The Doctor's Outback Baby

Clara didn’t respond. Instead, she leant against Timothy, letting him lead, and perhaps for the first time that night she actually relaxed and enjoyed the fruits of the nine months of preparation that the ball had taken as she ambled along in time with the music, just enjoying the moment, enjoying the heavy throb of the bass and even revelling for a moment in the delicious spicy spell of his aftershave.

Timothy really was a good dancer, she thought almost reluctantly as the music stopped and they stood apart.

‘I love this song.’ Timothy smiled as the band started up again. ‘Can I persuade you to join me for a second dance?’

Clara hesitated. She loved this song, too, and if truth be known she’d actually enjoyed dancing with Timothy. It hadn’t been awkward like it was with some of the guys, hadn’t been the duty dance every man in Tennengarrah felt compelled to have with the trusty Clara. Timothy had actually made her feel like a woman, not some annoying little sister, but she’d promised to meet Kell.

‘Better not,’ Clara said, the reluctance in her voice surprising even herself. ‘But thanks, that was nice.’

Making her way across the room, she longed to dart into the toilet, desperate to check that she looked OK, to be sure she looked her best for the most difficult conversation of her life.

Gulping the night air into her lungs, she stared out into the darkness. The throb of music coming from the barn sounded a mile away as she stared up at the twinkling stars and begged for inspiration, her heart rate rising alarmingly as she heard heavy footsteps. Turning expectantly, forcing a smile, she stared into the darkness as he approached, not quite ready but determined not to miss her moment.

‘Timothy!’ The shock in her voice was evident. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Getting some fresh air.’ He shrugged. ‘The same as you.’

Clara raked her mind. She didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to be obvious, and she definitely didn’t want to explain to Timothy why it was so important he left right now, but really he was leaving her with very little choice.

‘Please, Timothy,’ she started, her eyes turning frantically to the barn, her ears straining at the sound of approaching footsteps that she knew this time were definitely Kell’s. ‘I really need you to go.’

‘Why?’

‘I just do,’ Clara whispered loudly. ‘I really need to be on my own right now.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Aghast, she watched as he folded his arms and eyed her thoughtfully.

‘In fact, I’d say the best thing you could do right now is get yourself inside and have that other dance with me.’

‘Timothy, please, you don’t understand…’ she begged.

‘Oh, but I do,’ Timothy replied, and for the first time since she’d met him his voice was serious and there wasn’t a glimmer of humour in his green eyes. ‘You like Kell, don’t you?’

‘Of course I like Kell,’ Clara spluttered. ‘I’ve known him for—’

‘I don’t mean as a friend, Clara. You like Kell and you’re hoping that when you tell him about Abby, he’s going to realise just how much he actually likes you!’

Her shocked expression only confirmed his diagnosis.

‘You’re looking at a guy whose best friend was the captain of the rugby team,’ he offered by way of explanation. ‘I’ve spent more time than I care to remember watching other people’s relationships flourish from the sidelines of my beer glass.’

‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Clara insisted. Kell was practically on top of them. Any moment now he’d see them together and she needed to be alone for this.

‘I don’t think so,’ Timothy responded, moving forward. ‘Now, I’m going to apologise in advance for what I’m about to do, and though you probably won’t realise it now, though you’re probably going to hate me for it, I’m about to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’

‘What on earth—?’

She didn’t get to finish, didn’t get to say another word. Suddenly a hot wedge of flesh was pressing against her, pinning her up against the barn wall as she struggled furiously, her automatic scream hushed by the weight of his lips, her arms clamped against his chest with absolutely no room for manoeuvre.

Yet for all the shock, for all the adrenaline pumping through her veins, fear didn’t enter into it. She knew Timothy’s infuriating intentions, knew the sight of her stockinged legs hadn’t catapulted him into a sexual frenzy. This was a duty kiss, she realised as she wrestled to get away, a duty kiss of the worst possible magnitude. And worse, far worse, despite struggling like a cat being dipped in water, despite her internal fury at her misdirected assailant, for the tiniest second, for a smidgen of time so small it was barely there, the fighting stopped, the resistance in her slipping away as other, rather more disturbing thoughts flitted into her mind.

Irrational thoughts that really shouldn’t be given any credence…

The tangy aftershave that had assailed her on the dance floor, stronger now at such close proximity, his heavy ragged breathing as his chest moved against hers, the feel of her breasts pushed against the cool cotton of his shirt, and the faint tang of whisky as his lips moved against hers.

‘Clara?’ She could hear Kell’s voice in the darkness, hear him closing in on them, and she made a last agonised struggle to escape. But Timothy was having none of it, his grip tightening on her more, if that was possible, as Kell approached.

‘Oh!’ She heard the surprise in Kell’s voice, the muffled cough as he backed away. ‘Sorry, guys.’

Only when Kell had gone, only when he was sure they were alone did Timothy pull away, his arms on the wall either side of her now like a temporary cage as he met her furious, glittering eyes.

‘How dare you?’ she started, her voice breathless, legs trembling with fury and something else that she would have died before admitting to. A great kisser he might be but she certainly wasn’t going to let this over-inflated, pompous Englishman know that two minutes up close and personal with him had had the slightest effect in the romance stakes. She was furious.

That was all.

‘How dare you?’ she repeated, her voice a touch stronger now but no match for Timothy who broke in before she could even get started.

‘Tonight’s not the night, Clara. It’s better coming from Ross.’

She shook her head incredulously, straightening up but still no match for his height even in her stilettos. ‘How would you know? You haven’t even been here a full day and you think you know what Kell needs. What, is it better coming from a guy? Better that a doctor breaks the news?’

Timothy shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing was stopping Clara now. Her voice finally found, she let it rip.

‘Ross has only been here a year. I’ve known Kell all my life, so I don’t need Ross to tell me when I can and can’t talk to a friend, and I most certainly don’t need to hear it from you. He has every right to know, every right to hear it—’

‘I agree.’

‘You do?’ Confused, her voice stalled momentarily, the fire dying in her voice as she turned her questioning eyes to him.

‘Of course he should know about Abby, but that’s all. You can deny it all you like, but I’m sure there was more you were going to tell him and kissing you was the only thing I could think of to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’ Her burning anger was replaced with scorching shame, the glittering, defiant eyes sparkling with embarrassed tears as Timothy carried on gently, even smoothing a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear as she stood there, mortified.

‘And if you told Kell you loved him, that’s exactly what it would have been.’

‘Hey, Clara, is everything all right?’

Hamo’s none-too-dulcet tones made them both jump, Clara because she wasn’t expecting it and Timothy because from the look on Hamo’s face anything other than a positive reply wasn’t going to be pretty.

She could have said no, could have burst into tears and landed Timothy right in it, but instead she forced a bright voice as the heavy weight approached. ‘Everything’s fine, Hamo.’

‘You’re sure?’ he checked, eyeing Timothy in anything other than a friendly fashion. ‘Because if you need anything you only have to give us a call.’

‘I’m fine, Hamo, really.’

They both stood in strained silence as Hamo shrugged and wandered back to the barn.

‘Thanks.’ Timothy’s smile was one of pure relief, but it changed midway when he caught sight of Clara’s face.

If she’d been angry before she was furious now, the brief pause enough to reinflate her sails. Pushing his arms away, she faced him angrily.

‘I didn’t do it to save your skin,’ she snapped. ‘The fact is I hate violence or perhaps more to the point no doubt I’d have been the one who ended up suturing you and stuck in the obs ward for the next forty-eight hours feeding you through a straw.’

‘So we both got lucky.’ Timothy grinned, totally unfazed by her anger. ‘Can we go back to being friends now?’

‘We never were friends,’ Clara retorted. ‘I’d hardly even class you as a brief acquaintance.’

‘Oh, and I suppose you go around kissing all your brief acquaintances like that?’

His humour, if you could call it that, was so appalling Clara could scarcely believe the tiny laugh that escaped her lips, but somewhere in mid-laugh it changed to a sob, and as a tell-tale tear worked its way out Timothy politely pretended not to notice.

‘Is there somewhere we can sit down? Preferably on something that isn’t made of hay, or I’ll be sneezing all night.’ She was in no position to answer, tears were choking her now, and when Timothy took her by the hand and led her to a wooden bench she followed him without resistance, sitting on the edge and digging in her bag for a tissue.

‘You’re supposed to have a silk handkerchief,’ Clara sniffed, producing a huge ream of toilet paper.

‘I dropped it when I heard Hamo coming.’

They sat in silence for a moment or two, Timothy looking up at the endless stars, one hand loosely over the back of the bench behind her as Clara wept quietly on, blowing her nose and wishing he’d just go away then changing her mind when his hand reached for her shoulder and pulled her in. He let her cry without words, just patting her shoulder and waiting patiently till she’d reached the gulping stage before finally she spoke.

‘How did you know I liked him in that way? Is it that obvious?’

‘Only to me.’ She felt him shrug beneath her cheek. ‘I know I’m good-looking and everything, I know women swoon whenever I approach.’ He laughed and caught her wrist when she playfully thumped his chest. ‘But when you dropped those notes I knew it wasn’t because of my devilish charm. I figured Shelly had said something to upset you, and when I heard about Kell and Abby getting engaged, well, it seemed to fit.

‘I know you don’t believe me, I know you think I’m interfering, but it really would have been a bad move to tell him.’

‘Maybe not,’ she argued. ‘Maybe if he—’

‘Clara.’ Timothy pulled her face up. Cupping her chin with his hand, he gazed into her tear-filled eyes. ‘You look adorable tonight, Kell’s had too much to drink and once he finds out that Abby’s done a runner he’s going to be devastated. It doesn’t take Einstein to work out where it would all end up.’

Clara blinked back at him, her forehead furrowing, positive his lips were twitching as he stared back at her.

‘Bed,’ Timothy said patiently.

‘Maybe that’s what I wanted,’ Clara said defiantly, but Timothy just shook his head, any hint of a laugh fading as he stared back at her.

‘No, it isn’t, Clara. You think that’s what you wanted, but you know deep down that you’d have hated yourself in the morning. And worse, far worse, you’d have lost Kell as a friend.’

‘How do you know?’ The anger was back in her voice now. Pushing his hand away, she stood up, half expecting him to grab her, to pull her back beside him, but Timothy sat unmoved. ‘Maybe bed’s exactly where I wanted it to end up. And if you hadn’t decided to play the moral majority maybe bed’s where I’d be heading right now. And I tell you this much, Timothy, right now it sounds like a far better option than this!’

‘Go on, then, go back in there, go and tell him how you’re feeling, but half a bottle of wine and a broken heart really doesn’t put you in the best position to make rational decisions. Take it from someone who knows.’

She stood for a moment, torn with indecision, knowing Timothy to be right yet praying he was wrong.

‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Timothy ventured, sensing weakness. ‘We’ve all had our hearts stomped on.’

‘Please.’ Clara flashed a tear-filled glare at him. ‘What would a good-looking doctor know about a broken heart?’

‘Plenty.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve only been a good-looking doctor for a year, remember. Eighteen months ago I fell hook, line and sinker for one of the RNs on a surgical ward, and when I say I was besotted by her I mean I was seriously besotted. I had the ring picked out before I’d even plucked up the courage to ask her on a date. She was seriously stunning. The only trouble was, I was working as a nurse’s aide…’

‘You were a nurse’s aide?’

‘I had to pay my bills. Anyway it was good experience, taught me how to actually speak to patients, which is something even the best medical schools don’t even touch. Anyway, Rhonda never even glanced in my direction, not even once, until we were at a party. You know the type—a load of doctors, nurses and med students and way too much booze and suddenly she was all over me.’ He gave a cheeky grin. ‘It was the best night of my life. I’ll spare you the details, but I’m sure you get the picture. She was on an early shift and I told her I’d see her later that day at work and we’d go out for dinner, maybe go and see a band or something.’

‘Sounds nice,’ Clara commented.

‘It would have been,’ Timothy agreed. ‘Only, when she saw me on the ward the next day in my nurse’s aide uniform her face dropped a mile and she told me that she couldn’t possibly meet me later, that something had come up. And that was that.’

‘She dumped you for that?’

Timothy winced and nodded. ‘Of course, I should have told her I was really a medical student, that one day she’d get the doctor she so clearly wanted.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Timothy shrugged. ‘Too much false pride, I guess. I wanted her to want me for me.’

‘Fair enough.’

After a moment’s thought she sat down beside him.

‘The story doesn’t end there, though.’ His arm slid behind her in what should have comforting brotherly sort of way but suddenly Clara was having terrible trouble breathing. ‘There’s going to be a huge postscript.’

When Clara didn’t respond he carried on regardless. ‘After I finish here I’m going to do my diving course and I’m going to walk back onto that surgical ward with a white coat on, tanned as brown as a conker, and…’

‘And what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Timothy frowned. ‘The fantasy gets a bit hazy there. Either we’ll walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after, or I’ll be terribly cruel and pretend I don’t even remember her name and totally ignore her relentless advances. I haven’t quite worked the ending out yet, but when I do I’ll let you know.’

‘Revenge is a dish best eaten cold,’ Clara said with more than a trace of bitterness, smiling when she saw Timothy’s startled expression.

‘It’s an Arabic saying,’ she explained. ‘I have the same sort of fantasies, I think it’s because I watch too many soaps.’

‘What’s your favourite?’

‘My favourite soap or my favourite fantasy?’ Clara sighed. ‘OK, you asked for it. I dream that maybe one day Kell will wake up and realise how much he adores me, realise that he simply can’t live without me, and when he tells me I’ll just shrug and say he’s too late, that I’ve moved on, that…’ Her voice trailed off, the tears starting again as she realised the futility behind so many wasted dreams.

‘What do I do now, Timothy?’ The indecision in her voice was so alien that for a moment there even she didn’t recognise it. She was a bush nurse, for heaven’s sake, used to thinking on her feet, used to making life-and-death decisions completely unaided, but right here, right now she’d never felt more unsure in her life.

‘Go home,’ Timothy said gently.

‘I can’t.’ Clara shook her head. As appealing as his suggestion was, there were a million and one jobs to be done tonight and most had Clara’s name on them. ‘There are the chairs to be stacked, the barn to be—’

‘You’d have left it for Kell,’ Timothy pointed out, ‘so why not let someone else do it?’ He had her hand now and was leading her away from the barn, away from Kell and a half a life’s worth of dreams. And after only a moment’s hesitation, after only a tiny glance backwards, Clara realised, to her own amazement, that she was meekly walking away with Timothy taking the lead.

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