by Amy Andrews
Joe cracked up. ‘You?’ He laughed. ‘Impossible. Even a wedding ring didn’t deter women. All you have to do is just sit back and let it happen.’
A few weeks ago he’d been champing at the bit to release a year’s worth of pent-up frustration but on D-day it now didn’t seem so important. The thought of picking up a stranger and taking her home left him cold. The only woman that preoccupied him these days was the one who sat in his staffroom all day with a bunch of figures and a pair of lips he was supposed to be forgetting about.
He took another sip of coffee. It was official—he had a thing for Dr Carrie Douglas.
Carrie arrived at work shortly after seven. She was hoping a few early starts would help her complete her investigation sooner. Even if it was just a day or two. That was one advantage of having a live-in nanny!
She placed the key she’d insisted Charlie provide for her in the front door, only to discover the centre all ready open. No clients were in yet but she could hear the murmur of voices from Charlie’s office.
‘Hi,’ she called, smiling at Joe and nodding to Charlie as she walked past his open door.
She ignored the flare of heat she’d seen in Charlie’s steady grey gaze. The same flare she’d seen that night they were supposed to be forgetting about. Heavens, how was she going to get through another fortnight of this insanity?
Her attraction to Charlie was getting harder and harder to ignore. Even at home, away from the centre, she was getting no respite—Dana made sure of that. Charlie was her newest favourite person and she hadn’t stopped chattering about him. Or his damn dukebox.
She was setting up her laptop when he waltzed into the staffroom.
‘How’s Dana?’ he asked, fixing himself another coffee.
Carrie gritted her teeth. The mutual admiration society was wearing thin. ‘Fine.’
‘Those sutures can come out at the weekend.’ He stirred his drink.
‘Yes, thank you, Charlie. I can count to five.’ She clicked on her file.
Charlie turned and raised an eyebrow at her as he leant back against the sink. ‘You can bring her in and I’ll take them out if you want.’
Did he not think her capable? ‘I know you don’t have a whole lot of faith in my doctoring skills, Charlie, but I’m pretty sure even I can manage to remove four sutures.’
What the hell? Something had put her knickers well and truly in a twist. No. Do not think about her knickers! ‘I know.’ He shrugged, sipping at his drink. ‘I just thought, you know…I’m going to be here anyway, and I thought she might enjoy another dance.’ He smiled, thinking about Dana’s dance style.
‘You’re going to be here?’
He nodded.
‘So, let me get this straight.’ She looked at him over her glasses. ‘You’re here at the crack of dawn until late at night. And weekends? Charlie, I hate to break this to you but you need a life.’
This from a woman who pretended she’d rather deal with piles of paperwork than minister to the sick and needy, a role to which she was so obviously suited. ‘You sound like Joe.’
She nodded and returned to her work. ‘I knew I liked Joe for a reason.’
Hearing her talk affectionately about his friend churned in his gut. ‘So, that’s a no to me removing the sutures?’
She gave him a you’re-interrupting-me look. ‘Yes. That’s a no. Look, thanks, but even if I wasn’t doing it myself, I hardly think this is the place for a kid to hang out.’
He felt another twist in his gut. She sounded just like Veronica. She looked untouchable again in her pinstripes and glasses. ‘But it was OK in an emergency?’
She heard the steel in his voice and saw his eyes turn icy. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking her glasses off. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. But you’ve got to concede I’m right. This place isn’t exactly Buckingham Palace. She’s four. Call me overprotective but I’d like to shelter her from this side of life for as long as I can.’
He straightened. He was so used to his colourful working environment he often didn’t see the grungy aspect. But he supposed that mothers had to worry about that type of thing. What the hell did he know about being a parent? ‘Of course, you’re right. I’ll let you get back to your work.’
Carrie watched as the door shut behind him. The end of her assignment couldn’t come soon enough.
Charlie sat in the chair while an efficient-looking woman with a severe hairdo and a twinkle in her eye extracted blood from the vein in the crook of his elbow.
‘Last one, love?’ she asked.
Charlie nodded. ‘Sure is, Liz.’
‘At least you’ll be able to get on with your life now, love,’ she chatted away.
Charlie nodded again. Liz was the second person to utter those words today. How many times had he thought them this last year? Getting the all-clear so he could bring his life off hold? Carrie’s words from earlier taunted him—you need a life.
He watched his blood pour into the blood tube. Infected by a deadly virus? Or not? A flip of a card. A roll of a dice. Is this what his life had become? You need a life. The words reverberated around his head. Liz unclipped the tourniquet and stuck some gauze at the puncture site.
‘Bend your arm up,’ she instructed unnecessarily.
Charlie did as he was told. You need a life.
‘Just a few more days now, Charlie.’
He stared at Liz.
You need a life.
Just a few more days now.
Did he really want to wait a few more days? He’d waited for three hundred and sixty-five of them. More, if he counted the numerous blurry years as his marriage had disintegrated and the divorce became final.
Did he want to waste one single day more? Suddenly everything crystallised in his head. He grabbed Liz by the shoulders and gave her a huge peck on the cheek.
‘No, Liz, today. Right now, today.’
He kissed her cheek again and practically sprinted out of the pathology clinic. He’d been feeling sorry for himself for an entire year. Putting everything on hold just in case. In case what? He had HIV? So what if he did? Was he just going to give up work? Take to his bed and wait to die? When he could have decades to live? Decades to make a difference?
Well, no more. Carrie had challenged him to get a life and that was exactly what he was going to do. Well…more of a life anyway. Starting right now. His brisk long-legged stride had him back at the drop-in centre within minutes.
He inspected the outside with a critical eye. It was looking old and worn, even though it had only opened five years ago. He’d been too busy keeping it running to notice how drab it looked and there was never enough money for luxuries such as paint anyway. That was about to change.
Charlie strode through the front door, ignoring Angela’s cheery hello. He headed for his office, opening the filing cabinet, found the ‘E’ section and flicked through until he found the expansion plans for the drop-in centre. He shook his head at his complacency—he should have filed them under ‘P’ for prat.
He left his office and marched to the staffroom with a single-minded determination he hadn’t felt since before his marriage had fallen apart. He crashed the door open and stood staring at a startled Carrie.
‘Charlie?’
‘I have something to show you.’
Carrie watched him move towards her, carrying a long roll of paper in his hand. She noticed the gauze at the crook of his elbow as he drew closer. Pills and now blood tests? Or maybe he’d given a blood donation? ‘I’m kind of busy…’
‘Oh, you’re going to want to see this.’ Charlie pushed some coffee-cups aside and laid the plans out flat in the middle of the table. He placed a mug on each corner.
Carrie recognised architectural drawings when she saw them. But of what? She sighed and removed her glasses. ‘Building a house?’
Charlie laughed, leaning over the plans and admiring them again for the first time in a year. ‘Better. I’m remodelling the centre.’
Carrie
stared at the plans. Was he mad? The centre was going under—big time. ‘These are…adventurous.’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’ Charlie straightened and pushed away from the table. He moved to the sink and flicked on the kettle. ‘For five years I’ve struggled to keep everything going on a shoestring budget. Offering limited services in an area that’s crying out for maximum support. And it’s not good enough. This idea…’he walked back to the table, leant over and poked a finger at his plans ‘…addresses all the areas that are sadly lacking at the moment.’
He pushed away again and paced back and forth, aware she was analysing the plans. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I want to be able to provide full-time legal advice and have a full-time counsellor. I want to be able to run a needle exchange and a methadone programme and have another doctor or two so we can really provide a top-notch service.’
He walked back to the table and braced his hands on the back of a chair. ‘I want this to be a one-stop shop to meet all this community’s needs.’
Carrie stared at him, moved by the passion in his voice. By the excitement that was evident in every bodily nuance. He obviously cared for this community enormously. He looked invigorated and very, very committed. His grey gaze was earnest. She’d never seen him looking sexier.
But she wasn’t paid to be swept away by passionate ideals, even if they were being delivered so eloquently by a man who had pushed her against a door and kissed her breath away.
‘And where will the money come from?’
‘The bottom line again, Carrie?’
She heard the disdain in his voice and saw the contemptuous curl of his lips. ‘Yes, Charlie, The bottom line. Sorry to be so boring but a project of this magnitude…’ she tapped the plans with a pen ‘…takes serious cash.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him that her investigation would probably lead to a recommendation of closure.
‘Once you’ve finished your financial analysis I’ll take everything to the hospital board. The plans and my ideas on funding them. This kind of project should attract a lot of monetary support from government, private and community sources.’
‘I don’t know, Charlie,’ Carrie said, her gaze returning to the plans. She chose her words carefully. ‘The drop-in centre is hardly a financial gold mine to start with. This will be a really hard sell.’
Charlie pushed away from the chair. ‘It’s a free clinic, Carrie. It’s not in our charter to make a profit.’
‘It’s not in your charter to lose money, either. If you do succeed in convincing them to do this, you’re going to need to keep your books better.’
Charlie grinned at her. ‘I’ll put a part-time bookkeeper in my proposal.’
Carrie shook her head as she watched him swagger out the door.
Charlie attacked the rest of the day with renewed vigour. He felt like he was starting afresh. The excitement he’d felt when he’d first had the plans drawn up returned. Formulating them shortly after his separation from Veronica had taken his mind off what had been happening in his personal life and he had worked on them day and night. Then a year ago his whole life had changed again in the blink of an eye, and he had put everything on hold. But no more. He intended to take his life back. No matter what it held.
An hour after Angela left for the day Charlie was at the front desk, looking for a file, when a young woman staggered into the clinic. She looked about seventeen and was clutching the two edges of her torn T-shirt together, one breast half-exposed. Her skirt was ripped, her face red and bruised, her bottom lip swollen and bleeding. She was sobbing and her mascara had run all down her face.
Charlie raced around the other side of the desk and caught her before she collapsed.
‘Don’t touch me, don’t touch me,’ she screamed at Charlie, struggling to free herself from his hold.
Charlie released her instantly. Everyone in the lounge and waiting area stopped and stared, the jukebox the only noise.
The girl didn’t look familiar to Charlie. ‘It’s OK. I’m a doctor. My name’s Charlie. You look hurt. What happened?’
The girl looked at him with fear and rage in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t stop him, he was too big.’
Charlie felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The girl had been raped. Damn it, he needed Angela! ‘Jordan,’ he said to the nearest open-mouthed teenager, ‘go and get Carrie.’
Jordan scuttled past quickly and hurried down the hallway to the staffroom.
‘It’s OK,’ Charlie said again to the frightened girl, ‘No one’s going to hurt you here. You’re safe now.’
Carrie strode briskly down the hallway, Jordan close behind. She arrived on the scene and stifled a horrified gasp at the badly beaten girl with wild eyes, her stance wary and agitated.
‘This is Carrie,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘She’s a doctor, too.’
Carrie felt the denial rise to her lips. No, no, no. She wasn’t here for this. Ever since she’d met Charlie he’d been dragging her into situations she didn’t want to be in. Had given up before Dana’s birth. But the wounded-animal look in the girl’s eyes called to something deep inside her, and she just couldn’t turn away from such a wretched soul.
‘How about you go with her and she sees to your injuries?’
Carrie looked at Charlie. The look in his eyes was almost as desperate as the girl’s. He needed her to do this for him, for this girl. But more than that, his slight nod told her he had faith in her. That she could do it. That she’d be OK.
Carrie took a deep breath and took a hesitant step towards the frightened girl, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go in there?’ She pointed behind her to the treatment room. ‘Then I’ll clean up your face.’
The girl swung her gaze from Charlie to Carrie. ‘I tried to stop him.’
‘I know,’ Carrie said gently, holding out her hand. ‘Come on, you’re safe now.’
The girl looked at Carrie’s hand and then back at Charlie and then back at Carrie. ‘I don’t want him,’ she said to Carrie, pointing at Charlie.
Carrie flicked a glance at Charlie. I do. At the moment she wanted his back-up and support more than anything. ‘No, it’s OK, just you and me. Just the two of us.’
The girl wavered for a moment and then nodded, walking warily towards Carrie. Carrie put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. She felt her flinch slightly. ‘It’s OK. Come on, not far.’ She led the girl to the treatment room, helped her up onto the examination table and turned to shut the door.
‘Find her some clothes,’ she said to Charlie, who was hovering outside.
He nodded. ‘I’ll give you a plastic bag to put her other clothes in. The police will want them for evidence. Wear gloves. I’ll get a counsellor from the rape crisis centre over and call the police.’
Carrie nodded and shut the door. She took a deep breath before she turned around to face the girl again. She’d had no experience with sexual assault victims.
She opened some cupboards against the far wall, looking for a dressing pack of some description to clean the girl’s cut lip. It also gave her time to think of how she was going to deal with the situation. To say she felt out of her depth was an understatement.
Carrie found what she needed and fussed over opening the pack and pouring some antiseptic liquid into one of the plastic pots. She placed it on the trolley and pushed it over, dragging the mobile stool as she went.
‘What’s your name?’ Carrie asked as she sat on the stool, the long-forgotten clinician inside her assessing the girl’s battered face.
‘R-Roberta,’ she said, her arms crossed across her torn T-shirt.
‘Hi, Roberta.’ Carrie reached down and pulled some gloves out of a box on the bottom of the trolley. ‘Would you like to get out of those clothes?’
Roberta looked down at her tattered and bloodied clothes and nodded her head.
‘I’ll have to bag them for the police, is that OK?’
‘The police?’
Carrie s
aw Roberta recoil. ‘Yes. You do want this man caught, don’t you?’
Carrie saw a host of emotions flit across Roberta’s broken face and feared that the girl was about to burst into tears. Then a hardness entered her eyes and her jaw clenched. ‘I want him to rot in a jail cell for ever.’
There was a quiet knock at the door and Roberta startled clutching at Carrie’s arm. Carrie covered Roberta’s hand with hers. ‘It’s OK. It’ll be Charlie with some new clothes.’
Roberta’s grip eased and she nodded at Carrie.
Carrie rose and opened the door. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Charlie, accepting the bundle he gave her.
‘How’s it going?’
‘OK…I think.’
Charlie nodded. ‘The counsellor and the cops should be here soon.’
‘Thanks.’ Carrie closed the door and went back to tend to Roberta.
Roberta winced as Carrie touched some gauze to her shattered lip. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.
‘Bastard punched me in the face. Twice. What gave him the right to do this?’ Roberta demanded. ‘Because I’m a hooker to put food in my kid’s mouth? I told him I was off duty but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
Roberta started to cry and Carrie felt helpless. Anger and revulsion raged inside her at the ordeal this girl had been through.
‘Do you remember what he looked like? Do you know him?’
Roberta sniffled. ‘I’ve seen him around. But what’s the point? They’re never going to believe a hooker crying wolf.’
Carrie didn’t know much about these things but a blind man could see that Roberta had been assaulted. ‘Let me feel your face,’ Carrie said, putting down the gauze now the lip had been attended to. ‘Tell me where it hurts.’
‘It hurts everywhere,’ Roberta said.
Carrie prodded gently around Roberta’s facial bones, looking for asymmetry and feeling for any obvious malformations or any signs of crepitis—bone rubbing against bone. There didn’t appear to be any teeth broken and her bite seemed reasonably aligned.