The Peppercorn Project

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The Peppercorn Project Page 17

by Nicki Edwards


  Had Issie overheard Mietta talking about her dad?

  ‘Goodnight, Matt. Thanks for giving me Nala. I love her.’ Mietta reached up on tiptoes and kissed Matt’s cheek. His heart burst.

  Ten minutes later Isabelle collapsed on the couch beside him. She curled her legs underneath her, hugged a cushion to her chest and closed her eyes. His arm lay across the back of the couch, and everything within him wanted to slide it down and across her shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry about the kittens, Issie. I should have asked you first,’ Matt said.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Why?’

  ‘I never stopped to think you might not want pets. I know they’re a big responsibility.’

  ‘But if you’d asked me first, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.’

  ‘Does that mean you like surprises?’

  ‘Hmm, it depends.’

  They were both silent, and for a while the only sound was the television. Matt had no idea what they were watching, he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Isabelle. He watched her face intently as she began to relax. She had a few tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks were flushed a natural pink tinge that matched her lips. He wanted to lean over and kiss them. She was an incredibly sexy woman, and yet so sweet and innocent. If Isabelle Cassidy had any clue the power she could have over any man, she didn’t wield it.

  Ever since his divorce Matt didn’t think he had a marrying bone left in his body. Now, looking at Isabelle, he realised his heart was thudding along to a different beat. She had caused a massive shift inside him. Day and night, he had trouble getting her out of his mind. There was something about her. He suppressed the impulse to dump the kittens on the floor, and pull her into his lap and kiss her.

  ‘I have news,’ she announced, opening her eyes and sitting up, breaking his train of thought.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I got a job today!’

  ‘Really?’ Now it was his turn to be surprised. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Nursing.’

  He shifted positions so he faced her. ‘I never knew you were a nurse.’ There was so much about her he still didn’t know.

  Isabelle nodded. ‘I haven’t worked for a long time, but Alison convinced me I’ll be fine. She wants me to job share at the clinic, and I said yes.’

  ‘Good for you. When do you start?’

  ‘Monday. It’s only two days a week to begin with.’

  ‘That’s brilliant news. I’m thrilled for you.’

  He genuinely was. It was good news for her, and good news for the town. Maybe Matt would be eating his words. At the rate Isabelle and the other families were fitting in, it looked like the Peppercorn Project would be a success, not the disaster he’d feared.

  Something else occurred to him. If Isabelle had a permanent job, it might mean she would stay in town permanently at the end of the lease.

  If he was a praying man, that would be his prayer.

  Chapter 23

  Monday began differently from every other day since Isabelle had arrived in Stony Creek. Rather than waiting to get out of bed when she heard Mietta wake, the alarm on her phone jolted her from sleep. She showered and dressed quickly, trying to assuage her nerves. Isabelle was making the school lunches when Mietta appeared, wiping sleep from her eyes as she stumbled into the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning, sunshine.’

  ‘Is that what you’re wearing to work?’ Mietta asked, ignoring Isabelle’s cheery greeting.

  Isabelle looked down at her navy pants and plain white polo top. ‘Yes. Do you have a problem with it, missy?’ she said, kissing Mietta on the top of her tousled head.

  ‘I thought you’d be wearing those clothes they wear on TV.’

  ‘You mean scrubs?’

  ‘I don’t know what they’re called. They’re what the doctors and nurses wear in the hospital shows. I like the pink ones.’

  Isabelle racked her brain for what medical-based television show Mietta could have possibly seen that was appropriate for her age. She came up blank.

  ‘Well, this is what I’m wearing. It’s what I used to wear when I worked at the hospital in Geelong.’

  ‘But you’re not working at the hospital.’ Mietta tilted her head to the side, looking confused.

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m working at the doctor’s surgery.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re going to be helping the doctor?’

  ‘Something like that. Now come on, honey, go and get dressed for school.’

  After Mietta had left the room, Isabelle inhaled deeply and willed her body and her mind into gear. I can do this, she told herself.

  *

  An hour later Isabelle had dropped Mietta at the school gate and walked the short distance to the clinic. Alison had called to let her know that her elderly mum had fallen and she’d gone to stay with her in Adelaide for a few days. She’d been worried she wouldn’t be around to show Isabelle the ropes, but Isabelle had assured her she’d be fine – as much for own her sake as Alison’s. Now she was having doubts. As she pushed open the door, a ball of tension formed in her throat. Was she really going to be able to do this? Self-talk only went so far. The encouraging text message from Matt was lovely, but was it enough to stop her nerves from trying to pick her up and carry her back home?

  Not expecting to see anyone in the waiting room, Isabelle’s heart somersaulted when the young man behind the front reception desk smiled at her as she walked in. Isabelle did a double take. Her first impression was how good looking he was.

  Her second was how much he looked like Dan.

  Who was he, and why had her insides turned instantly to mush?

  Dark brown eyes met hers. She noticed the way his eyes flicked over her body.

  Moistening her lips, she dragged in a lungful of air. ‘I’m Isabelle Cassidy. I’m starting here today as the new part-time nurse.’ She was glad her voice sounded normal.

  He leaned forward to shake her hand and his grip was strong, his hands smooth. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up neatly to reveal tanned arms. ‘I’m Dr Thompson.’

  Isabelle frowned. He didn’t seem much older than her. Why had she thought Dr Thompson was close to retirement age? Had she misunderstood Alison?

  ‘You were expecting someone older, weren’t you?’ he asked with a grin, apparently reading her mind.

  Isabelle nodded. ‘I was.’ She smiled nervously.

  ‘I’m Dr Thompson junior,’ he explained. ‘My dad Adrian is the other Dr Thompson. I’m filling in for him for the next six months.’

  ‘Oh,’ Isabelle exclaimed. ‘I had no idea there were two of you. It’s nice to meet you then, Dr Thompson.’

  ‘Call me Hugo. Save the “Dr Thompson” bit for my dad. What would you like me to call you? Issie? Belle?’

  ‘Issie is fine.’

  ‘Issie it is then.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Younger than I look obviously.’ He grinned at her again, seeing her discomfort. ‘I just turned thirty.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you were younger than that.’

  ‘So you’re saying I have a baby face?’ One dimple formed in his left cheek as he smiled crookedly at her. ‘Or perhaps you prefer your men with a beard? I might need to grow one, do you think?’ He ran his hands over his smoothly shaven face. No wedding ring.

  Isabelle had no idea how to reply. Her face was on fire. She readjusted her handbag on her shoulder and avoided Hugo’s eyes. This was not the way she’d intended making a good first impression on her boss.

  Hugo flicked his hair back, this time accompanied by a swipe of his fingers through his long fringe, brushing it back across the top of his head. Was it a nervous thing, or did he think it made him look sexy?

  ‘Come on in, anyway. I’ll show you where to put your stuff. It’s a shame Alison wasn’t able to be here to help you get settled in, but she’s had some family emergency.’

  Isabelle nodded. ‘Yes, she calle
d Saturday night to explain.’

  She followed him behind the desk to the small treatment room and office at the back of the clinic. Alison had made meticulous notes about everything, and left them in a folder on the desk for Isabelle.

  ‘Yoo hoo,’ a woman’s voice called out. ‘Anyone here?’

  ‘That will be my first patient of the day,’ Hugo said. ‘Sounds like Pat Wallace.’ He grimaced and lowered his voice slightly. ‘Have you met her yet?’

  Isabelle nodded, remembering the woman at the caravan park, and Leah’s warning that she was known for her big mouth. ‘I have.’

  ‘Biggest busybody in town,’ Hugo said, echoing Leah’s sentiments about the woman. ‘Worse than old Dot Wettenhall. If you want my advice, keep her on your good side too.’ He grinned again, walking to the door. ‘And don’t give either of them cause for gossip or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’

  Isabelle allowed herself to relax. If Hugo was this easygoing, the job wouldn’t be as daunting as she’d imagined.

  Turning back to face her, Hugo added, ‘And another thing. They’re the biggest matchmakers you’ll ever find. All it takes is one sniff of romance and they run wild with it. One kiss and they’ll have you married off and bearing ten kids the next day.’

  Isabelle laughed this time. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Wallace,’ he called out, his voice full of sarcasm. As he led her to his room, he winked at Isabelle.

  She busied herself reading Alison’s notes and wondering what she should do next. Patients came and went and Hugo acted as both doctor and receptionist. An hour later Isabelle had worked out how to log onto the computer and find the list of patients who had appointments that day. She familiarised herself with where everything was kept in the treatment room, and at eleven o’clock made herself a cup of tea. She sat at her desk wondering what to do next when Hugo waltzed in. She stood instantly, feeling guilty for stopping for a cuppa. She jostled her mug with her elbow and hot tea sloshed across the desk. Damn! She busily mopped up the mess.

  ‘Relax, Belle.’

  Isabelle stiffened. ‘I prefer Issie,’ she said. ‘Not Belle.’

  Hugo shrugged. ‘Okay. Anyway, this isn’t a busy clinic. If you don’t have any patients, that’s fine. Some days you might end up sitting here reading a book.’

  ‘Really? Is that okay with you?’

  ‘As long as you’re a competent nurse and help out when I need it, I don’t mind what you do in the down time.’

  Isabelle was surprised. It was different from working on the busy ward at the University Hospital in Geelong, where she had held her one and only position after graduating.

  ‘I’ll give you standing orders for some things,’ Hugo went on. ‘If there’s an emergency and I’m not in town, send the patient to Booleroo, provided they’re not too sick. In a real emergency, call the Flying Doctors.’

  She shivered involuntarily. ‘I hope I won’t see too many emergencies.’

  Hugo tilted his head and looked at her. ‘Is this your first job as a practice nurse?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes it is, and to be honest, I kind of got talked into it by Alison. I haven’t been nursing long and I’ve only worked on a medical ward. I don’t have much experience. Not like Alison.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘And you can call me any time. I’ll give you my number. I’m happy to help,’ he continued. ‘You only need to ask.’

  He winked, and a strange feeling landed in her stomach. Isabelle felt uneasy, but dismissed her concerns. Hugo was just one of those overly friendly kind of guys.

  She nodded. ‘Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘Anyway, I came out to let you know the next patient is old Tom Morrison. He’ll be coming in to get one of his legs checked. He has these chronic ulcers – uncontrolled Type 2 diabetes. You know the story. He’s in denial about the diabetes and hasn’t bothered to change his diet or keep track of his sugars. When he comes in, bring him straight through here and take the dressing down and clean it up. I’ll come and check him out once you’re done and we can send him on his way.’

  ‘Okay,’ Isabelle said. It sounded easy enough.

  Chapter 24

  Isabelle gently pulled away the wound dressing from Tom’s fragile skin, and recoiled at the stench rising straight to her nostrils. The wound was big – she estimated ten centimetres in diameter – and deep. To Isabelle’s inexperienced eyes, it looked infected. She leaned closer, her nose scrunched against the smell, and studied it for a moment.

  ‘What does it look like then, love?’

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ she lied. She’d never seen anything like it except in a textbook.

  ‘Which is another way of saying it’s bad, I’d reckon,’ Tom said, grinning at her, displaying a missing front tooth.

  Isabelle remained silent as she continued to examine the wound, her mind scrolling through possible dressing solutions that might work.

  ‘I hear you and young Matt Robertson are spending a fair bit of time together.’

  Isabelle’s head snapped up. ‘Matt’s popped over a couple of times,’ she stammered. When had her private business become the whole town’s public business?

  ‘I reckon you’d be good for him,’ Tom continued, undaunted.

  Isabelle chose not to reply as she pulled the stainless steel dressing trolley closer.

  ‘He’s a good bloke, but he needs to find a nice young girl like you. Otherwise he’s going to become a crusty old bachelor.’

  With her back to him, Isabelle washed her hands then undid the dressing pack, willing the old man to stop giving her his opinions. A crusty old bachelor! What would Matt think of that description?

  Isabelle emptied all the dressings onto the sterile field and opened a packet of saline, which she poured into the plastic container.

  ‘He’d be good for ya kids too, I reckon.’

  Isabelle wished he’d be quiet. After washing her hands again, she fought with a pair of rubber gloves until she finally had each of her fingers in the correct places. Tom kept giving his opinions about how well suited she was for Matt. When Hugo arrived she gave him a ‘Thank God you’re here’ grimace.

  ‘Jeez, Tom.’ Hugo stared at the wound. ‘What a mess. How long has it been since you’ve had the dressings changed?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Tom replied. ‘It doesn’t hurt, so I tend to forget about it. Alison did ’em a couple of weeks back.’

  Hugo rolled his eyes at Isabelle as he proceeded to pull dressing products from the shelf and hand them to her. She soon had Tom fixed and on his way back home, with strict instructions for when he was to return. But she doubted she’d see him again unless he had more relationship advice on offer.

  Isabelle’s next patient was a young girl of fifteen, although judging by the amount of heavy makeup she wore it was obvious she wanted to look much older. According to the records Isabelle pulled up on the computer, Jessica Simpkin came into the clinic regularly to have her arms sutured after she had cut herself. She was also a known drug user. Isabelle watched her through the small window overlooking the waiting room. She waited until Hugo’s last patient had left before knocking on his door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Isabelle pushed the door open. Hugo leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. The action pulled his shirt slightly out from his pants, exposing a flash of skin at his narrow waist. She averted her eyes, but not before she had a flashback to Dan’s body. The similarity between the two men’s physiques was remarkable.

  She shook her head. Now was not the time to start thinking about that.

  ‘There’s a young girl in the waiting room. Jessica Simpkin.’

  Hugo sighed deeply. ‘Let me guess? New cuts?’

  ‘I presume,’ Isabelle said. ‘Her arm is bandaged.’

  ‘Jessica comes in regularly. I’ve known her since she was born. I didn’t realise she was back in town. I thought she was living in Port Augusta
with her mother.’

  ‘Did you grow up here?’ Isabelle asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Hugo ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Although I spent most of the year away at boarding school, I still know everyone in town. It’s hard not to know Jess. Could you please clean up her wounds as best as you can? I’ll come in and either suture them up, or hopefully they won’t be too deep and I’ll get you to put steri-strips on them. Okay?’

  Isabelle nodded. But it wasn’t okay. How was she supposed to treat a child who cut herself? A girl who used drugs? A girl hardly older than her own son? Surely she should be doing more than simply stitching her up and sending her on her way.

  Isabelle retrieved the metal trolley from the storage room again and loaded the equipment she’d need onto the bottom tray, before going out to call her patient to the treatment room.

  ‘Hi, Jessica,’ she said. ‘I’m Isabelle. I’m the new nurse.’

  ‘Hey! Nice to meet you.’ Jessica’s friendly tone surprised Isabelle. ‘I hear you’re one of the new Peppercorn families.’

  ‘I am,’ Isabelle replied, as she carefully removed the blood-soaked sanitary pads Jessica had applied on her arms at home. Sticky tape wound its way around her pale arms. As Isabelle worked, the young girl chatted amiably about a television program she’d watched the night before. Isabelle found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. The pads were stuck to the open wounds in some places, and when Isabelle tried to pull the dressings off they tugged taut at Jessica’s skin.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Isabelle said, wincing herself.

  ‘It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,’ she replied stoically. ‘Besides, I’m used to it.’

  She had thin white scars along both forearms – vertical and horizontal lines crisscrossing her skin like a pirate’s treasure map. Today, the pale white pathways intersected with bright fresh red cuts – three in Jessica’s left arm and one in her right. Each was around five to seven centimetres long, all gaping wide. No chance of using steri-strips; Jessica would need stitches.

  ‘Would you like to lie down while I wash these out?’ Isabelle asked.

 

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