The Doctor's Outback Baby. Carol Marinelli
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one knows, so don’t be embarrassed. I’ve known you all your life, you’re like a second daughter to me, but even I didn’t have a clue. You’ve always just been Kell and Clara, two school kids, two mates and later two nurses. I never even realised until a couple of weeks ago how you felt. But watching the two of you working together, how your whole face lights up when he comes in the room, how difficult it’s been for you when Abby’s around, well, I guess something just clicked in my head. You do care for him, don’t you?’
It was pointless denying it, pointless when tears were streaming down her face as her old mate Bill gently held her hand.
Bill wasn’t just a patient—he was friend, a surrogate uncle. Endless nights had been spent in the cosy womb of his kitchen after her parents had died. Bill and his beloved wife had taken her under their wing, the whole town had, in fact, ensuring she’d always felt loved. Cheering her on through her school exams then later welcoming her back with open arms when finally she’d got her nursing degree.
Lying to Bill wasn’t an option.
‘I was going to tell him how I felt tonight,’ Clara whispered. ‘I knew he was seeing Abby, but I really didn’t think it was that serious. I thought she was just another girlfriend, that she’d move on in a couple of weeks and things would be back to normal, and now it would seem that they’re getting engaged.’
‘She hasn’t said yes yet,’ Bill pointed out.
‘Oh, she will,’ Clara said ruefully. ‘And deep down I know that it’s right. They love each other, they’re really well suited. It’s just so hard to take it all in…’
‘Oh, Clara.’ Bill lay back on his pillow as she struggled to hold it together.
‘I’m sorry, Bill, I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not landing all of this on you.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Bill said gently. ‘Things will get better for you Clara. When my Raelene died I thought my life was over. I never thought I’d be happy again, didn’t care if I lived or died. And now look at me. I’ve got a grandchild on the way, I’m having an operation that will give me another decade. And you know what? I reckon once this op is over, once I’m back home, on a good day I’ll even be able to say that I’m truly happy, and you’ll be able to say it one day, too. It won’t always hurt this much.’
‘I know,’ Clara said bravely, then changed her mind. ‘Actually, I don’t know, but I really hope so, Bill.’
‘Hey, there’s plenty more fish in the sea…’
‘Bill…’ Clara let out a rueful laugh. ‘As I just said to Timothy, there’s no ocean for miles here, there’s really not that many fish to choose from in Tennengarrah.’
‘What about the Carry On guy?’
‘Who?’
‘Carry On Doctor, the one with the posh voice who killed his first patient.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The one he was talking about—the guy who had the heart attack at his interview in Queensland! Like I said, I was only pretending to be asleep.’
‘He didn’t kill him, Bill.’ Clara grinned through her tears. ‘It wasn’t Timothy’s fault he couldn’t save him—it actually sounds as if he did really well. There’s not many junior doctors that could intubate a patient under those sorts of circumstances. At least the patient was given every chance.’
‘I guess.’ Bill gave Clara a small wink. ‘I had a quick peek when he came in and he’s a good-looking guy, that Timothy.’
‘Don’t go there, Bill,’ Clara warned, but he carried on anyway.
‘Why ever not? He’s already lined you up for a dance. Maybe tonight won’t be such a disaster after all.’
‘Forget it. Tonight’s already a disaster.’ Standing up, Clara gave her favourite patient the benefit of a very nice smile. ‘How about a cuppa?
‘And some toast and Vegemite?’ Bill asked hopefully. ‘I’m not nil by mouth yet.’
‘Give me ten minutes to sort out your notes and I’ll make us both a round of toast. I could use some comfort food right now,’ Clara said warmly, thrilled that Bill’s appetite was finally returning.
And not just his appetite, Clara realised happily. Bill was flicking through the TV guide with more than passing interest.
‘There’s your favourite soap opera starting soon, Clara. Why don’t you pull up a chair and have your lunch-break here? I promise not to mention Kell.’
‘It’s a deal.’ Heading for the desk, Clara turned briefly, back in control now but still just a little shy at having finally revealed her secret. ‘You come back to us safe, Bill.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I know so.’
BECAUSE it didn’t matter any more, because it mattered not a jot how well she did her make-up or how well her fine red hair behaved, tonight of all nights everything worked.
The subtle blonde foils Clara had reluctantly agreed to at Anna the hairdresser’s insistence lifted her short, practical hairstyle into a pretty gamine crop, accentuating her clear blue eyes and high freckled cheekbones. She hadn’t used the green foundation, though. She’d had it in her drawer for weeks, had bought it on an occasional trip to town, won over by the sophisticated shop assistant who’d sworn it would neutralise even the deepest blush.
Oh, and how she would have blushed.
Blinking back a fresh crop of tears, Clara tried to beat back the image of finally telling Kell how she felt. How she’d planned to take him outside, away from Abby, away from the prying eyes of the locals, and tell him that he wasn’t or ever had been just a friend…
Shaking her head firmly, Clara took a deep breath, refusing to go down that track, refusing to indulge herself in wasted dreams. Instead, she eyed herself critically in the mirror, pleased despite herself with her efforts. Even the rather shakily applied mascara and neutral lipstick for once didn’t look like a little girl had practised with her mother’s make-up. The antithesis of vain, she didn’t even possess a full-length mirror, so the only way to view her dress was by standing precariously on the toilet lid, which, Clara realised, didn’t really give the full effect when your head was chopped off from view.
Oh, lord!
Swallowing nervously, she stared at the sleek black-stockinged legs that seemed to go on for ever, a massive expanse of unfamiliar thigh slimmed down by the high heels she was wearing, but even the occasional appearance of her legs didn’t jolt her as much as the sight of her breasts, jacked up in a strapless bra, wriggling and jumping in excitement at their first taste of freedom from her practical sports bra.
It was too much, way, way too much! Everyone would fall off their chairs laughing when she walked in.
Glancing at her watch, Clara bit back a surge of panic. It was already ten past seven, she was supposed to be setting up the food table now, the band would be waiting for their pay cheque before they started and if she didn’t go now…
Picking up a massive tray of egg and chutney sandwiches, Clara headed for the door, then changed her mind midway. Dumping the tray in the hallway, she dashed back into her bedroom and drenched herself in perfume, then ran around the house in a manic frenzy, trying to remove every lingering trace of the beastly three dozen eggs she’d hard-boiled before heading outside and walking down the high street towards the barn and wondering why the hell she’d even bothered.
She’d be coming home alone.
Nobody laughed.
Oh,