In Dr Darling's Care. Marion Lennox

intelligence. Whoever the father was.

      ‘Maybe he’s a Border collie.

      ‘Yeah? Border collies are smart. You seriously think a Border collie would look twice at our Phoebe?

      ‘Maybe not.’

      ‘Um…is there someone in the shower with you?’ a voice called. ‘If there’s a party happening in there I’ll go away. I don’t want to disturb you.’

      May. Whoops, Lizzie thought, and stuck her head out of the shower curtain to reply.

      ‘I’m talking to the plughole,’ she told her with an attempt at dignity, and May nodded.

      ‘It’s a good thing, too,’ May said cautiously. ‘I find they don’t talk back.’

      ‘This one was talking back something dreadful.’

      ‘Dratted plughole. I’ll call a plumber and have it fixed.’

      This woman could be a friend, Lizzie thought gratefully, and the world looked brighter all of a sudden. Especially when she saw what May was holding.

      ‘My clothes!’

      ‘Jim drove out and brought your things in.’

      Lizzie considered. ‘All my things?’

      ‘All your things. Including the dog basket.’

      ‘Gee, that was nice of Jim.’

      ‘You’re dripping on the floor.’

      ‘Hand me my towel,’ Lizzie said without committing herself further until she’d had a little think about what was happening here. She retired behind the shower curtain and started towelling herself. And thinking.

      ‘I can’t stay here.’

      ‘You have to stay here.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You’re the only doctor. You need to be on call twenty-four seven.’

      She swallowed. ‘Dr McKay wasn’t in cellphone range when I ran over him. He can’t have been on duty.’

      ‘He was only out of range because Emily has been driving him crazy. She’s been driving everyone crazy. Honestly, if I see one more pew ribbon…’

      ‘This wedding’s a big deal, huh?’

      ‘Yep.’ May put a hand behind the curtain and proffered what was most needed. ‘Knickers.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Bra?’

      ‘Do you normally provide valet service?’

      ‘When I want to talk, I do. Are you sending our Dr McKay away?’

      ‘As soon as I can get to a phone and arrange it, yes.’

      ‘Emily will hate you forever.’

      ‘Hey, it’s not my fault.’

      ‘You ran over him.’

      ‘So what am I supposed to do now? Wave a magic wand so he can sail down the aisle tomorrow? The only way he can get married tomorrow is for Emily to follow him to the city and marry him at a bedside ceremony.’

      ‘T-shirt,’ May said helpfully. ‘Jeans?’

      ‘Great.’ Silence while she wiggled into her clothes. Then she pushed the curtain back and emerged.

      ‘Gee,’ May said. ‘You don’t scrub up too badly after all.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘You want to tell them, or shall I?’

      ‘Tell…’

      ‘The happy pair. That the wedding’s off. That all those rose petals are going to wilt.’

      ‘Rose petals?’

      ‘Emily’s gathered every rose in Birrini,’ May said. ‘Wheelbarrows of the things.’

      Lizzie stared at the woman in front of her, and May stared back.

      ‘Wheelbarrows?’

      ‘Wheelbarrows.’

      ‘Where’s Phoebe?’ she asked, moving on from this crazy image with some difficulty.

      ‘We’re minding her until you’ve faced Emily,’ May told her. ‘Phoebe or Emily… We’ll take Phoebe any day.’

      Dressed and warm and feeling as close to normal as she was going to feel today, Lizzie made her way through to the single ward where Harry lay. As she reached the door she paused. There was the sound of a female voice, strained to breaking point.

      ‘It’s not as if you have to walk down the aisle alone. If you have a cast on, you can wait for me on crutches. Then when you reach me you can hold my hand. It’d be better if you didn’t use crutches afterwards—for the wedding march—but I’ll be able to support you then.’

      Lizzie waited, expecting a reply. Nothing.

      ‘Harry, you must. I mean, there are two hundred people invited. We can’t tell them it’s off.’

      Enough. Harry was so drugged he’d agree to anything right now, Lizzie thought, and the sooner she put paid to impossibilities the better. She swung the ward door wide and Emily looked up at her as if she was interrupting something personal. Harry, though, looked across the room to her in real relief.

      ‘Dr Darling.’

      ‘Hi.’ She crossed the room to stand beside Emily’s chair. He’d regained a little colour. Good. She pushed the cradle back from his leg. The inflatable splint she’d fixed to his leg was holding it rigid. There was still good colour in his toes, she saw with relief. But still…the sooner she had those bones fixed into place by a skilled orthopaedic surgeon the happier she’d be.

      ‘You don’t look like a doctor,’ he murmured, and she couldn’t help but agree.

      Her jeans were clean at least, she thought. She tucked her still damp curls behind her ears and tried to look professional. What she needed was a white coat, but every white coat in the place had been bought for Harry. He must be six-two or six-three, she thought, as his coats practically swept the floor on her five-foot-six frame.

      And if she didn’t look professional… ‘Neither do you,’ she told him, and he gave her a tired smile.

      ‘I’m not feeling like a doctor. I’m feeling very much like a patient. What’s the prognosis?’

      She may as well tell it like it was. Now. ‘The prognosis is a journey,’ she told him. ‘To Melbourne. In thirty minutes.’

      Emily had been holding Harry’s hand. Now she dropped it and turned to Lizzie, her face blanching.

      ‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, and Lizzie winced. This wedding was obviously hugely important to Emily—of course it was—but there was no escaping what must be faced. By all of them.

      ‘I mean Harry needs to go to Melbourne tonight,’ she said gently, turning back to the man in the bed. ‘Harry, I’ve organised the air ambulance to come straight away. They should be here in about thirty minutes to collect you.’

      ‘Melbourne…’ Harry said, bemused.

      ‘You know I can’t fix your leg here.’

      ‘Why not?’

      So he hadn’t fully understood what she’d told him about his leg. ‘Would you like to see the X-rays?’ she asked him, producing the films she’d carried in with her. ‘That is, if you can stand seeing them without feeling ill?’

      He nodded and she held them up to the light. As X-rays went, they were fairly dramatic. This was no hairline fracture. The bones were split and splintered. Even a layman could see