Chapter 8
"They’ll probably die of boredom if you keep going like that.”
Kat
I never thought I’d say this, but Archie Wilcott is not the man I thought he was.
Working with him yesterday shifted something in me. I saw how he carried himself with the others—making jokes, hauling supplies without complaint, bringing the team snacks without being asked.
I was expecting arrogance, laziness, distraction. Instead, he was… kind. Generous with his time.
I’m stepping out of my hut when Archie appears, fresh from a shower. His hair is damp and curling slightly, a towel slung low around his hips.
He grins. “Morning, Doc.”
I stare for a second too long before determinedly bringing my eyes to the tablet in my hands. “Hi. How are you? I’d like to check your vitals if you have a second.”
“Sure,” he says, turning in the direction of the clinic.
“Um, maybe you should change first?” I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks, and I hate that he has that effect on me.
He looks down at his bare torso. “Oh. Right.”
Spinning back around, he strolls toward his hut like he’s the star of a shampoo commercial. I shake my head, then hurry to the clinic. He joins me there a few minutes later, thankfully now dressed in a T-shirt and shorts.
I check his blood pressure, then his pulse, trying not to focus on how close we are. Or how still he stands for me. Or how his skin is damp from the shower and smells faintly of something citrusy and clean.
“You’re all good,” I say, stepping back.
He winks. “Told you I’d survive.”
I just roll my eyes. “For now.”
Leaning against the wall, he folds his arms over his chest. “So. What are you doing today, since it’s our one glorious day off?”
“Working.”
“Tragic,” he says, clearly not shocked at my answer.
“Yeah, I know. There’s too much to do. The supply shipment finally came in last night, and I’ve already lost a day and a half waiting for it.”
“Well, a bunch of us are going canoeing. You should come. It’ll be fun.”
For a second, I want to accept his invitation. I know it’ll be fun—everything involving him seems to be. But that’s not why we’re here. I waited a long time to have this chance, and I have to help to whatever extent I can. “Tempting, but I have work to do.”
He doesn’t argue. Just nods. “Well. If you change your mind, or finish early, you know where to find us.”
With that, he strolls out of the tent, and I focus on the day ahead. The clinic is soon packed again, and without Amara by my side, I’m a lot slower. But I still get through the queue—eventually.
There’s a kid with a rash that turns out to be an allergic reaction.
A sprained ankle from someone racing a motorbike down the red-dirt road.
A feverish toddler whose mother looks more exhausted than worried.
Most cases are minor, but it’s a steady stream of patients.
I reorganise the intake sheets, count up the new supplies, and clean and restock the medication fridge—which is finally humming again after yesterday’s outage.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finally step outside, inhaling a breath of fresh air. The sun has mellowed slightly, though the heat still clings to everything like a damp coat. I take the long way back, skirting around the main huts while trying to convince myself this qualifies as a break.
That’s when I spot them. Six or seven kids are crouched under the tree near the water tanks, elbows deep in what looks like a thrilling mix of mud, dirt, and possibly earthworms. They’re laughing, clearly enjoying themselves, and that makes me smile.
Until a little girl grabs an ear of corn with her muddy hands and takes a big bite.
I freeze, and my stomach twists into knots. I know they’re just kids, but if they were educated on the importance of handwashing, we could prevent half the cases we treat in the clinic. Diarrhoea. Parasites. Infections that can spiral fast out here.
“Hey there!” I call out, walking toward them.
Their smiling faces turn up to me, and they wave enthusiastically like they’ve known me for ages.
“Look!” a tall boy says proudly, holding up a fat worm between two fingers. “It’s the king! He lives in there.” He points to a small hole they’ve dug up near the roots.
“Wow, that’s… impressive,” I say, breathing a chuckle as I crouch beside them. “You’ve got a whole kingdom going here.”
They beam. But my eyes quickly fall from their smiles to their hands—dirt packed under nails, mud smeared on palms. Some of the kids are already grabbing more snacks from a shared cloth.
“Now, how about I show you something really cool?” I pull a bar of soap from my pocket—force of habit—and hold it up like a treasure. “This stuff? It’s magic.”
They blink up at me, half suspicious, half curious. I glance around and spot a standpipe, gesturing for them to follow me.
We gather around the pipe and I squat down, running water over my hands.
“This,” I say, lathering a foam between my fingers, “is how we make sure the bad bugs don’t make it inside our bellies. Especially before we eat.”
They’re kind of listening. Kind of. A few of them giggle. One starts copying me. As for the rest, they’re watching… something behind me.
I hear it before I turn—the thump of rubber against skin. Then a second one. When I glance back, Archie is standing a few metres away, juggling a football between his knees before popping it up to his head, grinning like he’s just invented gravity.
The kids erupt into giggles.
I straighten slowly, giving him a pointed look. “I don’t need a clown act while I’m trying to teach them how not to die of diarrhoea.”
He juggles the ball with his foot and shrugs. “Why bother? They’ll probably die of boredom if you keep going like that.”
I fix him in a glare. “You’re impossible.”
“Come on, Doc. Loosen up. They’re kids. If you want to make it stick, you’ve got to meet them at their level.”
“Oh really?” I cross my arms. “Then by all means, go ahead.”
He smirks. Stepping forward, he drops into a squat beside me.
“All right, crew,” he says, drawing the kids in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you know how to wash your hands like superheroes?”
They lean closer.
I hand him the soap, and he starts scrubbing his hands with exaggerated drama, narrating as he works up a lather.
“First, crush the villainous germs between your palms like this. Squish! Then, trap the sneaky ones hiding between your fingers. Ha! Gotcha. Next, the slippery ones under your nails—only a true hand ninja can get those. And last, the soap power move—spin and rinse!”
He flings water off his fingers like he’s casting a spell. The kids are enchanted, laughing, copying him, and shouting out sound effects. He’s a natural with kids, and that tugs something inside of me. Because it’s something I’ll never have.
Archie stands up and takes a step back, shooting me a smirk.
I sigh. “Fine. That was… effective.”
His smile widens. “You’re welcome. If you need me again, I’d be happy to oblige. In fact, you may want to fire your assistant and hire me instead.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t last a day, but I’ll keep that in mind if something opens up.”
The kids bounce to their feet and show Archie how clean their hands are. He observes them carefully, making them laugh, then gives them a seal of approval.
They tug at his shirt, begging him to come see their kingdom, and he has no choice but to oblige. Although, it doesn’t seem like a huge sacrifice, given the wide grin on his face.
“Please do,” he says to me, turning around. “And keep that offer in mind. I could surprise you.”
With a wink, he turns back and jogs off with the kids, who show him everything with animated voices, offering to share their corn and giggling when he tickles them.
Yeah, Archie Wilcott is full of surprises.