Eleven #2
That brought her up short. Blairgowrie was Lachlan’s home and she was a guest. She didn’t get to dictate what he did.
And it wasn’t like she hated the pipes. Many years ago she’d been to the Edinburgh Tattoo, and that first clear, mournful note of the lone piper spotlighted on the turret of the castle at the beginning of the show had brought tears to her eyes.
‘Well … I suppose I could learn to appreciate it,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe just cover up a bit? It’s a wonder you haven’t frozen your bloody nads off in this weather.’
He laughed again. ‘Nads being the correct medical terminology?’
Rowena sent him a sweet smile. ‘Precisely.’
*
And just like that, she moved out of the pub and into Blairgowrie. It didn’t take her long, given she had two days off and only two suitcases to her name. The metric ton of food, however, was a different prospect.
But every cake, batch of biscuits or plate of slice was faithfully transported.
As were all of the homemade meals she’d been given.
Meals that had arrived every day and she’d had to portion up and freeze in takeaway containers because there’d been no way she could possibly eat them all before they spoiled.
She’d stopped in at the IGA on her way to the farm to pick up some fruit and milk, but it was clear she wouldn’t have to do any cooking for a while. Hell, should the zombie apocalypse suddenly occur, she wouldn’t need to forage for quite some time.
Apart from a couple of brief visits from Reggie and Lachlan—both together and separately—to check on how she was settling in, Rowena was left to her own devices those first two days.
She got the feeling they didn’t want to crowd her, and that suited her just fine.
They’d both extended open invitations to dine with them at the house any time if she wanted company and she had assured them she would.
Just not yet.
Lachlan had showed her how to light the fire and brought a load of wood and kindling for her use. He’d also insisted she put his, Reggie’s and Albert’s numbers into her mobile, in case she needed anything, and she’d dutifully complied.
Considering how patchy mobile reception was out on the highway, it was remarkably good at Blairgowrie, thanks to the satellite dish on the vehicle shed.
This was great news for Rowena, who would still be able to Zoom on her laptop with her psychologist as well as check her emails and scroll Instagram to her heart’s content.
The feeling of peace sinking into her bones was a bonus.
Being able to get in the tub one day soon when the weather warmed and watch the sunset would be an even bigger one.
The cold drew in rapidly, however, as night fell, chasing Rowena inside, where she picked a random frozen meal to zap in the microwave. She ate it sitting in the lounge area, in front of the fire, watching a DVD, with Red by her side.
The dog seemed to have adopted her, which she didn’t hate.
She did worry he was neglecting his fatherly duties, but every now and then his ears would prick up, obviously hearing something she couldn’t, and he’d disappear for a while.
Was it Blue and the puppies? Or was it that whistle of Lachlan’s she’d heard a few times now that had Red jumping to attention?
But he always returned.
The fact he got to sleep on the end of a warm cosy bed, instead of on the veranda with his missus and their kids, probably didn’t hurt.
If someone had told her last year that she’d be living in country Australia in an old shearers bunkhouse, sharing her bed with a snoring dog, she’d have laughed hysterically. But this was her life now and … it wasn’t half bad.
Until the end of November, anyway.
*
By the time she was driving in to work on Wednesday morning for her seven am start, Rowena was wondering why the hell she hadn’t gone for a tree change earlier. It had felt like a backwards step when she’d been grappling with the idea.
A defeat. Like she was putting her life into a holding pattern.
But, flying along the highway, pink galahs grazing on the sides of the road, golden puffs turning the bush yellow, Rowena felt infinitely lighter.
She’d done the right thing.
Sure, it was only temporary—five more months—but Rowena didn’t need to be her psychologist to know this change of pace was exactly what she’d needed.
The bilious, slick swirling in her stomach that had been her constant companion in those months before she’d flipped out had disappeared.
And going to work didn’t require half an hour of meditation and several mental affirmations.
Yep, she’d definitely done the right thing.
To get back to her old life—her endgame—she’d needed this stopgap. And she had Brooke to thank for that.
As fate would have it, the woman in question pulled into the hospital car park the same time Rowena did, taking the space next to hers. Her Pajero sported the local footy team bumper sticker and another one that said DEADLY in red, black and yellow.
‘Were your ears burning?’ Rowena asked as she exited the car and shut the door. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘Were you now?’ But Brooke seemed less interested in that than the vehicle that Rowena had emerged from. ‘Where’d you get the wheels?’
‘Oh.’ Rowena glanced at the heavy four-wheel drive vehicle.
It was kinda old and ugly, but Lachlan had assured her it was safe and solid.
‘It’s one of the Blairgowrie vehicles. Lachy insisted my Mini was impractical for driving back and forth between town and the farm with the condition of the road and the lack of bull bar. He’s worried about the roos.’
Brooke blinked. ‘There are a couple of parts to that I need to dig into. One, the farm? And, two … Lachy?’
Heat rushed to Rowena’s cheeks at the speculation in Brooke’s gaze. Given it was another single-digit morning, the warmth was welcome, but she needed to clarify ASAP.
‘Yes, the farm,’ she said, hitching the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and heading for the hospital. Brooke fell into step beside her. ‘I went for a lamb roast and Reggie offered me the bunkhouse as an alternative to a hospital donga.’
A smile touched Brooke’s lips. ‘Did she now?’
Rowena kept on walking, ignoring the amusement in her friend’s voice. ‘Uh huh.’
‘That was very nice of her.’
‘I thought so.’
‘So … you and the lovely Lachy, huh?’
Innuendo laced Brooke’s voice and Rowena kicked herself for slipping on his name. ‘There’s not a me and Lachlan.’
Just because they’d slept together once didn’t make them a thing. But after almost a month in Acacia Junction, Rowena knew that wasn’t the way it worked out here. If there was even a whiff that she and Lachlan had been together, this town would have them as an item whether they wanted it or not.
And she didn’t. She didn’t need it for herself and she certainly didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Imagine being the one to leave town and leave their poor lovely Lachy brokenhearted like his second wife had done. Because in five months, she would be gone.
‘Not yeeeet,’ Brooke sing-songed.
Rowena rolled her eyes. ‘Not happeningggg.’
Still, that didn’t stop a smile curving Rowena’s lips at the memory of this morning’s Scottish wake-up call. She was clearly never going to need to set an alarm ever again.
*
Rowena and Brooke were in the break room at ten-thirty when Ragav Kohli made the fatal error of uttering the word that should never be uttered in an emergency department.
‘God, it’s quiet.’
‘Ragav!’ Brooke chided, sending him a death glare.
It was true, they’d had an exceptionally slow morning but, thanks to Ragav, they were probably about to be run off their feet. Realising his error, the junior doctor winced.
Brooke shook her head. ‘Surely you know by now to never mention the q word around here.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Brain fart.’
‘You want busy?’ Brooke said, clearly still annoyed.
‘Just wait for the show this weekend. We’ll be inundated with stupid injuries from a bunch of yahoos who only ever come to town once a year and get full of piss and think they’re bulletproof.
And the week after that? We’ll be chockers with respiratory bugs and sick kids.
And if I have to admit anyone from renal this afternoon, I’ll be blaming you. ’
Three times a week Brooke ran an outpatient’s dialysis clinic.
A hospital minibus provided a pick-up and drop-off service for anyone who required transport, travelling all the way out to the most remote Indigenous communities to ensure all those who required it received their regular tri-weekly treatments.
‘Hey, Ro.’ Shari appeared in the doorway, a huge grin on her face. ‘Someone to see you.’ Then she stepped aside to reveal Silvano Morelli.
Rowena blinked. He didn’t seem as big as he had that day on the highway.
He was paler, which only made the dark smudges under his eyes more pronounced, and he’d clearly lost weight, his face comparatively gaunt to the jowls he’d been sporting that day.
He looked like a puff of wind could blow him over.
Which was exactly what a near-death experience, a quadruple bypass and several weeks in hospital could do to a person. But it was definitely Silvano, his big smile—the only strong thing about him—filling the room.
Suddenly shy, Rowena stood. What did she say to a person whose life she’d held in her hands? Brooke, on the other hand, had no problems with her greeting, almost tripping over her feet to reach the older man, giving him an enthusiastic hug.
‘Silvano!’ He winced but returned the hug. ‘Don’t you ever do something like that again, you hear?’ Brooke scolded.
He chuckled as she pulled out of the embrace. ‘I don’t plan to.’