Prognosis Bad Timing Page 4

  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.’

  ‘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. He nodded gravely. ‘The suit.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not the enemy here,’ she protested as a pair of frank assessing eyes gave her the once over.

  ‘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.’

  Carrie’s hand closed around the key. Awesome. Not.

  She looked around the room. It was a little on the worn side. 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 and the snug fit of it across his shoulders. ‘I suppose your work clothes 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 briefly and wished this day was over. At least Joe had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Joe, this is Carrie.’ When she glared at him he held up his hands in surrender and corrected. ‘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 in a dramatic sotto voce way as he shook Carrie’s hand.

  She laughed. “Apparently.” Carrie was getting the distinct feeling her arrival had been discussed at length.

  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.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you,’ Carrie said, admiration softening her voice.

  ‘He plays basketball at lunch,’ Charlie said dryly. “He’s not feeding the homeless or anything.”

  She laughed again but sobered quickly. ‘Well, no doubt I’ll be seeing you around over the next few weeks but for now I really should get cracking. The sooner I get this done the sooner I can be out of your hair.’

  They watched her cross to the table and place her briefcase down. Opening it, she removed her laptop and several folders containing documents of some kind. He was fairly certain they were to do with the clinic and just the sight of them made him twitchy - his blood, sweat and tears reduced to numbers on a spreadsheet.

  Leaving her to it, Charlie left the room with Joe glad to shut the door on her and put some distance between them.

  ‘Man, is she a hottie or what?” Joe clapped his best friend on the back. “You see those curves? Move over, Nigella.’

  ‘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?’

  “Yup.” Charlie nodded miserably.

  Joe stifled a grin. ‘Pinstripes, huh?’

  Charlie didn’t reply, just groaned and dropped his head down onto the table, banging his forehead a few times.

  ‘She’s a doctor?’

  Glancing up from his desk, Charlie said, ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Hmm, intriguing, as well.’

  ‘Pain in the butt,’ Charlie muttered as he sat up, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest, Joe’s laughter all around him. He opened his eyes and looked at his clearly amused 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 was right behind them and smiled at her on his way past. ‘Wanna shoot some hoops?’

  Carrie could see the team limbering up through the open door. Two of the kids looked of Sudanese heritage and were well over six feet. The others, apart from a freckly red-head and a wiry kid of Asian heritage weren’t exactly short either. She knew Joe was only teasing but she kicked out her foot and said, ‘I’m not really wearing the right shoes.”

  He grinned and continued on out. Charlie came through moments later. He acknowledged her with a quick nod of his head. ‘How are we looking?’

  Carrie took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘Too early to tell,’ she said. ‘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? Jesus.

  ‘It’ll be faster if I get that paperwork sooner rather than later.’

  ‘I’ll have it on your desk by the morning.’ 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 dinner. She felt her usual 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. The jukebox was now silent she realised as she quietly hummed a song that 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 as Donny followed behind. ‘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’ll probably 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 and he was clearly malnourished. His hair was unkempt, and his skin pasty. Faint yellowy bruises followed the bluey-green tracks of his knotted, abused veins.

  He looked like death.

  Her adrenaline surged 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 Tilly 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?

  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’s thigh, administering the narcotic antagonist to reverse the effects of the drug. Rick wasn’t going to like it but oxygen alone wasn’t going to 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 fucking 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 the hit and Charlie 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 leaned 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 before handing 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. ‘Are 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. How long till you know?’

  ‘Another two weeks. But it’ll be fine, Donny, don’t worry. Really.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Doc...’

  They walked outside and out of Carrie’s earshot. Sorry about what? Intriguing...

  Charlie re-entered the clinic and crossed to where she sat. ‘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 anymore.’

  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 h
arsh on herself?

  ‘Why? Did something happen?’

  Carrie 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.” She stood. “Goodnight. See you in the morning.’

  She 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 an intense place. 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 and occasional girls 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. Not to mention the tense exchanges that all too often broke out as recreation became serious.