she was lying in her childhood bed in Haven, back at Bulla Creek.
This time her heart rate stayed normal, but her stomach squirted acid. At this rate, her stress levels were going to seriously injure her. She threw back the covers. Shower first and then food.
Twenty minutes later she padded into the kitchen, totally starving and on the search for breakfast.
She found a note on the pantry door scrawled in William’s trademark black ink and squinted, trying to decipher it. No nib, however fine, had ever improved his doctor’s handwriting. Seeing it drew her back in time to when she’d been a fourteen-year-old girl watching the man she hero-worshipped writing at the old oak desk in the study and telling her that the fountain pen, which had been his father’s, would belong to her one day.
Just think, Lucy, there could be three generations of doctors in the family writing prescriptions with the same pen. Wouldn’t that be special?
At the time she’d thought it would be amazingly special because it meant the need to care and heal ran so strongly in the Pattersons’ veins it couldn’t be denied, and she was part of that destiny.
Lucy gave herself a shake and centred her thoughts on the prosaic present. William no longer wrote prescriptions with the fountain pen because they were computer generated and printed, and she wasn’t certain the pen represented anything any more other than being part of the elaborate fake facade of her life.
She read the note.
I hope you’ll stay for lunch. My treat at the Shearer’s Arms at noon? Either way, please don’t go without a goodbye. Dad x
Last time she’d left Haven she’d run through a veil of tears propelled by anger and the devastating cost of a lifelong lie. Ironically, she was back here not only to check up on William, but because of another lie. Only the loss of Daniel didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as the loss of Jess.
She ran her hands through her hair, missing her friend who she’d always turned to for advice, especially after the death of Ruth when everything had gone so pear-shaped. Now she had no one to talk to.
I give good advice. Not that you listen much.
She ignored her own unsolicited advice and glanced at the huge station-style clock in the kitchen, its black hands showing that it wasn’t even seven. Five long hours until lunch.
Facing William alone over lunch.
She knew he would have booked the alcove table, the one tucked away from prying eyes and flapping ears so they could ‘talk’. She pressed her temples with her fingers. She didn’t want to do that, but then again she really didn’t want to leave abruptly again either. Putting the invitation into the ‘too hard basket’, she filled the kettle and set it to boil before opening the pantry door. She stepped inside its cool walls. The usually groaning shelves were understocked and as she reached for a box of breakfast cereal, her gaze landed on a blister pack of tablets that were slid in next to the breakfast condiments. She picked them up, turned them over and read the name. Anti-hypertensive tablets. She frowned. How long had William been taking blood pressure medication?
The doctor in her wanted to ask him right now, but waking him up to do that wasn’t the best idea. She picked up the cereal and noticed the box was almost empty. She checked the fridge, which had no yoghurt and only a small amount of milk. She pulled open the freezer and apart from a sports pack and a bag of peas and one casserole, it was predominantly filled with ice. Grabbing a pen, she wrote a shopping list, and then she pulled six grocery bags from the pantry and picked up her keys. Before she left Bulla Creek, she’d make sure William had a full pantry and a few more frozen meals.
The supermarket manager was just opening the doors when Lucy arrived in town. She didn’t know him, but she gave him a nod as she passed through and wrestled with a trolley which didn’t want to leave its pack. Welcoming the chance to focus on groceries, which were delightfully simple compared with everything else in her life, she started collecting the ingredients for a variety of casseroles. The radio blared loudly and she sang along with the music right up to when she presented her load to the checkout. She’d just started placing her items on the black conveyer belt when she jumped at the blast of an air horn and dropped a can of tomatoes.
‘Loud, eh?’ The heavily made-up teenager grinned. ‘That’s Jason saying “G’day”. He always does that when he’s taking a load of sheep to Perth. He does it when he comes back too so Kylie knows he’s safe.’
‘And no one’s ever asked him not to?’ Lucy’s adrenaline surge was fading, leaving her jittery and slightly on edge.
The girl looked at her as if she had two heads. ‘No. You get used to it when you—’
The gut-wrenching sound of the long screech of rubber against asphalt deafened all other noise, followed immediately by the chilling crunch of metal against metal.
Lucy ran. As her feet hit the pavement she looked left, but could only see heat haze shimmering on the road. Then she looked right and gagged. A jack-knifed truck lay on its side along with a four-deck trailer full of sheep. Sheep were everywhere—some standing, some bloodied and bleeding, but Lucy’s eyes passed over them as she saw the driver climbing out of the cabin. She ran to her car, picked up her medical bag and kept running.
When she reached the driver, he was walking in circles, his hands pulling at his hair and blood pouring down his face. ‘Jason? You need to sit down.’ Lucy took his arm and shepherded him toward the kerb, wanting to check his pupils for a concussion.
His unfocused gaze settled on her face. ‘She came from nowhere.’
Lucy didn’t know what he meant. ‘Who’s she?’
‘The other car.’
The other car? She spun around, her eyes searching beyond the truck and the bleating sheep.
‘Lucy!’ Deb, an off-duty nurse from the hospital, ran up to her breathless. ‘Geraldine Carter’s in the other car.’
Oh, God, she couldn’t even see another car and a thousand thoughts ran through her head. ‘Get Dr Rodriguez, ring the police, find someone to stay with Jason and then come and help me.’
As she ran, she heard the scream of sirens in the distance and gave thanks, knowing the police and local volunteer fire brigade would block off the road and sort out the sheep. She rounded the truck and braced herself for what she imagined would be horrific.
She breathed in hard to keep from retching.
What had once been a small hatch-back car was now smashed almost beyond recognition. The impact of the crash had flattened the passenger side of the car before pushing it off the road into the low stone fence of the community park. A woman was slumped forward over the steering wheel, deathly still.
Checking there were no power lines touching the car, Lucy gripped the car door handle and prayed it would open without needing the cutting skill of the ‘jaws of life’. She gave an almighty pull and felt some give so tugged again. Grudgingly, the door opened just enough for her to squeeze in. She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Can you hear me?’
The woman didn’t move. What had Deb said her name was? ‘Geraldine, can you hear me?’ She heard a moan. ‘I’m Lucy and a doctor and I’m going to help you.’
Airway,
