The Practice Baby

by LM Ardor

  ‘Okay, thanks Marlena.’

  ‘And Dee, can you do me a big favour?’ Marlena paused.

  ‘Of course, anything.’

  ‘Don’t ring me. I’ll let you know what’s happening. I’ve applied for a promotion and I don’t need any complications at work.’

  48.

  Dee stretched her arm to grab her ringing mobile. The program she was watching had ended. She must have dozed off. ‘Unknown number.’ She usually let them go to voicemail but it could be Leah. She picked up.

  ‘Hi Dee, Marlena. I hope it’s not too late.’ Her accent was unmistakeable; almost a caricature.

  ‘No, of course not. Is there news?’

  ‘Sort of but not what you want to hear I guess.’

  ‘Anything is better than what I’ve got now.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Marlena paused, then said, ‘Sorry. No luck with permission to access mobile phone locations. Craig did question Glen and Skye. She says he was there all night when Tom was killed although she does admit she’d been stressed out and took “something natural” to sleep.’

  ‘I guess an alibi from someone you’re sleeping with isn’t always ironclad. Anyway, Tom was drugged, Skye could have been too.’

  ‘Or they could both be involved.’

  Dee made a noise of protest. Marlena kept talking. ‘Craig also went to GenSafe to check out Professor Fairborn. Apparently he was with the practice manager for dinner and she stayed over at his apartment for the night. The woman confirmed the story.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen her. She’s in love with him. She’d say anything,’ Dee muttered. ‘Sorry, Marlena. I’m surprised Craig bothered.’

  ‘He did get a bee in his bonnet about it all. He checked bank records for Leah. Nothing at all since she withdrew $600 from her bank account on the Friday after your patient died.’

  That was the night Leah had jumped into Dee’s car, terrified she was being watched by Adam.

  ‘That was all she had. No credit cards or other accounts we could find. Her student allowance has gone into the account since but it hasn’t been touched.’

  ‘Leah could already be dead.’

  ‘Or hiding out until all the fuss is over and she can get $250,000 without anyone asking questions.’ Marlena went on more gently. ‘Sorry, Dee, everyone has an alibi except Leah and I agree it doesn’t seem like it was her, that is, assuming a crime was committed at all.’

  Dee wanted to say again that Tom didn’t die of natural causes. She bit her tongue. Marlena had put herself out already. Saying the same thing over and over wouldn’t make Dee sound more rational.

  ‘And there’s something else,’ Marlena said. ‘The boss found out Craig went to see Professor Fairborn and went ballistic. Craig’s in trouble and of course he dobbed me in so both of us are in the shit.’

  Dee knew where the boss found out what was going on. A complaint from Adam through his networks. Probably plays golf with the police commissioner or her husband, the top politicians too. He always knew the value of the right connections.

  ‘Marlena, I’m sorry if I’ve caused you trouble—I didn’t know where to turn.’

  ‘I’ll cope. It’s not so bad to see the young Turk set back on his arse but it does mean we can’t do more digging.’

  49.

  Dee was behind by ninety minutes from mid-morning. There were two emergencies.

  First there was an eight-year-old close to coma with the onset of diabetes. The previously healthy child was hours from death. It took fifty minutes to make the diagnosis, get a paramedic ambulance, stabilise the girl for transfer and to get through to the registrar at the hospital so the critically ill child would not be kept waiting at the front desk.

  The parents were too terrified to be functional but somehow Dee got them all safely to the children’s hospital.

  The next patient was new, a young man of thirty-five, who hadn’t seen a doctor since he was a teenager. He came in concerned about a spot on his back which had started to bleed. The diagnosis was obvious: an advanced melanoma. After thirty seconds for the diagnosis, Dee spent fifteen minutes on explanation of what a melanoma was and why he needed to put off his proposed overseas holiday to have it treated. It took another twenty-five minutes to get him an urgent appointment with a specialist melanoma unit. Dee was now an hour and a half late.

  ‘Perhaps you need to plan for emergencies?’ said Heather, a lawyer in her thirties with a perfect ash blonde bob and an outfit that would cost what Dee spent on clothes for several years.

  Last time she was in, Heather had lectured Dee about time management and how much she charged clients for ninety minutes of her time. Dee resisted asking if she was to be billed for the waiting time: not a good idea to suggest even in jest to a person without any apparent sense of humour. Her perfect grooming and mask-like makeup were beyond possibility for Dee. The all-in-control types always made her feel inadequate.

  Dee had tried for twenty years to smooth out the ups and downs of urgent problems. The solution was to be strict about time and make people come back to deal with the unexpected. She knew no matter how many times she resolved to do it, the urgent problem always took priority. She couldn’t do it.

  Dee steeled herself to not be angry. It only made things worse.

  ‘You’re right, we’ll try harder. Now, what can I do for you?’

  The patients after that were okay with the wait. They knew she would take the time required if it were them who needed extra time in an emergency. Why was it always the ones like Heather who stayed in her thoughts and ruined her evening?

  *

  By eight o’clock that night she was exhausted but satisfied. The things she’d done in the long day mattered, they were important in people’s lives.

  Janelle had left a note: ‘You need to call Adam Fairborn when you finish. He’s very insistent and says it doesn’t matter what time.’

  Could she put it off? Just not ring or leave it till later; ring him from home after a meal and with a big glass of red at her elbow. Her stomach jangled as though she’d drunk too much coffee. Why did she feel anxious? It was only a phone call. Maybe he wanted to explain what was going on.

  She sent a text to Raj. ‘Just about to talk to AF, will ring you later. D’

  Her hands trembled as she dialled Adam’s mobile from the surgery phone.

  ‘Adam. You rang?’

  ‘Dee. Thanks for calling back.’

  There was a pause. Dee waited till he filled it.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The voice was conciliatory, concerned; as though he was talking to a child about a lost teddy bear.

  ‘What’s this about Adam?’ Dee expected him to be angry. What was his angle?

  ‘Dee, I’m concerned—you seem stressed. I hear you’ve been poking around in my childhood in Orange. What happened there isn’t something I want to think about too much but I’d hope that as old friends you could ask me about it rather than …’ He broke off, hurt in his voice. ‘My early life wasn’t easy, I never talked about it.’ Another pause then a soft voice, ‘It’s hard—I find sympathy demeaning.’

  ‘How did you know?’ His quiet tone, the talk of sympathy, made Dee uneasy.

  ‘That hair of yours does make you recognisable. The librarian there is my mother’s cousin. We keep in touch.’ Adam left a long pause. ‘I can’t imagine what’s going on unless you’re having some sort of breakdown. I know it was hard on you when we broke up and I guess you must be menopausal now.’

  Dee’s jaw dropped open.

  ‘What?’ She extended the word over several seconds. The delay saved her from yelling at him—maniacal anger wouldn’t add to her credibility as a non-crazy person.

  ‘Please, I’d like to help,’ he said. ‘I’ve never felt I handled our history together with enough care and I’m sorry if that’s left you with any lingering distress, any bad feelings about yourself.’

  ‘Adam, stop there. Our breakup at uni is ancient history. It has nothing to do with what’s
happening now.’

  ‘What is the problem then? There’s no reason for your behaviour—how would you feel if someone started digging around in your past, suggesting the police check your alibi for a death that was due to natural causes?’

  ‘It wasn’t natural causes.’ Her words slipped out, ‘My patient was murdered. And the police aren’t at my command. Did they have reason to question you?’ Dee had moved from shock to anger. How dare Adam think their breakup still affected her after all these years.

  Adam sighed. ‘Can’t you see that this is ridiculous? Everyone—the pathologist, the police—all agree the lad died of asthma. Are you the only person in the world who has a magical hotline to the truth? You’ve got everything all out of proportion. And what’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Tom’s girlfriend is frightened and thinks his death is connected to their visit to GenSafe. I had to tell the police what she told me and what I knew about Tom’s last weeks. I certainly didn’t suggest they ask you for an alibi.’

  ‘Don’t deny it. My sources confirm you have been asking questions about me and tossing wild accusations all over the place. The kindest interpretation is that it makes sense in terms of your delusion about the boy’s death being murder. It needs to stop. You need treatment. I’ve got standing in the medical community. If you keep this up it will damage your reputation more than mine.’ He paused, his voice became softer. ‘What we had in the past did mean something to me and I can’t stand by while you’re ill like this. I hoped we could settle this between us but I can see you’re beyond being able to listen to reason. You know there’s a statutory obligation to report impaired practitioners?’

  He waited. Dee didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  ‘The public needs to be protected. We need to be sure that your mental state isn’t affecting your capacity to practise medicine.’

  ‘Are you saying you’re going to report me to the medical board?’ Dee’s face was burning.

  ‘I’m only concerned you get some treatment so you can get well. There may be a better outcome if you self-notify.’

  Dee stood up and paced around the room as she tried to get control.

  ‘Self-notify? You want me to go to the medical board and tell them I’m nuts? You’re being ridiculous, Adam. All I want is to ensure justice for my patient. A young man of twenty-five has been murdered.’

  ‘Dee, I only want to help. We were close once. Believe it or not, I do care and I feel some responsibility for you. As a doctor, I have to protect the public and report any practitioner who needs help.’

  Adam was not going to change his mind whatever she said. Was the purpose of the call to freak her out? He could put a tick next to that one. Not enough though to induce her to report herself to the medical board—to agree her suspicions about Tom’s death were crazy.

  ‘Thank you for your concern. You’ll do what you think best without input from me so let’s end this conversation now. Goodbye, Adam.’

  She hung up and collapsed in her chair. The trembling was worse now. She wanted to cry. A report to the medical board meant she could be banned from practice. Medicine was her life; all she had ever wanted to do. She loved her work, her patients needed her and she didn’t want to admit it, but she probably needed them too. To be useful, to be needed, to help people deal with the most personal moments of their lives was a great privilege.

  Her mobile was on silent but it vibrated and lit up. Raj—there were three messages and three missed calls from him. Dee picked up.

  ‘I’m okay, sort of.’ Dee felt ashamed as she burst into tears. ‘Please, you’d tell me wouldn’t you? I’m not crazy, am I?’

  ‘What’s going on? I’m worried.’

  ‘Adam knows we were in Orange. He called me; said I was delusional.’

  ‘You’re not crazy. You know that. Don’t let him get to you.’

  ‘The police have been warned off anything to do with the case. That would be Adam’s doing. And Marlena said Glen’s away. It feels like something’s going on.’

  ‘It’s too late. Glen’s got no reason to hurt Leah now.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m still uneasy about him. What about the rest of what Tom left? If Leah’s out of the way there’s no one to dispute Skye’s claim for the estate.’

  ‘You’re right. Glen’s already proven himself capable of violence over property. But we can’t forget Adam. He’s the one Tom was worried about. There’s something going on, maybe Tom found out something worse. Leah’s terrified of him. The designer babies business on the side—is that enough of a motive for murder? I don’t like Adam. He’s creepy.’

  Dee was rattled too. Adam’s cold determination on the phone took her back to the time he dumped her. His coldness then was implacable, a solid wall of indifference. It sent an icy dagger down her spine.

  Raj hadn’t met Adam, hadn’t seen that side of him. His antipathy to him was curious. Did he know or have an instinct about her uni relationship? Could he be jealous?

  She should tell him about the past and about the medical board threat but she couldn’t. She was too ashamed. What if Adam was right and she really was delusional?

  She pulled herself together, told Raj not to worry and said her dinner was ready.

  50.

  Dee arrived home to an empty letterbox. It was two weeks since Adam’s threat about the medical board. Perhaps he hadn’t gone through with it? Her appetite was back after weeks of looking at food as though it were a plastic model in the window of a Japanese restaurant; unrelated to anything one would put in one’s mouth. It was only seven o’clock and she was alone. The kids were at Rob’s. She could watch whatever she wanted on TV. The Bengali vegetable curry she’d made on the weekend smelt delicious as it reheated in the microwave. The cleaners had been in; everything was clean and uncluttered, peace.

  As she set up glass, wine, napkin and cutlery on the coffee table she passed through the hall. A glance at the hall table was a mistake. There’d been no mail in the box but she saw the usual daily heap of magazines, bills and other rubbish had been brought in by the cleaners. On top there was an A4-sized envelope with a handwritten address and ‘Personal: to be opened by the addressee only’ stamped in big red letters across the front.

  Instinct told her not to touch it. She considered having dinner first but her appetite had disappeared again. Her stomach turned over even at the thought of wine. Best to get it over with.

  With the tips of her fingers she carried the horrid object into the lounge and sat down. It wasn’t easy to open but she ripped it with the aid of the fork she had set out for dinner. The letterhead said ‘Medical Board of NSW’. After that there were words she couldn’t differentiate into any meaning. At the bottom of the page was the name and address of someone she knew to be a psychiatrist with a time and date. Next Wednesday at 8 to 10 am. There was a thick wad of accompanying documents.

  She dropped everything and sat back against the lounge as though winded by a punch to the gut. The curry smell from the kitchen made her nauseous. She was going to vomit. She stood up, started towards the bathroom but it was too late. The contents of her stomach were dripping through the fingers clutched over her mouth as she got there.

  She sat slumped against the wall next to the toilet. How could they? How could they? All she wanted was to care for her patients. They knew she put all she could into their care.

  The shower. She had to wash it all away. She undressed and cleaned up the front of her top then hopped under the steaming hot water.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ she shouted over and over. Then, ‘I’m a good doctor. I put everything into looking after my patients and I’m good at it.’

  She wasn’t sure who she meant by ‘you’. Gradually the water did its work. She started to focus.

  Her plan to get the police to investigate had gone nowhere. Now she was under threat herself. For the first time she felt personally vulnerable.

  Sleep would be impossible. She wrapped hersel
f in a towel and rang Raj.

  ‘Please be there,’ she said to the phone as it rang out.

  The lounge was in semi-darkness with only the blue flickering of the TV screen but the kitchen and the hall next to the front door were lit. Damn Rob and his famous Glasshouse. Why did she still live here? What stopped her letting it go? The kudos of living in one of Sydney’s most iconic houses wore thin at night when she was home alone and anyone could watch every move she made.

  Dee systematically turned off all the lights, including the TV. The night was cloudless with a half moon. After a few minutes the walkway and the vertical bars of tree trunks in monotone silvers and sooty greys were clearly visible. There was no one in sight but there were blind spots where the walls were opaque. Someone could hide on the walkway only inches from her if she was in the bathroom or bedrooms.

  She sat down and realised she was still only dressed in a towel. In the dark she went to the bedroom and got dressed in a T-shirt and loose pants; then she changed to pants that had pockets so she could carry her phone and car keys with her. In case she needed to run she put on socks and proper walking shoes.

  All the while she told herself to get a grip. It didn’t work.

  The lounge room was in the middle of the house, farthest from access points. Dee sat there. She was fully clothed and it was only eight thirty. If she turned on the TV or looked at her phone she could be seen from the outside.

  The bottle of red was still there on the table. The grip of her palm around the metal cap on the bottle, its resistance and the perfect moment when the screw cap gave, brought relief, calm and the promise of the perfect blood alcohol level—a place somewhere into the second glass when the immediacies of the world shrank and everything that mattered, family, love, friends, her physical presence, assumed their proper places in her consciousness. She poured a large glassful. As she sipped, the arguments she’d made for calm started to convince her. The bush in the moonlight was still. There were no serial killers in sight.