out, her gentle snores audible within minutes.

  Yet once they were close to the address provided by the police Molly sat up, looked out the window and jumped into the front seat again. Began to whimper. By the time Mia had pulled up outside the house, Molly was crying and anxiously scratching to get out of the car.

  Mia bent to peer out, immediately taken aback by the derelict stone and faded timber cottage with the rusted roof and forsaken garden. But it was abundantly clear that to Molly, this was home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The sunlight squeezed through a tiny crack between the blinds and burned into Tim’s eyeballs like a laser. His mouth felt as though a cow had shat in it. And swallowing felt like he was forcing down crushed glass. ‘Jeezus,’ he groaned, pulling the doona over his head.

  His own breaths echoed and pounded in his head like a hammer and anvil as he searched for recollections. But there were only snippets — like a collage of scenes from a silent movie. The last thing he remembered was Jack wordlessly helping him into the front seat of his car. And before that there had been a lively discussion with his mates about every aspect of the district grand final. He remembered having a conversation with Jack, but he could not remember the content. ‘Oh shit,’ he muttered when it finally hit him. Groaning long and hard, he rolled over and buried his head under the pillow. The vision of Jack suddenly turning white, his jaw dropping … Tim stabbing him in the chest with the joyous news they were father and son.

  His clothes were neatly draped over his chair. In a sudden panic, he swung his legs out of the bed and looked down, sighing with relief to see he was still wearing his jocks. He sat with his head in his hands. Summoned the energy to stand and it was then that the empty void hit him — the gnawing grief of losing something potentially great in Ellen, before it had really started. With blistering passion he had thought she was going to be the one. But it seemed evident he was doomed to a life of celibacy.

  The shower helped. Felt like being wrapped in a liquid curtain of warm velvet. But bending made his head fit to explode. And his throat had closed over to the extent it was impossible for him to swallow. He squinted into the mirror. ‘You look like shit,’ he told his reflection.

  ‘Where’s Ben,’ he said to Annie, who was on her knees cleaning the oven.

  She pulled herself to her feet and washed her hands at the kitchen sink. ‘He’s playing at the Bollens’ house.’ Annie studied his face. Wiped her hands. ‘Did you have an interesting night?’ she said, jutting her chin.

  Tim shrugged and took a mug down from the cupboard. ‘It was okay. Coffee?’ he said to Annie.

  ‘No thanks. Tim, I know you told Jack the news. He helped me put you to bed. Then we had a lovely long talk. What did he say when you first told him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. But I do remember him looking a bit shellshocked,’ he said, filling the jug.

  ‘Well, I got the impression it’s still sinking in for him. But I’m glad you both know at last,’ she said. She looked blank for a moment before bending to the oven again.

  Yeah, I only wish you’d had the guts to tell us both sooner, Tim thought, gritting his teeth as he took down the medicine box and rifled through it.

  ‘Headache?’ Annie said.

  ‘Yeah, and have we got anything for a bad throat?’

  Annie pushed him out the way and searched through the box. ‘These will help, but let me have a look.’ She reached around for a teaspoon and gestured for Tim to open his mouth. He watched her face come closer and her eyes narrow as she depressed his tongue with the teaspoon and peered into his mouth. ‘It looks like Hades in there, Tim. I’m going to ring Doc Shepherd.’

  Tim pulled up outside the doctor’s sandstone house on the main road and entered through the open front door, his boots clunking along the timber floor of the passage. He had been visiting Doc Shepherd in the same house, with the same two front rooms sequestered as consulting rooms, since as far back as he could remember. The brown and orange swirled carpet seemed to jump up at him as he wandered into the waiting room and took a tattered magazine from the low coffee table. He surveyed the row of empty timber chairs lining the primrose-yellow walls and chose the one closest to the reception desk, which was empty today given Doc Shepherd had agreed to see Tim as an emergency appointment.

  The encumbered trudge of footfall along the timber passage soon gave up Doc Shepherd in carpet slippers, loose brown trousers and a brown cardigan with vinyl patches on the arms.

  ‘Come in, Tim,’ he said unlocking the door opposite and stepping in without a glance in Tim’s direction. He gestured wordlessly for Tim to sit in a straightbacked leather chair at his consulting desk while, shuffling and stooped, he slowly bent to switch on a bar heater before completing the journey to the other side of the desk, all but collapsing in a large swivel chair when he finally made it.

  Meanwhile, as if by habit and because it was the only thing to look at in the sparse room apart from Doc Shepherd himself, Tim surveyed the line of anatomical models along the windowsill. He had always found the plastic heart and male pelvis more interesting than the spine and the brain and derived comfort from knowing he still felt the same way.

  ‘You’ve had a bit of excitement in t
he family, I hear,’ Doc Shepherd said, rolling a pen between his hands and looking over the top of rimless glasses. ‘How’s your sister? Is she getting some professional help?’

  ‘She’s seeing a guy called Declan O’Leary in the city.’

  ‘Yes, I know of Declan. Your sister is in very good hands. And what about you? Your mum reckons you have a bit of a sore throat,’ he said, poker-faced.

  Tim nodded and Doc Shepherd dragged himself out of his chair. ‘Let’s have a look.’ He shuffled around the desk. Prodded at the glands under Tim’s jaw. Took a tongue depressor from a jar on the corner of his desk and told Tim to open his mouth and say, ‘ah.’

  Tim watched the white bristles of Doc Shepherd’s eyebrows, his watery eyes moving closer behind smeared glasses. Then studied them in close up until the doctor pulled away again uttering a deeply thoughtful ‘mm’ and tapping under Tim’s chin as a signal he could close his mouth. He threw the depressor in a pedal bin and made his way behind his desk with achingly slow progress once again.

  The doctor wordlessly set about writing notes before saying, ‘Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Tim?’

  ‘No,’ Tim said, puzzled by the way he posed this question.

  ‘You’ve grown to be a good lad. Seems only yesterday your mother was sitting right there, where you are now. Such a pretty little thing … she was hardly more than a baby herself. Her smile when I told her you were on your way would have warmed even Satan’s heart. I knew straightaway she was going to be a good mother — despite the odds,’ he said, tearing the prescription from the pad and handing it to Tim.

  ‘The odds being Peter Hooper, you mean,’ Tim probed shamelessly.

  Doc Shepherd shrugged. ‘Yes, I guess that is the essence of what I mean. It’s a difficult task — warning your patient against personal choices when your opinion is based on information that may possibly be tantamount to Chinese whispers.’

  Tim understood perfectly the constraints placed upon a family doctor and was precisely aware of what the doctor was cryptically alluding to. ‘You mean how his mother committed suicide and his father turned out to be a convicted paedophile,’ he said.