shoulders, over to the barbeque. She was about to launch into a ‘What right had he to make that decision?’ tirade to Gina when she realised that she’d given Hamish that right—had told him she wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone.
Gina suggested they find a chair before they were all taken.
‘Nothing worse than trying to eat barbequed steak standing up,’ she said. ‘Besides, if we’re sitting down, someone might serve us—saves getting in the queue at the salad table.’
Someone did—Hamish bringing two plates piled high with meat and assorted salads across to where they sat.
‘CJ’s eating with Max and Georgie, and Cal’s nabbed us a table at the end of the veranda,’ he said, adding, rather obscurely, ‘With only four chairs.’
Gina stood up and moved away immediately, though Kate followed more reluctantly. Hamish was only being kind, she knew that, but his kindness—she was sure it was just that—made her feel warm inside. Actually, quite hot in places.
Funny that kindness could have that effect …
‘Oh!’
The table Cal had snagged was beyond the old settee and had the most wonderful view out over the cove. The moon had just risen, so it hung like a slightly squashed golden lantern just above the horizon, spreading a path of light across the sea.
‘Nice view?’ Cal teased, and Kate shook her head.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered, not wanting to break the spell beauty had cast around her.
‘It’s what makes Crocodile Creek so special,’ Hamish said. ‘And what I’ll miss when I go home. Although I do have a view of the Firth from my flat, and moons do rise in Scotland, though not in quite the same majestic splendour as these tropical moons.’
‘You’re going home?’
Kate’s question came out far louder than she’d intended it to, and she certainly hadn’t meant to sound shocked.
‘In less than three weeks.’ Cal answered for him. ‘And, boy, are we going to miss him. I know Charles has a replacement lined up—several replacements, in fact, because we’re down about three doctors and we don’t know if Joe and Christina will be back—but we’ve kind of got used to having a big, useless Scot around the place.’
‘Useless? I’ll give you useless!’ Hamish growled, and the others laughed.
‘We thought he’d be useless when he first arrived,’ Cal explained. ‘He was so polite to everyone, and so correct, and he’d never been in a light plane or a helicopter and didn’t trust either of them.’
He smiled at his friend. ‘But we brought him up to speed, and now, just when he’s become a reasonably useful member of the community, he’s going back to cold, dreary Scotland.’
‘To specialise in paeds,’ Gina added, giving Cal a nudge in the side, ‘which is what he’s always wanted to do, remember. You should be happy for him, not giving him grief.’
Once again Kate was struck by the warmth and camaraderie between these colleagues and housemates—and once again it emphasised her aloneness.
Or was it the news that Hamish was leaving so soon causing the empty feeling inside her?
Not possible.
She was still debating this when Brian appeared, a plate of food in one hand, cutlery poking out of his pocket and dragging a chair behind him.
‘Thought I’d lost you,’ he said to Kate, pulling his chair into position between her and Gina. ‘Great moon, huh? Maybe we can take a walk up onto the headland when we’ve finished eating. I often take a walk after dinner. Helps me sleep.’
‘I doubt Kate needs a walk to help her sleep,’ Hamish said, before Kate could think of a reply. ‘We had precious little last night and today she’s spent most of her time with Jack.’
Kate looked at Hamish, who appeared to be glaring at Brian, although with Hamish’s rather severe features it was hard to tell. But, glaring or not, he was going back to Scotland in a couple of weeks so he couldn’t possibly be warning Brian away for his own sake.
Did he not like Brian?
Or was he just genuinely interested in her need for sleep?
Whatever! She felt uncomfortable allowing him to take over her decision-making.
‘I’d like a walk after dinner,’ she said, more to the table in general than to Brian.
‘Oh, good, we’ll all go,’ Gina said.
Which was how Kate’s first evening in Crocodile Creek ended in a moonlit walk over the headland above the house with Brian and Hamish, Cal and Gina, Susie, Marcia, Mike, and Georgie, CJ and Max, while a lolloping, lovable, dopey dog called Rudolph gambolled along beside them.
‘WHAT DO YOU mean he’s gone into shock? What kind of shock? Septic from the infection? Hypovolaemic from the blood loss? He’s in hospital—how could they let him go into shock?’
Kate was vaguely aware she was shooting the messenger, but Hamish was right there in front of her, so why not vent her anxiety and distress on him? He was big enough to take it.
She had clambered out of bed while he was explaining why he’d woken her for a second time, and was now pulling a pair of sweats over her skimpy pyjama pants. Thrusting her feet into her sandals, she hurried towards the door.
Hamish didn’t move.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ she urged.
‘You’re going like that?’
She glanced down at the amiable hippo on the T-shirt top of her pyjamas.
‘I’m decent, Jack’s very ill, why not?’
‘No reason,’ Hamish said, but he shook his head in a bemused manner and followed her through the quiet house.
Were all the occupants over at the hospital, or were some people actually getting some sleep?
As they walked through the garden, an imminent dawn ghosting the foliage into strange shapes and patterns, Hamish explained. The operation to remove the bullet, with the guidance of the surgeon in Brisbane, had apparently gone well, and no replacement devices had been required. Jack had made the transition to the recovery room safely. Even there, Emily had been pleased with his responses as he’d come out of the anaesthetic, then they’d transferred him to the ICU for monitoring, and everything had gone haywire, his blood pressure dropping, pulse rate rising and his mental state confused and lethargic.
He wanted to die, he kept repeating weakly, then closing his eyes in response to any comment or question.
Desperate with concern—had he made the wrong decision doing the op here?—Charles
