Prognosis Bad Timing Read online

  But worst of all, the disturbing presence of Charlie as he teased, cajoled, laughed, pleaded, reasoned, flattered and coaxed his way into the hearts and minds of a bunch of tough kids living tough lives. It was clear he was well respected by the regulars. Her ears homed in on his strong authoritative voice each lunch-hour as he encouraged and mediated, pushing the teens to be their best.

  It sounded just like the voice he’d used with her at the accident scene. Calm. Confident. Positive. Designed to get the most out of a person, the best out of a situation. It had put her at ease, made her feel — made her believe —she could do it. And combined with that crooked smile of his and his shaggy, unruly, surfer-dude hair that flopped endearingly into his eyes, it got results.

  God knew, he’d managed to bring her back from the frightening grip of escalating panic.

  The back door opened and startled her out of her reverie. The usual ragtag crowd jostled through the staffroom, laughing and joking, crowing over who’d won and who’d shot the most baskets.

  Charlie and Joe trooped in after them. Joe grinned at her, gulped down a cold bottle of water from the fridge and burped loudly. ‘Needed that.’ He winked at her. ‘Gotta go, Charles. See you next week, Carrie.’

  Carrie smiled. ‘See ya, Joe.’

  She watched Joe leave the room and noticed how he signalled to Charlie with his index finger as if indicating the number one and then shot him a thumbs-up. Did he mean Charlie only had to put up with her for one more week?

  Charlie rolled his eyes at his friend. ‘See you over the weekend.’

  Carrie waited for the door to close. ‘If you think I’ll be done in a week, I think you’ll be disappointed. You are an incredibly bad bookkeeper.’

  Chuckling, he said, ‘I know.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be funny,’ she said coolly. He was sweaty and hot, his fringe plastered to his forehead yet somehow his crooked smile was sexy as hell.

  ‘I know.’ He laughed again.

  Carrie threw her glasses on the table in exasperation and got out of her chair to stretch her legs and back. ‘You know, Charlie, if you spent as much time with the books as you do on the basketball court, things wouldn’t be in such a mess.’

  Charlie gripped the edge of his locker, his peripheral vision full of Carrie twisting and flexing through her middle, emphasising the arch of her back and pushing her full breasts temptingly against the electric blue silk of her blouse. Her jacket was hanging off the back of her chair and he wished she’d leave the damn thing on.

  He rustled around his locker for nothing in particular. ‘Being fit is important. And basketball helps me work better with these kids. Helps me relate.’

  Suddenly Angela bustled into the room. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but Lilly’s sick. The school’s called. I’m going to have to leave.’

  “She okay?” he asked already grappling mentally with his afternoon schedule.

  “I don’t know.” Angela shrugged. ‘A fever.’

  ‘Pop her in to me later if you’re worried, I’ll check her out.’

  ‘What about the immunisation clinic?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll manage.” He smiled. “Just go.’

  ‘It’ll take you twice as long without me,’ she protested.

  ‘I’ll manage. Carrie will help,’ he added, and shot his most confident smile at his dubious receptionist.

  Carrie blinked. Did he think she didn’t have enough on her plate, without doing his work, too? She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t going to happen but he was looking at her with a plea in his eyes that she found hard to resist.

  She shut her mouth and turned her head to look at Angela. The older woman was looking her up and down like she had the first day, her expression registering extreme doubt. It was irritating and goaded her into action. ‘Sure, I can.’

  The older woman gave her the once-over again and Carrie felt as if she’d been dressed down by the school principal and found wanting. ‘You’re certain?’ Angela asked her boss.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Carrie butted in, before Charlie had a chance to answer.

  Angela ignored her, repeating the question. ‘Charlie?’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘OK, thanks. I’ll pop in later if I need to.’

  They watched Angela leave. Carrie was still miffed by Angela’s lack of faith which made no sense because it was probably warranted.

  ‘You are still a registered doctor, aren’t you?’ he asked as the door shut.

  ‘Of course,’ she said indignantly.

  He shrugged. ‘Hey, something obviously happened with you. I thought you may have been deregistered.’

  ‘Most certainly not,’ she said primly, drawing herself up to her full height. She’d have probably never recovered from that blow on top of everything else.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘I just assumed...’

  ‘How about you don’t do that anymore?’ she said frostily.

  He wasn’t perturbed by her haughtiness, if anything he seemed to enjoy it, shooting her a grin. ‘Clinic starts in fifteen minutes.’

  The waiting area was crowded with men, women and children of all ages when Carrie walked out on shaky legs. But this she could handle.

  Surely?

  Giving a few needles was hardly the same as lending a hand at an accident scene. No one’s life was in the balance. There wouldn’t be blood or the horrifying urgency of every second counting. A quick jab, dry a few tears, console a few stressed mothers and send them on their way.

  Anyone could do it.

  For once the brooding teenagers had been completely driven out of the clinic.

  ‘There’s a lot of people out there,’ she said, leaning against the doorframe of the treatment room where Charlie was setting up.

  Charlie glanced in her direction. He was relieved to see she was back in her jacket. The full power suit reminded him why she was there. Which was what he needed after seeing her languorous stretch in the staffroom.

  ‘Angela makes sure the immunisation clinic has a high local profile.’

  ‘You were right about her, she is indispensable.’

  Despite Angela’s suspiciousness around her, Carrie had been more than impressed over the course of the week. The receptionist was efficient, ran the place with military precision and could stare down a sullen teenager or stoned user better than the scariest sergeant major.

  Not one regular dared to give Angela any lip.

  Charlie gasped dramatically. ‘Me, right? Can I get that in writing?’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t let it go to your head.’

  Too late. Charlie had spent the last five nights with her and her damn pinstriped suits in his head.

  He cleared his throat. ‘You handle the paperwork, I’ll give the injections.’ He grabbed a box of antiseptic wipes. ‘Angela has all the cards out for those she’s expecting. They’ll be in alphabetical order. For any drop-ins we can access their information through the practitioner portal at the national immunisation database website. Angela already has it up on the screen.’

  He brushed past her, ignoring the brief press of flesh, and strode to the desk in the waiting area, demonstrating quickly how to access the information she’d need and how to update each patient’s records.

  ‘Weigh the babies if that hasn’t been done in the last month.’ He pointed to nearby scales.

  ‘Right.’ Carrie hoped she sounded present as her body busily processed the riot in her cells caused from the fleeting contact of his body. “Weigh the babies - check.”

  Easy. She could do this. It was hardly practising medicine.

  He stopped and gave her a searching look. ‘Are you sure?’

  Carrie placed her hand on her hip and lifted her chin. ‘I have two degrees. I think I can manage some data entry and a set of scales.’

  Her stance emphasised the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip and her haughty tone left Charlie the complete opposite of chastened. ‘Right, then, le
t’s get started before the mob starts to revolt.’

  Three hours later Carrie was relieved to see they had finally broken the back of the queue. Three agonising hours of watching Charlie cluck, cuddle, soothe and generally work magic with every baby, toddler and child in the room.

  And their mothers.

  He’d even managed to engage the odd bored, rather-be-shooting-hoops dad who had been dragged along, as well.

  He was a natural with kids. They responded to him with that typical childlike exuberance. He pulled faces and put on funny voices and teased and joked with the older children. He wiped away their tears and gave out ‘I’ve Been Beary Brave Today’ teddy-bear-shaped stickers which quickly produced smiles.

  She remembered him saying that his wife hadn’t wanted children. She also remembered getting the distinct impression that he wasn’t keen on them, either. Which was a shame — he really had a way with little people. He’d certainly won Dana’s heart with his Sleeping Beauty comment. She hadn’t stopped talking about him since.

  Carrie’s mind drifted to her daughter. And then, as usual, to Dana’s father. Why couldn’t Rupert have been more like Charlie? The horrible night she had told him about being pregnant, the night he had broken her heart, was never far from her mind. It had been a particularly awful time, coming hot on the heels of her disintegrating medical career.

  She had loved him and he had rejected her and his baby during the worst time of her life, and with such vehemence, such disdain, part of her had never recovered.

  He’d become engaged shortly after that and had moved overseas to practise in London. But his betrayal had stayed close to her heart. As long as Carrie lived, she never wanted to be in a position where someone could destroy her again.

  Love gave human beings extraordinary power and she was never handing that power over again.

  She shut the website down with a vehement click, annoyed that she had let her thoughts drift, and surveyed the now empty waiting room. Her feet ached from constant getting up and down and walking back and forth. Her fashionable three-inch stilettos weren’t meant for movement. Sitting at a desk, yes. Going back and forth, no.

  Easing out of Angela’s chair, Carrie flopped down on one of the squishy lounges, kicking her shoes off temporarily and wriggling her toes. She had to get back to the laptop, she was three hours behind, but for a brief moment she let her head fall back and sighed.

  It felt heavenly.

  Charlie stood framed in the doorway, watching her. The clinic had gone well. OK, Carrie hadn’t been as fast at things as Angela, but for a novice she’d excelled, and she’d had amazingly good rapport with the clients. Maybe that was a mother thing, but he didn’t think so. She had great people skills.

  It was a shame that she was wasting them in management.

  He watched her hand creep up and rub absently at her neck. He remembered her stretching earlier. She was, no doubt, used to ergonomically designed chairs and having to contend with a hard plastic seat was probably playing havoc with her spinal alignment.

  She probably had kinks in her kinks.

  He was hit by an overwhelming urge to knock her hand aside and take over but even as he thought it he knew how dangerous touching her would be. He’d thought about little else since he’d met her. To add the reality of her touch to his dreams would give him a permanent case of insomnia.

  And it was hardly appropriate, anyway.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and went back to putting the treatment room to rights.

  Carrie heard the door open and almost groaned. A late-comer? She opened her eyes to find a girl, a young woman actually, standing there, looking miserable. She had short spiky hair and sad, sad eyes ringed by thick black eyeliner.

  She looked about seventeen.

  Carrie sat up. ‘Are you OK?’ The girl nodded. ‘Do you want to see Ch...Dr Wentworth?’

  The girl shook her head but Carrie recognised the look in her eyes. She’d seen it in her mirror often enough. ‘You just want to sit for a bit?’ Carrie patted the lounge beside her.

  She eyed the space, strode across the room and flung herself down next to Carrie. ‘Men can be such pigs,’ she said vehemently.

  Carrie looked for a response other than amen to that. Something that would encourage the girl to unburden but she’d never been very good at the psychology side of things. And with thoughts of Rupert never far away, what else could she do other than agree?

  ‘This is true.’

  The girl looked at her, startled, as if she hadn’t expected to find an ally. “They suck.’

  True again. ‘They can do, yes.’

  Charlie’s ears pricked up at the conversation. He strained to hear more, tiptoeing closer to the door, uncaring if it made him an eavesdropper.

  ‘How could they be so...so...duplicitous?’

  It was Carrie’s turn to be startled this time. She’d mistakenly judged this girl on her appearance. She obviously had an excellent vocabulary. ‘It’s a Y chromosome thing. Some guys go to duplicitous studies while we’re at common sense 101.’

  Charlie wanted to protest on behalf of his sex but Carrie clearly had firsthand experience and hell if he didn’t know it to be true.

  ‘More like gullible 101,’ the young woman grumbled.

  Carrie laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘So what do we do about it?’ the girl complained, turning beseeching eyes on Carrie.

  Well, now, wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Carrie shrugged. ‘Believe in yourself. Believe that you’re worth it. And know that you don’t need a guy but that there are plenty out there who will treat you with the respect you deserve. And don’t settle for less.’

  She sagged against the chair. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Sorry, no quick fix here. If you’ve got another suggestion, I’d be happy to hear it.’

  ‘I was thinking of making a voodoo doll.’

  Carrie laughed. The idea of sticking pins into an effigy of Rupert was inordinately funny.

  The girl laughed with her. ‘Nah, I suppose you’re right,’ she conceded after a while. ‘How long did it take you to figure it out?’

  Way too long. ‘Lotta years. You’re lucky, you’re ahead of your time.’

  ‘We’d be better off without them.’

  Very mature. But then she thought of Dana’s quick, girly giggle. And Charlie’s slow lazy smile. ‘It wouldn’t be as fun, though, would it?’

  They chatted for a little while longer until the girl stood and announced she had to go and Carrie headed back to her laptop.

  She was so behind.

  She’d hoped to get through December’s financial statistics today but helping with the clinic had thrown that out the window which meant she was going to have to stay late. Thankfully Dana was having a cousin sleepover at her sister’s place tonight, so there was no need to rush home.

  She walked past Charlie’s office. The door was closed and he wasn’t in the treatment room so she assumed – hoped - that he was attending to the immunisation clinic’s billing paperwork. The thought of attacking her own stack of papers was exceedingly unappealing but Carrie gave herself a shake. The board would not be impressed if the report was late.

  It could ruin her otherwise unblemished record.

  And she’d already messed up one career - she wasn’t going to blow this one.

  Charlie opened the staffroom door a few minutes later to find Carrie at her laptop. She regarded him over the top of her wireless rims. Her jacket was off again and Charlie almost turned around and went back to his office to stare at the walls some more.

  ‘It’s past five. Shouldn’t you be heading off?’ He crossed to the sink and flicked on the electric kettle.

  ‘Not for a while. Helping at the clinic put me behind so I’m working back. That’s OK, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure. I never usually leave till nine-thirty or ten. What about Dana?’

  A little thrill of pleasure coursed through Carrie’s veins at his consi
deration and she reined it in. So, he was thoughtful — that wasn’t entirely alien to the male species. ‘Sleeping over at my sister’s tonight.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  She shook her head. “No thanks.” She was way too keyed up already. Him being in her space didn’t help. ‘You work long hours,” she said, suddenly nervous in his company. “I don’t see you claiming them on any of your timesheets.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’d love for the centre to be open twenty-four seven but with just me, that’s not possible. So I do what I can to open extended hours. It’s not like I have anything better to do.’

  Carrie took in his back view as he poured hot water into his mug and stirred in two sugars. He sounded like he lived for his work, too. Realising she was staring, she returned her attention to the screen.

  ‘Sorry I put you behind,’ he said, as he turned, leaning his ass against the edge of the sink.

  Carrie stopped tapping on the keys and smiled, thinking back at her afternoon. ‘It’s OK. I enjoyed it, actually.’

  He nodded. ‘Maybe that’s because you’re good at it. People respond to you.’

  ‘Nonsense.” Carrie returned her attention to a spreadsheet as her damn foolish head swelled a little at his praise. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. She was in management now.

  That’s where her future lay.

  ‘I hardly had any contact at all. Spent most of my time at the computer.’

  He pushed away from the sink and strolled in her direction. ‘Pardon my French but that’s a pile of steaming bullshit right there. They’re a tough crowd, Carrie. Trust me, they liked you. Just look at Tina earlier. She’s one seriously mixed-up, closed-off kid. You had her eating out of your hand.’

  ‘Tina?” Carrie glanced at him. “That’s her name? She’s a smart girl, that one, she’ll figure it out.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks in part to you.’

  Their eyes met and Carrie was humbled by the sincerity she saw in Charlie’s gaze even though she wanted to deny the substance of his words. Then the phone rang and Carrie broke eye contact staring dumbly at the object hanging on the wall. The damn thing rang all day, constantly interrupting her concentration. She was learning to tune it out but was thankful for its interruption right now.