Chapter 9
The clinic was dark and cold when Nel and Cath arrived on Wednesday morning. They flicked on the lights and the heating and stood looking around. Nel was fighting an urge to leave when Viv, the practice manager, appeared at the door.
‘Nel! Look at you, all grown up!’ she said, fleshy arms outstretched to take Nel’s hands in hers, hazel eyes shiny behind red glasses.
Generally Nel didn’t like overly affectionate people, but Viv’s warmth was infectious.
‘How wonderful to have you back, darling girl. I just wish it was in better circumstances.’
They talked for a few minutes about the funeral arrangements, then Viv clapped her hands.
‘Right, we’d better get to work. Cath, there are a couple of admin issues we need to sort out while Nel gets settled into Rob’s office.
I’ve organised Zoom meetings with two potential locums, and we’ve got patients booked in from late morning.
The first one’s at eleven. That okay with you, doll? ’
Nel nodded. Viv had been keeping things ticking over for the last few days, rescheduling appointments, returning voice messages and calling anyone waiting for test results, but they needed to get patients in again as soon as possible.
Nel went into her dad’s room and sat down in his heavy leather chair.
The desk was covered in unfinished paperwork.
To her right, overloaded shelves housed reference books and novels, along with a collection of antique medical instruments and the ubiquitous jar of jelly beans.
Certificates covered the opposite wall, the frames slightly crooked.
She leaned back in the chair. For almost thirty years her father had cared for this town.
Thousands and thousands of patients had passed through this room.
Babies, new mothers, the elderly, the lonely and the overwhelmed, with common colds and suspicious lumps and unexplained fatigue, here for reassurance and tests and a listening ear.
Her father’s life’s work happened here, between these four walls.
After a few minutes, she sat forward and flicked on the computer. While it fired up, she picked up the papers, one by one, sorting them into two piles. One for Cath or Viv to deal with, and one for her.
The last thing she came to was a glossy travel brochure that sat on top of an envelope addressed to Dr Robert Foley, ripped open at the top edge.
Drive Australia! it implored. A striking image of an outback road cutting through a red desert covered the page, a low sun casting long shadows across the landscape.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she remembered her dad talking about packing it all in and hitting the road.
It had been his retirement dream for as long as she could remember.
She wiped her eyes and put it on Cath’s pile.
*
‘I remember you,’ Mrs Perry said, when Nel greeted her at reception. ‘You’re Doctor Foley’s daughter, aren’t you? The one who left?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’ Nel swallowed. This was exactly what she’d been dreading. ‘Please, have a seat,’ she said, as they entered the consult room.
‘My condolences, dear.’ Mrs Perry shook her head sadly. ‘Your father was such a good man. And so young!’
‘Thank you.’ Nel concentrated on keeping her face neutral, but there was a tightness in her chest that had been building throughout the day with each patient who remembered her. Mrs Perry was the third. ‘How can I help you today?’
She listened as the elderly woman described a painful sensation on her torso, lifting up her floral blouse to show Nel a rash on her left side.
‘When did the symptoms start?’
‘Let’s see, it must have been on Monday because I was playing bridge at Bev O’Connor’s place and I felt so poorly that I had to have a lie-down on the lounge.’
Nel asked some more questions and diagnosed poor Mrs Perry with shingles.
‘I’ll see you at the funeral, dear, if I’m well enough,’ she said as she was leaving. ‘You’re sure it’s okay for me to go? I’d hate to miss it.’
God. At this rate the whole town would be there. Nel had already assured Mrs Perry that as long as the rash was covered there was no concern about her passing it on, but she repeated the advice before closing the door behind her.
She took a breath, trying to ease the tightness in her chest, the sense that people were thinking the worst of her. As she stared at the back of the door, an image flashed in her mind. Her own name on a dirty toilet door, as clear as though it was yesterday.
*
Nel sat beside Maddie’s empty chair, staring at the fake woodgrain on the laminated desktop.
Jimmy was in the row in front, his chair turned sideways against the wall.
Mr Keating, who suffered from tinnitus, sat at the front wearing earplugs while Troy Farris and his idiot friends stirred up trouble wherever they could find it.
Until now they’d left her alone because Maddie had a withering sense of humour and a sharp tongue.
She would sit with her pinky finger raised, smirking in Troy’s direction, much to the amusement of his mates.
After that, he’d found others to pick on.
Mainly Jimmy, whose real name was Dimitri.
That made him an easy target in a town like Carrinya.
But now Maddie was gone, and Troy had a bully’s instincts for detecting vulnerability.
Nel’s skin prickled as the whispers swelled to a hum of nervous excitement that rippled through the class. Even Keating noticed something was going on. He took out one earplug and stood up, hands on hips, scanning the room. After a moment, he walked to the desk of an insipid, pimply kid.
‘Pass it here,’ he ordered, hand outstretched.
The kid offered up a ball of paper and raised his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t even know what it says! I just got thrown it!’
Nel watched Keating read the note, observed the quick flick of his eyes to her then back to the class.
‘Who wrote this?’ he demanded, glaring at Farris and his mates.
They shook their heads, feigning innocence. Enjoying the charade.
‘Not me, sir.’
‘What does it say, sir?’
Nel watched on, heart hammering. She felt sick. What did it say?
The silence that hung in the room was pierced by the sound of a siren from the street outside. It wasn’t a common sound in Carrinya.
‘Hey, Nel!’ Farris called out. She turned to look at him despite her better instincts. ‘That’s the cops. They’re coming for you.’
His mates cracked up. She sat paralysed for a moment, then she ran from the room and didn’t stop until she reached the refuge of the girls’ toilets.
She went into the furthest cubicle, slammed the door, locking it behind her, and sat on the toilet seat, bent in half as huge heaving sobs shook her body.
She held her face in her hands. She’d stay there all day, she told herself, until after the last bell went and all those arseholes had fucked off home.
After a few minutes, the crying stopped. She stayed bent over, motionless, listening to herself breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.
When she eventually uncurled herself and sat up, her eyes were drawn to the angry, black words graffitied on the back of the door. Black block letters as tall as her palm, dwarfing the other inscriptions there, the declarations of love and attempted witticisms.
NEL FOLEY IS A KILLER.
*
Nel gasped, winded by the memory, so sudden and visceral. She moved to the desk and lowered herself into the chair.
For two years, until she left town, Troy Farris was everywhere she went.
He had a toy police car with a piercing siren that he sounded whenever she was in earshot.
In class. In the playground. In the street.
In the supermarket with her mum. Even one night when they were celebrating Rob’s birthday at Romeo’s Italian.
She’d heard that ear-splitting sound and looked around.
Sure enough, there was his stupid face looking back at her from a few tables away.
That night, she’d decided she wouldn’t go anywhere other than school. Not even to the baby shower Lauren’s friends had planned. Nel could still picture her sister’s face, all these years later, indignant and angry.
During those two lonely years, all Nel did was study.
She set her sights on getting into undergraduate medicine at UNSW.
Everyone warned her it was virtually impossible, but it was a convenient goal, given the harassment she faced every time she left the sanctuary of her bedroom.
She printed out a picture of the campus—a sprawling lawn surrounded by serious-looking buildings, where students sat in groups or walked in pairs—and would picture herself there surrounded by strangers.
She thought of Troy Farris again. Why had he made it his mission to harass her? Had Ryan put him up to it? Possibly. He was mates with Troy’s older brothers. Or was it just for kicks? Even now, all these years later, whenever she heard a siren she felt like a criminal.
She rubbed her face and took a deep breath. Suddenly the room felt suffocating. She grabbed her bag.