‘Rebound…’ He stared. ‘You mean the appendix has ruptured?’
‘That’s what it looks like. I think we should go in now. Can you help?’
‘Of course.’ If the appendix really had burst, the time taken to evacuate her to Sydney could well mean the infection would be much worse.
‘I was hoping you’d be back,’ she confessed. ‘You’ve got the best fingers I know.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘You don’t want to call Morag? She’s Morag’s patient.’
‘The whole island is Morag’s patient,’ Grady growled. ‘Everyone needs her.’
‘Including you?’
‘Butt out, Ford.’
She grinned. ‘When have I ever? But we don’t contact Morag?’
‘She’s had a hell of a day. She’s just talked someone out of jumping, and her kid must be going nuts without her. Let her be.’
‘There’s a real load on her shoulders,’ Jaqui said seriously. ‘Do you think she’ll be happier without it?’
‘When it’s hauled out from under her?’ Grady grimaced. ‘No.’
‘Even with you?’
‘I said butt out. Her future’s none of our concern.’
But as they scrubbed and prepared the teenager for surgery-as Grady reassured the frightened parents and promised them Morag would come if there was the slightest hint of trouble-as he performed the procedure with his trained anaesthetist and his two trained nursing staff and thought how Morag would have had to do this alone- somehow-if he and his team hadn’t been here-he thought, How could her future be none of his concern?
He was going to worry about her for ever.
Morag made her way slowly up the scree. She flicked her radio transmitter back on to check in with Jaqui, who briefly outlined what was happening to Mary.
‘Do you want me to come?’ Morag had paused at a bend in the track and was involuntarily turning.
‘We’re fine. Two doctors, two nurses, one appendix. We have it under control.’ There was a moment’s hesitation and then Jaqui asked, ‘How do you cope with something like this when you’re on your own?’
‘I talk one of the nurses through the anaesthetic,’ she told her. ‘I have no choice.’
‘It’s real bush medicine.’
‘It’s better than no medicine at all.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’ Jaqui asked curiously.
Morag hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, I do. To go back to ordinary medicine…’
‘Like our Dr Reece stopping swinging on rescue harnesses.’ Jaqui chuckled. ‘A life lived on the edge. You two suit so well.’
‘We don’t,’ Morag said quietly, and clicked off the receiver before she could hear Jaqui’s next comment.
We don’t.
Robbie would be desperate for her.
The little boy had been so good. To ask a nine-year-old to stay calmly up at Hubert’s cottage while there was so much going on below-and when there was still no word of Hamish-must have been unbearable. She’d radioed him constantly during the day and each time his voice had sounded more and more strained.
‘When will you come? Where’s Hamish? Can’t I come down?’
He and Hubert had done a wonderful job. The media circus was confined to the hills and she’d heard indirectly that Robbie had given the same interview over and over.
‘The old man gives a nice artistic embellishment or two,’ one of the reporters for the national broadcaster had told her when she’d finally agreed to a fast telephone link. ‘But the kid…he’s amazing. He’ll be on the national news tonight.’
And he wouldn’t be able to watch it, Morag thought ruefully. If she’d had time, maybe she could have phoned her mother on the mainland and had Barbara tape it for her.
Her mother… She hadn’t heard from her mother, she thought bleakly. Would Barbara even know there’d been a tidal wave on Petrel Island?
Would Barbara care?
She trudged on upward. Once upon a time she’d thought she could lead the sort of life her mother led, where career and appearance were everything. She’d changed so much. She’d changed and Grady had stayed the same.
But she loved him…
She couldn’t think of Grady. The moon wasn’t yet over the horizon and it was deeply dark. She needed to concentrate on her footing.
The candle wasn’t in Hubert’s window.
Frowning, she quickened her steps, and suddenly a wavering flashlight appeared from the cottage door. The beam circled wildly and found her. It was a cameraman, his bulky equipment draped round his neck. There were a score of reporters and cameramen camped out near the helicopter landing pad. What was this man doing here?
Why wasn’t the candle lit?
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, more sharply than she’d intended, and he blinked as if he was trying to adjust to reality.
‘Dave Barnes. National Reporting.’
‘What are you doing here?’
He peered at her, trying to see in the light from the flash, and she hauled her backpack from her shoulders and found her own torch.
‘I’m Dr Lacy,’ she told him. ‘Morag Lacy. Where’s my nephew?’
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God for that.’ He grabbed her arm and practically hauled her into the cottage. ‘We’re camped behind the ridge but the old man said earlier that we could take a shower here if we wanted. I came down and the old guy and the kid were arguing. I went for a walk along the ridge to catch the last of the sunset, and when I came back he was like this.’
Like what? Who? But Morag was inside the cottage and through to the bedroom, and what she saw made her stop in dismay. ‘Hubert!’
‘I found him on the floor and for a minute I didn’t think he was breathing,’ Dave told her. ‘I was just thinking I’d have to do CPR and then he groaned. Hell, I was glad to hear it. I’ve got him on the bed but he looks awful.’
He did. Hubert’s gaunt face was staring up in terror as he clutched his left arm. He was sweating profusely. Morag placed her fingers on the pulse in his neck, and his skin was cold to the touch.
At least she had equipment. Morag’s doctor’s bag was huge. Vast. It was twice the size of most doctor’s bags but it hardly ever left her back and she had never been more glad of it than she was now.
‘It’s…it’s a heart attack?’ Hubert whispered. Behind them the cameraman was doing his best to hold the flashlight steady, but his hands were shaking. The beam was erratic, a wavering and eerie light across the bed of the sick man.
‘Maybe it is.’ She undid Hubert’s shirt and placed her stethoscope on the old man’s chest. His heartbeat was reasonably stable, she decided thankfully, though every four or five beats were slightly irregular-maybe ectopic? She hauled more equipment out of her bag, searching for aspirin. ‘Put the flashlight on the dresser,’ she told the cameraman. ‘See if you can aim it so it’s pointing at this arm. I need a glass of water. And there are candles somewhere in the kitchen.’
‘First cupboard on the left,’ Hubert quavered. ‘And matches. I was just about to light them when…when…’
‘Hush,’ she told him. But this was good. If he had the strength to think about candles…
‘Hell, it hurts,’ he whispered, and reached out and clutched her arm. ‘It hurts to breathe. Morag, I don’t…I don’t want to die. Not yet.’
‘How about that?’
