Chapter 22
Nel was woolly headed when she arrived at the clinic on Monday morning.
She’d had more to drink than she meant to at Lauren’s place.
Then when they got home, Cath had opened a bottle of red, which they drank in front of a British drama about the murder of a young woman in a small seaside town.
It had felt a little too familiar for Nel’s liking.
When she went to bed, her brain was buzzing, her thoughts jumping between Maddie and the comment Lauren made, about feeling cheated by Nel’s absence.
Nel knew her parents probably felt that way—if she thought about it too much she felt sick with guilt—but it had never occurred to her that Lauren might too.
She’d always seemed so busy with the kids, so fully immersed in her life here in Carrinya, that Nel hadn’t thought her sister even missed her. But maybe she’d been wrong about that.
She fumbled in her bag for the keys, but they weren’t there. She swore under her breath. Hopefully Viv wasn’t far off. She needed coffee.
Thankfully, The Larder was empty at this hour.
‘The good doctor!’ Dave said. ‘Flat white to go?’
She nodded, surprised he remembered her order. A warm feeling washed over her, a sense of belonging, but it was quickly replaced by the prickle of suspicion. He’d probably heard the rumours by now. She buried herself in her phone.
There was a tinkle as the door swung open and a tall, pale woman entered. Nel glanced up, accidentally catching her eye. A flicker of recognition crossed the woman’s face.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Nel gave her a nod and a tight smile, then looked back at her phone.
Did she know her? She didn’t look familiar.
She stole another glance, but Nel didn’t recognise her at all.
She was probably just another nosey local who knew more about Nel than she should.
Nel kept her head down until her coffee was ready, then she hurried back to the clinic.
As she sat at her desk sipping her coffee, she decided to call the practice manager at Health First and break the news that her return would be delayed. Her mouth felt dry as she listened to the phone ring.
‘Pam Postle,’ said a voice on the end of the line. Brisk. Efficient.
‘Pam, hi, it’s Nel Foley.’
‘Hello, Nel. How are things?’
‘Fine, thanks.’ Nel had learned not to bother giving lengthy responses to Pam’s questions. She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to let you know that I need to stay down here for longer than expected. We haven’t been able to get a locum and my mum needs me—’
‘No problem, Nel. I’ll extend your time off as leave without pay.’
‘Okay, great. Thanks, Pam, I really apprec—’
‘Get in touch when you know when you’ll be back.’
‘Sure, I’ll do that.’
Silence. Nel frowned and looked at the phone. Pam had hung up.
Nel sighed and leaned back in her dad’s leather chair.
She should be pleased that it was easy, but another feeling niggled at her.
She looked around the room at the paraphernalia her father had collected over his long career.
She thought of the packed church. Row after row full of people who were there because he’d made a difference to their lives.
That was why she’d become a doctor, to make a difference to people. It sounded sanctimonious—she’d never dream of saying it out loud to anyone—but it was true. Medicine had called her. It felt momentous. It was about life and death. What could be more important than that?
She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t planned to be a doctor.
According to Cath, she’d asked for a doctor’s bag for her third birthday and spent the next couple of years bandaging ankles and wrists and putting the plastic thermometer under any available tongue.
Little Nel would look at the imaginary readings and shake her head sadly, their temperatures always worryingly high.
Working at Health First was certainly not what she’d dreamed of as a little girl.
She’d signed the two-year contract before leaving Dublin because having a job lined up made the move feel more manageable, and the sign-on bonus helped with the relocation costs.
Within a few weeks of being back though, she knew she’d made a mistake.
The corporate company that owned Health First—and a hundred others just like it across the country—prioritised profit over patient health outcomes.
Nel craved the sense of fulfilment she’d felt working at the women’s health practice where she’d done her first few years as a GP in Ireland, but by then it was too late to back out of the contract.
She’d recently reached the end of the two-year period.
Over recent months, she’d been talking with the manager of a women’s health clinic, which sounded similar in concept to the one in Dublin.
She was excited at first, but when three meetings were cancelled at short notice it felt like a red flag.
She was determined that whatever she did next was a step in the right direction—one that little girl with the doctor’s bag, or that teenage girl gazing at the photo of the university campus, would be proud of—so for now she was still treading water at Health First.
And then it hit her. She felt dispensable.
Pam Postle didn’t care whether she ever turned up at Health First again, and most of the patients there saw a different doctor every time.
No one would miss her at all. They would just replace her with someone else.
She wasn’t making a difference to anyone.
She sighed and finished her coffee as her phone rang.
‘Pam said you’re staying down there for a while,’ Nicole said. ‘I just wanted to see if you need help with anything while you’re away. You know, keeping an eye on your apartment or watering your plants?’
‘Oh thanks, Nicole, but it’s all good,’ Nel said. Then she thought of poor Winston who was still in the cattery. Even with a special rate for longer stays it was costing her a fortune and she wondered how he was coping with so much company. ‘Actually, there is one thing …’
Nicole assured her it was no trouble at all—the boys had been begging for a pet so they’d be delighted—and scolded her for not asking her in the first place.
‘Thank you, Nic,’ Nel said, touched by her generosity. ‘That’s really kind of you.’
She tossed her empty coffee cup in the bin under the desk and went to call her first patient.
The morning was busy. The cancellations had dropped off thanks to an outbreak of hand, foot and mouth that was going around the local preschools.
Nel saw a procession of miserable toddlers and concerned parents with furrowed brows.
It was late morning before there was a gap between patients.
She was reaching for her handbag to pop out for another coffee when the intercom beeped.
‘You have a … visitor,’ Viv murmured discreetly. ‘Can I send her through?’
Nel frowned, intrigued. Visitor, not patient. Not the journo again, surely?
‘Yeah sure,’ Nel said. Coffee would have to wait.
Viv appeared at the door. ‘You can go in, doll,’ she said, to whoever was standing in the corridor, out of sight.
Then Poppy appeared, pale-faced and wide-eyed.