New Doc in Town / Orphan Under the Christmas Tree

by Meredith Webber

  The words rattled out, her uneasiness added to by the tension she could feel beneath her fingers, Tom’s muscles as tight as steel hawsers. But as she stood, desperate to escape the terrible atmosphere in the room—the atmosphere she had caused—he caught her hand and pulled her back and she landed in his lap, her face close enough to see the lines of tiredness in his face and read memories he didn’t want to think about in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, touching that ravaged face.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said, then he put his head down on her shoulder, slipped his arms around her body, and just rested there, holding her, until she felt his body relax and his lips, surprisingly, move against the skin on her shoulder in what felt like a kiss.

  He lifted his head—it couldn’t have been a kiss—and looked her in the eye.

  ‘Do you believe in fate?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, ‘well, not entirely. I don’t think every single thing in our lives happens for a reason, if that’s what you mean by fate.’

  ‘Neither do I, but with Bobby coming into our lives right now, I have to wonder.’

  Our lives? Lauren thought, but she didn’t query it out loud. Tom had something he wanted to say and she didn’t want to divert his train of thought, although ‘our lives’ had brought her tremors back again and, given that she was still sitting on his knee, the tremors were likely to get the wrong idea.

  ‘My parents and my older sister were killed in a car accident when I was six. I survived and was taken in by Children’s Services until a relative was found—a grandmother I’d never met because my parents had been cut off from their families. Cue violins for real Romeo and Juliet family feud scenario but they didn’t die tragically young, my parents. They lived on to have two children then died.’

  Lauren rested against him, wanting to hug him as she’d hugged Bobby, wanting to hug the six-year-old orphan Tom had been, but she held back, wary of distracting him from a story that sounded rusty, as if it was a long time since it had been told—if ever …

  ‘It didn’t work out with Grandmother, so Children’s Services were called in again—and again, and again, and again. I wasn’t the kind of kid foster-families liked—not quiet and biddable and appreciative of all they were doing for me. I was rebellious and loud and full of hate and denial. When I was fifteen I finally got lucky with some foster-parents who ignored all the horrible bits of me, and concentrated on some glimmer of good that no one else had found. Perhaps I hadn’t had it earlier, I don’t know. They were kind people—all of them were kind, in fact—but these two encouraged me to put all my anger and energy into my school work, hence the doctor you see before you.’

  Long pause.

  Should she break the silence?

  But how?

  Her mind had gone on strike back when he’d said ‘Grandmother’ and Lauren had envisaged a stern, upright woman who didn’t know how to handle a bereft little boy …

  A granny or a nana might have known—would have known for sure—but a grandmother?

  Unable to think of a single thing to say, Lauren rested against this man she’d never known existed inside the Tom she did know, and hoped her closeness might ease some of the pain this delving into his past had caused.

  He didn’t seem to object. In fact, his arms tightened around her and they sat in warm, comfortable silence, and maybe would have sat like that all day had Bobby not let out a yell from the bedroom, which sent her scooting off Tom’s knee and hurrying in that direction.

  ‘Hi, Bobby,’ she said as she walked into the bedroom, her heart aching as she looked at the sleep-rumpled little boy.

  ‘Where am I? Where’s Mum?’ he demanded, the Bobby Sims she did know coming to the fore, belligerence written in his face, anger in the taut lines of his slight body.

  Lauren crossed the room to sit on the end of the bed.

  ‘We’re at Dr Tom’s house, near the hospital. You fell asleep watching DVDs and he carried you here.’ She pointed to the rumpled duvet on the floor. ‘See, I slept beside you.’

  She inched closer up the bed, wanting to give him a cuddle but aware he was holding himself aloof from her.

  ‘The bathroom’s just along the passageway if you want to use it, then we might all have breakfast.’

  He bolted from the room but when he returned he took up his position on the far end of the bed again.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ he demanded, and Lauren knew she couldn’t put it off.

  She edged closer and took hold of his hand, and when he didn’t pull it away, she shifted close enough to put her arm around his shoulders. Inside, she felt nauseous. All the psychology training in the world didn’t help you tell an eight-year-old his mother was dead.

  ‘Your mum was underneath the stands when they collapsed. The doctors did all they could to save her but she’d been too badly injured and she died.’

  The punch surprised her, so his little fist slamming against her cheek sent her reeling backwards.

  ‘She is not dead! You’re telling lies,’ Bobby yelled, pushing at her now, slapping, thumping-hysterical. ‘She’s not dead, she’s not, she’s not!’

  Tom came in and grabbed the flailing child, holding him firmly, talking quietly.

  ‘We’re so sorry, Bobby, we really, really are. We know you loved your mum and she loved you, and although we can’t replace her, Lauren and I want you to know that you’re safe here with us and whatever happens, we’ll always be your friends and look out for you.’

  The words must have penetrated Bobby’s wild surge of grief, for the child went limp in his arms and began to cry, quietly at first but then with huge, wrenching sobs that tore through Lauren’s chest like heart pain.

  ‘Give him to me now,’ she said to Tom, who settled the boy on her lap so she could rock him in her arms, comforting him with soft words and soothing murmurs.

  Eventually he fell asleep, and she tucked him back into bed.

  ‘It’s an escape mechanism, sleep,’ she said as she joined Tom in the doorway. ‘I wonder if I can take advantage of it and go over to my place to get some clothes. I can call by the refuge and get his things—Oh!’

  She put her fingers up to her lips to stop any other ill-thought-out words escaping, and looked directly at her host.

  ‘You might not want us here. I don’t know why I was assuming we’d stay. Of course we can’t stay—when he wakes I’ll take him home. I might go over to the refuge and get his clothes, though.’

  Now Tom put his fingers to her lips, startling them into silence.

  ‘Do you know that when you’re uncertain about something you rush into words? Is it to do with your training, or is it natural? A way of thinking things through by letting it all flow out?’

  ‘I don’t do that!’ Lauren retorted, not sure if she’d been confused by Tom’s words or by the touch of his fingers on her lips.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do,’ he said, smiling at her in such a kindly way she thought her knee joints might give out. ‘And of course you’ll stay here. I’ve just promised Bobby that we’ll both look after him and you can’t break a promise to a child. So scoot off home and get your gear, but I’ve already phoned the refuge and someone there will pack up all of Joan and Bobby’s stuff and bring it here. Also some bike they know he likes to ride and a few books and toys.’

  ‘You did all that before I woke up?’ Lauren was getting the feeling that for all she’d thought them friends, maybe she didn’t know this man at all, although as he’d once been in Bobby’s position, maybe …

  ‘I knew they’d be anxious for news of what had happened, and I didn’t think it would be good for Bobby to go back there and see his mother’s things. We can leave them packed away for a while—I’ve plenty of storage room here.’

  Still bemused by Tom’s forethought, Lauren hurried into the bedroom she’d been allocated, pulled on yesterday’s clothes with some reservations, then came out, finding Tom in the kitchen.

  ‘How long wi
ll you be?’ he asked. ‘Twenty minutes or do you want longer?’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, ‘certainly not more than twenty minutes. I don’t want Bobby waking up and finding me gone.’

  Tom nodded at her, then smiled and said, ‘Breakfast in twenty minutes, then.’

  They were friends, nothing more, Lauren told herself as she hurried across to the hospital to retrieve her car. And the Bobby-situation had put them together for a while, that was all. Besides, of all the men in the world she shouldn’t get involved with, Tom headed the list. Tom was special, a great guy, an empathetic and clever doctor, a man who deserved the best of wives—something she doubted she could ever be.

  Before the gloom from that thought could take hold, she laughed at herself. How had her mind flitted from staying over at Tom’s while they got Bobby sorted to marriage?

  They weren’t involved, she and Tom, nothing whatsoever would be going on between them, except the well-being of a lonely little boy.

  The house, which had become as much of a home as houses he’d lived in ever could, seemed somehow lonely after Lauren left. Having seen her off, Tom wandered back into the kitchen, telling himself this was a fancy and as he was never fanciful, it had to be tiredness and letdown after the drama of the previous night playing tricks on his mind.

  The previous night! Could someone—this Greg fellow Bobby had mentioned?—have loosened the scaffolding some way? Could anyone hate another person so much they would risk killing many people just to get the one they hated?

  He opened the refrigerator door, pleased he’d shopped the previous day, so he did have bacon and eggs, and in the freezer some potato cakes that fried up like the hash browns served at fast-food outlets. Bobby would probably enjoy them, although when Tom had bought them, he’d been indulging his own weakness for the fried-up slabs of grated potato.

  But the idea of hatred had taken root in his head.

  Did he not understand hatred because he’d never felt it—not even for his cold, disdainful, uncaring grandmother? Did one need to know how to love in order to learn how to hate? He’d accepted long ago he didn’t understand love and was reasonably sure he’d never feel it. Not again! Not after losing his sister, his protector, the laughing, loving Jane. Much reading on the subject had confirmed his gut feeling that many children who grow up without being loved can’t learn to love in their adult lives.

  Not that he wanted love in his life—the screams of abuse his parents had been yelling at each other when the car had crashed thirty years ago still echoed in his head whenever the word was mentioned.

  He shook off the strange mood of introspection and pulled the makings of breakfast from the fridge, but once they were set out on the table, the memories sent him back along the passage, to look in on the little boy asleep on the bed, tear stains on his cheeks.

  ‘I’ll fight for you,’ he promised the sleeping child. ‘I’ll check out every damn relative the Children’s Services people produce and if you don’t like them, you’ll stay with me. We’ll cope, the two of us … ‘

  But even as he whispered his promise to the sleeping boy, he wondered if he could do it. If Bobby stayed with him then he, Dr Tom Fletcher, would finally have to learn to love, because he couldn’t let Bobby grow up as he’d grown up—fearing love, repelling any tentative advance of it, denying love, denigrating it …

  He rested his head on the doorjamb and sighed.

  ‘I can’t smell bacon.’

  He looked up to see Lauren at his front door. She had changed into a calf-length skirt, blue-green in colour, made of some light material that swirled around her legs. On top she wore a white tank top that showed off her tan, and framed there in his doorway she looked so lovely that for a moment he wished he had learned how to love.

  ‘Come on through. I was just checking on Bobby. Have you got bags to carry in?’

  ‘Bags?’ she teased. ‘I’m not coming to stay for ever. I’ve got enough in my tote to see me through a few days. Once Bobby’s sorted … ‘

  She’d reached him now and studied his face, frowning slightly. ‘We will get Bobby sorted, won’t we?’

  She was seeking reassurance, which was so unlike the Lauren he thought he knew that he hurried to give her the same promise he’d given the sleeping child.

  ‘Of course we will—properly sorted—no interim measures or temporary foster-homes or anything else. We’ve told him we’ll take care of him and we will.’

  He was pleased to see the tenseness in her shoulders ease, and felt a surge of excitement arc through him when she touched his arm and said quietly, ‘You’re a good man, Tom Fletcher.’

  It was pleasure at her praise, nothing more, but he moved away, aware he’d have to be very careful to avoid opportunities for touches while Lauren was staying in his house. He’d always been attracted to her, and as he’d grown to know her over time, he’d been pleased she’d refused to go out with him, because he knew his attitude to affairs left some women hurt and the one thing he would hate to do was hurt Lauren.

  Although with Lauren living in the house, perhaps …

  He muttered several swear words under his breath, ashamed where his thoughts had led!

  And as it turned out, he didn’t have to go out of his way to avoid touches as they’d barely finished a late breakfast when people began arriving. One of the residential workers from the refuge was first, bringing Bobby’s and Joan’s belongings and some toys for Bobby.

  ‘I’ll put Joan’s cases on the top of my wardrobe with other stuff,’ Tom offered, while Lauren comforted the worker, who’d been friendly with Joan.

  Mike came next, looking so worried Tom ushered him into a chair on the veranda so Bobby wouldn’t hear the conversation should he wake.

  ‘There’s evidence the scaffolding was tampered with on one side. Some of the pieces of the shaped metal, clamps and elbows and such, that hold the bars together had been loosened enough for the joints to give way.’ He paused and looked directly at Tom. ‘We were lucky the outcome wasn’t far worse. If you and Cam hadn’t acted so swiftly in getting people off the stands, I hate to think how many might have been killed. But getting back to Joan, a couple of people have mentioned seeing Greg Carter under there, but we can’t find him. We’ve put out an Australia-wide alert for his car, but it hasn’t been spotted either.’

  ‘What about relatives for Joan or Bobby? Have you got any further with that?’

  Mike’s shrug gave the answer. He turned to Lauren, who’d come out onto the veranda with a tray of cups and the coffee pot—refilled, apparently.

  ‘Do you have any details of family members in the file at the refuge?’ Mike asked her.

  Lauren shook her head.

  ‘Joan never mentioned anyone, but she wasn’t from the Cove. The refuge did have her aunt as a contact person, but I remember minding Bobby for her some time last year while she went to Sydney for the aunt’s funeral. We’d have a lot of Joan’s details—Medicare number, driver’s licence and maybe even her birth certificate. Do you want me to check what they have?’ Lauren told him.

  ‘No, I’ll call over there,’ Mike told her, ‘but getting someone to put a trace on her details on a weekend might be difficult. Are you two happy to keep the boy here today?’

  Tom saw the look in Mike’s eyes as he asked the question, sending it into the air between the two of them. It was a look that suggested another question was hovering in Mike’s mind—a question about whether the two of them were linked in some way.

  Seeing each other and keeping it quiet—at least until now!

  Small-town gossip was likely to link them anyway, if Lauren stayed on. Would it hurt her? Upset her?

  Lauren didn’t want to answer Mike’s question. After all it was Tom’s house, and he had promised earlier he’d make sure Bobby was okay, but as the silence lengthened she thought she’d better reply.

  ‘We’re happy to keep Bobby and we’ll take good care of him,’ she said, then felt her third b
lush in two days rising into her cheeks, because she’d linked herself and Tom together with that ‘we’, linked them as publicly as her staying on in Tom’s house would in the minds of the townsfolk.

  Red on the outside and cringing on the inside but it was too late to retrieve the words!

  ‘Good,’ Mike said, nodding, then adding, ‘Well, that’s settled,’ as if something more than Bobby’s immediate future had been decided.

  He’d no sooner departed than Jo arrived, announcing that she and Cam had called in at the hospital and she’d left Cam there talking to one of his patients who’d been admitted with severe lacerations to his legs.

  ‘And what’s this I hear about you two?’ she demanded, turning to smile at Lauren before she added, ‘Not content with borrowing the encyclopaedia, you’ve moved into the library?’

  ‘We’re minding a child, in case you hadn’t heard that part,’ Lauren told her, hoping she’d put enough ice into the words to prevent Jo taking her joke any further.

  ‘Bobby Sims, of course, and he’s definitely a two-man job—or a man and woman job.’

  The grin that accompanied the words told Lauren her ice had done no good at all. Jo was revelling in the fact that she and Tom had been thrust together.

  ‘Mind yourself,’ Lauren warned her friend. ‘One day you’ll take that step too far.’

  Jo chuckled, totally unabashed by Lauren’s scold, and turned her attention to Tom.

  ‘You look after this woman or you’ll have me to answer to,’ she told him.

  Tom knew it was nothing more than light-hearted chatter so why did the words resonate within him?

  Because he’d seen vulnerability in Lauren the previous evening, and it had disturbed him?

  Vulnerability in a woman he’d always considered totally together?

  Lauren, meanwhile, showing her more usual strength and determination and not waiting for Tom to reply, was telling her friend just where she could go and what she could do with her smart remarks.