In Dr. Darling’s Care

CHAPTER SIX

HARRY was still sleeping when Lizzie was ready for the day.

Lizzie ate her breakfast at dawn, gave Phoebe a snack, showered and readied herself for work-she’d dressed Corporate this morning, in the neat little suit she’d been wearing when she’d crashed into Harry-and then opened his bedroom door.

He was out for the count.

He’d been awake during the night. She looked at the bedside table where she’d left a glass of water and four painkillers. Two of the tablets were missing.

Good. He might have played a hero in front of her, but he had enough sense not to suffer unnecessarily.

His body needed sleep.

He looked good asleep, she thought, her eyes softening as they rested on him. He’d thrown back his covers-the room was heated and the back-slab and bandages would be hot. He was bare-chested, his hair was tousled from sleep and his face on the pillows looked unlined and younger than his thirty-odd years.

He’d had a bad time, she thought ruefully. To lose a fiancée…

Actually, maybe he’d lost two fiancées. Where was Emily?

What was the line? To lose one husband is careless. To lose two is just plain ridiculous.

She smiled but the laughter didn’t reach her eyes. There was so much about this man that she didn’t understand.

Or maybe she did. He was being sensible. He’d had one crack at being the big city specialist, and it had been a disaster. It had hurt everyone around him. So for now he wouldn’t follow his heart. He’d follow his head.

He’d marry Emily despite her six bridesmaids.

What a waste.

She should leave him to sleep. She had no business staring at him. Any minute he’d wake and question her motives, and she hadn’t the faintest clue what her motives were.

She’d just stand there for one moment longer.

Memo:

I will not open my eyes.

I am asleep.

Maybe I’ll open my eyes and think of something clever to say. Something flippant.

I will not open my eyes.

Being a country doctor was really strange. The medicine Lizzie was accustomed to was trauma in a big city hospital. Here she was, at Birrini Elementary School-practising medicine?

There was no trauma in sight-but there was definitely need. The needs of Amy-the little girl who’d been so badly bullied-and Lillian’s needs. Lillian, whose self-confidence had to be built at all costs.

‘So tell me again what you want me to do?’ Lillian was asking, and Lizzie had to collect her breath for a moment and think about it. What was she doing here?

Lizzie and Lillian-and Phoebe-were backstage at the junior school hall. Out the front were fifty-odd pupils, all lined up and waiting for the results of Lizzie’s art competition. Somewhere among them was Amy, a little girl who’d had to nerve herself to come to school this morning. A little girl whose home life was almost as awful as school.

And Lizzie’s idea to use Lillian to help fix it… Would it work? Lillian was shaking like a leaf.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, Lizzie thought, but, then, it had been partly Lillian’s own plan, put forward with such tentative anxiety that to knock it back would have been unthinkable. And it had just seemed to fit so well. Two pieces of a puzzle coming together. Or two damaged kids helping to heal each other.

‘You’re the best artist in Birrini,’ she told Lillian stoutly, pushing away any qualms that she might yet have a disaster on her hands. ‘You won the state competition last year and May tells me that every kid in town was so jealous they could spit.’

‘They’re never jealous of me.’

‘You know they are,’ Lizzie told her, fleetingly touching the girl’s face. ‘Or course they are. You’re beautiful, you’re clever and you’re talented.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You have a father who tells you you’re not,’ Lizzie said bluntly. ‘That’s because he can’t see what’s so obvious to everyone else. You have a brother and a sister who are academically brilliant. One’s doing medicine and one’s doing law. That’s their thing. Your thing’s art.’

‘Art’s useless.’ The burgeoning confidence of the girl back in the hospital had all but disappeared. To appear in public…Her terror was palpable.

Lizzie sighed. Should she let Lillian off the hook? Do the presenting herself?

No. It’d reinforce all the negatives that Lillian had instilled in herself. They had originally been a product of her father’s belittling, but they were now self-feeding.

‘Are you going to tell Amy that art’s useless?’ she demanded. ‘You know what’s happening to her. We’ve agreed-and it was partly your idea-that winning here will be a chance for her to break this horrid cycle of self-doubt. The same self-doubt you’re coping with. I thought you agreed you’d do this for me.’

‘I did.’

‘You can do this, Lillian. You know you can.’

‘I want to be sick.’

‘If you’re sick now, then Amy keeps on being bullied. Is that what you want?’

‘N-no.’

‘Then let’s do it.’ Lizzie stooped and hugged Phoebe, her grin belying how sick she felt herself. Would this work? Please…

Harry found May taking obs and waylaid her. He was feeling so disoriented it was crazy. He’d stayed in bed for as long as he could bear it but this was ridiculous. This was his hospital. His patients. What was Lizzie doing taking over as if she belonged?

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’ May turned from her patient and smiled. She knew darned well who he was talking about.

‘Lizzie.’ He corrected himself and gave a rueful smile to old Mavis Scotter in the bed. ‘I mean Dr Darling.’

‘She’s taken Phoebe and Lillian down to the school.’

‘Phoebe and Lillian?’

‘Yep. Girl and dog. Both of them.’

It was nine in the morning. May had only had eight hours off duty and she was, in reality, too weary to be working.

One of the town’s bank of semi-retired nurses would take her shift if she asked. Maybe she should-but, heck, she was enjoying herself here.

There were, in fact, other reasons May needed to work. Reasons May didn’t want to think about.

But meanwhile… Dr McKay had hobbled into the ward looking angry. Which was really interesting. There was no need for the man to be angry, she thought, but anger was definitely there.

May was more and more interested. And so was old Mavis. As would half the town if they could see the expression on Harry’s face.

‘Phoebe and Lillian,’ she agreed, and watched his face change. Nurse and patient grew even more interested.

‘Why?’

‘It’s the announcement of the winner of the art prize.’

‘Amy’s art prize.’

‘We don’t know that, Dr McKay. Anyone could win.’ May pursed her lips and tried to look prim-and failed.

‘You’re telling me it’s not rigged?’

‘The most deserving child will win, and that’s all I’m saying.’

‘So Lillian’s watching Lizzie present a rigged prize.’

‘Lillian’s presenting the prize.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope.’ She gazed at him ‘Aren’t you still supposed to be in a wheelchair, Dr McKay?’

‘I not only shouldn’t be in a wheelchair,’ he said grimly, ‘I shouldn’t be here. Call Jim. I want him to drive me down to the school. Lillian’s going to present the prize? We could really use this. If she’d told me… If I have time… Quick, May, ring Jim now.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’ And she smiled to herself as she made her way to the nurses’ station. Very interesting indeed…

Phoebe the basset could play a crowd better than anyone-or anything-that Lizzie had ever seen.

The great fat basset, beautifully adorned in a purple bow that was wider than her ears, waddled out to centre stage and beamed at the audience with all the charisma of a comedian who’d been treading the boards for fifty years.

The school children were seated in rows facing the stage-fifty or sixty children ranging from six to twelve. It was a really scary audience, Lizzie thought as she followed Phoebe onstage and thought again, What have I done? This was such a far cry from the emergency room she was accustomed to. She was sticking in her oar and she suddenly wasn’t the least bit sure it was going to work.

It had seemed such a good idea at the time.

Beside her was Lillian, and the tension emanating from the girl was real and dreadful. But at least she looked great, Lizzie thought. She herself had opted for clinical-her neat little suit with a stethoscope just peeping from her top pocket to emphasise the fact that she was who she said she was. But Lillian… They’d stopped by her home and chosen jeans, a clingy little top that hid her almost skeletal frame but made her look really cute, and a gorgeous tie-dyed purple scarf to tie back her blonde curls and make her look almost bohemian. She was your absolute picture of an artist starving in the garret, Lizzie thought appreciatively, and she knew, looking down at the sea of little girls looking up at her, that they’d all think Lillian looked lovely.

Would it be enough?

But it was time for her to speak. The principal had introduced them and it was Lizzie’s turn.

These kids had decorated her-Harry’s-apartment. She owed them.

Was this really medicine?

It was country medicine, she knew. This was good. If it worked.

Please…

‘I’d like to thank you all for my wonderful paintings,’ she told them, and thought, How can I be so nervous in front of kids? But she was. Her knees were shaking. ‘I love every single one of them and if I were judge they’d all win. But Phoebe’s only willing to relinquish one of her puppies to the winner.’

Phoebe’s beam grew broader at that. Honestly, you’d swear the crazy basset knew she was the star attraction.

‘So here’s Lillian,’ Lizzie managed. ‘Here’s Lillian, who everyone tells me is Birrini’s best artist and is headed for fame and fortune, to announce the lucky winner.’

Applause.

And, as if on cue, Phoebe stood up and strolled to the edge of the stage and wagged her tail. Which was just as well as it gave Lillian breathing time. She looked petrified.

‘I did it without falling over,’ Lizzie breathed as she propelled her forward. ‘So can you.’

‘You were scared?’

‘Petrified.’

‘O-OK.’ Lillian seemed to take heart from shared terror. She took a deep breath and turned to the audience. And spoke. While Lizzie had trouble breathing.

But Lillian had it under control. Describing the paintings in glowing terms. Sounding just like a professional.

‘I looked for great texture,’ she told them. ‘Wonderful composition and balance. I looked for potential. As Dr Darling has said, though, there can only be one winner.’

She’s doing it, Lizzie thought, stunned. The girl seemed to be gaining in stature while she spoke. She knew her art. In the few days Lizzie had known her it was the one area where she lit up. How dared her father belittle this? This gift.

To lose a life like this to anorexia would be such a waste.

And then she looked up from the stage and caught sight of a cluster of people at the back of the hall.

Harry.

It wasn’t just Harry. There were also Lillian’s parents and Amy’s parents. How had he collected them at such short notice? she wondered, bemused. There was also a small group of boys in their late teens in the uniform of the senior school. Big boys. Good-looking kids, toting guitars and a drum kit.

The whole group had Lizzie intrigued, but mostly Lizzie just looked at Harry.

He was propped up on crutches, leaning against the wall, surveying her with a look that was half a smile, half a question.

She couldn’t look at Harry now. She needed to focus all her attention on Lillian. This was such a gamble.

‘And the winner is…’

Lillian paused for effect. Phoebe turned to her and pointed her wet nose in the direction of the envelope. Lillian tore open the envelope.

‘The winner is Amy Dunstan.’

Silence.

Would it work?

There were a few groans as various hopefuls realised they hadn’t won. There was a collective regroup. And then as the diminutive Amy got to her feet, unbelieving, bewildered, the school community burst into clapping. If they couldn’t win, at least one of their own was going to obtain one of these wonderful puppies.

Amy still looked bewildered. She’d been shadowed by her brother’s death for so long she’d stopped believing good things could happen. A tiny child for her age, wearing glasses that were too thick for her elfin face and clothes that didn’t quite fit, she looked almost bereft.

But not for long. A smiling Miss Morrison came forward and took her hand, leading her up onto the stage. The little girl looked as if her knees were about to buckle under her, but her face was breaking into the beginnings of a tremulous smile.

‘I…I’ve won?’

Lillian looked at Lizzie to confirm Amy’s win, but Lizzie shook her head and stepped back. This was Lillian’s call.

‘You’ve won,’ Lillian said gamely. And then added, with even more confidence, ‘It’s a wonderful picture. You should be very proud.’ She held out her hand and Amy took it, and Lizzie almost crowed in delight. Two damaged kids, helping each other to heal. They had a long way to go. But maybe…

‘I’ve won a puppy?’ Amy quavered, and Lillian didn’t even look at Lizzie this time.

‘You have,’ she said. ‘If you want one.’

If she wanted one. Amy stared down at Phoebe, and Phoebe, rising majestically to the occasion for such a dopey mutt, sauntered over to Amy and stuck her nose straight up Amy’s sweater. Amy was so short and Phoebe was so…elongated that the basset’s nose came straight out of the neck of Amy’s sweater. Amy gave a little giggle of pure pleasure and wrapped her arms around Phoebe.

If ever there was a case of kid needing dog, this was it.

But… Amy’s jumbled emotions were letting in an awful thought. ‘Mum won’t let me keep it,’ Amy whispered, the beginnings of joy fading almost as soon as they’d appeared. ‘Mum says she couldn’t bear a puppy. Scott wanted a puppy. Before…before…’

The principal spoke up then, a stern-looking lady in her sixties. ‘I think you’ll find your parents approve of the idea,’ she told Amy. She looked down the hall for confirmation, to where Mr and Mrs Dunstan were standing beside Harry.

Lizzie hadn’t thought of involving them. She’d asked their permission-of course-but to bring them here…

It had been a masterstroke. Mr and Mrs Dunstan were staring up at their daughter as if they hadn’t seen her for years and, even from the stage, Lizzie could see the beginnings of tears on Amy’s mother’s face. And for the first time since Scott had died, she suspected, these tears weren’t for her son.

‘Of course you can have a puppy,’ the woman called in a choked voice. ‘And if anything happens to Phoebe’s puppies, we’ll get you another.’

Something happen to Phoebe’s puppies? The thought was almost unthinkable.

Everyone was looking at Phoebe now. Horrified at the thought. But prenatal nerves were obviously for pansies. Not for bassets. Phoebe wriggled free of Amy’s sweater and waved her tail like a windscreen wiper. Something happen to her puppies? No way!

Great.

But they hadn’t counted on Amy’s detractors. There were a couple of kids who really had it in for Amy, Miss Morrison had told Lizzie. They were the school toughs and they were here. The two tough little girls were sitting at the end of one of the front rows, and as the proceedings had unfolded they’d been watching with increasing displeasure.

Now, as Phoebe stared out into the audience in dopey confusion, one of them found her voice.

‘Yeah, so she gets one of the puppies. So what? No one else would want them. That dog’s really, really stupid.’

‘She’s not.’ Amy gasped back her dismay. Lizzie moved to the child’s side and noticed with approval that Lillian did the same on the other side.

This much at least was good. Lillian was seeing Amy’s plight more clearly than her own at the moment. It was medication for Lillian all on its own.

But not for Amy. Lizzie had set this up wanting the entire school to be jealous of Amy’s puppy-of the prospect of the puppy, and then the puppy when it eventuated. This was far better than just handing an eight-week-old pup to the child. But the prospect of a pup… No, it’d extend the anticipation. Extend the pleasure. Extend the sensation of Amy being the luckiest kid in the school instead of the unluckiest.

And here were these two horrible children trying their best to undermine it.

Maybe she should go back to emergency medicine, Lizzie thought ruefully. That’s what she was good at.

The principal was opening her mouth to speak, about to attempt to undo the damage. Could she?

She didn’t have to.

‘If anyone else wants a puppy, I’m afraid they need to join a queue,’ Harry called, and Lizzie whirled to face him.

What?

‘They’ve been bespoken as band mascots,’ Harry said, limping forward on his crutches so he had the whole audience in his sights. He grinned, that wide lazy grin that had her heart almost stopping within her. ‘They’re going to be groupies. Basset groupies.’

This was crazy. The entire population of Birrini Elementary School was staring, fascinated, as Lizzie and Harry conducted a conversation over their heads.

Lizzie was so far out of her depth here that she felt she was drowning. She didn’t get involved. She never got involved!

She was standing on a school stage with an emotionally damaged eight-year-old clutching one hand and an anorexic teenager clutching her sleeve. Her great fat dog was sitting on her feet, the whole school was watching…

And what had Harry said? Basset groupies?

Harry was motioning to the boys at the back of the hall, who were grinning self-consciously back at him. ‘As everyone here knows except you, Dr Darling, these boys are the Birrini Punk Squirrels.’

‘The Birrini Punk Squirrels…’

‘They look pretty ordinary in their school clothes,’ Harry called. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘But you should see them in leathers.’

‘Or bare-chested,’ one of the boys yelled, and the kids in the hall dropped their collective jaws to their ankles.

‘I know them,’ Lillian breathed in Lizzie’s ear. ‘They’re the best band. The best. They get gigs all over the state…’

‘They’re adopting your pups,’ Harry called. ‘Until such time as they go to nice family homes, Phoebe’s puppies will be the band mascots. The boys want a pup apiece.’

‘But-’

‘The boys don’t mind if Amy has one puppy,’ Harry called. ‘But the rest are taken. Now…if the principal’s agreeable…We’re celebrating a few things here. No one’s made a public announcement about Lillian’s brilliant art win and it needs to be celebrated. Amy’s done a fantastic painting, too, and there’s a puppy coming her way. And the boys want to celebrate the impending birth of Phoebe’s pups. In honour of all of that-do you mind if the boys take centre stage, Mrs Hill?’

‘Go right ahead.’ The principal looked even more out of her depth than Lizzie. Which was clearly impossible. ‘Go right ahead, Dr McKay,’ she repeated weakly.

‘Fantastic.’

So the stunned group on stage stood to one side and the four boys surged forward with whoops of delight and enthusiasm, bringing their guitars and drums along with them. They hauled out their shirts, loosened their school ties, fixed their young audience with grins that only eighteen-year-old boys knew how to produce-and proceeded to transfix every single member of the audience.

‘You realise they can’t have the puppies.’

They were in Lizzie’s car, heading back to the hospital. Phoebe was sound asleep in the back, worn out by all the excitement.

Lillian was being taken back to the hospital via a coffee-shop-‘Because maybe we need to talk,’ Lillian’s mother had said, fixing Lillian’s father with a look that said if he knew what was good for him he’d shut up about doctors and lawyers and start saying good things about artists.

Amy had been soundly hugged by both her parents, assured they really meant what they’d said about keeping a puppy and was now surrounded by a group of envious little girls who really, really wanted to be her friend.

The Punk Squirrels were walking back to the senior school, probably taking the longest route they could think of.

‘Of course they can’t keep them,’ Harry agreed. ‘That’d be counter-productive. I can’t really see those lads being saddled with the responsibility of puppies for many a year yet.’

‘But you said-’

‘I said the puppies would be the boys’ mascots until they were ready to be family pets. That means the puppies can be mascots for about eight weeks. Being mascots doesn’t necessarily mean they have to travel with the band. Maybe a small silver basset shape to hang from their navel piercings will do the trick.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Lizzie said faintly. ‘How on earth did you manage it?’

‘I thought this was a great idea,’ he said, looking sideways at her in the car. ‘When May told me what you intended I just extrapolated your theme.’

‘Extrapolated…’

‘Expanded.’

‘I know what extrapolated means.’

‘That’s good,’ he said approvingly. ‘Very good.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’

‘I would never patronise you,’ he told her, and all of a sudden the laughter wasn’t there. Nowhere. Not even close.

‘But…’ Her voice was a squeak and she tried desperately to turn it into a cough, and tried again. ‘But…’

‘I know those kids that have been bullying Amy,’ he told her, taking pity on her discomposure. ‘That’s what being a family doctor is all about. You get to know your patients, warts and all. The kids that have been doing the bullying…Kylie and Rose come from dysfunctional families. They’ve had rotten treatment in the past. I have Social Services involved now, and I’m hoping it’s not too late. They’ve grown into two little thugs. Giving Amy a puppy by having her win the art competition was a brilliant idea but those two are going to try and take her glory.’

‘So…’

‘So the boys-the Punk Squirrels-are in year twelve at the senior school. They’re considered so cool by the rest of the town kids-and by themselves-that they’re practically ice. And they owe me.’

‘They owe you?’

‘The four of them came down with mumps, one after the other,’ Harry said, grinning. ‘Just before last year’s State Bandfest. The whole town was riding on the outcome and if it had got out that the boys couldn’t play because of mumps they’d have been laughing stocks.’

‘So…’

‘So they contracted epidemic parotitis.’

‘But…’ Lizzie frowned. ‘Parotitis is mumps.’

‘Oh, come on, now.’ Harry was grinning at her across the car. ‘How can you say such a thing? Mumps is an undignified kid’s complaint, engendering fat necks and not a lot of sympathy. Parotitis, on the other hand-whew. An almost unheard-of infection that maybe has something to do with parrots. Weird and exotic and just the thing for a bunch of cool eighteen-year-olds with navel piercings.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Nope.’

‘And you got away with it?’

‘We got away with it, yes.’

‘And they recovered?’ Lizzie was choking back laughter. The man was clearly brilliant.

‘They did,’ he told her. ‘In the end half the kids in the town came down with a really undignified case of mumps, so their audience would have been halved. But still they stood out as being different. The boys’ parents were in the know, but no one else. While we were immunising kids for mumps as fast as we could go, we also had parents enquiring about immunisation for this strange new disease called parotitis. But we were able to explain that it was only kids who were really weird who got parotitis, and not the general run-of-the-mill population. The band’s street cred soared.’

‘So today…’

Harry’s grin deepened. ‘So today was payback time. They’ve made a fuss of Phoebe, the thought of weird basset-something puppies as temporary mascots appealed enormously, and as a byproduct they’ve also seen what Lillian did.’

His grin faded, to be replaced by a look of intense satisfaction. ‘You’ve done good there, too, Dr Darling. For Lillian to do that… Incredible.’

‘It was you who did good,’ Lizzie retorted, trying not to flush. ‘Getting her parents there.’

‘They were due for a kick in the butt. When May told me what was happening I rang them and said their kid was doing them proud so to get to the school and make a fuss of her. They’ll bring her back to hospital-we have a long way to go with her yet-but we’re making progress. You’re making progress. More progress than I would have dreamed possible.’

‘It feels good,’ Lizzie said, and he nodded.

‘It does. Do you want to stay?’

‘Stay?’

‘Stay here. I’ve told you. I could really use a partner. Birrini is big enough to employ two doctors full time, and to have a sympathetic female doctor…’

‘I don’t do family medicine.’ Her fingers were suddenly tightly clenched on the steering-wheel and Harry glanced across at her, his face thoughtful.

‘You do, you know,’ he told her. ‘You care.’

‘It’s because I care that I can’t do it.’

‘It’s because I care that I’m forced to do it,’ he said, and his voice sounded strained suddenly, all traces of laughter gone. He sounded suddenly bereft. ‘Alone.’

Lizzie thought about that as they swung into the hospital parking lot. They came to a halt but made no move to get out of the car. Instead, she stayed silent, staring out the window at the little hospital nestled in the trees. A county bush nursing hospital. It was about as far from her ideal medical environment as she could imagine. And here was this man…

‘Alone, you said,’ she murmured cautiously, and Harry nodded.

‘Alone.’ The desolation was still in place.

She ventured a fast glance at him and then looked away. He looked miserable.

She thought about it. About the way he’d said the word. Alone…

And she cast him another sideways glance. To confirm her suspicions.

‘Phoebe does this,’ she told him. ‘About half an hour before dinner.’

He looked startled. ‘Pardon?’

‘She looks devastated. As if the end of the world is nigh and the only person who can save her from starvation or worse is me.’

‘You’re telling me…’

‘It’s your cocker spaniel look,’ she explained apologetically. ‘If you hadn’t said alone with quite that amount of pathos…’

‘Hey!’

‘You need to work on your act, Dr McKay. It’s good but not good enough. I’ve been trained by an expert. After Phoebe…no, a mere alone doesn’t cut it. You’re OK to hop into the hospital alone, then, Dr McKay?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Fine, then.’ She grinned. ‘See you later. Come on, Phoebe, we have work to do.’

Then, as he broke into stunned laughter, she climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her, clicked her dog to heel-sort of-and then walked into the hospital, leaving him staring dumbfounded after her.

‘He’s sweet on you.’

Two hours later Lizzie just happened to be walking past Lillian’s door. The girl had been dropped back at the hospital by her parents and had gone instantly and soundly to sleep. With a body as severely malnourished as hers was, it took little to exhaust her. Now, though, the minute Lizzie walked through the door she pushed herself upright in bed and giggled.

‘The guys say he’s nutty.’

‘The guys…’ Lizzie said blankly. She looked down at the girl in the bed and couldn’t refrain from a feeling of accomplishment. OK, she didn’t get involved-as a rule-but this morning she had and it seemed to have worked out just fine.

‘The Punk Squirrels. They walked back to school past the coffee-shop Mum and Dad had taken me to, and Dad called them in and bought them Coke and cake.’

‘Your dad?’ Lizzie asked, amazed, and was rewarded by another giggle.

‘I know. It’s amazing. You know my dad’s an accountant? He’s so big on professionalism. My sister and brother…Mardy’s a doctor and Stephen’s a law student and he’s crushed that I’m never going to be any good at those things. And he condemns everyone who doesn’t want what he wants. But Mum and I went to the girls’ room and Mum said Dr McKay came around this morning and gave him the rounds of the kitchen table. He said if the world was full of doctors and lawyers and accountants it’d be a really boring place and I had a skill that most doctors would kill for and he said I had to follow my heart…’

‘He said that?’

‘He did. He said following rules rather than following your heart leads to despair and that’s where I am-though I don’t know about that-but Mum hugged me and cried and said she’s proud of me and so’s Dad. I wouldn’t have thought it, but then when we came out of the bathroom Dad was talking to the guys. I mean really talking to them. Asking about their songs and their production. Like he was really interested. And then he started being really helpful about the way they did their distribution over the internet and they talked for about half an hour until Mum noticed I was nearly asleep and that the boys should be back at school. Then she hauled Dad off to pay the bill-but it was an excuse, I reckon, ’cos she left me with the guys for about ten minutes and they told me then that Dr McKay had been real funny and he’d insisted they had to help you.’

‘Me?’

‘They said he couldn’t keep his eyes off you on the stage. And Mum said when he was talking about following his heart…well, she was sure he was talking about Emily. Or not talking about Emily, if you see what I mean.’

‘Hmm.’ Lizzie was trying hard to take this all in but it was too hard. Too…close? In times of stress-revert to medicine. ‘I don’t think I do see what you mean.’ She tried a smile. ‘It sounds really complicated. Local knowledge needed.’

‘Yeah, but you know…’

She didn’t know anything, and this had to stop. Right now! ‘What have you had to eat?’ she demanded, and Lillian grinned.

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘You’re absolutely right I’m changing the subject. I’m a doctor, aren’t I? And Dr McKay’s love life is strictly Dr McKay’s business.’

‘If you’re sure…’

‘What have you had to eat?’

Lillian gave her a long look and then shrugged. Moving on. For now. ‘I ate a cake at the coffee-shop,’ she told her. Then, as Lizzie fixed her with a look of disbelief, she amended it. ‘OK. Half a cake. But it was a really big cake and I did try. Mum was watching me and she didn’t say a word-that’s Dr McKay telling her not to nag-but I could tell she was pleased. And then I ate half a round of sandwiches when I got back here and Dr McKay sat with me until I went to sleep so I swear it stayed down.’ She flushed a little and then looked anxious. ‘Lizzie…I mean, Dr Darling…’

‘Lizzie’s fine,’ Lizzie told her. She wasn’t staying here. She wasn’t feeling like a doctor. The treatment they were using on Lillian was unconventional so maybe formalities weren’t required. And she could see that more confidences were about to be delivered.

But Lillian had changed her mind. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘If it affects the way you’re feeling then it matters.’

Lillian hesitated.

‘Lizzie,’ she said, and Lizzie pushed away the white coat image and stethoscope and she smiled.

‘Lizzie. Definitely Lizzie.’

And somehow it worked. Lillian’s defences crumpled still more. ‘Joey…the skinny one in the band…’ she started, obviously searching for courage as she went. ‘He said after I get out of here, can he take me to the pictures? What…what do you think?’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows and tried not to smile. Tried not to shout! ‘Joey, hey? The drummer. Hmm. Maybe the question shouldn’t be, what do I think? Maybe it should be, what do you think?’

‘I think…maybe he feels sorry for me?’

‘Do you think someone like Joey would ask you to the pictures if he felt sorry for you?’

‘N-no.’

‘Then maybe he thinks you’re cute,’ Lizzie said, and stooped to give the girl a kiss on the forehead. More unprofessionalism but, hey, she was getting used to it. ‘As I do. Cute and artistic and kind to small children and ill-but recovering fast. How about that for a prognosis?’

‘I guess…it’s a good prognosis.’

‘It’s a fine prognosis,’ Lizzie told her. ‘Let’s keep working on it. Joey, hey? Well, well, well.’

‘Dr McKay, hey?’ Lillian mimicked, snuggling down under the bedclothes and smiling shyly up at her. And then past her. ‘Well, well, well.’

‘Dr McKay?’

She hadn’t heard Harry. He’d come up behind her so suddenly that when he touched her arm she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She whirled and he was sitting innocently enough in his wheelchair, his leg out before him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she spluttered before she could collect herself, and he gave her a lopsided smile that had her even more flustered.

‘I’m tired of being on crutches. I’m practising my wheelchair skills like a good little patient.’

‘If you were a good patient you’d be in bed.’

‘No.’ He smiled across at Lillian. ‘Exercise in moderation. I’m sure that’s right. You don’t have to be in bed to be a patient. Miss Mark, what are you doing in bed at this hour of the afternoon? You’re looking far too healthy to be in bed.’

It was a lie. Lillian had been in hospital for three weeks now and the child still looked skeletal. Her kidney function was compromised, her liver function worrying. They had a long way to go. But this morning they’d seen what could be possible.

It was hard, though. She needed to be in some specially run facility where there could be supervision as needed, but also lots of things to keep the hyperactivity associated with anorexia satisfied. But, failing that, Lillian had to stay here. At home she couldn’t be supervised, she’d find laxatives or buy them, she’d purge…

She was making the first moves toward a cure, but long term there was so much to do.

Meanwhile… Lizzie looked down at Harry and she could almost see his sharp mind focusing on Lillian’s needs. Keeping the girl happy. If Lillian became bored out of her mind, there was no way they could keep her here. This wasn’t a locked psychiatric ward.

‘You’re bored,’ he said, and Lillian nodded.

‘You’re right. I shouldn’t be in bed.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Get out. Do some exercise.’ She looked wistfully at Harry’s wheelchair. ‘Those things look fun.’

‘They are fun,’ Harry said promptly. ‘I’m getting better and better. Want a demonstration?’

‘No,’ both girls said together, and he winced.

‘Ouch. A man has some pride…’ Then he looked more closely at Lillian’s wistful face. ‘It is fun,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’d be much more fun if I had someone to show off to. Hey. I know what. Can I offer you an excursion in one of the hospital wheelchairs?’

Lizzie blinked. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this.

But Harry, once fixed on an idea, was unstoppable. ‘The corridor is empty. There’s not a decrepit patient in sight. Everyone’s cosily settled for their afternoon nap except you, Lillian, and your two friendly physicians. And I’m sure our Dr Darling will turn a blind eye to some high jinks.’

‘High jinks,’ Lizzie said feebly. ‘High jinks? What is this? Gidget Does Birrini?’

She was ignored. ‘How about we do some wheelies?’ Harry was teasing, and by the sideways glance he cast at Lizzie it wasn’t just Lillian he was teasing. ‘We could really burn some rubber here if you’re willing.’

‘Do wheelchairs go that fast?’ Lillian demanded, her eyes sparkling, but Lizzie was shaking her head in disgust.

‘Dr McKay, how do you think,’ Lizzie asked carefully, ‘that you got that broken leg in the first place?’

‘You hit me,’ Harry said blandly, and she choked.

‘You got it being a total twit.’

‘I did.’ He looked crestfallen. ‘You’re right, of course. So I did. Thanks for reminding me. And speaking of reminding… Dr Darling, I think Phoebe’s pining. She needs an antenatal check. Off you go and do some doctoring. Lilly, are you ready?’

‘Really?’ Lillian was tossing her bedclothes aside, her face a picture of disbelief warring with hope.

‘Outside,’ Lizzie said helplessly, trying not to laugh. This wasn’t like any hospital she’d ever been in. ‘You’re not burning rubber in any hospital corridor I’m a doctor in.’

‘Fair enough.’ Harry appeared to think about it. ‘How about into town and back again, then, Lilly?’

‘No!’ Lizzie was definite and once again he appeared offended.

‘Hey, you’re no fun,’ he complained. ‘Go do your antenatal checks, Dr Darling. Let me and Lilly figure this out.’

‘You’ll fall out and have to go back to Melbourne to get your leg reset,’ Lizzie managed, and he grimaced.

‘I won’t fall out. And, besides, it’d make you stay a bit longer. We’d like that, wouldn’t we, Lilly?’

‘I’m staying till the pups are born. No longer.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Lilly, what about a race out on the path down to the sea?’

‘Why there?’ the girl said, but she was already hauling on jeans over her pyjamas and was reaching for socks and shoes.

‘It’s a mossy path. If we fall out then Dr Darling won’t get to patch us up.’

‘I wouldn’t anyway,’ Lizzie muttered, and they both smiled. She stared at both of them-and then threw up her hands in disbelief. ‘Fine, then. Kill yourselves. See if I care.’

‘So you’ll watch?’ Harry was smiling.

‘Certainly I’ll watch.’

‘You’re sure we can’t use the road into town? If we don’t go on asphalt our wheels will get stuck.’

‘Great. You’re not built for speed.’

‘Who says?’

‘Me,’ she said, and put her hands on her hips and glared.

Standoff. They glared at each other while Lillian watched, fascinated.

‘If we use the garden path, will you referee?’ he asked at last, and she groaned.

‘You’re never serious.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘Lilly…’

‘It’s all right, Dr Darling, I won’t hit him,’ Lillian told her seriously. ‘I won’t knock him over.’

‘You’ll never let him win?’

‘Do I look like a girl who’d let a man win?’

‘Yay for you.’ She’d protested enough. ‘Fine. OK, Lilly, if you agree to win then I agree to act as umpire. And if either of you breaks another leg, I wash my hands of the pair of you.’

‘After you set our legs?’

‘Before. I swear it. And then I’ll patch your legs without morphine!’