Prescription-One Husband

CHAPTER TWO

SHE shouldn’t have asked that question.

Three minutes later Fern pulled up outside the home of her aunt and uncle and raced inside. She had two minutes to climb into some jeans, she told herself, but she got no further than the front door before she knew that the worst was here with a vengeance.

‘Fern…’

It was her uncle’s voice, hoarse with fear, and he was yelling from the upstairs bedroom.

Fern heard the fear.

Uncle Al wasn’t a man to express fear lightly.

Fern took the stairs three at a time, her bridal gown hoisted almost to her waist.

Dear God…No!

This wasn’t food poisoning. Fern’s medical training snapped into place as she stared down in horror at her aunt.

Fern’s aunt had collapsed. Maudie Rycroft was a limp, prostrate form huddled against the wall of the bedroom, her wonderful, flowery wedding hat tipped crazily down over her face. She wasn’t moving.

Fern sank to her knees, satin wedding gown flowing out around her, and searched frantically for a pulse.

Nothing. There was no pulse in Maud’s wrist. None in the carotid artery.

‘What happened?’ Fern was already clearing the airway, sliding her aunt down to lay her flat on the floor and give herself room to work. Maud’s crazy hat was tossed aside, unnoticed.

‘She was ill,’ Fern’s uncle stammered. ‘Like everyone else, she was sick as a dog. Maud was sick once outside the church and again just now.’

The elderly farmer was literally wringing his hands. He stared down at his wife and his face was as bloodless as Maud’s. ‘And she was so upset, Fern,’ he whispered. ‘Your aunt was sobbing and sobbing, thinking all her plans for a lovely wedding were ruined. And then she came out of the bathroom and said her chest felt tight and there was pain going down her arm and she just…she just fell over…I couldn’t even catch her before she fell…’

It had to be a heart attack. Nothing else would fit.

Unless the oysters Lizzy had given them were so poisonous that they had affected the heart. There were poisons that caused paralysis…

Surely not, Fern thought frantically, the nightmare image of the whole island collapsing with heart pain flitting through her head and being thrust away as unthinkable.

‘Phone Dr Gallagher,’ she snapped back to her uncle. ‘Tell him Maud’s had a cardiac arrest and I need him here now. Go!’

This was a dreadful way to treat the uncle she loved-to treat any frightened relative for that matter-but there was no time now for reassurance or niceties. Fern’s medical equipment was all still in Sydney. She needed Quinn’s doctor’s bag and she needed it now!

There were some things she could do without equipment. She had to get oxygen to Maud’s brain. Fern took her aunt’s face between her hands and blew in her first breath.

Then she let Maud’s face go, dropped her hands onto her aunt’s chest and linked them.

And shoved down hard.

One, two, three…

Cardio-pulmonary massage was almost instinctive in Fern by now. She could do it in her sleep. How many times had she done this in an emergency situation?

But how many times had it worked? What were the statistics? Something horrible…Less than twenty-five per cent of those…

Don’t think of that. Don’t. It had to work now. It must…

Please, please, please…

This was her beloved Aunt Maud. Maud was only in her sixties. It wasn’t her time to die…

Fern shoved down hard, again and again, pausing only to fill her aunt’s lungs with air before beginning the relentless rhythm again. In the hall below she could hear her uncle shouting desperately into the phone and then she heard his feet pounding upstairs again.

‘He’s on his way,’ the farmer gasped. Fern didn’t stop her rhythm for a moment. Al stared down at his wife and seemed almost to shrink against the wall. ‘Oh, God, Fern, is she…?’

Fern didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Breathe, push…Push…Push…

Come on, Maudie…

They’d done so much for her, Albert and Maudie. What was the use of Fern’s medicine if she couldn’t save her aunt now?

Breathe, push…

She needed a defibrillator. The cardiac massage wasn’t working.

Where was Quinn with the defibrillator? Electric shock was the only way that they could jolt this heart into starting. How far away was he? How long would it take for him to get here?

Quinn Gallagher was the only one who could save Maudie now.

And then Fern heard a car’s tyres screeching, a car door slam and someone was shouting below stairs. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply into her aunt’s lips-a breath of gratitude. Quinn…

Her uncle dragged himself from his misery against the wall and managed to yell back-and ten seconds later Quinn burst through the door at a run.

He had what she needed. Fern glanced up and saw the defibrillator in his hands. One part of her prayer had been answered…

She went straight back, breathing and pushing. She had eyes only for Maud.

There was no laughter in Quinn Gallagher now. There was no space for anything.

Quinn wasted no words. He left Fern doing what she was doing, instinctively trusting her professionalism, and worked round her, ripping Maud’s gay wedding dress apart as if it was tissue and attaching electrodes with the swiftness of an expert.

Her first impression of competence had been absolutely right, Fern thought fleetingly. Quinn Gallagher was attuned to emergency medicine with the skill of years of training behind him. His hands wasted not a second.

Leads attached, Quinn squatted back on his heels and pulled Fern back with him.

‘Now.’

He put his hand on the switch and Maud’s limp body jerked in spasm. Before she was still Fern was back breathing into her lips. Breathe, pump, one, two, three…

‘Again.’ Quinn pulled her back.

Breathe…

“Again…’

It wouldn’t work.

Please…

Fern breathed deeply once more into her aunt’s lips but then Quinn was hauling her back, his strong fingers holding Maud’s wrist and the defibrillator put aside.

‘We have a pulse,’ he said softly. ‘Give it a minute, Fern…’

Fern stared wildly down. Her own breath had stopped. She was scared to take the next breath.

‘Please…’

She said the word aloud. It echoed round and round the crowded room and suddenly there was an answer to her plea.

Maud took a rasping, ragged breath that was painful to hear but it was the sweetest sound that Fern had ever heard. She stared down as Maud’s chest heaved, hardly daring to hope.

Maudie breathed again, and again, and her breathing settled into a harsh but steady rhythm.

‘We have life,’ Quinn said with quiet satisfaction.

Without pause, he turned to the oxygen cylinder he’d dragged up the stairs with him and started to join a mask to the tubing. The next priority was to get as much oxygen into Maud’s starved bloodstream as he could. ‘How long without oxygen, Dr Rycroft?’

‘How long…?’

Fern bit her lip. There were tears streaming down her face and she wiped them away with a lace-trimmed sleeve. How long? Quinn was asking how long Maud hadn’t been breathing.

She didn’t know. Her uncle knew…

Strange how hard it was to get her voice to work. She had to…

‘Uncle…Uncle, how long was Maud unconscious before I arrived?’

Albert was still staring down with horror at his unconscious wife. He didn’t hear her.

Fern stood with difficulty and somewhere beneath her a piece of white satin caught and ripped. Her knees seemed to have turned to water. She crossed to where her uncle stood and gave him a swift hug, then stood back with him at arm’s length. She gripped his hands hard. ‘Uncle, we have Maud breathing again. It’ll take a while, though, before she regains consciousness…’

Depending on how long Maud’s brain had been starved of oxygen…

Fern didn’t say that. There was no use scaring her uncle even more than he already was.

‘How long was she unconscious before I came?’ she asked her uncle again, and Albert hauled himself together with a mammoth effort.

‘Only…only seconds,’ he stammered. ‘She was sick and then she slumped to the floor and I thought, what am I going to do, she’s dying, and then I heard your car…’

‘Then she might have only been ten minutes not breathing,’ Fern whispered across to Quinn. ‘Maybe even less. And I was breathing for her most of that time. You were so fast…’

‘Frank Reid’s place is just past here,’ Quinn told her. ‘I was almost outside the front door when your uncle phoned.’

‘Thank God for that.’

The oxygen mask was firmly in place now and Maudie was changing colour. The awful blue-white was fading to pink.

Then Maud’s body moved almost imperceptibly once and then again. Finally, the woman’s hand moved slowly up to touch the mask and her eyes tried to open.

‘It’s OK, Auntie.’ Fern sank quickly to her knees again, ignoring the ripping sound of satin, and gathered her aunt’s hands to her. ‘You’ve had a heart turn but you’re OK. Dr Gallagher has an oxygen mask on your face. Don’t try to fight it. Just rest and let us do the work.’

Maud Rycroft gave a feeble moan. She fought to free her hand from Fern’s grasp and her eyes rolled. Her lips moved as she tried to speak and Quinn lifted the mask a fraction.

‘What is it, Mrs Rycroft?’ he said gently.

‘Fern’s wedding…’ A tear of weakness and despair rolled down Maud’s wrinkled cheek. ‘My Fern…’

Quinn replaced the mask and touched Maud’s cheek. He was kneeling beside Fern but he didn’t look at her. His dark eyes held those of his frightened patient and they exuded reassurance.

‘Fern’s wedding’s a little delayed, Mrs Rycroft,’ he told Maud gently. ‘We seem to have a widespread case of tummy wobbles on the island. It seems, though…’ Laughter surfaced fleetingly as Quinn cast a quick glance at Fern. ‘It seems your niece has a while before she passes her “use-by” date. Most brides ache to wear their wedding dress more than once. Your Fern now gets the chance to put her finery on, walk down the aisle and be the centre of attention all over again-without the bother and expense of a divorce in between.’

Maud lay still. She took three rasping breaths, gathering strength. Then, slowly, the sides of her mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile.

‘Our Fern always was one for doing things different,’ she whispered and closed her eyes. ‘Keep her safe for me, Dr Gallagher.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Quinn promised, and the laughter faded.

By the time Fern finally rid herself of her crazy bridal apparel, Uncle Al and Quinn had settled Fern’s aunt into the back of Quinn’s station wagon. Racing downstairs, sensibly clad in jeans and blouse, Fern discovered her aunt secure in what seemed to be an amazingly equipped vehicle.

‘It’s as good as an ambulance,’ Fern said in astonishment, staring at the mass of equipment inside the vehicle. The island had never had medical gear like this. Maud lay comfortable and safe on a fixed stretcher, oxygen supplied from a tank fixed to the side of the van. There was room for two stretchers but, with only one needed, the other folded away to leave room for Uncle Albert to sit by his wife’s side.

‘It’s better than most ambulances,’ Quinn corrected her. He was adjusting a saline drip over Maud. Now he met Fern’s bewildered gaze and smiled. ‘I’m not prepared to practise medicine by halves, Dr Rycroft, and when I promised to stay long-term the islanders decided to set me up properly.’

‘But…’ Fern’s confusion was growing. ‘Why did you come here?’

‘Why wouldn’t I come?’ He was intent once again on adjusting his drip.

‘No one ever has before.’

‘Because it’s not a lucrative medical practice?’ Quinn threw her a quizzical look. ‘Is that why you won’t stay, Dr Rycroft?’

‘No. I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why I won’t stay has nothing to do with you, Dr Gallagher.’

‘There is that,’ Quinn said drily. He smiled down at Fern’s aunt, lying wan on the stretcher. ‘But I appeal to you, Mrs Rycroft. Your niece thinks her reasons for leaving the island are none of my business, yet she thinks it’s her business to know why I came. Is that fair?’

Maud’s eyes twinkled faintly and the sight made Fern feel better.

‘Fern was always contrary,’ Maud whispered. ‘Where…where are you taking me?’

‘To hospital.’

‘Hospital!’ Fern stared. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you’ve set up a hospital here?’

‘Of sorts.’ Quinn swung out of the ambulance and stood looking down at her. ‘Now, are you happy to leave your aunt in my charge?’

‘I…’ Fern looked dubiously at her aunt. Maud’s colour was improving while she watched but the first few hours after cardiac arrest were the most dangerous.

‘I won’t leave her,’ Quinn said softly. His hand came up and he touched Fern’s cheek with a gentleness that was at odds with his brusque and competent exterior. ‘I promise.’

Fern nodded. She didn’t meet his look. She couldn’t.

The feel of his finger on the skin of her cheek was doing strange things to her.

Like making her want to weep again.

For heaven’s sake…Get a hold on yourself, Fern Rycroft…

She brushed his fingers away with impatience.

‘What do you want me to do, then?’ she snapped and then wished she hadn’t. She was the medical equal of this man. Why was she looking to him for orders?

Quinn seemed used to issuing them, though. His mind had obviously worked through priorities as he’d helped Fern’s aunt and he knew what was needed.

‘I want you to take my bag and check on the two patients I was going to see and then come back to the clinic,’ he ordered. ‘If this vomiting is making people dehydrated then we’ll need both of us at a central point.

‘I’ll ring the local police sergeant and have him find Lizzy Hurst. He can find out what exactly she’s done. I want an assurance that the oysters weren’t contaminated with anything else. You’re a trained doctor, Dr Rycroft, and too valuable now to go traipsing off searching for Lizzy yourself.’

With Albert and Maud within hearing, Quinn didn’t add the obvious. Fifteen minutes ago Maud had been clinically dead. She was likely to need all Quinn’s attention at any minute and if he was taken up with a cardiac arrest and others were dangerously ill…

‘I’ll be back at the clinic as soon as I can,’ Fern promised, taking his proffered bag. She hesitated. ‘But don’t…don’t send Sergeant Russell to find Lizzy.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Because I can find her fast,’ Fern told him. ‘I…Lizzy and I are the same age and we were friends as teenagers. I know where she’ll go-and if she sees police looking for her…’

She bit her lip.

‘What’s on your mind, Dr Rycroft?’

Quinn wasn’t impatient. His eyes were intent, allowing her to think things through as she spoke.

‘Lizzy’s impetuous-even maybe a little bit crazy,’ Fern told him. ‘She’ll have done this in a fit of fury and then she’ll have gone home and thought about it. And she’s not stupid. She’ll start seeing the consequences almost at once. She’s already desperately unhappy and if she sees the police looking for her…’

‘She could suicide?’

‘Yes,’ Fern said bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

Quinn nodded. He turned to Fern’s uncle. ‘You know Lizzy Hurst, sir,’ he said. ‘Do you agree with your niece?’

Albert Rycroft nodded, his hand holding his wife’s as if he was afraid to let it go.

‘Fern’s right,’ he said heavily. ‘Lizzy Hurst’s a bit crazy but she’s not a bad kid. If she thinks she’s hurt someone as well as lost her Sam…’

‘OK.’ Quinn unclipped the telephone on his belt and handed it to Fern. ‘Take this as well. I’ll be by a phone or the car radio from now on so I don’t need it, but if I need you I’ll be able to contact you. Be fast. Check Frank Reid and Pete Harny first, though, Dr Rycroft. Even if Lizzy Hurst is intent on suicide, she’s done this herself and she has to be given a lesser priority. Move, though, Fern. I need you and I need you fast.’

I need you…

It was odd how those words rang through and through Fern’s head. They made her work speedily and they made the dreadful chaos of the day become almost bearable.

At the end of the chaos Quinn Gallagher was waiting.

So was Sam!

Poor Sam. Fern thought guiltily of her future husband as she pulled up outside Frank Reid’s place. Sam would be mortified that Fern hadn’t stayed by his side to hold his basin-but if she’d stayed with Sam, Maud would be dead by now.

Sam would just have to understand. He’d have gone home to his parents and Fern would get to him as soon as possible.

Odd that Sam’s need didn’t give Fern the same feeling in the back reaches of her heart that Quinn Gallagher’s demand for her presence gave her!

Frank Reid’s home was another farm half a mile from Fern’s uncle’s. Fern knocked twice, noting that Frank’s car was by the door but that the dogs were still tied. Usually when Frank was home his dogs were by his side. He’d come home in a hurry.

No answer.

Fern pushed the unlocked door inward and walked inside. Frank must know that she was here. The dogs were raising enough din to waken the dead.

‘Frank?’

‘I’m in here, girl…’ Frank’s voice came from down the passage, faint but distinct.

He was in his bedroom, huddled under a mountain of bedclothes. His elderly frame seemed to have shrunk and Fern felt her heart lurch in pity.

And in anger. How dare Lizzy play such a stupid trick. Frank didn’t deserve this!

‘I thought I’d better check on my favourite wedding guest,’ she smiled, swallowing her anger in an effort to reassure the farmer, and crossed to the bed. ‘How are you, Frank?’

‘I think I’ve stopped throwing up,’ he whispered. ‘Though I still feel I’m going to, and my stomach feels as if I’ve been kicked by a horse.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ Fern lifted his wrist and was reassured by his pulse rate. Blood pressure a hundred and fifty on eighty. Acceptable…

‘When were you last ill?’

‘About fifteen minutes ago.’

Fern nodded. ‘And you feel like death?’

‘St Peter’s got his book open, girl,’ Frank groaned. ‘I can almost read it from here.’

‘Well, close your eyes and roll over,’ Fern ordered and chuckled as he groaned again. ‘You know what I’m going to do, then?’

‘Stick something in my backside, at a guess,’ he growled. ‘It’s what you doctors seem to like doing most. I always knew you had a sadistic streak in you, Fern Rycroft.’

‘It’s a requisite for medical school,’ she agreed, filling a syringe from the contents of Quinn’s bag. ‘I’m just giving you some metoclopramide to stop the nausea.’

‘I’m not sure I don’t prefer a bit of vomiting.’ Frank dug his head into the pillows and swore. ‘If I could just see what’s written on them danged pages I wouldn’t be so worried.’

Fern laughed. She administered the needle with care. ‘There. Pinprick, Frank. Admit it?’

‘Not on your nelly.’ Frank rolled back to look up at her, only the smile behind his eyes admitting that it hadn’t hurt too much. ‘I don’t encourage you lot one bit.’

Fern smiled. She left him for a moment to find a towel, soaked it with warm water and came back to sponge his face and hands.

‘Better?’

‘Yeah…’ He gripped her hands suddenly and smiled. ‘You’re a good kid, Fern. One of the best. It’s a darned shame you won’t stay…’

‘Can I do a blood sugar?’

‘If you must…’ He motioned to the bureau, grimacing as another spasm of nausea washed over him. ‘My diabetic gear’s over there. I knew I ought to do it myself but I couldn’t face the thought of getting out of bed.’

‘I don’t blame you.’ Fern crossed over and fetched Frank’s kit. Deftly she pricked his finger and produced a droplet of blood, checking it quickly for sugar. What she saw made her wince.

‘Frank…’

‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘I was bloody stupid-even before the oysters. I had two glasses of beer and a lamington with lunch-things my dratted diet chart tell me to avoid like the plague-so I knew I was playing with fire. And then this…’

‘Mmm.’ Fern looked down at him, considering. He couldn’t stay here on his own and Quinn said that he had a hospital…

‘Don’t start looking at me like that, girl,’ Frank growled. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Fern held the monitor out for him to see. ‘You need a hospital bed, Frank Reid.’

She expected him to protest. Instead, Frank just sighed and pulled the quilt tighter.

‘Yeah, well, I thought you’d say that,’ he said weakly. ‘And they do look after a man there…’

‘You’ve been there before?’ Fern asked in astonishment, and Frank nodded.

‘I had a bad hypo and a fall a few weeks ago. Doc Gallagher took me in then-and they made me right proper comfortable, I must say.’

‘Them…?’

‘Them nurses he employs and that Jess girl, whatever she is. She’s not supposed to have anything to do with the hospital but she’s a real kind-hearted lady. And Doc Gallagher looked after me a treat.’

‘That’s great,’ Fern smiled. She was a little confused but whoever all these people were it made her job here a lot easier. ‘I’ll just let Dr Gallagher know what’s going on.’

‘Bring him in when you come,’ Quinn told her when she phoned. ‘Is he right to leave alone until you’ve checked Pete and seen Lizzy? I can send the police or Jessie for him if you like.’

‘He’s stopped vomiting for the moment,’ Fern told him. ‘An hour shouldn’t do too much harm and I’ve shifted his phone so it’s close to the bed. He’s well enough-and sensible enough-to ring if he gets worse.’

Who on earth was Jessie? She didn’t know the island had a nurse called Jessie. ‘I’ll go to Pete Harny’s place now and then to Lizzy’s,’ she told him. ‘See you soon.’

‘Be fast,’ Quinn growled and disconnected.

Fern clipped the phone back to her waistband and turned to find Frank regarding her with perplexity. Clearly the afternoon’s events were finally starting to be understood.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be married, girl?’

‘You’ll have gathered we didn’t quite make it,’ Fern said cheerfully. ‘Maybe next time.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re worth waiting for,’ Frank said drily. ‘Can’t say the same for that groom of yours, though, Fern. Puffed-up bag of wind…’

Puffed up bag of wind…

Fern thought of her fiancé with a slightly guilty start.

She should ring Sam’s house and find out how he was.

Fern looked ruefully down at the mobile phone as she started the car again.

She was in a hurry. Ringing Sam was wasting time.

Ringing Sam was wasting time…

Pete Harny was fine.

The ten-year-old haemophiliac opened the door when Fern knocked and grinned hugely when he saw who it was.

‘Gee, Fern, you look a lot better like this. I like you much better in jeans. You looked a right proper twit in all that frilly white lace!’

‘That’s what I thought, too,’ Fern smiled. ‘Pete, you haven’t been sick, have you?’

‘Nah,’ he said scornfully. ‘That’s cos I didn’t eat the oysters.’

Fern nodded. This child was sharp. ‘So you worked out what caused it, then?’

‘Well, stands to reason.’ Pete grinned. ‘Mum and Dad were both sick as dogs, though they’ve stopped being sick now, and the only thing they ate and I didn’t were the oysters.’

‘Why didn’t you eat them?’ Fern asked. ‘I was sure I saw you taking a couple from the tray.’

‘Yeah, well I did,’ he said. ‘Lizzy Hurst was so insistent-and Mum says when you’re a guest you have to eat everything that’s offered to you. But I hate oysters-especially ones with gunk cooked on ‘em like garlic. So I took some and buried ‘em in one of your aunt’s pot plants. I guess you’d better dig ‘em out when you get home, Fern, or the plant’ll cark it when they rot.’

‘You have such a delicate way of putting things.’ Fern grinned. ‘Are your mum and dad upstairs?’

They were, and their condition reassured Fern. Both were starting to recover. Mrs Harny was well enough to protest against Fern’s visit.

‘I don’t know how you’re coping, Fern, dear,’ she said sadly. ‘What a tragedy. It would have been such a beautiful wedding.’

‘It still will be,’ Fern sighed, but it was starting to seem so unreal that it was like a bad dream.

How could she go through it again?

Lizzy next.

This was the hardest.

As Fern started the car again, the telephone at her waist shrilled into life.

‘Yes…’

‘Fern, it’s Quinn…’

‘Auntie Maud? Has she arrested again?’ Fern’s breath froze in fear.

‘No, she’s fine,’ Quinn said quickly. ‘Hell, Dr Rycroft, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Why…Then why are you ringing?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Outside the Harnys’. About to see if I can find Lizzy.’

‘Pete?’

‘Pete’s OK. He didn’t eat the oysters,’ Fern reassured him. ‘His mum and dad did but they’ve stopped being sick and are recovering. It seems once the oysters are out of the system they’re doing no lasting damage. Frank definitely needs observing, though-the vomiting’s made his diabetes run out of control and I’m not certain he’s stopped vomiting for good. Are you sure you have room for him at this hospital of yours?’

‘Four beds, all of them empty at the moment,’ Quinn told her. ‘Women’s and men’s ward.’

‘Good grief!’

‘“Good grief”?’ His voice rose in mock query. ‘Surprised that someone would put money into making a go of a medical practice in a place like this, Dr Rycroft?’

‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘I don’t understand why you have.’

‘And you suspect my motives?’

‘No. I…’

‘You’re just surprised,’ he said.

‘No one in their right mind wants to practise on Barega.’

‘You mean you don’t.’

Fern took a deep breath. ‘Was that…was that all you wanted to say to me, Dr Gallagher?’

‘No.’

To her fury Fern could hear the inevitable laughter in his voice again. This man thought life was one long joke. He’d found the events of the day one huge piece of comic theatre.

‘Well, what?’ There was fury in her voice and Quinn heard it.

‘I just wanted to say that I wish I could be with you,’ Quinn said, and the gentleness of his voice undermined her fury like nothing else could. It drove the air right out of her lungs and left her gasping. ‘You shouldn’t have to face Lizzy alone.’

‘I can cope alone,’ Fern managed.

‘I know,’ Quinn said softly. ‘But you shouldn’t have to.’