Doctors in Flight Page 12

  Michael staggers along behind us, muttering to himself. I think he’s over being over being airsick. In fact, I doubt, now he’s coming to grips with what actually happened up there, if he’ll ever get into a small plane again.

  ‘How do we get you and the plane back to base?’ Tom asks as we’re driving to town.

  I’ve been thinking about it, so can offer my suggestion.

  ‘If there’s a local pilot available, we could hire him to fly us back then pay for his transport back to Merriwee. Otherwise I suppose we’ll have to hire a car and drive back. Gregor has a full surgical list lined up for tomorrow at Bilbarra so we actually have three days to get the plane back to base before we need it for Monday’s flights.’

  Behind me Michael groans, confirming my suspicions about his future attitude to flight. I’d like to tell him that now he’s had one mid-air emergency, it’s statistically unlikely he’ll ever suffer any more trouble, but I don’t think he’d listen right now.

  We arrive at the hospital, and Tom accompanies us inside.

  ‘They’ll have him in the trauma room,’ Tom says, ‘and I doubt they need more bodies in there. How about a cuppa?’

  I try to smile because, more than anything else, the offer of a cuppa symbolises the pull-together spirit of the outback. Which is why tears are leaking from my eyes when Gregor comes out of the trauma room.

  ‘He’s doing OK but it’s still touch and go,’ he says, handing me a handkerchief almost automatically.

  Then he touches my arm, very gently, and adds, ‘You did a great job out there, Blue.’ And my eyes leak a bit more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘ONE of the nurses here has a husband with a licence. He can’t fly us back tonight, but can take us first thing in the morning,’ GR says.

  Funny how he was Gregor in the plane—in the emergency situation—but he’s now back to GR in my head. Talk about distancing!

  ‘Anna has offered to put us up for the night. I’ll stay here until Bob’s flown out. I’ve contacted Dave and he’ll tell Bob’s wife, and as soon as we know where he’s going, I’ll let them know.’

  ‘Will he make it?’ I know it’s a stupid question but I have to ask. GR looks at me, then shakes his head.

  ‘You know the statistics as well as I do, Blue,’ he says. ‘I can’t offer you false reassurance, but at least you gave him a chance by getting us all back down to earth as quickly as you did.’

  ‘You and Michael gave him a chance with the CPR,’ I remind him, not wanting to get weepy again.

  Fortunately, Tom appears with a tray of tea things.

  ‘I’ll run you back to the house when you’re ready,’ he says, setting down the tray and waving towards the comfortable chairs in the hospital foyer. ‘I’ve booked us all in at the Cattlemen’s Club for dinner,’ he adds. ‘I could have cooked for you but they do the best steak in the mid-west.’

  GR heads back to the trauma room and Michael and I drink our tea then troop after Tom.

  ‘Lost your shoes, Cinderella?’ Tom asks, as I leap and hop across the sharp stones in the hospital car park.

  ‘Left them on the plane,’ I explain. ‘I suppose I should go back out and get them if we’re going out to dinner tonight.’

  Tom offers to drive us out but I’ve had a better idea.

  ‘No, just drop me at your shopping centre. I was going to shop this afternoon in Bilbarra, but I’ll see what Merriwee has to offer.’

  I get a little nervous flutter in my stomach as I say these brave words, but I know I have to get some boots and trousers of some kind for work. And surely a shop in Merriwee won’t offer the kind of temptation shops in the city offer.

  I mean, it’s not as if they’re likely to have designer clothes!

  ‘You’ll go into a shop barefoot?’ Michael asks, in such scandalised tones I have to laugh.

  ‘Yes, but I’ll come out shod,’ I assure him, feeling in the pocket of my cargo pants to make sure I have my credit card.

  Tom doesn’t argue. He drives up the main street and stops outside a huge shop which I know, from experience of country towns, will sell everything from shoes to bras to handkerchiefs.

  Not a bad idea, the handkerchiefs, considering the way my eyes are leaking. I’ll buy some for myself and a pack of new ones for GR.

  ‘I’ll be back in an hour—that give you enough time?’

  ‘Plenty,’ I assure him, and I hit the shop. I’m about to explain about my shoe-less state to the woman behind the counter that’s midway down the store, but it seems the outback grapevine’s working well.

  ‘Oh, you’re one of the flying specialists, aren’t you?’ she says, rushing forward to greet me. ‘Did you lose your shoes in the crash?’

  ‘We didn’t actually crash,’ I tell her, but my eyes are on the racks of clothing beyond her counter and my feet are drawn involuntarily towards them.

  ‘You’ve got Bliss brand clothes,’ I murmur, stunned to see my favourite designer represented out here.

  ‘Yes, the girl who runs the company is a niece of a local family. So, of course, we like to do what we can to support her.’

  Seeing Bliss has just opened shops in New York and London, I don’t know how much support she needs, but the thought’s still there and I smile at the woman as my fingers flick along the hangers.

  By this time I’m worrying about other recent purchases. I know I told you I was careful with money—but that’s because I have to be, as I’m extremely weak when it comes to clothing.

  And chocolates.

  Just how maxed out is my credit card?

  ‘If you don’t have money with you, we can send an account to the hospital,’ the woman says. I must be becoming increasingly transparent if everyone in the outback can read my mind!

  ‘I really need shoes,’ I tell her. ‘I’m a size six, and I’d like some boots but smart boots, not too practical-looking.’

  I’m lifting hangers off the rack now, folding the selection over my arm, telling myself I’m not going to buy all this gear, just while away an hour trying things on. But Bliss has gone with the ‘combat’ fashion this season, and there are wonderful cargo pants with straps and buckles and pockets everywhere. Sexy vests to go with them, and divine shirts—all khaki and green and brown, which are colours a redhead can wear without having people flinch when they see her.

  Tom’s waiting outside when I emerge, laden with bags. I remembered the handkerchiefs and bought some new undies as well. Now I’m longing to have a shower and put on clean—as in new!—clothes.

  Of course, I’ve bought most of the clothes for work—all the pants and vests and shirts. But Bliss also does the sexiest range of almost-nothing dresses. They’re quite discreet in that they don’t leave acres of flesh exposed, but they have a kind of cling to them that not only feels great but looks sensational, even if you’re only five-five and not supermodel material.

  Of course, I don’t put the one I bought on for dinner at the Cattlemen’s Club, but can’t resist wearing a vivid blue T-shirt, with BLISS in sequins across it, and a blue-green skirt—knee-length, I’m not going to compete with Dustbin’s legs—which has similar sequins scattered here and there.

  Gran would—will?—be horrified. She still believes sequins, rhinestones, any and all glittery trim belong on eveningwear, and are certainly not for dinner in a country town. But there are so many glittering garments in that shop, someone must be wearing them!

  And high-heeled blue sandals. I did buy boots, but they’re definitely not for going out in—not tonight.

  Tom’s ‘Wow’ as I enter his kitchen some time later is appreciated. Anna’s not back but I’ve snitched a bit of her moisturiser and used the lip-gloss I now carry in my pockets both on lips and a touch on my cheeks so I’m not deathly pale.

  ‘Thanks!’ I tell Tom, though it isn’t his ‘Wow’ I want. Deep inside I know GR isn’t really a ‘wow’ kind of person, but I’d like him to be impressed. A car pulls up outside, and Tom goes out to see wh
o it is, reappearing with his arm around his wife, GR walking behind them.

  It’s not ‘Wow’ but his hesitation when he sees me is worth nearly as much. His eyes skim down my body and come to rest on my sandals before lifting again to my face. The little smile is quirking up one side of his mouth.

  ‘Been shopping, Blue?’ he asks.

  ‘I did buy boots,’ I tell him, defiant because his teasing is now causing me nearly as much internal strife as his touch does. ‘How’s Bob?’

  Anna has slumped into a chair by the kitchen table and Tom is massaging her neck and shoulders almost absentmindedly, but their closeness makes me feel both warm and envious.

  ‘He was conscious before we sent him on, and able to talk.’ Anna answers my question, while leaning her head back against Tom’s wrists so he can get at the tense bits at the back of her neck. ‘Providing he doesn’t have another major incident before they get him into Coronary Care, he should be OK. But there must have been some significant blockage somewhere in his circulatory system for him to suffer such a severe attack.’

  ‘Once they get him into Coronary Care, tests will determine what’s happened,’ GR adds, as if knowing I’m in need of more reassurance. ‘And do something about preventing it happening again.’

  Michael drifts in, showered but not shaven, and wearing what is obviously a borrowed shirt.

  ‘Beer?’ Tom offers, and Michael nods, though I’ve a feeling he probably needs something stronger—like a straight whisky!

  ‘Greg?’

  Tom’s crossed to the fridge, handed Michael a can, and is now holding one aloft in GR’s direction. I’m also looking in his direction, trying to fit the shortened ‘Greg’ to the man. Can’t do it—he’s a Gregor or a GR. Gregs are way too ordinary!

  ‘Not just yet,’ he says, then nods in my direction. ‘I’m not saying I’ll be able to compete with my colleague, but if I can borrow a towel, a razor and a clean shirt, I’ll do my best.’

  Tom takes him away, and Anna stands up and turns to smile at me.

  ‘Wonderful things, men, aren’t they?’ she says. ‘Get the beers for the boys sorted, but forget about the women. I can offer you a gin and tonic, white wine, beer, of course, and I think there’s some rum and whisky somewhere but I’m not sure what goes with it.’

  ‘I’d love a gin,’ I tell her. It has, after all, been a big day, and she hasn’t offered chocolate.

  She fixes me a drink then points to the veranda.

  ‘Why don’t you and Michael go out there? It’s much cooler and the chairs are comfortable. I’ll have a quick shower and change then join you.’

  We follow her advice and I sink gratefully into a squatter’s chair—loose canvas slung between a frame in such a manner it’s like a hammock you can sit in. Great chairs for relaxing in at the end of a busy day.

  I’m happy to sit in silence, but Michael is still wound up. He asks questions about where I did my hospital training, and we play ‘do you know’ for a little while, then footsteps herald the arrival of someone else, and I don’t have to turn my head to know it’s GR.

  He might not have new clothes, but with his hair still damp from the shower, and his skin shiny from a shave, he looks good enough to give any woman palpitations, so his effect on me is galvanic.

  Maybe he’s right. A quick and very discreet affair might be the answer. We might be incompatible in bed, and that would be that. All the fizzing, zapping, tingling stuff he’s generating would go away and we could be normal colleagues.

  I take a sip of my bed—drink, not bed, get with it here—and try to stop my mind pursuing the alternative: the ‘what if we’re not incompatible in bed’ scenario.

  Tom and Anna appear and conversation drifts around my head. I feel so at home in the chair on a wide veranda I wonder if I miss Rosebud more than I’m willing to admit. Was it something to do with knowing it would pass to Uncle Joel and from him to my cousin Brendan that made me determined to turn my back on country life?

  ‘Blue?’

  GR touches me gently on the shoulder.

  ‘We’re going now,’ he says quietly, and I realise the others are moving towards the steps.

  ‘You didn’t make a joke about me being lost in my head,’ I tell him as I stand up, grateful for his hand because they’re hell to get out of, these squatters’ chairs, but regretting the need because any touch, no matter how impersonal, affects me.

  ‘You looked so sad I knew it wasn’t time for joking,’ he says, dropping my hand but standing close.

  The attraction we both admit to buzzes between us and I can feel my body tightening with desire, my mind ordering resistance.

  ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘They’re waiting.’

  It’s a wonderful evening of good food and relaxed conversation, and if you’re wondering how we can laugh and joke with Bob fighting for his life in some city hospital, I have to tell you we need to do it. If you don’t take the opportunities to relax when they come your way, you end up so uptight you’re useless to both patients and yourself. So though Bob hovers in all our minds, and our hearts pray for him to be OK, we still have fun, so much so I begin to wish it didn’t have to end.

  That reality didn’t have to intrude…

  Reality strikes in the darkness with a hand on my shoulder and GR’s voice in my ear.

  ‘Come on, Blue, wake up. We’ve got to grab something to eat and be out at the airfield by dawn.’

  I sit up, so groggy I can’t remember where I am. I didn’t have that much to drink last night. It’s lack of sleep. Knowing GR was in a bed just through the wall in Tom’s big house disturbed me so much I counted four thousand, seven hundred and fifty sheep before I started counting articles of woollen clothing I’d like to own.

  ‘Are you awake?’ GR’s voice is harsh. Has he been trying to wake me for so long he’s getting cranky?

  But then he groans and his hand slides off my shoulder, down my chest, touching my breast.

  ‘You’ve got no clothes on.’ It’s a husky, muttered whisper, barely audible, but the combination of touch and sound ignite me so I tremble as his fingers brush my nipple and I hear him groan again as he drags me into his arms and holds me tight against him, then drops his head to claim my lips.

  The buzz is so strong it explodes in my head, and I forget I’ve probably got dragon breath and kiss him back with frenzied helpless pleasure, wanting this never to stop but knowing it must stop right now.

  Must stop!

  I push him away.

  ‘I didn’t come expecting to stay the night,’ I tell him, though I’ve already decided—some time in the sleepless watches of the night—to swallow my pride and bring my handbag in future. I can carry clean underwear and a shirt to use as a nightdress. And what if we’d crashed and I didn’t have any chocolate?

  Not that I tell GR any of this.

  He stands up, hesitates then walks away, and I get up, check he’s shut the door behind him, turn on the light and start rummaging through my new belongings for something to put on.

  Too much choice for a change, but I haven’t time to be picky. I grab the first things I come across and dress, then head for the bathroom where I borrow a bit of toothpaste and use my finger to smear it across my teeth.

  I’ll put a toothbrush in my handbag, too.

  Note to self—check out bigger handbags if there’s a handbag store in Bilbarra.

  Everyone’s in the kitchen by the time I arrive, Anna making toast, Tom pouring coffee into mugs, Michael pacing anxiously—no doubt at the thought of getting back in the plane.

  Gregor’s sitting at the table, already sipping at a coffee, looking so relaxed I wonder if the man who was groaning in my bedroom only minutes ago was a figment of my imagination. Then I see the tendons standing out in his neck and the tic of a nerve near his left eye.

  He’s as tense as I am, and once again I have to think about having an affair with him. Surely, if we don’t and we both go on like this, we’ll crack into a million tiny p
ieces.

  Poor Mum, I think, surprising myself as I’ve never thought of her as Mum. Just ‘my mother’—distancing myself as I’ve tried to do with GR. Now, suddenly, I’m imagining I know exactly how she must have felt when the Argentinian swooped into her life, and my heart aches for her.

  Tom takes us to the airfield, introduces us to the man who’s helping out by flying us back to Bilbarra, then departs. The trip is calm, and the pilot doesn’t have a heart attack, and before we know it we’re back at Bilbarra hospital in plenty of time to start the day’s operating list.

  I call in to see Gran first. I did phone her last night, to explain we were delayed. Not that she’d have been too worried, she’s still engrossed with Charles!

  ‘The stupid woman at the home help service says he has to go on a waiting list for help,’ she tells me almost before I’ve put down my purchases. She sounds really cross then relents. ‘I don’t suppose it’s her fault, but fancy there not being enough people here in town who want to make a bit of extra money and do something useful at the same time.’

  She doesn’t wait for me to offer a comment, but rushes on. ‘So I’m going to have to move in with him. I know you’ll understand.’

  Understand my grandmother moving in with a man?

  I know she’s only doing it to help him out.

  Or is she?

  It’s not nice to imagine one’s grandmother having a sex life of any kind, but to think she might be having a better one than I’m currently enjoying is the absolute end!

  I try to switch my mind off sex. I even make the right noises so Gran doesn’t feel guilty about leaving me. Leaving me? We’ve barely seen each other.

  Leaving me?

  The question repeats itself but this time with strong undertones of utter panic. If Gran’s not here it leaves me vulnerable to all the impulses I’ve been trying to ignore. She was my fall-back plan. The reason it would be impossible to have that affair with GR!

  Fortunately, the operating list is diverse and interesting enough to take my mind off everything but gynaecological matters—apart from the very slightest frisson of awareness that hovers in the air around my body purely because of the proximity of GR.