2. Ryan
CHAPTER 2
Ryan
I can’t even buy bread and milk from the servo without Christmas cheer being shoved down my throat. Who sings a Christmas carol when they greet their customers … in a voice that sounds like an angel? Scarlett Reynolds, that’s who. There’s no mistaking her long, straight, dark chocolate hair and curious hazel eyes. And those freckles scattered across her cheeks that I would recognise anywhere. I’d heard she was back in Point Perry for Christmas but had no idea she had the voice to rival Taylor Swift.
No wonder Lilac wants her in the town choir.
Scarlett’s face lights up in a grin as big as if she’d won Powerball. She holds the door open while Lilac shuffles out. The fluffy ball on the tip of her Santa hat flaps in the wind. Our eyes lock for the briefest moment. There’s no flicker of recognition, though, which sends a stab of annoyance through me, but I don’t blame her; it has been fifteen years since that summer.
‘Let me give you a lift home, Lilac. I don’t want to be fixing you up for heat stroke at the hospital later.’ I follow Lilac through the servo door and outside, heading to my station wagon, where I hold the front door open for her. Scarlett trails behind and lingers in the shade.
‘Don’t you need to get what you came for?’ Lilac asks.
‘I was craving some of Conway’s butterscotch ice cream and need bread and milk, but I can come back later.’
‘Okay, then. Thank you for the lift. I am feeling a bit hot and bothered, but I had to catch Scarlett before she headed back out to the farm.’
Before I can reach her, her eyes roll back in her head, and her body begins to sway unsteadily. I lunge. It all happens in slow motion. Scarlett and I surge towards her. Neither of us make it. With a wobbly step, Lilac tries to sit on her walker but loses her balance, stumbling and tumbling off. Her arm reaches out to break her fall; she lands on her side, knocking her head on the concrete next to the petrol bowser.
‘Aunt Lilac.’ Scarlett is by her side, one hand on the older woman’s leg, the other on her forehead.
I crouch on the other side. It’s second nature to scan her body and assess the surroundings. ‘Don’t move her. She landed heavily on her arm and banged her head. Can you call the ambulance?’
Scarlett’s eyes find mine as she pulls a mobile phone from the back pocket of her denim shorts. They are wide with worry, but she does as I ask, conveying my assessments to the operator. The gold glitter adorning her eyelids sparkles, and her Christmas tree earrings flip around as another gust of dusty, sandy wind picks up an empty chip packet and blows it past the bowser.
Of all the days and all the places for Lilac to have a fall … Sweat pools at the base of my spine and trickles from my temple down my cheek. The wind feels like someone blowing a hair dryer on my face. My mouth is parched. Thank God it’s late enough in the day for there to be shade and the cement, although warm, hasn’t been in the sun, so it won’t burn Lilac’s skin.
As Scarlett finishes the call, Lilac groans and tries to lift her head.
‘Lilac, you’ve had a fall. Just stay still while I check a few things, okay?’ I run my hand down Lilac’s spine from the base of her skull and across her hips. Everything feels in order, and Lilac doesn’t respond to any pain. ‘Where do you hurt?’
‘It’s my bloody arm.’ Lilac winces and groans, then attempts to roll over onto her back.
‘Just stay where you are, Lilac. Don’t try to move. I think you might’ve broken something. That’s probably why it hurts.’ I hope to God it’s nothing more than her wrist, and a simple break at that—otherwise, she’ll be off to Adelaide for surgery, which is not ideal at any time, but especially at this time of year.
‘My head hurts too.’ She tries to lift her head, but it lolls to the side.
‘Are you on any medication, Lilac?’ I press my fingers to her other wrist. Her pulse is racing. Adrenaline. Something I’m all too familiar with.
‘You work at the hospital. Don’t you know?’
‘Yes, I work at the hospital, but Doctor Cruickshank is the only person who knows your medication.’
‘Ah, just my blood pressure tablets.’ Another groan reverberates through her body.
‘Scarlett, can you grab a wet towel, a solid cardboard box and the first aid kit? Here.’ I pull my mobile phone from the back pocket of my scrubs, Face ID it and hand it over to Scarlett. ‘Can you call Barb Rogers? You know Barb, right?’ She nods, and the bell on her hat tinkles. ‘Her number is under “boss”. Let her know what’s happened and to be on standby.’
While she’s gone, I continue my assessment of Lilac, asking her questions to determine if she has a concussion—she passes with flying colours.
Confident it’s only a broken wrist and a head knock, I carefully roll her onto her back. As the pressure is lifted off her arm, Lilac lets out an almighty scream. ‘You’re okay, Lilac. Try and take a few deep breaths for me.’
As much as it pains me, I need to keep her awake and talking, keep her mind off the pain until the ambos arrive. So, I ask the only question I know will achieve that. ‘Tell me about the Christmas choir, Lilac. What songs have you got planned?’
As Lilac lists the carols and places they’ll be singing, Scarlett returns, hands loaded with a pile of sodden face washers, the first aid kit and a flattened Coke box under her arm. She rests a towel on Lilac’s forehead and uses another to dab at her cheeks.
Using pieces of the box and a bandage from the first aid kit, Scarlett helps with the makeshift splint, supporting Lilac’s wrist before gently resting it on her stomach.
‘Lilac’—I gently cradle her hand in mine—‘I need to take all these rings off your fingers as your hand will swell and it’s most likely you’ll need a plaster. Is that okay?’
‘Give them to Scarlett, please.’
‘Now, you’ll probably be in hospital for a day or two, so I’ll drop your walker back home; you won’t be able to use it for a while.’
Lilac lets out a frustrated sigh and winces. ‘Okay, then. Bloody hell.’
With five golden rings removed, and after making her as comfortable as possible, thankfully, it’s only another couple of minutes before the St John’s Ambulance arrives—the bumper of their rig and windscreen wipers covered in gold tinsel. Seems I can’t escape the festive season. I let out a sigh and hand Lilac over to Deb and Bronte—the volunteer paramedics—who load her into the ambulance.
‘Scarlett, dear, Ryan said I’ll be out of action for a few days, so you’re in charge of the choir now. Come and see me at the hospital so I can fill you in. You have a busy schedule and a lot of Christmas cheer to share.’
‘Oh, Aunt Lilac, okay. I’ll pop in tomorrow.’ Scarlett leans in and squeezes her good hand. ‘You take care, okay?’
‘I’m in good hands with the handsome Nurse Ryan.’ As Lilac sucks on the green whistle, a mischievous glint dances in her eyes, followed by a knowing smile.
‘I’ll see you there, Lilac.’ I close the ambulance door and tap it a couple of times so Deb knows she can head to the hospital.
As the ambulance turns onto the main road into Point Perry, Scarlett steps up next to me. ‘Poor dear. Hope she’ll be up and about for the jetty lighting. It’s such a great night. Will you be going?’ She turns to me, her face full of excitement like she’s a kid in a candy store. ‘Oh, and I’m Scarlett. Curly’s younger sister.’
Her hand is ready for me to shake. I debate whether to take it, still pissed she doesn’t recognise me. Despite my initial hesitation, I eventually relent. ‘I’m someone from your past, fifteen years to be exact, and I hate Christmas with a passion.’