Christmas at Jimmie's Children's Unit Page 14

  She must have slept for she was woken by a strange noise at her back door, and she pulled on a robe and made her way downstairs to find McTavish sitting on the doorstep, whimpering piteously.

  ‘What’s wrong, where’s Hamish?’ she asked the dog, then realised how pathetic that was.

  She called the boy, thinking he must be hiding somewhere and McTavish couldn’t find him, but there was no reply, and in spite of her sudden rush of anxiety a quick search of her backyard revealed no unconscious little boy.

  Picking McTavish up, she was walking towards the gate when she realised she was hardly dressed for visiting.

  ‘Come inside with me,’ she told him, carrying him into the kitchen and putting some water for him into a bowl. ‘I’ll get some clothes on and we’ll investigate.’

  He sat beside the water bowl, the dark brown eyes in the pale Highland terrier face looking so sorrowful she had to hug him again before she went upstairs to change.

  But going next door provided no answers. The little car Angus had bought was on the concrete pad in the backyard, but no-one was at home.

  ‘Well, do you want to stay here or come home with me?’ she asked McTavish, who put his nose against her leg by way of answer and followed her back into her yard.

  ‘I don’t have a dog door but I’ll leave the back door open,’ she told him, but apparently, having found one of the few humans he knew in Australia, McTavish wasn’t going to budge from her side.

  By late afternoon Kate was seriously worried, and although she’d phoned her neighbours frequently there was no reply, and no answering machine picked up. She’d never had reason to know Angus’s mobile number and wondered about phoning the hospital and asking them to contact Angus on his pager. But she knew how much he’d hate that, so she sat and worried, cleaned her living-room walls down and worried, took McTavish for a walk in the park using a belt for a lead, and worried.

  At midnight, when McTavish’s scratching at her bedclothes told her he needed to go outside, she let him out into the backyard and saw lights on next door, but they were upstairs in Juanita’s flat and Kate didn’t feel she knew Juanita well enough to visit her at midnight.

  Instead, she tried to shoo McTavish back home, but although he went through the gate and wandered around for a while, he came back and followed Kate inside.

  ‘Stuck with each other, aren’t we?’ she said, although by morning she knew she had to find out what had happened. Clutching McTavish’s solid body under one arm, she went next door, to the front door this time, and pressed her finger on the bell. So what if it was barely seven; the dog was lost, well, kind of lost…

  And so was she, but that was different.

  Juanita came eventually. Not the cheerful, competent Juanita Kate was used to seeing, but a sleep-rumpled Juanita with dark shadows under her eyes.

  ‘The dog! I’d forgotten all about him. He hasn’t been here long enough for me to remember he’s part of the family. Have you been looking after him?’

  She reached out to take McTavish but Kate held on to her prize.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘He’s been at my place since yesterday morning and I’ve tried to contact Angus any number of times.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  Juanita sounded shocked, but the look of her, and now the tone of her voice, was filling Kate with a strong foreboding.

  She shook her head.

  ‘It’s Hamish!’ Juanita said, her voice catching on his name, and tears welling in her eyes. ‘Just suddenly on Friday night—he was sleeping in my flat because Angus was out, and he started crying, then he stopped, suddenly. One minute crying, then no crying. I went to check—he was asleep. He felt a little hot but he gets ear infections and a temperature sometimes and he was sleeping so I didn’t wake him. Then in the morning—very early, it was still dark—he was going down the stairs to his own flat and he fell. Angus thought he’d knocked himself out and took him up to the hospital for X-rays but it wasn’t the fall. He’s got enceph—’

  ‘Encephalitis?’ Kate whispered, finishing the word that Juanita was trying to get out.

  Juanita nodded.

  ‘The doctors there say he must have had some kind of virus and this followed it, but until last night he’s been well as far as we could see.’

  ‘And Angus?’

  ‘He is by his son’s bed where he should be,’ Juanita said, somehow implying it’s where he should have been when Hamish was first ill. Not that Kate needed Juanita’s words to make her feel guilty; she’d been feeling guilt since she’d first heard of the little boy’s illness.

  And if she was feeling guilt, how would Angus be feeling—Angus who was a world champion in the guilt stakes.

  She handed McTavish over and headed straight for the hospital, then had second thoughts and turned back, returning home to get her hospital ID just in case she was stopped from entering the intensive-care unit where Hamish would be.

  He was in a small room, hooked up to monitors, a haggard-looking Angus by his side.

  ‘I’ll sit with him while you take a break,’ she said, coming close but not touching either the man or the comatose child.

  Angus looked up at her, his dark eyes almost black with worry.

  And regret!

  Although maybe she was imagining the regret.

  ‘I should have been there for him earlier in the evening,’ he muttered, confirming her fears that Angus would be taking on entire responsibility for his son’s illness.

  ‘He could have sickened during the day, while you were operating, while he was at kindy—any time, Angus, and you know it.’

  The dark eyes turned away from her, and though she longed to touch him, hold him, help to bear his pain, he’d erected a wall between them, so obvious she could almost see it.

  ‘Take a break,’ she said. ‘I’m speaking as a doctor now, not a friend. You’ll be worse than useless if you don’t look after yourself and you know it.’

  ‘He hasn’t roused at all,’ Angus muttered. ‘They’re giving him corticosteroids but there’s little else they can do.’

  ‘He knows me well enough now, Angus, for me to be with him if he does rouse, so go, if only to have a shower and get fresh clothes. Something to eat and drink.’

  To her surprise Angus stood, ceding his place to her, and as she slipped into the chair he touched his hand to her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice gruff with exhaustion, and although he was gone before Kate could question the remark, it filled her with a coldness she didn’t want to consider.

  She took Hamish’s hand in hers, and talked to him, about possums and wombats and McTavish coming to visit her and staying the night, chattering on, hoping something in the stream of words might penetrate enough to rouse him. It was only when a different nurse came in to do his obs that she realised she’d been there over a change of shift, and checking her watch saw Angus had been gone two hours.

  Maybe he’d had a sleep!

  She was pleased for him but, stupidly perhaps, even more pleased for herself that he’d trusted her to sit with his son.

  But his return, another hour later, was no cause for pleasure, his thanks spoken so brusquely Kate flinched.

  ‘I’ll stay a little longer,’ she suggested, for in spite of his attitude she knew he needed support.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said, and now she did depart, stopping by the monitors to speak to the nurse in charge, a young man she knew quite well because he’d done a stint in the cardiac PICU.

  ‘It’s not good that he’s not rousing,’ he said. ‘The swelling in his brain is down, and he’s responding to physical stimuli but not to verbal ones.’

  Kate walked home, worrying about this, knowing Angus must be frantic with concern. She found McTavish sitting forlornly on the yellow sofa and it gave her an idea.

  A radical idea!

  Could she do it?

  Should she do it?

  Perhaps it would be okay; after all,
Hamish wasn’t in the main ICU but in a room of his own outside the really sterile area.

  She thought of the consequences, the insanitary aspects of it, then thought of a little boy that talk alone had failed to rouse from his semiconscious state.

  Damn it all, it was worth a go!

  ‘How do you feel about backpacks?’ she asked the dog, remembering a friend who took her King Charles spaniel to the beach in a backpack.

  She hurried inside, McTavish at her heels, and dug out a backpack that had seen better days but was still serviceable enough.

  ‘I’ll give you a run outside to do whatever you have to do,’ she told him, leading him through to the backyard and chasing him around until he sniffed a bush or two and left his mark on one of them.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘here we go.’

  She lifted his chunky body, pleased he was still little more than a pup and hadn’t filled out to true Highland terrier proportions.

  Apparently used to being carted around by Hamish in unusual conveyances, the dog showed no objection to being treated this way.

  ‘Okay, we’re off,’ she said to him, lifting him and slinging the backpack on her shoulders. With the friendly nurse on duty at the monitors she should be able to get the backpack in without question. It was Angus she was more worried about.

  Would he object?

  Of course he would; he’d think she was mad. But Hamish was his child, so obviously she’d have to discuss it with him first.

  She stopped next door, knocked, then explained to Juanita what she was doing.

  ‘Angus’ll have his mobile in his pocket on vibrate,’ she said. ‘Could you give me twenty minutes to get up there and on to the right floor, then phone him. He can’t use his mobile in there, so he’ll have to leave the room to check the call and I’ll grab him in the foyer and explain what I want to do.’

  Juanita stared at her as if she was mad, then she smiled, a broad warm smile.

  ‘It might work,’ she said. ‘I can tell him I’ve been speaking to his mother, which is true.’

  They checked their watches and Kate took off, hurrying now, as the weight of the dog on her back seemed to be increasing all the time.

  From an alcove outside the PICU she saw Angus leave the unit, hurrying to the elevator foyer to answer his phone. Kate caught him as he closed the phone, drawing him into the alcove so she could explain her idea.

  ‘That is crazy. You can’t take a dog into his room—he’s in a hospital bed.’

  Kate looked into his eyes, aware of the plea he must be able to read in hers.

  ‘He’s not responding to anything else, Angus,’ she reminded him. ‘Isn’t it worth a try?’

  Angus’s fingers had found a way into the top of the backpack and he was scratching at McTavish and murmuring to him.

  ‘He does love the dog,’ he said, his voice so rough Kate realised he was feeling pain. Pain that maybe Hamish loved his dog more than he loved his father?

  ‘Of course he does, but a lot of that is because McTavish relies on him. Maybe thinking McTavish needs him will be the incentive to push him to the surface, back to consciousness.’

  The anguish on Angus’s face was so obvious Kate touched his arm, then reached up and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Worth a try?’ she said as lightly as she could, for her heart was aching for this tormented man.

  ‘Worth a try,’ he finally admitted, then he found a smile that eased, just a little, her heartache. ‘But you’re the one who takes the rap if the hospital gets wind of it!’ he warned, but he took the backpack off her and carried it into the room.

  Once there, he grabbed a towel and put it on the side of Hamish’s bed, then set the backpack on the towel. Kate held her breath as Angus opened it enough for McTavish to poke his nose and paws outside. The little dog whimpered at the sight of his master and Kate lifted Hamish’s hand to rest on McTavish’s head.

  ‘It’s McTavish, Hamish darling. He’s come to visit you. He’s been missing you so much. Won’t you say hello to him?’

  Kate didn’t know if it was her words or the dog’s rough tongue licking Hamish’s hand, but the blue eyes opened and the little hand grasped one of his dog’s paws as he whispered, ‘McTavish.’

  To Kate it was the most beautiful word she’d ever heard and she knew tears were rolling down her cheeks, down Angus’s, too, she realised as he bent to take his son in his arms.

  Kate tucked McTavish back into her backpack, promised Hamish she’d visit soon, and left the room, dodging the nurse who’d entered in response to the change in Hamish’s condition shown on the monitor screen.

  Hamish’s eyes had closed again, but through the window Kate could see that his fingers, rather than lying listlessly on the bed, were now curled around his father’s hand, while Angus’s free hand stroked his son’s face and hair, his fingers trembling slightly.

  As she left the hospital, she let McTavish out of the backpack, once again using the old belt as a lead. They walked home together, Kate pouring out her troubles to him.

  ‘So you see, McTavish,’ she finished, dropping down onto the yellow sofa and helping him jump up on it to sit beside her, ‘just when the man was ready to accept that being human, which means vulnerable, was okay, this happens, and I know for sure he’ll be shutting himself off from the world again—or from the world of human emotions.’

  McTavish responded by putting his front paws on her lap and giving her chin a consolatory lick.

  ‘And I’m going to be in trouble for taking a dog into a hospital—the one place in the world that’s supposed to be a germ-free environment and who knows what germs you might have.’

  McTavish was obviously bored with the conversation, as he’d now put his head on his paws, still in Kate’s lap, and had closed his eyes, confirming his lack of interest with little snuffling snores. Juanita came along the footpath.

  ‘Angus has called me. It worked, your idea?’

  She was smiling with delight but Kate couldn’t summon up more than a tepid grin.

  ‘Yes, it worked,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure Angus was too impressed—reckons if anyone gets into trouble it will have to be me.’

  ‘Angus, phooey!’ Juanita declared. ‘He needs to be jolted out of himself that man, and though I wouldn’t for the world have had this happen to Hamish, maybe it will be for the best in the long run.’

  Not for me, Kate knew but didn’t say.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said.

  ‘I’m going to the hospital now,’ Juanita said. ‘Maybe I can nag him to come home for proper sleep.’

  Then she shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘And maybe not, but I try. You’ll mind McTavish?’

  Kate nodded, and watched Juanita bustle away.

  ‘She’s wrong, McTavish,’ Kate told the still-sleeping dog. ‘I think I managed to jolt him out of himself, just a little. But this, it’s just jolted him right back to where he was.’

  Alex flew home from Melbourne so Angus could take time off without leaving the teams two surgeons short, and McTavish returned to his home when Hamish came out of hospital, under strict bed-rest instructions.

  Which left Kate all alone again. She went to work, and came home, phoning every evening to ask after Hamish, more often getting Juanita for the latest report but occasionally a totally formal Angus would tell her the little boy was progressing well. She longed to call in to see her young friend, but no invitation was forthcoming, so she stayed away, throwing a ball for McTavish in the evenings when he came to visit, talking to him—almost sorry the possums had left so she’d have had more company…

  Baby Bob was out of the PICU and due to be medivaced back to a unit at the Port Macquarie hospital, so instead of going straight home on the Thursday afternoon, Kate made her way to the nursery to say goodbye to the Stamfords.

  Bob was out of his crib, lying in his father’s arms, and Kate felt such a surge of longing her knees felt weak.

  ‘May I hold him?’ she asked, and
Pete Stamford handed him over. She tucked the little fellow up against her, talking quietly to him, amazed that the dark blue eyes seemed to be taking in every word she said.

  ‘He’ll be clever,’ she told his beaming parents.

  ‘Healthy is what we’re after,’ Mrs Stamford said. ‘I was just telling Dr McDowell that a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Dr McDowell? Here?’ Kate asked, finding she now had a churning stomach, as well as weak knees.

  ‘Apparently his little boy’s been ill and he brought up some chocolates for the staff where he’d been treated, then he heard we were going home so called in to say goodbye.’

  And I missed him! Kate wailed, but she kept the words inside, then told herself it was for the best. What did they have to say to each other?

  ‘He might be back,’ Pete Stamford added. ‘He said something about a present for Bob because he was the doctor’s first Australian patient.’

  Which means I should give this baby back to his parents and get out of here, Kate’s inner messenger declared, but it was already too late, for Angus was there, a small toy wombat in his hands.

  ‘I thought I’d seen these in the shop downstairs,’ he said, speaking to the Stamfords, though his eyes had glanced towards Kate as he drew near. ‘My son just adores them.’

  He handed the little toy to Mrs Stamford as Kate settled the baby in his crib. He’d be travelling north by ambulance, his mother riding with him, Pete Stamford, no doubt, driving right behind the medical vehicle.

  ‘I’d better go. Good luck,’ she said, then was surprised when Mrs Stamford reached out and pulled her into a hug.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ the woman whispered, and Kate felt the tears that had started welling when she held baby Bob, now threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  ‘It was nothing,’ she managed to mutter, then added a general goodbye to everyone within hearing and fled the room.

  Angus caught up with her in the elevator foyer where she’d been surreptitiously wiping tears from her cheeks. He came and stood beside her, not touching, or speaking, just being there. They entered the elevator together and rode it down, still silent, then, because she knew she couldn’t stand the tension in this silence any longer, she broke it, asking, as they exited on the ground floor, ‘How is Hamish?’