In Jeopardy (21 page)

She closes her eyes, opens them again; the figure has gone. She is afraid that the dream is a premonition and dreads the thought of breaking the cruel news to Morris and Fiona that Elliot has passed away.

Thornton contacts Christine, confirming that Richard has a three-part share in a sizable trust fund. His superannuation policy has a healthy balance and one that is more than double hers. He informs her he hasn’t been able to track any large withdrawals from the various accounts Richard holds. Thornton has no doubt that her estranged husband has shifted large funds of money that he hasn’t yet located and suspects these are in offshore accounts.

She resigns herself to accept that this will be a difficult exercise to persist in, more expedient to cut her losses and claim her share of the equity she knows exists.

Before ending the phone conversation Thornton tells Christine he’s put together a written proposal outlining the course of action he advises her to take and that he will post this today. He requests that after reading his written correspondence she make an appointment to see him.

Without being pursued, an unusual piece of information presents, giving new insight into Richard’s wealth. The Blacks have daily papers delivered to the house. Since the boredom of old age had set in, Elliot has been in the habit of scanning the deaths and obituaries in search of news on absent friends and enemies who have passed away. He claims this activity gives him much pleasure: ‘When you find out someone you dislike has gone the world feels like a better place, even if only for one day.’

Christine and Julian discover Elliot’s hobby one mild Saturday over breakfast in the garden. Julian brings out the papers.

Elliot snatches the main sections of the
Herald-Sun
and
the Age
and thumbs the pages to the ‘Deaths and Funerals’ section. He says, almost to himself, ‘Has someone I don’t like died?’

Julian laughs, half-shocked.

Christine lightly rebukes him, ‘Isn’t that a bit wicked?’

Elliot rubs his hands then laughs out loud. ‘Everyone’s got enemies girl. You have some, don’t you?’

Julian takes the paper from Elliot. ‘I might find reason to celebrate.’

‘I can’t see any humour in this childish game. I’m not listening.’ She blocks her ears, feigning disgust.

Julian shouts, ‘Christine, you might be interested!’

She turns and gives Julian a hard look. ‘Celebrating someone’s death is no joke.’

‘I’m serious Christine!’

‘I witness death and dying every day – it’s not pretty.’

‘It’s a guaranteed certainty that you’ll be interested.’

‘Is Richard dead?’ She is shocked at having uttered these words.

Julian waits for her to continue.

She points at Elliot and then shoots Julian another hard look. ‘It’s your fault – you fools planted this idea into my head.’

Elliot narrows his eyes at Christine. ‘Do you know an Edmund Banks?’

Christine’s eyes widen. ‘I have to read this revelation for myself.’

The news doesn’t appear in the columns listing deaths and funerals. It’s a lengthy obituary written by a member of the Melbourne Club – Richard Banks.

Christine’s former and late father-in-law was a longstanding member of the club and an influential man who sat on the boards of a number of prestigious companies. He was also a benefactor and campaigner who supported a number of charities. The news encapsulated in the obituary reveals how little she knew about this man she was connected to for almost a decade. She wonders how much of her opinion of him was coloured by her relationship with her estranged husband. She
assumed that Richard bore the mark of his father who had been instrumental in shaping his views and values.

Edmund Banks’ obituary is printed three weeks after his death. It includes a photograph and lengthy article outlining his achievements and contribution to the community, and the citations and investitures awarded to a person with significant social standing. She suspects that her estranged husband didn’t inform her about the passing of this event to avoid drawing her attention to the likelihood of his increased wealth. The trust would be split two ways, therefore, Thornton must be informed about this new development. Despite this revelation she feels it is unlikely that her solicitor will uncover the truth behind the web of lies that Richard, his legal representative, and possibly his late father, have master-minded.

This new information gives Thornton new hope, however, he cautions his client against becoming too hopeful. This faint light that appeared on the horizon is replaced with a grey mass of clouds that hover over Christine and induces her head to ache.

Thornton continues to talk as if unaware that Christine is at the other end of the line. She hears the word ‘strategy’ mentioned more than once while other words bounce off her mind without penetrating. Then she hears, ‘Are you still with me Christine?’

She snaps back to the conversation. ‘I’m sorry, I must have drifted off.’

‘Where was I? As your legal adviser it is my duty to you as a client to recommend your best course of action. I’m always in your hands and obliged to act on your instructions.’

Following these words she has become familiar with her mood flattens to despair and she adds no further comment.

‘Do you have any questions?’

Half pleading, she asks if he can estimate a timeframe.

‘I don’t want to give you false expectations. Make an appointment for next week, I have some scenarios penned out and can elaborate on your options then advise you which one I believe is the best to take. Again, I can’t make any guarantees but your new information gives me confidence I can strike a better deal for you.’

She reminds herself to avoid pinning too much faith on Thornton’s brash confidence and this new revelation which is possibly the wildcard they need to nail Richard. Despite her frustration, she can’t help relishing the thought of watching the smug look wash off her estranged husband’s face. This thought is replaced by Thornton’s sobering reminder that the legal process she has embarked on is tangled in red tape. She is at the mercy of an institution that moves at a creeping pace.

This latest development isn’t the first time since Christine’s former husband threw her from his life that she has been given a lifeline. The hospital had enough faith in her work to offer her a role of greater responsibility that shifted her mind away from her collapsing world. In the same uncanny manner, accommodation materialised and her brother reappeared in her life. On the blackest days, alone, trapped by bleak circumstances, a single candle appeared not once but on three occasions. Each of these boons could have instead been further setbacks. In another life, she could have been abandoned, out in the cold and homeless. Possibly for the first time, she appreciates her good fortune.

Despite this she becomes frustrated by the disparate threads that keep her life in limbo. The Blacks’ return to Melbourne and Julian’s to London are still up in the air, as is the final cut from Richard and when she will receive her share of the marriage spoils.
How long can I remain at the vanguard of drama and tragedy unfolding at the hospital?
Although she doesn’t have the answer to these questions, she is only half aware that it is time to move on as the winds of change swirl around her.

Christine wonders if it is foolish to contemplate something born entirely from a dream. The hospital and her work have been her rock and the only components of her life that validated her worth, but she dismisses the thought of abandoning them.

The doctor’s suggestion to scale back at work amounted to flying kites. She still doesn’t believe that she has reached the point where she is no longer coping with the rigors of hospital life. Julian was forced to reassess his work. Did this explain why he returned to Melbourne to reconnect with family, the friends he remained in touch with and the home of his youth? Travelling and extending his stay has served as a break from a life that is in need of an overhaul.

Over the past days she came to the realisation that each shift at the hospital played out as the same tired scene, merely featuring a new cast of characters. She’s been an active player on the ward and
is now puzzled at how suddenly she seems detached from this role. She blushes with shame at the thought that she has become indifferent to performing surgery and delivering post-operative care to trauma patients. Disturbed by these new thoughts she tells herself to snap back to reality and take stock of her situation.

It is late morning when a school-age boy arrives at the hospital with his father. The boy woke up pale, had no appetite and wheezed on and off. The man decided to keep his son home, allowed him to sleep in, and called his work to inform them of his absence.

The previous day the boy’s school celebrated a saint’s day pageant that included games and a lunch-time feast. His father assumed the excitement from the previous day had brought on mild asthmatic symptoms. Hours later the boy was brighter, dressed and ate a late breakfast. He complained he was bored and pleaded with his father to take him to the park to kick the soccer ball. The boy played hard and with vigour before succumbing to coughing, wheezing and breathlessness.

The man drove his son to the park even though it was walking distance from their home. He thought there was an asthma pump in the glove-box then realised he had left it in his wife’s car as the family used the SUV on a weekend trip out of town.

The boy’s asthma attack struck in the park. His father rushed him home to administer a dose of Ventolin, but his condition worsened. In a panicked state, the man carried his son into the Emergency Ward. The boy was limp, his wheezing fainter. He was losing the struggle to draw air into his lungs and began to turn blue.

The man speaks in barely coherent phrases. His breathing is laboured from running hard and Christine hears panic in each breath as he chases the trolley racing along the corridor before the boy disappears into the treatment room.

In a hushed tone Christine ushers the boy’s father into a small room. In the treatment room the boy has lost consciousness, the oxygen unit is hooked up and her colleague, Kim, administers CPR. Seconds tick by, the boy doesn’t respond to treatment, appearing more like a wax doll than one of the living. Christine waits for the boy’s heart to beat again, to gasp hungrily for that burst of oxygen that will activate his body to spring back to life.

She is confronted by, then sternly chides herself, for her state of indifference as the patient loses his grip on life and tragedy awaits the family.
Snap out of it Christine. If the team can’t revive the boy you will have to muster enough sympathy and visible compassion to deal with the father.

She remains on standby, unable to act until the boy draws breath or until it’s too late. A shadow replicating an image of the boy emerges from his body, floats up and stands over it. The figure utters the following words at her, ‘Tell daddy I’m going to be okay. I promise I won’t scare him again.’

The figure dissolves into the space it occupied as the boy’s body shudders back to life. The team springs into a flurry of activity to bring the boy back, relieved that the crisis is over.

Christine leaves the room to reassure the man his son is safe and recovering.

In the corridor she is unaware when Kath first calls her. She turns to her colleague who asks, ‘Did I drag you from another universe?’

Half dismissing what she witnessed she says with a pretence of indifference, ‘No, just an asthma patient we brought back from the grave.’

‘One of the job’s hazards. Christine, you look pale, dazed, your eyes are glazed...’

‘I just need a break.’

‘I’m also on break. Join me for a cuppa.’

At the cafe Kath insists on buying drinks.

As she walks away from the table where Christine sits, she calls over her shoulder, ‘What will it be, coffee to fire you up, or herbal to calm you down?’

‘Whatever you think I need – Dr Kath.’

She returns with hot drinks and fruit muffins. ‘You look wrecked – seriously.’

‘This place is getting to me.’

‘That’s not like you.’ Too late to reel back her words she continues, ‘Understandable, given your changed circumstances.’

‘That’s only part of it.’

‘If you want to talk you have my word I will listen – and keep it to myself.’

‘There’s too much to say to spill over a tea break.’

‘You can make a start.’

Christine pauses before, on an impulse, she speaks her mind in a manner that disarms her. ‘I want to take extended leave – possibly never return to the hospital.’

Kath listens, instinct instructing her to allow Christine to spill out what’s on her mind.

‘I have no plans, no idea of what other work I might do or the qualifications I would need for another occupation. With my divorce and property settlement far from resolved, my accommodation temporary, I don’t know what’s to become of me.’

‘You would benefit from taking leave – I strongly urge you to pursue this option.’

‘I doubt that a spell away from the hospital and the ward will change my desperation to leave.’

‘You need a break.’ She pauses, ‘I think you’re facing burnout.’

‘I agree, my personal circumstances and possible burnout explain why I’ve got to get out of here.’

As Kath listens, she bites back her words.
Christine, you’re intense to the point of dangerous obsession. Work is consuming your life. I despair for you Christine – your life is in jeopardy if you refuse to slow down.

For the first time Christine sees herself as others might – brittle, austere and living in a vacuum. She suspects that her colleagues, Julian, and even her estranged husband, find her aloof.

Before Christine leaves the hospital she acts on Kath’s advice and fills out a form requesting to reduce her workload from five to four days a week. At home she relays her decision to Julian. She tells him about the asthmatic boy and how they almost lost him. She hesitates, then decides to avoid telling him about the divine intervention she witnessed.