A Special Kind of Family (5 page)

Dom was watching from the sidelines.

‘It’ll hardly be looted where it is,’ Erin managed. ‘And…um…Charles, there’s also the problem of Marilyn.’

‘Marilyn?’

‘The…my dog.’ She gestured to Marilyn on the floor behind her. ‘She was the one on the road last night. I’m keeping her.’

Charles glanced at the dog. And then glanced again. In horror.

Marilyn was rousing. Her intravenous line had provided her with fluids, antibiotics and pain relief. Her puppies had drunk their fill and were now sleeping.

With a weary heave, she stumbled to her feet. Dom had left a water bowl by her side. She inspected it with caution, looked up at the three humans watching her and then lowered her head to drink.

Erin found she was grinning. She glanced at Dom and he was grinning, too.

‘I’ll take the IV line out,’ Dom said, sounding exceedingly satisfied. ‘She’ll want to go outside.’

‘What,’ Charles said, in a voice that said he didn’t believe what he was seeing, ‘is that?’

‘It’s the dog I was telling you about,’ Erin explained patiently. ‘She had puppies last night. And I’m keeping her,’ she repeated. ‘I’m keeping them all.’

Ignoring them, Dom dropped to his knees. While Marilyn drank he slipped the IV line out, putting pressure on the entry
point for a moment with a wad of clean tissues he tugged from his pocket. What sort of a man carried an excess supply of tissues? Erin wondered.

A guy who was used to life’s messes.

A really sexy doctor who was used to life’s messes.

‘That’s great,’ Dom said cheerfully, as Marilyn kept on drinking. ‘I’m thinking she’ll settle, wherever you take her. She was great this morning while I cleaned her side—she’s a lovely, placid pooch. You’ll have to give the rest of the antibiotic orally but she should be fine.’

‘You’ll have to give…’
Charles repeated faintly, and stared at Erin in horror. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’m not kidding,’ Erin said solidly. ‘I can’t leave her here.’

‘Why not?’

‘Dom has enough on his plate. He has kids.’

‘Kids like dogs,’ Charles said flatly. ‘I can’t believe this. You crashed the car for
this
?’

‘Hey,’ Dom said. ‘Mind the insults. You need to be wary of new mothers. Very hormonal.’

He was still grinning. Laughing at…Charles? At her situation? Erin turned a shoulder to tell him what she thought of that—and tried to concentrate on Charles. ‘I have to take her.’

‘Not to my parents’, you can’t,’ Charles said bluntly. ‘Mum’d have kittens.’

‘That’d add to the menagerie,’ Dom said, still grinning.

‘Your mother would have forty fits as well,’ Charles added. ‘And I can’t imagine how Peppy would react.’

‘Who’s Peppy?’ Dom asked, interested. ‘Great Aunt Peppy?’

‘Peppy’s my mother’s poodle,’ Erin snapped. She could do without the levity.

‘Your parents and Charles’s parents live together?’

‘We’re having a family Easter,’ Erin said, trying not to sound…strained. Knowing she hadn’t pulled it off. ‘Our parents are old friends. Charles’s parents asked us all for Easter.’

‘That’s great,’ Dom said, and suddenly the laughter was gone. His tone had turned implacable. ‘That’s six adults to look after one dog and three pups. Two dogs if you count Peppy.’ Behind him, his phone started ringing. ‘Can you excuse me? I need to answer this.’ Then he glanced at Marilyn who was looking—meaningfully—at the door. ‘Could you guys take Marilyn out to the garden? Now she’s off her IV line, I’m thinking she might need a walk.’ He carried his phone into the kitchen and closed the door.

Walk. Right. Not so much a walk as a stagger, Erin thought. For both of them.

She ignored Charles for the moment—she was taking Marilyn and there was nothing she could do to help him come to terms with the inevitable. Dom’s wellingtons were at the door—used, she guessed, for carting wood in the rain or something equally bucolic and messy. This was where she was now, she thought ruefully. Country and messy. She hauled on the boots over her dressings, and then—as Charles still didn’t move—she limped to the stairs. Marilyn followed.

They struggled, but both of them made it down the couple of shallow steps and onto the grass. Marilyn sniffed the grass in appreciation, cast Erin a look of what seemed to be gratitude and did what was expected.

Last night in the dark and confusion and fear Erin had thought the dog was fat. Now she saw the too-prominent ribs, the sunken face. The legs that trembled. But the terror of the night was over. Marilyn turned her big, ugly face up to the morning sun as if soaking in its warmth. Erin gazed down and felt her heart wobble.

Last night it had seemed as if the world was ending—for her as well as for Marilyn. Last night, as the car had rolled, for a long terrifying moment she’d thought she might die. Marilyn had been close to death. This morning the sun was glinting on the sea, on both of their faces, on their lives, and here they were, ready to start again.

For this dog, life was about to change. It must, no matter what.
Even if her own life changed in the process. For that was how she felt right now. It was as if she’d never felt the sun on her face before. Like she’d woken from a dream and found a new reality.

Maybe she was being dumb. Fanciful. But she looked down at Marilyn and her resolution was absolute. Knocking Charles’s proposal back was only the start of it.

‘Hey,’ she said softly, and squatted on her heels in the soft grass. It hurt a bit but her foot was nothing compared with what Marilyn had been through. ‘You’re a dog in a million.’

‘She’s not,’ Charles said from the veranda. He’d made no move to help. He seemed too…stunned. ‘Erin, get serious. If this guy…’

‘You mean Dominic.’

‘If this guy can’t take her…’

‘He can’t. He’s the only doctor for the town and he’s a single dad.’

‘Then she has to be put down,’ Charles went on, inexorably. ‘You know that. She’s a stray. No one wants her.’

‘Do you mind?’ She put her hands over Marilyn’s ears. ‘Do you know what she’s been through? Someone threw her out of their car.’

‘All the more reason to do what’s sensible,’ he said, and then softened his tone. ‘Sweetheart, I know you’ve had a rotten shock. If this guy can’t take the dog…’

‘I’m not your sweetheart.’

‘And I can’t take the dog.’ Dominic was abruptly with them again, pushing the screen door wide with a bang and striding down the steps with speed. ‘Sorry, but I need to go. I’ve called a neighbour to come over and care for the boys but I can’t wait. I’ve had a call—a kid with nut allergy. Jamie’s gone into anaphylactic shock. They’re driving him to meet me. Can you stay with the boys until Dulcie gets here?’ He was heading for the garage at a run. ‘Great to meet you both. See you again some time.’

Anaphylactic shock…

Erin’s mind switched into medical mode, just like that. If a child’s reaction was severe…

This was what she did.

Without making a conscious decision, she found herself running, not noticing her feet, reaching Dom’s car almost as he did.

‘I’m going, too,’ she yelled over her shoulder to Charles. ‘Can you look after Marilyn? And the two kids inside.’ She slid into the passenger seat.

Dom paused, hand on the ignition. ‘What the hell…?’

‘You might need help. Go.’

‘Charles—’

‘He’s a doctor, too. He understands emergencies. I’m an accident and emergency specialist. I can help. Go, Dominic. Move.’

H
E HAD
help.

He shouldn’t have let her come. She was hurt herself. He glanced across at her but she stared straight ahead, her face determined. Like she thought he was going to stop the car and kick her out.

He didn’t have time to argue. But even if he wanted to…

She was another doctor.

Last night he’d had insight into this woman’s medical skills. Maybe it could make the difference in whether Jamie Sutherland lived or died.

Okay, he wasn’t about to argue.

He had his phone in the car cradle now. He phoned the ambulance in Campbelltown, requesting help. Then he concentrated on driving. Concentrated on what lay ahead.

‘Tell me what we’re facing,’ Erin said into the silence. He was speeding as fast as he dared without putting themselves in danger, but his foot on the accelerator must tell its own story. She knew this was life or death.

‘Jamie’s eight years old. He’s had a couple of near misses. Last time it was from a friend’s mum making peanut-butter sandwiches, not washing the knife and then making him a ham sandwich. He nearly died. This time he’s eaten half a muesli bar. His cousin told him it didn’t have nuts in. It’s chock full of ’em.’

‘His parents have what they need?’

‘They have adrenaline, antihistamine and an action plan. They’ve done everything they can, but they phoned from the car and I could hear him choking.’

‘You wasted time ringing the neighbour.’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ he said grimly. ‘Martin and Nathan aren’t safe on their own.’

‘I would have—’

‘It was quicker to phone Dulcie rather than hope you’d do it.’

She fell silent. But he could sense what she was thinking.

‘I don’t know you,’ he said at last. ‘I couldn’t trust that…’

‘Of course you couldn’t.’ She shook her head, as if convincing herself, obviously trying to see the whole picture. ‘But…if Martin and Nathan need such close supervision…if you’re the only doctor for miles…is it fair that you take on their care?’

‘Of course it’s not.’

She blinked. ‘Sorry. But…’

‘But nothing. Of course it’s not fair,’ he repeated, savagely. ‘They need a full-time carer. But they’ve both come from such appalling backgrounds that no foster-family will take them. You get Nathan, you get Michael in your life as well, and he’s dangerous. Martin’s mother is just plain weird. She only loves Martin when he’s sick so she tries to make him sick. It’s Munchausen’s by proxy syndrome. He gets sick or is hurt, she gets sympathy and attention. Martin’s starting to believe the way to affection is self-harm. Dreadful stuff. So these kids stay with me or they go into juvenile detention because there’s nowhere else secure enough for them to go.’

‘You’d take on these people…’

‘If I have to. To protect my kids.’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, and he thought, She’s right. It’s crazy.

Why the hell did he do it?

He’s crazy, she thought. Nuts.

Dom was focused again on his driving, on the road ahead, on getting to where they had to be without killing them both.

She’d never met such single-minded purpose.

He was…He was…

Um…no. Back in your box, she told herself, feeling weirdly off key.

She’d been off key all week. She hadn’t realised how close Charles was to proposing—she hadn’t figured how much their parents were depending on it. These last few days had been shock enough without falling for…falling for…

Whoa. No!

I must have hit my head last night, she thought. Everything before now seemed out of focus. Unimportant.

What was important was Dom.

She could help him.

‘Will you quit it with the staring?’ he said, and she caught herself.

‘Sorry. I was thinking…’

Thinking what? What should she be thinking?

Work. Of what lay before them. Of course. ‘How equipped are you?’

‘I can do surgery in the middle of the road if I need to, and I might just need to,’ he said grimly. ‘We nearly lost him last time.’ Then he visibly braced himself, and she could see he was slipping into a mode where he could work. She’d seen surgeons do this before a dicey operation. Push away the negatives. Go in full of confidence, even if their hearts should be in their boots. ‘But, hey, it’s daylight so I don’t need lights. I have the gear I need and another doctor with me—even if her footwear does leave a bit to be desired. Who needs theatres and theatre staff?’

Then, as if on cue, another car came into view. It had to be the people they were meeting, Erin thought. The car came over the hump of the hill at such high speed the rear appeared airborne.

Dom pulled off the road, fast. Well off. The Sutherlands’ car
was beside them in seconds, brakes screeching, a cloud of black smoke and burnt rubber left in its wake as it skidded dangerously onto the verge. Dom was out of his car and pulling open the back door of their car almost before it stopped. Erin followed. And saw their patient.

On the back seat, cradled in his mother’s arms, lay a child, limp and blue—desperately ill. Erin only caught a fleeting glimpse—enough to make her catch her breath in dismay—before Dom was blocking her view.

She wasn’t here to look. She was here to work. Dom had his medical case on the back seat of his car. She hauled it out, laid it on the grass and tugged it open. Searching for what she needed. Seconds later Dom was laying the little boy down beside her. His hand was on Jamie’s neck, trying to find a pulse.

‘Yes,’ he said.

So there was hope. If there was still a pulse…A little air must have been getting through until now.

But no longer.

The child’s face was swollen. His mouth was open as if he’d been gasping for breath. Even without putting her fingers in his mouth—as Dom was doing now—she could see his tongue was so swollen his airway must be blocked.

His chest didn’t move.

‘Trache,’ she said into the stillness, and Dom nodded. A tracheotomy was the only way they’d save him now.

‘Scalpel and trache tube,’ he snapped.

That was what she was here for. She had what he needed out of the case, ready, before he finished the words, and was tugging a swab package open with her teeth.

Dom felt the little boy’s throat, slowing a little, acting with care. The need was urgent but not urgent enough to risk cutting in the wrong place.

Erin’s fingers held the swab, waiting for Dom to lift his hand. Behind her, Jamie’s mother started sobbing. His dad had sunk to
his knees on the verge and was pleading simply, over and over, ‘Please, please, please.’

How many tracheotomies had Dom performed? She’d done them—but, then, Dom only had her word that she was who she said she was. This was no time to verify her credentials.

If Dom had looked unsure she’d offer, but Dom’s bearing was of grim intent, a man who knew what had to be done and wasn’t about to hesitate—or offer the procedure to someone he didn’t know—when hesitancy could mean Jamie’s life.

So she swabbed. She set her hands on the sides of Jamie’s head, making sure he kept motionless.

And Dom didn’t falter. He made a small, neat slit in the central neck, down to the trachea. Into the trachea.

He pressed the tube in—and the thing was done.

But this was no guarantee of life. Jamie’s body was shutting down. It had been two minutes, maybe three, since they’d arrived and she hadn’t seen any sign of breathing. He’d ceased struggling.

Dom leaned over and blew gently into the airway. Again.

And then, magically, Jamie’s chest heaved all on its own. Air sucked into the tube without Dom’s help, sucked involuntarily by lungs that knew what they needed.

Again.

And then the little boy’s eyes fluttered wide. He stared up at Dom in confusion, and the start of panic.

Dom tightened his hold so the airway couldn’t shift out of position. ‘Hey, Jamie,’ he said, firmly, surely. ‘It’s okay, mate. You ate something with peanuts in it, and your throat’s swollen. We’ve popped in a tube to help you breathe. It’s important to keep still until we get the swelling down.’

This was one smart little boy. And brave. He stared up at Dom, and Erin saw recognition; she saw the moment when he decided to trust.

He breathed on. All by himself. His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell.

He’d live.

She felt tears well behind her eyes. Unprofessional? Maybe. She didn’t care.

‘Here’s your mum and dad,’ Dom said, keeping his voice calm and prosaic, still holding Jamie tight. He raised his voice a notch, talking to the woman behind him. ‘Casey, Jamie’s breathing again. Your crying is scaring him. Rob, can you tell your son he’s going to be fine?’

It was a command, no matter how softly spoken, and Jamie’s bravery must be inherited. Jamie’s parents were themselves again in moments.

Casey brushed tears fiercely away from her face. She knelt beside Jamie and took his hand.

‘No cuddling yet,’ Dom said, but he was smiling. ‘Let’s keep Jamie nice and still until his breathing’s settled. You injected the adrenaline pen at home okay? Great. I know, it didn’t work as well as we hoped, but it gave us time. Erin, can you prepare a syringe with light sedation?’

‘Are you a nurse?’ Casey asked her, her eyes not leaving her son’s face.

‘This is Dr Carmody,’ Dom said, answering for her. ‘She’s not like the doctors you’ve met before, eh? Wellingtons must be the latest fashion for lady doctors. Do you reckon they’ll take over from white coats? They’re about as sexy, don’t you think?’

It was light banter, Erin thought. Dom was talking them all down from horror.

Herself included.

She was used to emergencies. Emergencies were what she did for a living. But even in her city emergency department, a case such as this, where a child had come so close to death, would shake her to the core.

She still needed to be professional. She did not need to cry. She never cried at work. Why the sudden urge now?

Emotions. Hormones. Her world was shifting.

Stupid. Fanciful. Undeniable.

Jamie breathed on while Erin administered light sedation. She did it without conferring but Dom watched her; watched the dose. She felt on trial. A new kid in school, desperate to please the big guy.

Or not. It was a fanciful way of thinking. She was here to help, not to think about what Dom was thinking about her.

Or to cry.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And then, at last, the ambulance arrived. Two skilled paramedics took over. They knew Dom well. She could see they respected him. As well they might, she thought.

Jamie would need to spend the night in hospital, until the swelling subsided. ‘There’s no hospital here,’ Dom told her, regretful. ‘We have a small one but with only one doctor we had to close it. There’s a paediatrician in Campbelltown. Jamie will be in good hands.’

They loaded Jamie into the ambulance. His mother went with him.

His dad followed behind, driving the family car.

Dom and Erin were left alone, standing on the verge of a country road, with the debris of an emergency around them.

She still wanted to cry.

‘Let’s get you home,’ Dom said gently, and she made a last-ditch attempt to get herself together. And found suddenly there was a wad of tissues in her hand.

‘I’m n-not c-crying,’ she stammered. ‘I never cry.’

‘I can see that,’ he said, and he wasn’t smiling.

‘It’s just…’

‘You had a really big night last night.’ He paused. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

‘Thank…me?’

‘You know we only had seconds. The seconds you gave me here may well have made the difference. Thank you for being here.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ Erin said, and subsided under her tissues, trying not to wail. ‘It’s all my pleasure.’

Charles was waiting.

They didn’t have to go into the house to find him. He was out on the road, standing beside his Porsche, looking angry.

‘Uh-oh,’ Erin said.

‘You want a medical defence?’ Dom pulled up behind the Porsche. He climbed out of the car before Erin could do the same.

‘We saved a life,’ he said, before Charles could speak. ‘Erin was great.’

But Charles’s expression didn’t relax. Given time to think, to assess the crisis for what it was, he’d have offered to help himself. But being left behind to play nursery maid would have made him…well, like he was now.

‘Did Dulcie come?’ Dom asked.

‘Yes,’ he said shortly. ‘She’s in the house with the boys.’

‘Thank you for helping out,’ Dom said, and held out his hand.

It wasn’t taken. Charles stared down at it like he didn’t know what Dom was offering.

‘I had to go, Charles,’ Erin said, then thought, Damn, that had sounded like pleading and why should she plead?

‘Of course you did,’ Charles said, obviously making an effort to sound pleasant. ‘So do we. Grab your things from the house, get rid of that footwear and we’ll leave.’

‘With Marilyn.’

Charles’s attempt at a smile faded. ‘You can’t take the dog to my mother’s house.’

‘We won’t stay on. I’ll ask my parents to take us home.’

‘You think your parents would let you keep the dog?’

‘I’m not a kid.’

‘Hey, why don’t I go inside and make sure the kids are okay?’ Dom interjected, looking mildly interested and nothing else—and Erin fought off a need to grab his arm and say stay.

She didn’t. She was a big kid. She almost felt grown up.

‘You’re okay?’ Dom asked, and that tiny gesture of caring suddenly had her feeling tears welling up again. What was wrong with her? She was turning into a wuss.

She sniffed. Loudly. ‘I’m fine,’ she managed, and he cast her a doubtful look and then nodded and headed for the house.

But when he reached the veranda he turned back. ‘I can find someone to drive you back to Melbourne if you want,’ he called.

Erin didn’t answer. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

But Melbourne sounded good.

Marilyn aside, she didn’t want to go placidly with Charles. She didn’t want her parents—and Charles’s parents—looking reproachfully at her, making her feel sorry for Charles, making her feel sorry for them.