Waves of Temptation. Marion Lennox
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job had its grim moments, but at this professional level she was seldom needed for high drama. What she dealt with mostly were cuts, bruises, rashes and sunburn, plus the chance to combine her medicine with the surfing she loved. It was a great job.
But now Jess was competing and her heart was in her mouth.
He had thirty minutes to show the judges what he could do. The first wave he’d caught had shown promise but had failed to deliver. It hadn’t given him a chance to show his skills. He’d be marked down and he knew it. He hit the shallows, flagged down an official jet ski and was towed straight out again.
Then there was an interminable ten minutes when the swell refused to co-operate, when nothing happened, when he lay on his board in the sun while the clock ticked down, down. Then, finally, magically, a long, low swell built from the north-east, building fast, and Kelly saw her son’s body tense in anticipation.
Please...
She should be impartial. She was an official, for heaven’s sake.
But she wasn’t impartial. She wasn’t a judge. For this moment she wasn’t even Dr Eveldene. She was Jessie’s mother and nothing else mattered.
He’d caught it. The wave was building behind him, swelling with a force that promised a long, cresting ride. The perfect wave? He rode to the lip and crested down, swooped, spun, climbed high again.
But...but...
There was another wave cresting in from the south-east. The surfers called this type of wave a rogue, a swell that cut across the magic wave that had seemed perfect for the best of the rides.
Jess wouldn’t be able to see it, Kelly thought in dismay, but maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe his wave would peak and subside before it was interfered with. And even the waves crashed together, surely he’d done enough now to progress through to the next stage.
But then...
Someone else was on the rogue wave.
The surf had been cleared for the competition. No one had the right to cut across a competitor’s wave. Only the competitors themselves were in the catching zone—everyone else was excluded. But a pod of enthusiastic juniors had set themselves up south of the exclusion zone, lying far out, hoping to get a better view of the surfer pros. This must be one of those kids, finding a huge swell behind him, unable to resist catching it, too much of a rookie—a grommet—to see that it would take him straight into a competition wave.
Uh-oh. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.
The judges were on their feet. ‘Swing off. Get off,’ the judge beside Kelly roared. His voice went straight into the loudspeaker and out over the beach but the surfers were too far out, too intent on their waves...
Jess was in the green room, the perfect turquoise curve of water. He’d be flying, Kelly knew, awed that he’d caught such a perfect wave at such a time, intent on showing every ounce of skill he possessed. He’d be totally unaware that right behind...
No. Not right behind. The waves thumped into each other with a mighty crest of white foam. The grommet’s surfboard flew as high as his leg rope allowed, straight up and then crashing down.
She couldn’t see Jess. She couldn’t see Jess.
That impact, at that speed...
‘Kelly, go,’ the judge beside her yelled, and she went, but not with professional speed. Faster.
This was no doctor heading out into the waves to see what two surfers had done to themselves.
This was Jessie’s mother and she was terrified.
* * *
‘Matt, you’re needed in Emergency, stat. Leg fracture, limited, intermittent blood supply. If we’re to save the leg we need to move fast.’
It was the end of a lazy Tuesday afternoon. Matt Eveldene, Gold Coast Central Hospital’s orthopaedic surgeon, had had an extraordinarily slack day. The weather was fabulous, the sea was glistening and some of the best surfers in the world were surfing their hearts out three blocks from the hospital.
Matt had strolled across to the esplanade at lunchtime. He’d watched for a little while, admiring their skill but wondering how many of these youngsters were putting their futures at risk while they pushed themselves to their limits. No one else seemed to be thinking that. They were all just entranced with the surfers.
Even his patients seemed to have put their ills on hold today. He’d done a full theatre list this morning, but almost half his afternoon’s outpatient list had cancelled. He’d been considering going home early.
Not now. Beth, the admitting officer in Accident and Emergency, didn’t call him unless there was genuine need. She met him as the lift opened.
‘Two boys,’ Beth told him, falling in beside him, walking fast, using this time to get him up to speed. ‘They’re surfers who hit each other mid-ride. The youngest is a local, fourteen years old, concussion and query broken arm. It’s the other I’m worrying about. Seventeen, American, part of the competition. Compound fracture of the femoral shaft, and I suspect a compromised blood supply. I’ve called Caroline—she’s on her way.’
Caroline Isram was their vascular surgeon but Matt knew she was still in Theatre.
‘He’ll need both your skills if we’re going to save the leg,’ Beth said. ‘Oh, and, Matt?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Coincidence or not? His surname’s Eveldene.’
‘Coincidence. I don’t know any seventeen-year-old surfer.’
* * *
Kelly was seated by the bed in Cubicle Five, holding Jess’s hand. It said a lot for how badly he was hurt that he let her.
He had enough painkillers on board to be making him drowsy but he was still hurting. She was holding his hand tightly, willing him to stay still. The colour of his leg was waxing and waning. She’d done everything she could to align his leg but the blood supply was compromised.
Dear God, let there be skilled surgeons in this hospital. Dear God, hurry.
‘They say the orthopaedic surgeon’s on his way,’ she whispered. ‘The emergency doctor, Beth, says he’s the best in Australia. He’ll set your leg and you’ll be good as new.’ Please.
‘But I’ll miss the championships,’ Jess moaned, refusing to be comforted.
The championships were the least of their problems, Kelly thought grimly. There was a real risk he’d lose a lot more. Please, let this guy be good.
And then the curtains opened and her appalling day got even worse.
* * *
The last time Matt had seen his brother alive Jess had been in drug rehab. He’d looked thin, frightened and totally washed out.
The kid on the trolley when Matt hauled back the curtain was...Jess.
For a moment he couldn’t move. He stared down at the bed and Jessie’s eyes gazed back at him. The kid’s damp hair, sun-bleached, blond and tangled, was spreadeagled on the pillow around him. His green eyes were wide with pain. His nose and his lips showed traces of white zinc, but the freckles underneath were all Jessie’s.
It was all Matt could do not to buckle.
Ghosts didn’t exist.
They must. This was Jessie.
‘This is Mr Eveldene, our chief orthopaedic surgeon,’ Beth was telling the kid brightly. The situation was urgent, they all knew it, but Beth was taking a moment to reassure and to settle the teenager. ‘Matt, this is Jessie Eveldene. He has the same surname as yours, isn’t that a coincidence? Jess is from Hawaii, part of the pro-surf circuit, and he’s seventeen. And this is his mum, Kelly. Kelly’s not your normal spectator mum. She was Jessie’s treating doctor on the beach.