‘Not only am I the world’s best masseuse,’ she said modestly, ‘but I cook a mean five-star dinner.’
‘Want to share?’
‘Cook your own.’
‘I shared mine last night.’
Enough. This was getting way too familiar for comfort. And way too…enticing?
‘Leave it, Darcy,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want to take this relationship any further than the professional.’
‘Professional colleagues share meals.’
‘Not these two,’ she told him, and put down the phone before he could say another word. She crossed back to the window and looked out-just to see if the lights were on in the surgery next door. They weren’t. But Darcy was leaning against his car. He had his cell phone in his hand and he was looking up at her window.
When he saw her he smiled.
She hauled down the blind like he was as assassin. Drat the man, what was he doing?
He was unequalising her equilibrium, she told herself crossly. She had her future mapped and it was going to work. It had to work. Without Darcy.
‘Have another gourmet beef roll in crispy pastry with
Sulking was all very well, but it wasn’t exactly time-consuming.
For the last few nights-ever since she’d arrived in town-Ally had worked feverishly to get her rooms in order. Now her rooms were in order.
What was left to do?
She should have gone to the library and found herself a book, she thought. Where was television when you needed it?
She had three massage manuals and nothing else.
Massage manuals palled after a while.
Darcy must be long gone. She risked another glance out the window. His car was no longer there. His surgery was in darkness.
Good. Great.
It was eight at night. She could just…
What? Go to the pub?
She could go down to the refuge, she thought suddenly. She hadn’t seen any of the commune people all day. They’d be totally disorientated. For years they’d have been doing exactly what Jerry ordered, and now the future was theirs to do with as they wished. The concept would be terrifying.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see whether any of them would like a gentle shoulder and neck massage before they slept. Maybe she could even talk to them about Jerry.
It wasn’t her business, she told herself, but, then, it was she who’d pulled the rug from under them. She’d been the catalyst in Jerry’s arrest.
Jerry was still in town. She’d spoken briefly to the police sergeant that morning. With outstanding warrants in three Australian states, plus one outstanding warrant in the U.S., there was some discussion as to where to take him. It had been decided he was to stay in Tambrine Creek until it was sorted.
For the people in the refuge, the fact that Jerry was still so near would be even more disorientating, she thought, remembering the chaos when she’d been twelve and the arrests had started for the first time.
She remembered her mother’s reaction. Her tearing, aching sense of loyalty to someone who deserved none of it. Her distress that had spiralled downward.
Ouch. Don’t go there, she told herself. Think of something else.
Do something.
She could just walk down to the refuge, she told herself. It wouldn’t hurt. Five minutes. Just poke your nose in and make sure everything’s OK, then get yourself back to minding your own business.
She’d expected the marine refuge to be peaceful. There’d been welfare officers and reporters with them all day, she knew. They’d be exhausted. They might even be in bed.
She entered-and was met by turmoil.
There was a little girl retching on the kitchenette floor. Marigold? She’d been discharged from hospital only hours ago, she thought, stunned. Darcy had released Marigold and David into their mothers’ care.
A little boy was writhing and moaning on the couch by the window. Penny was bending over him. From the bedroom came the high, thin wail of another child in distress.
What on earth was happening?
Triage. Marigold was sobbing and retching and crumpling to the floor and she was four years old. That was where Ally went first.
She lifted the child to the sink, though by the look of the floor it was hardly worth it. Marigold retched until she could retch no more, then slumped backward into her arms.
‘Mummy,’ she whimpered.
Marigold was Lorraine’s child. Ally looked around. Penny was still bending over…David? Yes, David. She was holding a bucket, and David needed it.
‘Where’s Lorraine?’ Ally asked, and Penny gave her a despairing glance before turning back to her son.
‘In the bedroom. She’s ill, too. The kids have got stomach cramps and Lorraine’s as bad.’
Ally looked down at David. He was ill but he was still strong enough to hold up his head.
He could be left to his mother.
Still cradling the whimpering Marigold, Ally walked through to the kids’ bunk room.
Two of the kids were sitting up in bed, bemused, as if they were wondering what all the fuss was about. Another child was bent over another bucket, and Lorraine was clutching her stomach as if she’d like to join him.
‘What the…?’
‘It must be food poisoning.’ Cornelia, the refuge caretaker, appeared at her shoulder with a suddenness that made her jump. ‘One of the guys-Greg-has cramps as well. I’ve been trying to ring Dr Rochester but he’s been out of town. He was just back in calling range when a local farmer rang to say he’d caught his hand in a post-driver, and Dr Rochester had to go out again.’
Ally sorted the urgent from the dross. Darcy wasn’t coming. All the other information was superfluous. ‘Are they sending someone from the hospital?’
‘There’s no one to send. Unless they call in emergency staff, and they’ll only do that in an emergency.’
Oh, great. Define emergency.
Why should she define anything? Ally asked herself, savage at the way medical need was being thrust at her. She was a massage therapist. She wasn’t a doctor. She should have ripped up her registration long ago.
No.
She was a doctor whether she liked it or not, she acknowledged. She knew what was life-threatening.
The child she was holding was ill already. Released from hospital today, a dose of food poisoning could dehydrate her to the point of death.
Define emergency? She had.
‘What have they eaten?’ she snapped.
Cornelia was a middle-aged woman who was slow at the best of times. She took her time to think. While she did, Ally stared around at the kids and at Lorraine.
The little boy was in distress, but he didn’t look limp. He was wailing and his mother was trying to comfort him. She wasn’t in a position to do much. Marigold made a feeble gesture that she wanted to go to her mother but Lorraine was clutching her stomach in a gesture that told Ally she was feeling as dreadful as her children.
‘Mummy’s not well either,’ Ally told her, firming her hold. ‘You must all have tummyaches. It’s just as well I’m a doctor.’
What was she saying? Admitting that she was a doctor for the second time in two days?
Help. Her decisions as to her future were being eroded by the second. But Marigold needed reassurance more
