WHAT HAD HE EXPECTED?
Given the state of Kiara’s finances, some sort of dog pens, and a run-down house attached?
It might be run-down, but it was beautiful.
He’d followed Kiara in her battered van as she’d driven back to Two Tails, and when she pulled into the drive, he could only stare.
The house was built at the beginning of a valley, the road in front winding on to the town of Birralong. From here the land was zoned a national park, thick, untouched bushland, fantastical gorges, a landscape as wild as it was beautiful.
The house itself was a cottage, weathered with age but stunningly beautiful. A wilderness of garden was practically taking over. Crimson bougainvillea washed across the corrugated roof and trailed along the wide veranda. Huge eucalypts formed a vast, bird-filled backdrop, and the peaks of the Blue Mountains towered in the distance.
A discreet sign on the front door said Two Tails. Please Ring and Wait. Another sign said Clinic and pointed to a winding path leading to the left.
‘Wow!’ Alice had driven with Kiara, and now she and Bunji were out of Kiara’s battered van. The little girl was looking as awed as he felt. ‘This is where you live?’ she asked Kiara.
‘It’s my home,’ Kiara told her, and the way she said it told him how much she loved it.
This was why she’d given them Bunji, he reminded himself. And it was why they were here now. This was a paid service.
The door opened and an elderly woman with a mass of wild, white curls appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh, Kiara. Thank heaven you’re back. Hazel had to go in a hurry, so I stayed on, but my Jim’s got a doctor’s appointment. So this is Alice. And you must be Dr Dalton. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. Kiara, sorry, love, but I need to be off.’ And she grabbed a battered purse from inside the hall and bolted.
‘That’s Maureen,’ Kiara told Alice. ‘She tries to do way too much, but she’s awesome. She was my grandma’s best friend. She treats me as if I’m a kid, and she’ll treat you just the same. She’s bossy but she’s great.’ She hesitated and then added: ‘Sometimes I think without Maureen I might fall apart. But come on in. Alice, Maureen’s set up a room I think you’ll love. It’s in the attic and it’s very private, your own personal space. The stairs up are a bit wonky, but it has a great gable window looking out to the mountains. I asked Maureen to put some of my favourite books in there, plus a pile of bedding for Bunji. Would you like to see?’
And Alice cast her a look of wonder and headed upstairs without a backward glance.
She’d turned into a child again, Bryn thought. What had happened to her in the last week?
Kiara had happened.
She was standing beside him, watching kid and dog bounce up the stairs. ‘They have their brave back,’ she said, smiling as they disappeared.
‘Thanks to you.’
‘I know, I’m a matchmaker,’ she said smugly. ‘Bunji and Alice—a match made in heaven.’
He looked at her curiously. There was so much he didn’t understand about this woman. ‘So how about you?’ He had no business asking but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Have you made any matches for yourself?’
She cast him an odd look. ‘You know, since I’m your employee I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to ask that question.’ And then her irrepressible smile peeped out again. ‘But no. I have nine dogs here and who has time—or the need—for a love life when there are nine dogs requiring as much love as I can give them? When they’ve all found their forever homes, there might be time for me.’
‘But there’ll always be dogs.’
‘I guess there will,’ she admitted. ‘Even if I can no longer run Two Tails.’ She spread her hand, encompassing the big living room they’d just entered. ‘Maybe I’ll just live in poverty here, letting the termites do their worst around me. I’ll be a modern Ms Havisham, but with termites and dogs instead of cobwebs. There are surely worse places to be stuck.’
Maybe there were.
But...
The Miss Havisham reference—Dickens’ fictional jilted bride, dwindling into old age in her decrepit house—could never be a reasonable comparison, he thought, but there were points of resemblance. He was gazing around with a certain amount of awe. How could one person have all this...stuff?
But it wasn’t just ‘stuff’. Fascinated, he started to prowl. How could one room contain so many pictures? Piles of bric-a-brac loaded each side table. The room was crowded with eclectic furniture, crazy lamps. What looked at first glance to be almost a product of hoarding was, on second, third, even fourth inspection, a massive collection of personal wonder.
‘Did you gather all this?’ he asked, stunned, and she gave a self-conscious laugh.
‘Grandma was a bower bird. She loved history, loved the stories of her people, but she and her sister lost most of their family and I think she collected things to make up for it. Once she lost my mother, her collecting seemed to become even more frenetic.’
He lifted a wooden carving, a piece of ironbark magnificently formed into a figure of woman and child. ‘This should be on public display.’
‘I love it.’
‘Of course.’ He frowned. ‘But all of this? You love it all?’
‘You haven’t seen the half of it,’ she admitted. ‘Every room is crammed. And, no, I don’t love most of it—dusting it is a nightmare—but I have no idea what to do with it. If...when I leave here it’ll have to be sold. Or donated. The local charity shop will be grateful.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
She flashed him a look of surprise. ‘Because?’
‘Because it’s worth...’ Once more he gazed around. One of the women he’d dated, a top of the trees’ radiologist, had been a collector of old porcelain. For the few months they’d been together—a long time in the history of his brief relationships—he’d indulged her by spending weekends prowling junk shops and car boot sales. He knew the crazy prices people paid, and what Kiara had here was a goldmine. ‘If you really want to get rid of it, it’ll bring heaps,’ he said at last, feeling the inadequacy of the word. ‘I have friends who know the right people to value it, to help you sort it, so you get what it’s worth.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. No pressure but I’m thinking Two Tails is just as deserving of cash as your local charity shop.’
She flushed and smiled, and then shook her head. ‘I’m sure most of it’s worthless.’
‘And some of it isn’t. This bowl...’ He lifted a crimson and green glass bowl that was filled with potpourri and held it to the light. ‘I know someone who’d pay serious money for this. Enough to keep even Bunji in dog food for a month.’
‘Really? That much? Wow!’ She smiled. For the last week Bunji had suddenly found her appetite, wolfing down each meal and pleading for more. But then she shrugged, moving on. ‘It’s a possibility,’ she conceded. ‘But you’ve helped me enough. I’ll show you to your room.’
‘Show me more,’ he urged. ‘Where do you keep your dogs?’
She cast him a doubtful glance and then led the way out to the back of the house. Here the veranda morphed into a line of dog pens, each a small ‘cubby’ under the extended roofline of the veranda. The enclosures opened at the rear, so each dog had its individual run. The runs were wide and generous, running down to the lawn and ending under the shade of the eucalypts.
The pens seemed to be three quarters empty. ‘We’re whittling down,’ Kiara told him, seeing his enquiring look. ‘Bunji was the last dog we took. We have tentative homes for most of these but they’re undertaking training before they go. We don’t just rehouse, we rehome. See Mickey, the corgi? He’s eight years old, a gentle lamb, but his owner died two months ago. He’s being retrained for Shirley, who’s in her seventies and has rheumatoid arthritis. She lives in a second-floor apartment, so we’re training him to use a doggy door through to the fire escape, which leads to a little backyard. He’s had two sessions so far. Hazel says the last time he was brilliant. I thought Alice might like to come with me this week while I take him for one last trial. Then he’s set to go.’
She headed over to let Mickey out, stooping to scratch behind his ears. ‘You know, Bunji’s pretty clever,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘She might even help.’
‘You’re a trained vet,’ he said, cautiously. ‘You spend your time teaching dogs to use fire escapes?’
‘Hey, I do lots of vet stuff, too,’ she retorted. ‘I run a clinic for a couple of hours every afternoon. But rehoming successfully is what I love.’
‘And when you leave here?’
Her brightness faded. ‘I guess... If I have to leave then I’ll just go back to being a normal vet. Patching up and moving on.’
Well, maybe that was no bad fate, he decided, as she led him through the pens and introduced him to her weird mix of clients. That was what he did, after all. He patched people up and moved on.
No emotional attachment there.
‘So,’ she said briskly. ‘Let’s get you settled and then you can head off to work as you will. As long as you’re home at a reasonable hour for Alice, then I’m happy to keep her entertained. All these guys are pretty much certified bombproof. My grounds are dog safe. Apart from the fussy ones who think romping in a paddock is beneath them, Alice can walk as many as she wants. I have a feeling she’ll like that, and so will my dogs.’ She hesitated. ‘She’s a loner—she’s had to be. Hopefully you’ll break that down, but she’ll still need space.’
‘I guess.’ He thought of the psychology sessions he’d organised for Alice and thought...this woman is helping just as much, if not more.
‘I have clinic at three,’ she was saying, oblivious to where his thoughts were taking him. ‘But I’m still just through that door if Alice needs me, and it shouldn’t take long. I’ve put notices in the local paper saying clients need to start thinking of where they’ll go when we close, and we’ve already noticed a drop off.’
‘You’ll miss this place.’
‘Like a hole in my heart,’ she admitted, her voice tightening. ‘But as you—and especially Alice—already know, holes just have to be papered over if you’re to move on.’
He was back! Gloriously he was back in his rooms at Sydney Central. His receptionist, assigned to other duties while he was away, had returned to her rightful desk. Apart from her concerned question... ‘Do I need to space appointments, give you time to adjust?’...she was acting as if he’d simply been overseas to a conference.
He fielded a few concerned queries about his leg from his colleagues. There were brief quips about idiots who didn’t leave rescues to those who knew how, but then the ripples caused by his absence simply moved to the horizon and disappeared. The gossip about Rod and Caroline had overtaken almost everything, and their absence caused pressure on the whole department.
Was that why there was no talk of Alice? No one asked. Or was it that the advent of a child in his life wasn’t supposed to affect him at all?
But this was what he’d longed for—demanding, technical work that necessarily blocked out all the emotion of the last few months. Work, where he could be self-contained, fully focused on the highly skilled procedures that saved people’s lives. Work, where he didn’t need to think about Alice and her needs.
Where he didn’t have to think about Kiara?
How had Kiara come into the equation? He had no clue, but both Alice and Kiara stayed in his mind.
He’d always had the ability to focus solely on what was at hand. This subconscious backdrop of Alice—and Kiara—was disturbing.
His first hour or so, of necessity, had to be spent at his desk, catching up on what had to be done, on the mess that had been left by his two colleagues. It was Saturday. There’d hopefully be no urgent surgery today, but Archie and Rebecca had moved some of Rod’s urgent consults to this afternoon. He thus had to be totally focused, and he was fast immersed in patient histories, consulting with radiologists over results from MRIs, consideration of medications, alternatives to surgery. Discussion of dangers, for and against. Assessments of possible outcomes of surgery.
He had to be at the top of his game, and part of him welcomed it—this had been what he’d ached for over the last months.
But still, part of him was separate. Part of his mind was back at home with Kiara.
No. Home with Alice, he reminded himself harshly, and then he thought... Home?
Wasn’t home back in Clovelly?
But maybe his real home was here, at the beating hub of a huge teaching hospital. Here, where he’d felt more in control of his world than in any other place, ever.
Except now he didn’t. He felt...
As if he needed to give himself a decent shake and get on with it?
He had no choice. A family was ushered in, a kid with epilepsy. He’d made a thorough study of his history before he saw him, previous treatments and prognosis. He was tentatively scheduled to do the surgery Rod had recommended, and now he had to say it as it was.
‘With this procedure there’s over a fifty per cent chance that your epilepsy will subside to the point where it can be well controlled by medication.’ Felix was fifteen years old, a kid whose epilepsy was spiralling out of control. His parents were sitting behind him, having the sense to let their son do the talking. Letting Felix make the calls. Even so, they were clutching each other’s hands as if they were drowning.
‘I just want to get better,’ Felix muttered, and his mother couldn’t contain herself any longer.
‘But not if it’s dangerous.’
This surgery came with risks—he outlined them, and they hung over the little group. There was a fifty per cent chance of massive improvement, maybe a thirty per cent chance of some improvement, but there was still a possibility of no improvement at all. Also...he had to admit that there was a minute risk of death.
He watched the parents blench, but not the kid, and who could blame him? ‘I want to be able to kick a footy without everyone making a huge fuss,’ he muttered. ‘Like I am, they won’t let me on the team. And as soon as I’m eighteen I want to drive a car. I want to be normal.’
‘What would you do if it was your son?’ his mother quavered, and her husband interjected.
‘Yeah, Doc. If it was your family...your kid... If it was your wife you’d have to hold up if things go pear-shaped...’
And there they were again, front and centre. Kiara and Alice.
Kiara.
He thought of her perky grin, her spirit. He thought of Kiara with her arms folded, rolling down the slope to join Bunji and Alice.
He thought of her, head bent over Bunji’s healing wound, skilfully debriding but speaking to the dog in such soothing tones she hardly needed anaesthetic.
He thought of Kiara, organising Alice her attic room, acknowledging that Alice still needed space to be alone.
He just thought...of Kiara.
‘It’d probably be my wife who’d do the holding up,’ he said at last, because the group was waiting for an answer. If it could help this group by inferring he had a wife...if it’d help a decision...
For whatever reason, the sudden image of Kiara as his family helped him form his response.
‘I guess, whatever happens, you hold each other up,’ he said. ‘Because that’s what families do.’
That was what Kiara would do.
Enough. He needed to stop thinking about Kiara and move on without her in his head. He turned back to Felix. ‘But you know what? If you’re prepared to go through a few tough weeks after surgery, then there should be no holding up to be done at all. You won’t need it.’
As he didn’t need holding up?
Of course he didn’t. It was only Alice...
‘We’ll always need it,’ Felix’s father said soundly. ‘Doc, I side-swiped my brand-new car against the garage wall this morning. Inattention. Worrying about this appointment. But you know what? It was Felix who hugged me. Who held me up. We’re a family, mate. Whatever the outcome there’ll always be holding up to be done, and no matter what Felix decides, we’re in this together.’
And there it was, decision made. Bryn sent them back to Rebecca to organise dates, times, pre-admission forms, and he moved on. Still feeling unsettled.
Two more patients and he could head home.
Home. There was that word again.
He worked on, and then, just as he was packing to leave, the call came in from the emergency department.
‘Are you up for some tricky surgery, mate?’ the head of ER asked him. ‘We know you’re only just back, but we’re coping with a multiple-car pile-up, major trauma. We have a young guy with a skull fracture, a major cerebral bleed. Can you deal?’
There was no choice. For the first time ever, though, there were consequences for him. Kiara’s words replayed. ‘As long as you’re home at a reasonable hour for Alice...’ He phoned Kiara and told her what had happened.
‘The kid’s seventeen,’ he said. ‘I need...’
‘Of course you need,’ she told him, and then spoke to Alice in the background. ‘Hey, Alice, a kid’s been in a car crash and the hospital wants your uncle to sew him up. Can we cope without him, or should we let our pizza get cold while we pine for him?’
‘What’s pine?’ he heard Alice ask.
‘It means sit on the back doorstep and cry because he’s late and we miss him so much. What’s it to be, Alice? We eat crunchy pizza without your uncle, or we cry into soggy tissues while we wait for him?’
And to his astonishment he heard a giggle. ‘Pizza,’ Alice decreed, and Kiara chuckled as well.
‘Good choice. You heard that, Dr Dalton? You get on with saving lives and we promise we’ll leave at least two slices of pizza in the microwave for you.’
He disconnected and headed for Theatre, but, stupidly, now part of him...part of him ached to be home.
Home.
To microwaved pizza.
To his...family?