Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  He stopped and turned to me, his eyes wild. ‘I mean that, Nell. Get back.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ My voice was high and frightened.

  ‘Please do what I say. Get away, back to my car.’ He sounded almost hysterical.

  Terrified, I did what he said, running back to stand beside the car, wanting to cry. Wanting Johnny.

  The picket came loose and I saw him pull a large handkerchief out of his pocket, shake it out of its folds and tie it around his face, covering his mouth and nose. Then he pulled the doors open wide, one after the other. The car was inside and Johnny was lying just inside the doors. I thought my heart had stopped, until I saw him move. Arthur bent to touch his shoulder and said something to him before quickly going to the car. He opened the driver’s door and leaned inside. Then he returned to kneel beside Johnny.

  When he straightened, I saw that he had an arm around Johnny and was helping him to walk unsteadily out of the garage. Johnny was clumsy, floppy, and Arthur was sagging under his weight. When they were some distance from the shed I ran to meet them. I took Johnny’s other shoulder as Arthur shrugged him slowly to the ground. Johnny lay there, eyes open but unseeing. His face was bloody and bruised. Arthur fell to his knees beside Johnny, coughing and gasping.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked Arthur frantically. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘Carbon-monoxide poisoning. Even after the car is switched off, the gas is produced for some time by the charcoal burner, especially if the electric blower is left on. I’ve just turned it off. In an enclosed space the gas builds up quickly. Odourless, of course. And deadly.’

  Deadly. The word seemed to hang in the air around me.

  ‘Look after him,’ Arthur said, glancing back at the shed. ‘He’s still conscious, thank God. For now he needs to breathe in the fresh air, but he’ll need oxygen as well – we’ll need to get them all to a hospital. Johnny must have been able to get some fresh air from the crack under the doors. The Buchanan lads seem to be worse; they’re both unconscious.’ He slowly got to his feet. ‘I’m going to drag them out.’

  He ran back into the garage with a loping sort of gait. I sank down onto the grass beside Johnny’s side and cradled his head on my lap, rubbing his forehead gently. His face was a bright cherry-pink and his breathing was fast and shallow. He seemed to be in pain, and as he lifted an unsteady hand to his forehead, his gaze was unfocused. He tried to speak, but the words were so slurred I couldn’t understand him.

  ‘Nugget and Paul Buchanan attacked you,’ I told him. ‘They brought you here, but someone closed and barred the doors and the gas from the car overcame you all. Don’t try to talk, darling. Breathe as deeply as you can.’ He seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness.

  Arthur appeared at the garage door dragging Paul along by the arms. I left Johnny and went to help him, then watched anxiously as he went back into the shed to get Nugget. Arthur’s face was a picture of utter exhaustion by the time we had dragged Nugget over to his brother.

  ‘Are they alive?’ I asked Arthur. Johnny was still barely conscious.

  Arthur had a worried frown on his face. ‘They’re still breathing, but I don’t know much about carbon-monoxide poisoning. I’m trying to think what to do. Trouble is, I can’t fit them all in my car. It’s really a two-seater – the back seat is tiny, but you’d fit. I’m thinking it would be best to put Johnny in the car and drive him to Hollyoak Sanatorium, where there are doctors. It has a fully equipped infirmary and it’s very close – just a couple of miles down the road. I can send an ambulance back for the others.’

  ‘Could you fit Johnny and Paul in the car?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think we need to get them to hospital. Quickly.’ I could hear the panic in my voice, and forced myself to calm down. ‘Take Johnny and Paul. I’ll stay with Nugget.’

  ‘But, Nell, someone locked them in the shed. You thought that you saw someone run away. What if they’re still here?’

  Does he think I’m not aware of that? But I couldn’t justify to myself delaying treatment to Paul. What if he died because I was afraid? I had little sympathy for Nugget, but Paul was only eighteen.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I don’t think that I’m in danger.’ I wished I meant it. ‘Arthur, there’s no time to lose. Let’s get Paul and Johnny in the car.’

  With some difficulty we managed to pull Paul between us to the car, and after Arthur lowered the canvas top we pulled him into the small back seat. He was still unconscious. Johnny was able to walk, leaning heavily on us both, and we eased him gently into the front passenger seat. He was breathing very shallowly and seemed to be in terrible pain. His face was still bright pink in colour.

  Arthur looked at me with real sympathy as he started the car. ‘I know you want to come too – it’s brave of you to stay here. Johnny will get the best treatment they have. Pray for him, and for the other two if you feel that you are able. It’s all we can do.’

  So I stayed with Nugget, watching with near despair as Arthur drove out of the yard. I sank down onto the grass. Nugget’s face was the same cherry pink that the others had been and his breathing was also very shallow.

  Rather than dwell on the possibility that he might die while we waited for the ambulance, I thought about what had happened. It made no sense. Why would the Buchanans bring Johnny here? Just so they could assault him in private? The most important question, though, the one I was trying hard not to brood about, was who barred the doors? I looked around anxiously, but the yard was very quiet and very empty. Apart from a few birds that twittered as they flew from tree to tree, nothing stirred. It was also very cold. The ground was wet and my skirt was soaked.

  My mind returned to what we had found in the shed. How did whoever barred the door know that Johnny and the Buchanans were at this place? The boy at Bert’s house knew, but I couldn’t really see him shoving the picket into the door handles as a lark. Maybe the person who locked them in had travelled with them in the car. Mrs Carter hadn’t mentioned anyone else, but I hadn’t given her much opportunity. I could imagine that there would be a lot of people in the area who didn’t like the Buchanan boys. Or it could have been one of their stupid friends. Ginger Loew? Perhaps this was simply a prank gone horribly wrong. Maybe someone wanted to scare them and barred the doors without realising how dangerous it was.

  I shook my head decidedly. No. Rick’s death and now this – they couldn’t both be pranks gone wrong. If it wasn’t a prank, then someone wanted to kill the three of them. Why? I had a flash of understanding. If the person had simply waited until they were all dead, he could have removed the picket that barred the doors, and everyone would have thought it was a tragic accident, that the Buchanans were assaulting Johnny in the privacy of the garage when they were all overcome by the gas. That explanation made sense, but who would have done it?

  An ambulance was bumping down the driveway. It pulled up near us and an Army Medical Corps captain jumped out and ran over, closely followed by a corporal who was carrying a portable oxygen bottle with a face mask attached. He placed the mask over Nugget’s face, secured it, and turned a valve on the tank. The doctor checked Nugget’s pulse and listened to his heart. Then he looked at me. There was no smile.

  ‘My name’s Bacon, Miss Fitzgerald. Nasty business this.’ He twiddled the valve on the tank, watching Nugget’s flushed face intently as he did so. ‘Happens all too often with those gas burners.’

  I touched his arm. ‘Is Johnny all right? John Horvath? The American war correspondent?’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, I really can’t say.’ There was a quick, professional smile. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. Though CO poisoning can have lasting effects . . .’ He turned to the corporal. ‘Now let’s get this one loaded up and away.’

  I swallowed. Please, dear Lord, please let Johnny be fine.

  The two men lifted Nugget onto a stretcher that the corporal had retrieved from the ambulance and carried him to the ambulance. I
got in the front with the corporal, and we took off at speed for Hollyoak.

  As we drove along the darkening road, I thought about everything that had happened since I first met Johnny, only twelve days ago. Of course I was going to marry him. It was – what was that expression he’d used? – it was a lead-pipe cinch. I hadn’t expected to fall in love with an American, but life didn’t always turn out the way you planned. Sometimes you found your future sitting on a park bench, smiling a crooked smile that changed everything.

  We turned into a private road which became a circular driveway and there was Hollyoak Sanatorium.

  The ambulance parked near the front door and two orderlies wheeled Nugget inside on a stretcher. I followed. Once inside, it was clear that Hollyoak was a private home that had been requisitioned by the army. A small, utilitarian desk was set up in the hallway, just by the door, under an elaborate cupola. A young woman in a white nurse’s uniform was sitting behind the desk. I made a quick decision that I would tell everyone that I was Johnny’s fiancée, as I suspected that a mere colleague would not be allowed to sit by his bed. Besides, it was true.

  ‘The other men who just arrived with carbon-monoxide poisoning,’ I said urgently. ‘Are they all right? John Horvath – the American – he’s my fiancé.’

  She gave me a look of impersonal sympathy. I wondered if they were taught that look in nursing school, or if it came with experience.

  ‘He’s receiving treatment now in the infirmary. Are you Miss Fitzgerald?’

  At my nod she continued, ‘Dr Rountree asked if you would join her when you arrived. I’ll buzz her.’

  I was standing in a long, wide hallway, off which were five doors, three on the left and two on the right, all closed. The hallway ended at a double doorway made of frosted glass. This too was closed. Patches of brighter colour on the bare, dark green walls indicated that numerous large paintings had once hung there.

  The nurse pressed a button on the telephone on her desk and said into it that Miss Fitzgerald had arrived. The door nearest to the desk opened and Hilda appeared, her eyes soft with sympathy.

  ‘Come with me, Nell,’ she said. ‘We can only wait now, and you may as well wait in comfort. It’s a terrible thing that’s happened.’

  I followed her through the door into her office. Two leather armchairs faced a large oak desk. Arthur was seated in one of the chairs. He patted the chair beside him.

  I went over to him and sat down.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Hilda moved to a small cupboard on the other side of the desk. In it were bottles of various liquors, glasses and a soda siphon. I hesitated.

  ‘I’ll give you a small brandy,’ she said. ‘It will help.’

  The brandy was fiery hot and amazingly warming. Hilda was right. It did make me feel slightly better.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked, terrified of the answer. ‘Will he be all right?’

  Hilda regarded me levelly.

  ‘The only treatment we know for carbon-monoxide poisoning is the administration of oxygen,’ she said. ‘He’s receiving very high doses of oxygen via a mask now. Johnny is a strong, healthy young man. We’re confident that he’ll be fine. The fact that he was still conscious when Alfred found him is a very good sign. He’ll suffer from headaches for a while, though, and perhaps from other delayed symptoms.’

  She took a sip from her glass. ‘I’m afraid that they hold grave concerns for Nugget. His heart was weak already and the gas has weakened it further. Paul is also very ill.’

  ‘Can I see Johnny?’

  ‘I’ll find out. They want to transfer all three to Perth, but not until their conditions have stabilised. Johnny will be sent to Bethesda Hospital in Claremont, because he’s American and that’s where the Americans are treated.’

  ‘Hilda, may I use the telephone to call my aunt and let her know what is happening? She’ll worry if I’m not home soon and there’s no word.’

  ‘Of course. Arthur and I will go out on the terrace.’

  As they slipped through the French doors and stood overlooking the garden, I thought I saw Arthur take Hilda’s hand.

  Aunty May was horrified to hear what had happened, but relieved when I told her they thought Johnny would recover.

  ‘I’m going to marry him,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ she replied. ‘I’m very happy for you both. Come home when you can, I won’t wait up.’

  Ten minutes later I was ushered into the infirmary, still feeling warm inside from Hilda’s brandy. The large room had six beds arranged in two rows of three. The three beds along the wall to the right were occupied by Johnny, Nugget and Paul. They were all lying on their backs, hooked up to bags of saline via tubes in their arms and their faces were covered by masks attached to oxygen bottles. The Buchanan brothers appeared to be asleep, but Johnny’s eyes were open. I gave him a trembling smile, desperately trying not to cry. The skin around his eyes crinkled in response, so I knew that he was trying to smile. I walked over to him, sat in a chair next to the bed and took his hand. He seemed very weary and his eyes were half closed.

  ‘They tell me you’re going to have a terrible headache for the next few days,’ I said. ‘I can’t let you out of my sight, can I?’

  He squeezed my hand. Just that little exchange seemed to tire him and he closed his eyes and lay very still on the bed. There was a sound at the door and a nurse bustled in, carrying three syringes on a tray.

  ‘G’day,’ she said. ‘Are you Miss Fitzgerald, the fiancée?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Johnny’s hand squeezed mine. So now he had his answer.

  hey transferred Johnny to Bethesda Hospital an hour later and I rode with him in the ambulance. It was a long journey and his eyes were dull with pain by the time we arrived. He was transferred to a ward immediately and I was left alone in the waiting room.

  It was now close to nine o’clock, so I used the public tele­phone there to call Aunty May.

  ‘No matter what, I’m staying with him,’ I said firmly.

  The nurses had other ideas. They were all American and very confident, attractive and crisply efficient in their starched white uniforms and stiff white caps. I wondered if any of them had been with Johnny in the Philippines and if any of them had known Betty Simmons. I told them that I was intending to stay with Johnny, so I’d be there if he woke up in the night. They told me firmly that this was against hospital policy. But I could be very stubborn if I wanted, and I stayed put. Eventually they looked at each other, shrugged, and said that they’d go and get Matron.

  The matron was a stocky woman with an enormous bust jutting out like the prow of a ship. Arms folded and resting on the white shelf at her front, feet firmly planted on the wooden floor, white cap affixed to iron-grey curls, she looked me up and down in that way common to all people who are in charge of others.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Fitzgerald, but it’s not hospital policy to allow friends to stay with patients. You’ll have to leave now, but you’ll be welcome to return after nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  If it was a man I’d have let my eyes fill with tears and explain that the love of my life was ill and needed me. I doubted that would work with this martinet. So I looked her straight in the eye.

  ‘I’m staying,’ I said. ‘We’re engaged. He nearly died and he’s in terrible pain.’

  ‘You’re not staying, ma’am. It’s hospital policy.’

  ‘It’s only policy because you’re an American hospital and there are usually no relatives of the patients who live in Perth.’

  ‘You’re not a relative.’

  ‘I’m his fiancée, and I’m staying. Do you really want me to be dragged out screaming?’

  There was a martial look in her eyes which seemed to indicate that she wouldn’t mind at all. I decided to bring the big guns to bear and I aimed them straight at her.

  ‘I’m a reporter with the Marvel. All I have to do is to get my story in and the whole of Perth, including Rear-Admiral Fife and
the US Consul Mr Turner – who, I might add, is a personal friend of both me and Mr Horvath – will be reading about this “policy” to exclude loved ones from the bedside of patients. Important patients, like Mr John Horvath.’

  We had a staring match then. Her eyes were a bright blue, rather pretty really. Eventually she drew her eyebrows together in a fearsome scowl and almost spat out the words, ‘You can stay. It’s not because of your ridiculous threats, but because we all admire Mr Horvath and his work.’ I got a very unpleasant look. ‘I was with him in Corregidor, you know.’

  What did that mean? A thought came, unbidden, that she was one of the nurses he had romanced, and I had a strong urge to giggle. Instead I lowered my eyes meekly and said in a soft voice, ‘I’m very grateful. Thank you.’

  He was asleep when they showed me to his room, the mask still over his face. He was no longer that ghastly cherry-pink, but I felt just as worried about the grey tinge to his skin. I sat beside his bed and gently touched his hand. He didn’t wake, so I took his cold hand in mine and watched him sleeping until I fell asleep myself.

  I tumbled into dreams of being chased into Fremantle Prison by Nugget Buchanan, who seemed to have become at least twenty feet tall and I heard the sound of the doors being locked behind me, locking me in. I gasped, opened my eyes and raised my head from where it had been resting on my arms on the bed. Johnny was awake, so I put aside nasty dreams and smiled at him. The skin around his eyes crinkled and he gestured to someone behind me. I raised my head further and saw that a nurse was in the room, and it was morning. It had been the noise of her trolley on the floor that had awakened me.

  She undid the straps and removed the mask and there was my Johnny, face marred by a deep indentation that matched the outline of the mask. He gave me a tired smile.

  I looked at my wristwatch. Six thirty.

  ‘How’s the head?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘Like hell,’ he replied, and she picked up a syringe from the trolley. I assumed it contained morphine.

  He lay back on the pillow, his face drawn with pain. ‘Nell, you’ve got to get Munsie,’ he said slowly. ‘I need to talk to him right away. It was Kauffman.’