One Baby Step at a Time. Meredith Webber
all settled before I told Gran. In the end, the job came up sooner than I expected so there was no time to tell anyone.’
Gold-brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘What is all settled?’
‘The contract—twelve months with an option to extend.’
And now Bill was hugging him!
‘Oh, Nick, Gran will be so happy. She never says anything but since that fall a month ago she’s been feeling fragile and I think that makes her miss you more than ever. I can hear it in her voice when she talks about you.’
And you? Nick found himself wanting to ask, although why he wasn’t sure. He and Bill had kept in close touch over the years, with regular emails and infrequent phone calls, very occasionally catching up in person when they’d both happened to be in the same city at the same time. It was what friends did so, yes, he did want her to be happy he was home …
‘Sit, I’ll make coffee,’ Bill was saying, so he set the thought aside and sat, happy to watch her move around the little room, totally at home, composed—beautiful really, his Bill, although he’d probably always been too close to her to see it.
Bill shook her head as she set the kettle to boil, disbelief that Nick was actually here still rattling her thoughts. Her first glimpse of him had made her heart thud in her chest—just one big, heavy thud as she’d taken in the sight of the tall, lean man with a few threads of grey in the softly curling brown hair that had been the bane of his younger life. The black-rimmed glasses hid eyes she knew were grey-blue and gave him a serious look.
Her Nick, all grown up and devastatingly handsome now, she realised as she stepped back from their friendship and looked at him as a man.
They’d met in kindergarten class at Willowby West Primary School, a friendship begun when she had punched the boy who’d called Nick Four-Eyes. She’d dragged him home with her that afternoon, made him phone his gran to say where he was, then ordered a couple of her brothers to teach him how to fight.
And so the bond had been forged—a bond that had survived years of separation, though they’d always kept in touch and shared with each other what was happening in their lives.
Was there any tougher glue than friendship?
She found the tin of biscuits and put it on the table in front of him then brought their coffees over, setting them both down before plopping into the battered lounge chair opposite him, unable to stop staring at him and slightly embarrassed that he seemed to be equally focussed on her.
‘Well?’ she finally asked, mainly to break a silence that was becoming uncomfortable.
‘It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other,’ he said. ‘You’ve changed somehow.’
‘It’s been five years and then only for an hour at Sydney airport. Anyway, I never change, you should know that,’ she teased. ‘I was a skinny kid with wild red hair who grew into a skinny adult with wild red hair. But you, who knew you’d get so handsome?’
It was a weird conversation to be having with Nick—strained somehow. Although they’d gone in different directions after high school, he to Sydney to study medicine, she choosing Townsville for her nursing training, on other occasions when they’d caught up with each other, even briefly, they’d fallen back into their old patterns of friendship as if they’d never been parted.
Yet tonight was different.
‘Will you stay with Gran?’
Gran was Nick’s relation, not hers, but Bill was in the habit of calling in a couple of times a week, taking Gran shopping or getting library books for her.
With Nick here, Gran wouldn’t need her …
‘No, I spoke to Bob when the idea of the contract first came up. He offered me one of the penthouses at the new marina development he’s just completed.’
‘The sod!’ Bill muttered, thinking of her eldest brother, the developer in the family. ‘So he knew you were coming and said not a word to me! What’s more, all I’ve got is a one-bedroomed apartment on the sixth floor in that building, and I bet he’s giving you family discount as well.’
Nick smiled.
‘But I am family, aren’t I?’ he retorted. ‘I’m your seventh brother. Isn’t that what you’ve always said?’
It was, of course, but it wasn’t their relationship that was disturbing Bill right now, though what it was she couldn’t pinpoint.
‘It’ll be a bit weird working with you,’ she said, fairly hesitantly because that didnt seem to be what it was either.
Nick smiled and her heart gave another of those strange thuds.
‘You only think that because you’re used to being the one bossing me around and in the ER a doctor trumps a nurse.’
She rose to the challenge in his words.
‘Oh, yeah? Says who?’
He didn’t answer, just picked up his coffee, his smile still lingering about his lips, showing in fine lines down his cheeks and a crinkle at the corner of his eyes.
It was because she hadn’t seen him for so long she had to keep staring at him, she was telling herself when the smile turned into a grimace.
‘Aaargh! You call this coffee? You haven’t heard of coffee machines? How backward is this place?’
Bill laughed.
‘Not too backward these days but budget cuts are everywhere. You want fancy coffee you’ll have to provide the machine and the beans, and everyone will use both and one night a junkie will steal the machine and you’ll be back to instant.’
‘I’ll get a small one and lock it in my locker and it will be for my exclusive use,’ Nick growled, sounding so like the old Nick of her childhood that Bill felt warmth spread through her.
This was going to be all right—wasn’t it?
Bill was pondering this when Lesley burst through the door.
‘Critical emergency on the way in, Dr Grant. Can you take the call from the ambulance?’
Forty minutes later Nick was ready—well, as ready as he would ever be. Although the town had grown, Willowby Hospital was still little more than a large country health centre. No specialist resuscitation area here, no emergency trauma surgeon on standby, just him and whatever nurses could be spared from the usual stream of patients on a Sunday night.
Him and Bill!
Right now she was setting up a series of trays on trolleys, IV and blood-drawing supplies, chest tubes, ventilator, defibrillator, medications, and was checking the supply of oxygen, the suction tubes, not fussing but moving with swift confidence and precision. Just watching her gave him added confidence about whatever lay ahead.
‘The baler they spoke of—it’s one of those things that rolls hay into huge round bales?’ he asked, and she looked up from what she was doing to nod.
‘Though what the lad was doing, putting his arm anywhere near the machine, is beyond me,’ she said, before adding thoughtfully, ‘I suppose if the string got caught you might think you could pull it loose and give it a tug. I’ve always thought night-harvesting had an element of danger because, unless you’re used to night shifts, your mind might not be as sharp as it should be.’
Images of the damage such a machine could do to a human arm and shoulder flashed through Nick’s mind, and he had to agree with Bill’s opinion, but further speculation was brought to an end by the arrival of the ambulance and their patient, unstable from blood loss, his right arm loosely wrapped in now-bloody dressings, a tourniquet having been unable to stop the bleeding completely.
Nick listened as the paramedic explained what had been done so far—the patient intubated, fluid running