‘Let me carry them,’ Alistair said, but as Megan buried her face in Georgie’s neck, Georgie shook her head. She gave a rueful smile. ‘Megan knows me,’ she said. ‘And Lizzie trusts me. It’s easier if I sweat a bit. But we need Dottie and Davy to go with you. Davy, you know that Dr Carmichael is my friend?’
Davy knew what was coming. He gulped but then he looked up at Alistair and what he read in his face seemed to satisfy him. ‘Y-yeah.’
‘I want you to help Dr Carmichael drive my car,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s an American and they don’t even know what side of the road to drive on. And, Davy, I want you to hold Dottie’s hand and take her with you. Will you do that? Dottie, will you do that? We won’t all fit in the ambulance and Dr Carmichael will bring you straight to the hospital to be with your mum.’
There was a moment’s hesitation.
‘It’s OK,’ Davy whispered to Dottie, and once more he repeated his mantra. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend.’
Dottie stared up at him dubiously, but then seemed to come to a decision. She tucked her hand into Alistair’s and held on.
‘The key’s in my pocket,’ Georgie said.
Really? In her pocket? There was a distracting thought coming from left field. He wouldn’t have thought there was room for anything at all in those tight-fitting leathers.
She had no hand free to get them out. And he had one hand free.
‘Front left,’ she said patiently.
Front left. Right. Surgical removal of car keys. But, hell, those pants were tight. Hell, those pants were …
Maybe he’d better concentrate on other things. Dottie was holding his hand, waiting for him to get on with it. The younger ambo officer was looking at him and grinning, and he just knew what the guy was thinking.
What the hell. He grinned back and retrieved the keys, almost managing to keep his thoughts on the job at hand. Almost.
But as the keys came free he had room for another thought. What Georgie had said.
‘Australians drive on the left.’
‘We do,’ Georgie said patiently. ‘Problem?’
‘You want me to drive Davy and Dottie to the hospital in your car?’
‘In the hospital car. That’s the idea, Einstein.’ She was back to being tough. Any minute she’d start with the gum chewing again. The ambo boys were looking at her in surprise but he didn’t have time to think about why she was being like she was.
‘Look, this’ll be the first time I’ve driven on the left … I’m not covered. Insurance-wise, I mean. If anything happens to the kids …’
‘Here we go,’ Georgie said, and sighed. ‘American insurance paranoia.’ The ambos had already started carrying the stretcher to the door and she was moving with them. ‘Firstly, there’s no one around to crash into,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It’s midday, and only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Or Yankee neurosurgeons. So the roads will be deserted and there’s no one to hit. Second, it’s a straight line from here to the hospital. You can follow the ambulance. If you’re nervous then move over and tell Davy to drive. He’s probably as competent as you are.’
And with that she left, leaving him to follow.
The hospital was just as he remembered it. Long and low and cool, open to the ocean breeze. Actually, the ocean breeze was more than a breeze at the moment. The surrounding palms were tossing wildly, and the sea was covered in whitecaps. But the place still looked lovely. If you had to be sick this was one of the best places in the world to be.
Alistair pulled up in the car park and took the two children inside.
The children hadn’t complained as their mother had left. Now they took a hand apiece, infinitely trusting. He felt really off balance, walking into Crocodile Creek Hospital Emergency with a child on each hand.
The ambulance was in the unloading bay, already unloaded. He hadn’t followed it closely, preferring to travel slowly and safely. For all Georgie’s reassurance, the left-hand-drive thing was a challenge, and having two small passengers made him careful.
There was no sign of Lizzie or Megan, but Georgie was in the emergency department, carrying Thomas. She was still in bare feet. He’d picked up her abandoned stilettos from the pathway—
they were still in the car—a monument to stupidity. But she didn’t look stupid now.
There was a nurse beside her. He recognised this woman from his last visit, too. Grace?
Grace gave him a smile of welcome but Georgie ignored him, bending down to greet the kids.
‘Dottie. Davy. Dr Alistair got you here safely, then? That’s great. Well done, both of you. And well done, Davy, for getting help so fast. Now, we’re just giving your mum a proper wash and getting her really cool. She hasn’t been drinking—that’s why she’s been sick. You know we popped a needle into her arm, and into Thomas’s, to get water in faster? We’ve done the same to Megan. Megan’s having a little sleep. But you guys will be thirsty as well, and probably hungry. So do you want to come and find your mum and Megan straight away or can Grace take you to the kitchen and give you some chocolate ice cream?’
It was exactly the right thing to say, Alistair thought. By the look of that hut, these kids must be starving. But Georgie wasn’t sending them away with Grace without their consent. They were being given the choice. Your mum is safe. You can see her now, or there’s ice cream on offer. The choice is yours.
‘How about you have the ice cream and then come back and see your mum?’ Grace said, tipping the scales. ‘You know Mrs Grubb, don’t you? She gave you ice cream when your mum was having the baby. She’s in the kitchen right now, getting out bowls. And I think she has lemonade, too.’
‘I really like ice cream,’ Dottie whispered, and she even smiled. It was a great little smile, the first Alistair had seen from the children. He released their hands and watched them go, but as he did so he was aware of a sharp stab of something that almost seemed like … loss? Which was crazy.
The door through to the hospital kitchens swung closed behind them, and he became aware that Georgie was watching him. She had the saline drip looped over her shoulder, holding Thomas low so it was gravity feeding. She needed a drip stand.
‘Do you want help with Thomas?’ he asked.
‘I’ll take him through to the nursery in a minute, but apart from horrible nappy rash he seems OK. You know Davy’s been dripping water into his mouth? What a hero.’
‘He is,’ Alistair said, and he thought back to the frail child sitting in the middle of the bridge and felt stunned. Awed.
‘You remember Charles Wetherby—our director? Charles has Lizzie in his charge,’ Georgie continued. She’d walked over to a drip stand and he moved with her, taking the saline bag from her shoulder and hanging it on its wheeled hook. ‘It looks like severe infection. Charles is continuing the IV antibiotics and the nurses are cleaning her up. She’s a mess.’
‘When did she have the baby?’
‘Four days ago.’
The image of Davy was still in the forefront of his mind. Lizzie, going home to the care of a six-year-old. ‘You let her go home to that?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Did you know her circumstances?’
It wasn’t implied criticism. It was a direct attack.
Back home Alistair was head of a specialist neurosurgery unit. He had hiring and firing capabilities and he used them. The voice he had used then was the one that had any single subordinate—and many who weren’t subordinate—shaking in their shoes. At least cringing a little.
Georgie didn’t cringe. She met his gaze directly,