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Carrie glared at him. How was she supposed to work being shifted from pillar to post all the time? ‘I need somewhere without constant interruptions.’
Charlie almost smiled at her, half expecting her to stamp her foot. She was annoyed? Good, she was bugging the hell out of him. She didn’t look so prim and proper any more, he noted with satisfaction. So untouchable. She looked ruffled. Like she wanted to swear.
Her chest rose and fell a little faster, straining the button holding everything together. Her teeth bit into the soft fullness of her lower lip. She looked a little frazzled. A little like last night. She looked touchable. Very touchable.
He shrugged. ‘They’re your choices.’
Some choice. ‘Which one will have the fewest interruptions?’
He snorted. ‘Ever heard of the chaos theory?’
Carrie gripped the handle of her briefcase tighter. ‘Gee, no, I must have been off painting my nails or polishing my tiara the days we discussed that in physics.’
He laughed despite his exasperation. ‘All right, OK, sorry. Well, forget it. This place is chaotic and, trust me, there is no underlying order.’
Carrie waited patiently, hand still on hip, barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
Charlie sighed. Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with her. ‘The staffroom’s your best bet.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you around.’
Carrie stood aside as Charlie brushed past her. She caught a faint whiff of his aftershave and fought the urge to hurry, to keep pace with his long-legged stride. Every sensible cell in her body was telling her to keep her distance. And she was listening.
He was dressed as casually as he’d been last night. Trendy ultra-long shorts that fell just past his knees and another pre-school-inspired T-shirt. Since when had a man’s clothes been so fascinating?
He took her out to the front area first. ‘This is the reception area.’ Charlie checked his watch. ‘Angela should be in soon.’
‘Angela?’
‘She’s the receptionist.’
‘Why isn’t she here already?’
‘She’s a local divorced grandmother who cares for her two grandkids on a permanent basis. She arrives after she’s dropped them at school.’
‘Surely it would be more efficient to have someone here when the clinic first opens?’
Charlie looked down at her. He could see her business brain already writing recommendations. ‘Angela is invaluable. As a single mother yourself, surely you can see the advantage of being flexible?’
Carrie was torn between the emotional answer and the fiscally responsible answer. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t paid to think emotionally. ‘Flexible isn’t always good for the bottom line.’
Hell, he despised bottom-line thinking. There was no room for people in bottom-line thinking. ‘Wait till you meet her. You’ll understand.’
He moved over towards the games area, not wanting to get into a fruitless discussion with a bottom-liner over their obviously different visions. ‘As you can see, we have a ping-pong table and a pool table, a small library, a lounge area and a jukebox.’
Carrie nodded, picking up a ball off the pool table as she watched the two teenagers she’d seen earlier battling it out at ping-pong. ‘The purpose of these being?’
He eyeballed her. Did he have to explain it? ‘Recreation.’
‘Is it a medical centre’s role to provide recreation?’
Bottom line again? ‘This is a drop-in centre, Carrie. It’s not just about fixing people’s ailments. A large portion of our client base is homeless kids, disaffected youth. If they’re in here, listening to music or shooting pool, then they’re not out on the streets, shooting drugs.’
Drugs? ‘Shouldn’t they be at school?’
Charlie snorted. ‘Of course they should but guess what? Telling them they should be at school generally doesn’t work—their parents have already tried that. Look, we get a lot of community support groups come through the centre every day, talking to the kids that are around, helping them to get their lives together. We can’t do that in a sterile judgmental environment. These are kids who have huge trust issues. We have to provide an environment where they don’t feel judged, where they feel comfortable, where they feel safe. In fact, if I had my way, we’d be expanding the services we offer here. This area is crying out for a properly resourced centre.’
Carrie replaced the pool ball and pondered his statement for a moment. She felt a needle of guilt prick her conscience. He was doing what she’d wanted to do in the beginning. The reason she’d become a doctor in the first place. To help people who couldn’t afford the luxuries that a lot of people took for granted. Like health care. Having grown up poor, she’d always wanted to give something back. Then a child had died because of her negligence and everything had changed. Practising medicine had no longer been an option.
Charlie watched her wander around the lounge area, absently touching furniture, caressing books. Pinstripes? Damn it, this was his fault. He’d been sent the usual ‘please give reason’ letter by the hospital board two months ago. He should have just sent the standard reply, heavy on politics and designed to guilt the suits into backing down.
But this time, with all the uncertainty in his life this past year, he’d been indignant and defiant. He’d not only been scathing of their continual attacks but suggested that they leave him the hell alone to do what he did best.
Watching Carrie’s bottom sway in her pinstriped skirt as she ran her fingers over the jukebox buttons, he wished he hadn’t. His recalcitrance had, no doubt, earned him this surprise audit. In short, he had brought this intrusion on himself. Had brought Carrie and her pinstripes on himself.
‘We have a small treatment room,’ he said, and turned to show her the way. He opened the door, hyper-aware that she was right behind him. ‘I do a lot of stitching up in here.’
Carrie looked at the scrupulously clean white room. The rest of the centre was a bit on the dowdy side. The walls were marked, the furniture had seen better days, the lino flooring was scuffed and worn in places. But this room could have done a hospital proud. From the military neatness of the made-up examination bed to the crisp antiseptic smell, it was a credit to the clinic.
‘Wow.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘This is Angela’s baby. She’s an ex-army nurse. Vietnam.’
‘Do I hear somebody talking about me?’
‘No ma’am.’ Charlie winked at Carrie. ‘Not me.’
Carrie dragged her gaze away from Charlie’s face and her mind off the unexpected tightening of her stomach muscles to look at the older woman. She was tall and built like a female Olympic hammer-thrower, with an ample bosom, greying hair and shrewd, assessing eyes. She looked like someone not to be messed with.
‘Angela, this is Carrie.’
Angela sniffed. ‘The suit?’
Charlie smiled at his ever-loyal receptionist. ‘The suit,’ he nodded gravely.
Carrie felt assessing eyes on her. ‘Hey, I’m not the enemy here,’ she protested.
‘Hmph!’ Angela grunted. ‘We’ll see.’
‘OK, moving right along.’ Charlie ushered Carrie down the hallway and opened the door. ‘Here’s the staffroom.’ He strode over to a row of grey lockers in the corner. ‘You can put your stuff in here.’ He tossed her a key. ‘Lock up any valuables. Some of the best petty thieves in Brisbane frequent this place.’
‘Er, right.’
Carrie looked around the room. It was a little on the used-looking side, as well. The kitchen area had chipped benches, the kettle was ancient and the fridge had long since stopped being white. But it was a decent size with a big table in the middle that sat twelve—perfect for her laptop.
‘Toilet through there.’
Carrie followed the direction of his pointing finger. He dropped his hand and strode towards a door in the back wall, which he opened.
‘Basketball court out the back.’
‘More recreation?’
Charlie laughed. ‘More recreation. Every lunch-hour I’m on the court, trying desperately to outplay a bunch of kids twenty years younger than me.’
Really? ‘And here I was thinking you didn’t have time to scratch yourself.’
Charlie sobered. ‘It’s all about trust, Carrie. I need these kids to trust me.’
‘And basketball achieves this?’
He shrugged. ‘Basketball helps.’
The movement of his shoulders drew attention to his shirt. ‘I suppose your workclothes do, too?’
‘Not many kids around here respond favourably to someone in a suit.’
The hallway door opened abruptly. ‘Hey, Charles, my man, only two more weeks and you’re back in the game.’
Carrie blinked at the intrusion on their conversation. Two more weeks? Back in what game?
‘Oh…sorry, didn’t realise you had company.’
Charlie shut his eyes and wished this day was over. At least Joe had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Joe, this is Carrie.’
Carrie glared at him. He held up his hands. ‘Dr Carrie Douglas.’
Joe’s eyes lit up. ‘Carrie. What a lovely name.’ He stuck out his hand.
Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘The hospital administrator I was telling you about.’
‘Ah, the suit,’ Joe said as he shook Carrie’s hand.
Carrie laughed. She was getting the distinct feeling her arrival had been discussed at length. ‘Apparently.’
Charlie was inordinately irritated by Carrie’s response to his friend’s flirting. Did Joe never turn off?
‘Joe works at a posh city law practice but does some pro bono legal work for our clients. He’s here most mornings.’
‘And most lunch-hours.’ Joe winked.
‘That’s very generous of you,’ Carrie said.
Give me a break. ‘He plays basketball at lunch,’ Charlie said dryly.
‘Well, no doubt I’ll be seeing you around over the next few weeks,’ Carrie said. She placed her briefcase on the table and opened it, removing her laptop. ‘I guess I’d better get cracking. The sooner I get this done the sooner I can be out of your hair.’
They left her to it. Charlie was glad to shut the door on her and put some distance between them.
‘Man, is she a hottie or what? You see those curves? Move over, Nigella.’ Joe clapped his best friend on the back.
‘She’s a pain in the butt, that’s what she is.’
Joe laughed. ‘Relax, mate. They’re never going to shut this place down. The outcry would be huge. No one has the guts.’
Charlie sat behind his desk and sighed. ‘She’s the woman from last night, Joe. The one I was telling you about.’
‘The tie-dye chick?’
Charlie nodded miserably.
Joe stifled a grin. ‘Pinstripes, huh?’
Charlie groaned and dropped his head down onto the table, banging his forehead a few times.
‘She’s a doctor?’
Charlie looked up from his desk. ‘Apparently.’
‘Hmm, intriguing, as well.’
‘Pain in the butt,’ Charlie said, sitting up, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest as he idly swung the swivel chair back and forth, Joe’s laughter all around him. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’
Joe laughed again and departed.
Hours later Carrie was deep in figures when the door opened and a group of noisy, grungy-looking teenagers trooped through the room, eyed her suspiciously and continued to the back door and out to the basketball court. Joe winked on his way past.
‘Wanna shoot some hoops?’
Carrie looked down at her unsuitable clothes. And her stilettos. ‘Ah, thanks, better not stop.’
Charlie came through moments later. He acknowledged her with a quick nod of his head.
‘How are we looking?’ He opened his locker, reached for his medication bottles and took one tablet from each.
Carrie took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, opening them to find him dishing out tablets. She watched him go to the sink, pour a glass of water, put the tablets in his mouth and drink the entire contents of the glass. ‘Too early to tell,’ she said, her curiosity well and truly piqued. Were they vitamins? He looked like he took care of himself. ‘It’ll take me a fortnight at least to wade through everything.’
Two weeks? Hell! He had to put up with her pinstriped suits for a fortnight? As Joe kept reminding him, he only had fourteen days to go on his enforced celibacy—and she was going to be here for every one of them? ‘That long?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve been allocated a month.’
A month!
‘It’ll be faster if I get that paperwork sooner rather than later.’
‘I’ll have it on your desk by the morning,’ Charlie said as he departed to join the others. Even if he had to stay all night.
Carrie switched her laptop off at five o’clock. She should make it home by five-thirty, in time to get Dana’s tea. She felt a pang of regret that she couldn’t be home more for her little girl. But, like it or not, she was a single mother with no support from Dana’s father. Susie, her live-in nanny, was a godsend. Dana adored her and Carrie had no idea what she’d do without her.
The ebb and flow of human traffic that had swirled around all day seemed to have diminished, she noticed as she walked down the hallway. The jukebox was now silent and she realised as she quietly hummed a song that it had been played so often it had worked its way into her subconscious.
‘I’m off,’ she said, stopping at Charlie’s open door out of courtesy.
‘Good for you. I’ll be here all night, getting that paperwork together.’
Did he want her to feel sorry for him? A job he’d had a week to do? ‘That would be most helpful. Thank you.’
‘Doc!’
The voice was so loud, so unexpected that Carrie visibly startled. She turned to the source of the noise and watched a young man stride into the clinic, carrying another man like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder and a bawling toddler on the opposite hip.
Charlie was up and out of his chair and brushing past a still startled Carrie in a matter of seconds. ‘What is it, Donny?’ he asked, opening the door of the treatment room. ‘He’s not a regular. Do you know him?’
Donny nodded. ‘His name’s Rick. He uses smack. He had a needle hanging out of his arm when I found him.’ Donny laid the unconscious man on the examination table.
‘Carrie, take the baby,’ Charlie said, raising his voice to be heard over the distressed child as he pulled on some gloves and placed an oxygen saturation probe on Rick’s finger.
‘Whose is it?’ she asked. Please, please, please, don’t let this poor frightened child belong to the person lying still and cyanotic on the bed.
‘She’s my niece,’ Donny said, and handed her over gratefully, looking more at home with a nearly dead drug user than the pretty little girl with pink ribbons in her hair. ‘I’d just taken her to the park when we came across him. I couldn’t just leave him.’
Carrie automatically rocked the child. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Tilly.’
‘It’s OK, Tilly, you’re safe now, it’s OK,’ Carrie whispered, cradling her close and talking gently as she watched the emergency unfold.
‘He’s barely breathing. He’s got a pulse. I’ll try oxygenating him first but he might need Narcan.’ Charlie grabbed the bag-mask apparatus that was permanently set up, turned on the wall oxygen supply and placed the mask over the man’s face.
Carrie felt sick and her heart thundered as she stared at the dusky colour of the stranger’s lips visible through the clear plastic of the mask. Large raw sores, bleeding and cracked, blemished the corners.
Rick was frighteningly still. He looked malnourished and unkempt, his hair dirty, his skin pasty. Faint yellowy bruises followed the bluey-green tracks of his knotted, abused veins. He looked like death.
Carrie felt her adrenaline surge as the desperate urgency of a life in the balance played out before her. She recognised Charlie’s professional jaw hold as he assisted the struggling respirations of his patient but the direness of the situation was freaking her out. She’d been here before. Seen lips that colour before. She shut out the image and drew in a shaky breath, she had to get out. ‘I’ll take her outside.’
But the little girl protested more loudly and cried out hysterically for her uncle so Carrie stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. The child settled again. ‘Poor darling, it’s OK. I’m not going to take you away from your Uncle Donny.’
The little one whimpered and hung onto Carrie’s neck for dear life. Her hiccoughy breaths were warm against Carrie’s neck and she squeezed the little girl closer.
Charlie could hear Carrie’s soothing assurances as he assessed Rick’s condition. He recognised the tremulous husk in it from last night. Was she spinning out over there, like last night? Would she vomit? Faint? Damn it, he needed to concentrate on this, not her!
Rick wasn’t coming round. His lips had pinked up. His saturations were good. He was breathing a little more but still not adequately enough. Charlie grabbed a Narcan minijet from the IV trolley, flipped off the plastic lids and quickly assembled it. Time was of the essence.
He plunged the needle into Rick, administering the narcotic antagonist to reverse the effects of the drug. Rick wasn’t going to like it but he was too drugged that oxygen alone would eventually bring him round.
Moments later Rick took a huge gulping breath and then another. He shook his head from side to side and tried to push Charlie’s hands and the mask away. He started to cough, then gag. Charlie and Donny rolled him on to his side and he stilled momentarily. Moments later he started flailing around again and succeeded in ripping the oxygen mask away.
He sat up abruptly and swore a lot.
‘Easy,’ Charlie said gently.
Rick lurched off the bench. ‘God damn it! My hit, man, you wasted my hit.’
Tilly started crying again.
‘Shut that kid up,’ the man bellowed, and staggered out of the room, knocking over a few chairs on his way out of the clinic.
Donny started after him.
‘Let him go,’ Charlie said, taking Rick’s abuse on the chin. He knew it was hopeless to point out that he’d just saved his life. He’d been saving drug addicts from their overdoses for five years, sometimes as much as one a day, and very few of them were ever grateful. In fact, Rick’s behaviour was typical. God knew what he’d had to do to score the money for his hit and he had gone and ruined it by injecting a drug that not only sucked up the respiratory depressant effects but also sucked up the euphoric effects.
Carrie stared after the man while she tried to quieten a scared Tilly. ‘Doesn’t he need to go to hospital?’
‘No,’ Donny said, leaning heavily against the bed. ‘All he needs is to score again.’
Carrie shook her head. Try as she may, she couldn’t understand the addict mentality. How could somebody who once upon a time must have been as innocent as the squirming toddler she held in her arms waste it all like that?
Tilly was reaching for her uncle and Carrie held her close a moment longer, gave her an extra-big squeeze then handed her over with still shaking hands.
‘You OK?’ Charlie asked. She was looking pale again, like she had last night.
She nodded. ‘I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.’
Charlie watched her walk out of the room and sink into one of the seats in the waiting area. ‘You OK?’ he asked Donny.
‘Sure, but I’d better go. My sister will be starting to wonder what I’ve done with Tilly.’
‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Charlie pulled a face at the little girl and was rewarded with a watery smile. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you out.’
‘Wave goodbye to the nice lady, Tilly,’ Donny crooned as they passed where Carrie was sitting.
‘’Night, Tilly.’ Carrie smiled at the toddler, suddenly desperately missing her own little girl as Tilly gave her a shy wave. This was a whole different world—grungy and gritty and real—and she was pleased her child would never be exposed to it.
Carrie watched Charlie and Donny walking to the door, their deep voices hushed but reaching her nonetheless.
‘You taking your medication?’ Charlie asked.
‘Of course, Doc. I promise. What about you?’
‘Absolutely. But it’ll be fine, Donny, don’t worry. Really.’
‘I’m so sorry, Doc…’
They walked outside and Carrie couldn’t hear them any longer. Intriguing. Medication for what? Did that have something to do with the tablets she’d seen Charlie taking earlier that day? Sorry about what?
Charlie came back inside and wandered over to stand in front of her. ‘You were great with Tilly. Thanks.’
‘There’d be something wrong if I wasn’t. Little girls are somewhat my specialty these days.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘Still, you didn’t…’
‘What? Choke? Like last night?’
He smiled. ‘I was going to say freeze, but if you prefer choked…’
Carrie smiled. ‘Don’t judge me on what happened last night. I’m afraid I’m just not a clinician.’
But she was so good with Tilly. She’d been scared but he’d also heard compassion in her voice, seen it in the way she’d held the toddler close. And the way she had held that wound last night had been the epitome of professional technique. Maybe she was being too harsh on herself? ‘Really? Why? Did something happen?’
Carrie stood up. She couldn’t talk about this with a stranger. She found it hard enough to discuss with her nearest and dearest. ‘It’s just not me. I’m not…good with people…with patients. Fortunately I found that out early. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’
Carrie was at the door when his words halted her.
‘He died, you know. Three hours after getting to hospital.’
Her hand stilled on the handle. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, and walked out the door.
Charlie ran his finger back and forth along the rolled plastic edge of the chair where she’d been sitting. Quite the conundrum was Dr Carrie Douglas. She’d said she wasn’t good with people yet she’d taken the time to ring the hospital and find out what had happened to the man from last night.
Only the good ones did that.
CHAPTER THREE
BY FRIDAY lunchtime Carrie was looking forward to escaping for two days. The drop-in centre was a very intense place to be. It was full of drifting kids and angry young men and jaded-looking young women. It attracted the drugged, drunk, violent and abusive of all ages. Too many of the faces told a heartbreaking story about the chilling, gritty reality of life on the streets and below the poverty line.
Carrie had just tried to keep out of the way. Charlie had been right. It was utter chaos most days. A crazy three-ring circus. On steroids. It wasn’t her job to get involved. Her job was to complete a report for the hospital board on its riskiest enterprise. To establish the viability of the drop-in centre. And it wasn’t looking good.
So for the rest of the week she’d stayed in the staffroom, tapping away on her laptop, sorting through mounds of paperwork, ignoring the various noises she heard from the other side of the door. The very loud music, the bad language, the punch-ups, the hysterical girls, the angry parents and the police.
She had also ignored the regular troop of sweaty boys in and out of her work area as she’d worked through lunchtimes. And the sounds of good-natured competition drifting in through the high windows from the court outside. And the angry, tense exchanges that all too often broke out as recreation became serious.
And worst, the disturbing presence of Charlie as he teased, cajoled, laughed, pleaded, reasoned, flattered and coaxed his way into the hearts and minds of a bunch of tough kids living tough lives. It was clear he was well respected by the regulars. Her ears homed in on his strong authoritative voice each lunch-hour as he encouraged and mediated, pushing the teens to be their best.
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