Resisting the New Doc In Town Page 6
Bergan drove along the darkened streets of Maroochydore, changing down gears as she neared a red light. When she’d stopped, she glanced over at him. ‘Agreed.’
Richard’s smile was small. ‘So you stayed in Paris for a while? Worked there?’
‘Oui, monsieur,’ she repeated, a small smile playing on her lips, her tone deep, personal, intimate. He swallowed once, not missing the dip of her gaze as she took in the action, watching as his Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat.
‘I knew it. I knew you’d understood every word I’d said yesterday.’
Her smile increased and Richard once more felt as though she had just delivered a whammy of a punch directly to his solar plexus. She was incredibly alluring and he’d liked hearing her voice dip that extra half octave, as though she was speaking intimately to him, taking him into her confidence. It certainly didn’t help that they were in such close proximity in the car. Her fresh, floral scent was enough to drive him to distraction and the fact that it was winding its way about him didn’t help one bit.
Keep a clear head? When Bergan was around? It was what he’d promised himself he would do, but now, sitting here, so close to her, he realised it was virtually impossible.
Richard couldn’t believe the colour of her eyes. It was different, unique…it was Bergan. The colour of warm, rich honey and combined with her smile, her gorgeous pert little nose, her high cheekbones and smooth neck, it was clear why she’d been a regular feature of his dreams ever since he’d first seen her at the Moon Lantern festival.
And her hair… How his hands had itched to touch it, to run his fingers through the long, free, auburn locks. He’d watched, after they’d finished dinner, as she’d quickly and expertly plaited her hair and for some reason he’d been surprised at how intimate it had felt. It was as though he’d seen her put on a mask, keeping others at arm’s length as she’d tossed the long plait carelessly down her back and straightened her shoulders. She’d put on her armour and was ready for action…and she’d allowed him to see it.
Now, as she sat next to him in the car, smiling that cute little smile of hers, he wondered what she’d do if he leaned over and brushed a sweet yet tantalising kiss across her lips.
He was a little surprised at the speed of his thoughts. Yes, he’d managed to go out on the occasional date over the past five years, but he certainly hadn’t been captivated by any other woman as completely as he was with Bergan. Was that a good sign? To be moving this fast? It wasn’t his usual style. Even with Chantelle things had progressed very slowly, but for some reason he simply couldn’t stop thinking about Bergan and right now he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her.
Bergan’s eyes widened a little and the smile started to slip from her lips as she stared into Richard’s eyes. Was he thinking of kissing her? The question made her heart beat faster. What would she do if he did? Would she let him? Would she slap him across the face? She didn’t know and not knowing was the worst.
Beep! The sound of a car horn behind them, alerting Bergan to the fact that the traffic lights had changed colour, made them both snap out of whatever sensations had been pulsing between them and focus on getting to the drop-in centre without further incident.
As she drove, Richard tried to figure out exactly what it was about her that seemed to captivate him so much. He certainly wasn’t the type of man to fall in and out of love easily—quite the contrary, especially as it was only five years since Chantelle had passed away. She’d told him to find someone else, that she would be sad to think of him spending the rest of his life living alone, mourning her. She had always been so bright, so cheerful, even during the last days when she’d been terribly weak from pain.
*
‘Here we are,’ said Bergan, turning into a driveway and parking next to a building that had certainly seen better days. It was clear people had been doing their best to spruce things up, with a large and colourful mural painted around the building.
‘Who did the painting?’ he asked as they climbed from the car. The wall was covered with a scene that showed people from diverse nationalities, of all ages and socio-economic situations living together in harmony.
‘The kids did it, under the guidance of a seventeen-year-old boy called Drak. He’s incredibly gifted when it comes to art.’
‘Didn’t he do the lantern for the festival?’ Richard asked as they headed towards the front door.
‘He did.’ Bergan looked at him with a hint of surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
Richard sheepishly shrugged one shoulder and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Uh…I sort of eavesdropped on your conversation with him at the festival. You wanted him to be proud of his lantern, to carry it with pride, and he didn’t want to.’
Bergan nodded her head. ‘He was a little vocal that night, but it wasn’t because he was trying to be difficult. He’s really quite a sensitive soul, but most of the time all people see are the piercings and tattoos.’
‘Never judge a book by its cover.’
‘An old cliché, but an apt one in this instance.’ Bergan opened the heavy front door and Richard instantly helped her. ‘Thanks. Come and I’ll introduce you to the director, Stuart. He’s amazing with the kids.’
She led the way to where a young man, dressed in dark jeans and dark T-shirt, a piercing or two in his ears and a ‘sleeve’ of tattoos on one arm, was leaning against a heavy wooden table, chatting with about five teens, discussing a new project the centre was trying to get up and running. If Bergan hadn’t told Richard that Stuart was the director, he would have easily mistaken the guy for one of the teens who ‘dropped in’ here.
‘They’re all good ideas for how we can practically help the nursing home up the road.’ Stuart glanced up and saw them walking towards him. ‘And here’s Bergan…and she’s brought a friend with her.’ Stuart instantly held out his hand to Richard as Bergan introduced them. Richard was conscious of the teenagers watching the adults interact and he received the distinct impression that all of them were putting up their barriers, no doubt an inbuilt habit when they met someone new.
‘We’re discussing the clean-up project at the nursing home,’ Stuart explained to Richard. ‘Trying to break down some stereotypes. Kids who dress in dark clothes, have a bit of ink and the odd piercing aren’t necessarily bad or scary people. They’re usually as lonely as half the residents of the nursing home.’
Stuart gestured to a few of the teens gathered around. ‘Xenia suggested painting a mural at the front entrance as there’s been quite a bit of graffiti on the nursing-home sign in the last month or two.’
‘It wasn’t us,’ Xenia added hotly, draping her arm around the neck of the boy next to her and giving Richard a dirty look.
Richard nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘Aaron suggested helping with the gardening because, as you know, many of the able-bodied residents are keen gardeners, but aren’t actually able to bend down or reach up high or even do too much manual labour, and this way they can also pass on their knowledge of gardening to the younger generation,’ Stuart continued.
Aaron, a kid who was as skinny as a beanpole, had no ink or piercings and was dressed from head to toe in brown, nodded enthusiastically, his glasses, which were held together with a piece of sticky tape, almost falling off his nose. ‘Old people like to talk and, well…Bergan’s always saying we should listen more so…you know.’ He shrugged.
A lot of the other kids agreed with Aaron and Richard was pleased to see that in here the breaking down of stereotypes had already begun.
‘They’re really good ideas,’ Bergan agreed, nodding encouragingly at the gathered teens. She looked at Richard. ‘What do you think? Any suggestions to add?’
Richard raised an eyebrow at the question then looked around at the group gathered before him. They really did look like a motley crew, but he knew from his work with teens of a similar age and circumstances that beneath all the ink and piercings they were just kids who were making
the best of the bad hand they’d been dealt. The fact that they actually came in to the drop-in centre and were talking about actively participating in the community was huge.
‘I think,’ he said after a pause, ‘these are excellent suggestions, and as the new guy I’ll defer to the group. Although, whatever the final decision, I’d like to help.’
Before anyone else could say anything, a kid came bursting through the doors of the centre, his face red from running, an urgent and wild look in his eyes. Richard recognised him as the teen Bergan had been speaking to at the Moon Lantern festival—Drak. He was clearly out of breath and as he tried to speak, panting and puffing, Richard started to get a bad feeling in his gut.
‘Jammo. Passed out. Bergan.’ Drak gestured for her to come. ‘Medical bag. Overdosed.’
‘Not again.’ Bergan was rushing towards a cupboard in Stuart’s office. She quickly pulled out a set of keys from her pocket and unlocked the doors, taking out a portable medical kit that looked more like a toolbox and then quickly locking the cupboard again. ‘This is the second time Jammo’s tried something like this,’ she muttered, clearly concerned.
‘Whatever you ne—’ he started to say, but she interrupted him.
‘Come with me. Stuart, call the—’
‘On it,’ Stuart said.
Bergan nodded. ‘Good. I’ll call you when we have a location. Drak, lead the way.’ The three of them raced out of the drop-in centre, running down the footpath, Bergan and Richard following behind Drak, who was sprinting ahead. He continued down the street, the three of them oblivious to their surroundings, the evening traffic starting to pick up in numbers. Car horns honked, engines revved and music blared from stereo speakers.
Bergan was only conscious of following Drak’s lead, sensing rather than seeing that Richard was still beside her, his strides slightly longer, which meant he was keeping pace with her, ensuring she wasn’t left behind. He also reached down while they were running and took the medical kit from her hand.
‘I’ve got it,’ he said, barely seeming out of breath.
‘Thanks,’ she answered as she noted that Drak had turned the corner. They followed him into an older-style, multi-storey apartment block, one that had certainly seen better days, with a few of the windows boarded up thanks to a few smashed windows here and there.
‘She’s in here,’ Drak panted, as he began taking the stairs two at a time. ‘She’s in Smitty’s old place,’ he continued, his eyes still reflecting his fear for the worst.
As Bergan rounded a landing on the stairs, she caught Richard’s glance and saw that he looked in control and reflective, as though he was trying to go through a thousand different scenarios, wondering exactly what they might find when they finally reached Jammo. Bergan knew because she was doing exactly the same thing. She quickly pulled out her cell phone and passed the location information on to Stuart, who informed her the ambulance was on its way.
‘Drak,’ she called, as he started up another flight of stairs.
‘Not much further,’ he stated, but kept going.
‘Do you know what Jammo took? Was it pills? An injection? Any clues?’ Bergan held on to the handrail to ensure she didn’t miss her footing on the steps, grateful Richard had thoughtfully taken charge of lugging the medical kit.
‘There were pills next to her. I…I was going to bring the bottle with me, but I was just so scared that I forgot and ran to get you,’ he panted, still going up the staircase. Thankfully, when they came to the next landing, Drak flung open the door and headed into the corridor.
Within another half a minute they were inside Smitty’s old apartment, where Jammo was lying on the floor on an old mattress, seemingly lifeless. The young girl of sixteen wasn’t moving, although, as they’d rushed into the room, Bergan thought she’d detected the slight rise and fall of the girl’s chest.
Richard instantly dropped to his knees, opened the medical kit and pulled out two pairs of gloves, handing one pair to Bergan. She pulled them on and reached for the bottle Drak was holding out to her. Richard called to Jammo but the girl didn’t respond. They shifted her onto her side in case she vomited. They didn’t want her to choke. He reached for the penlight and checked her pupils.
‘Sluggish but reacting to light.’
‘Pulse is slow and weak.’
‘What did she take?’ Richard asked as he reached for the stethoscope.
‘Temazepam. I don’t know how many, but the bottle is empty.’ As Bergan and Richard continued to treat Jammo, Richard motioned to the girl’s wrists, which were both bandaged.
‘How long ago did she do that?’
‘Two weeks. She ran away from the hospital the day after she was admitted. I managed to check on her a few times and she seemed to be doing OK. Jammo? Can you hear me?’ Bergan called, raising her voice. ‘Come on. Come round.’
‘Cardio is weak. She needs oxygen.’
‘She’s going to be OK, isn’t she?’ Drak asked, and Bergan glanced up at the small thread of fear in the words. It wasn’t like Drak to show such an intimate emotion and Bergan couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a deeper connection than she’d thought between the two teens.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered him truthfully. ‘You did well to come and get us, but her body’s already weak from losing a lot of blood the other week.’
‘She’s depressed,’ Drak offered, by way of explanation.
‘I’m not interested in the whys and wherefores at the moment, Drak,’ Bergan reassured him calmly, as she took the stethoscope from Richard and listened to Jammo’s heartbeat for herself.
‘Skin is cold and clammy, lips are blue, fingernails are pale.’
‘Prep for possible cardiac arrest,’ Bergan said, and he nodded, looking into the medical kit for whatever he might need in case Jammo’s heart stopped. ‘Drak, why don’t you go down and meet the ambulance? Let them know I’m here and get them to bring oxygen on their first trip up those stairs.’
‘I don’t want to leave her,’ Drak said, which only confirmed Bergan’s suspicions.
‘You can help Jammo by getting those paramedics up here with the oxygen, ASAP. Here…’ Bergan held out her cell phone to Drak. ‘Take this with you. Richard’s number is programmed in, so call him if you need to speak to either one of us.’
Drak hesitated for a moment.
‘I promise to take good care of her,’ Bergan told him, earnest sincerity in her tone. ‘Didn’t I take good care of her last time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then trust me, Drak. You know you can.’ She waved the phone in his direction and after hesitating for a moment longer he took the device from her and headed out of the room. ‘Jammo?’ Bergan called. ‘Can you hear me? Come on. Come round. Do it for Drak.’
‘Repeat obs,’ Richard stated, and she agreed. Until they had Jammo back at the hospital, where they could at least perform a gastric lavage, all they could do was monitor her and try to make sure she didn’t go into cardiac arrest.
No sooner had they started the next set of obs than Bergan shook her head. ‘She’s slipping.’
Richard listened to Jammo’s heartbeat. ‘Agreed.’
Bergan pressed her fingers to Jammo’s pulse. ‘It’s stopped,’ she said, and Richard nodded in agreement.
Together, they rolled Jammo onto her back before Richard placed a special expired air resuscitation mouth shield over Jammo’s mouth and nose. Bergan readied herself to perform cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. Working together as a well-oiled team, they counted out the breaths and beats, determined to get the young teenager’s heart started again.
While Richard breathed a few more breaths into Jammo’s mouth, Bergan checked the girl’s pulse. ‘It’s there. Just.’
He exhaled heavily with relief. ‘Good.’ He glanced across at Bergan, who was also smiling, pleased with what they’d just managed to do. ‘She’s by no means out of the woods,’ he continued.
‘But at least she’s breathing.’
‘Smitty doesn’t live here anymore.’
‘So where did he move to?’ Richard asked, as they made sure Jammo was as comfortable as possible, Bergan hooking the stethoscope into her ears in order to check Jammo’s heart again.
She listened intently then removed the stethoscope before looking at Richard. ‘He died. Overdose in this very room.’
‘Poor kid.’
‘Smitty wasn’t a kid. He was a druggy that a lot of the foster and street kids came to when the foster-parents beat them or didn’t feed them, or life just got too tough. They needed a place to crash. Smitty’s—this place, for all its filth—was a safe haven for so many kids. He always offered whatever he had—food, drink and a piece of floor for them to crash on.
‘He wasn’t a dealer or a pimp and when he wasn’t as high as a kite he did a lot of good things for a lot of the kids. He’d tell them they were stupid to take drugs, but then he’d go and shoot up, saying it was too late for him.’
There was a sad, melancholy tone to her words and Richard watched her with increasing confusion. Even though he’d only known Bergan for a few days, he knew her well enough to realise she didn’t open up to everyone like this. She kept her hands busy, feeling Jammo’s pulse, and not once while she was talking did she make eye contact with him.
‘Drugs were Smitty’s mistress,’ she continued after a moment. ‘He told me that once and there was a deep sadness and regret in his eyes. As though he wanted, so much, to go back and live his life again, but knew that was impossible.’
‘You sound as though you admired him.’ Richard kept his tone quiet as he checked Jammo’s eyes.
‘I did, in a way.’
‘How old was he?’
‘He would have been fifty-nine next month, if he’d lived.’
‘Wow. I hadn’t expected him to be that old.’ Richard found it difficult to keep the surprise from his voice. ‘You sound as though you knew him quite well.’