The Reunion Of A Lifetime. Fiona Lowe

shook his head. ‘You look like you’ve dropped at least five kilos. Possibly more.’

      ‘The joys of a fish and taro diet. Listen, Richard,’ he said, suddenly gripped by urgency. ‘I’ll happily give you a full report as soon as I’ve administered those antibiotics to my three sickies.’

      ‘Keith can do that. You’re handing over to him and then you’re getting on the boat to Port Vila and going home.’

      No! Every part of Charlie stilled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s still mountains of work for me to do here.’

      Richard sighed. ‘You know the rules, Charlie. First response teams get pulled out after two weeks when second response arrives.’

      ‘Hell, Richard, you know as well as I do that you’re the first response team, not me. The only reason I’m on Pipatoa is because I came for a few days of diving after teaching the emergency trauma course in Port Vila. Two days after I arrived, Samuel blew up and I got stuck here.’

      ‘That’s irrelevant. The bottom line is you’ve done the job of first response without the back-up of a trained team. It doesn’t take a medical person to see you’re completely exhausted. God, man, have you slept at all since the cyclone?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Charlie ground out. ‘Besides, you’ve got me pencilled in for Ghana next week, right?’

      ‘That was before you lived through the most savage cyclone to hit the area in forty years.’

      ‘So?’

      Richard’s brows rose at the belligerence in Charlie’s voice. ‘So, HR’s been on my case because you haven’t taken any leave in eighteen months. Now you’ve lived through the cyclone, the psych’s waded in.’

      Charlie’s head ached and his gut cramped. ‘I don’t want to take leave. I want to go to Ghana.’

      ‘Neither of us has a choice in the matter. Even if HR weren’t getting antsy about your accumulated leave, you’re mandated to take time out of the field and attend three post-disaster counselling sessions.’

      ‘Hell, Richard, I’m not going to get PTSD.’

      ‘You know as well as I do no one’s bulletproof. The rules exist to protect Australia Aid workers. As an employee, those rules apply to you.’

      ‘But you’re the boss.’ Charlie hated the frantic pitch to his voice. ‘You can pull strings.’

      Richard shook his head. ‘Not this time, mate. Besides, it’s not the end of the world. There are worse times than summer in Australia to go home.’

      It was never a good time to go home. Not that he considered Australia home anymore, or anywhere else for that matter. ‘How long am I on enforced leave?’

      ‘A minimum of six weeks.’

      ‘What?’ His bark of disbelief bounced off the walls and came back to bite him.

      ‘Longer if the psych isn’t happy with your progress, but I’m sure you’ll be back in action before Easter.’ Richard gave him a fatherly clap on the shoulder. ‘Look on the bright side. Your family will be happy to see you.’

      ‘Oh, yeah. They’ll be thrilled,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Any chance the psych will visit me in Bali?’

      Richard laughed, completely missing the point that Charlie was deadly serious. ‘Send me a postcard from that joint you summered in as a kid. I’ve always thought it sounded like a place I should take my kids.’

      Charlie stared at Richard, stunned that he’d even remembered that conversation—hell, he’d forgotten all about it. He guessed it had taken place about three years ago, on the night of ‘the anniversary’. He’d found himself with a bottle of Scotch and, a little while later, Richard for company. He hadn’t told his boss the significance of the date—hell, he never told anyone that—but to prevent Richard from asking too many probing questions about why one of his best trauma surgeons was uncharacteristically nursing a bottle of top-shelf liquor, Charlie had entertained him with stories about his childhood summers on the coast.

      He’d used words to paint pictures of the old rambling house on top of the cliff, the white sandy beach far below that squeaked when the sand particles rubbed together, the seventy grey weathered wooden steps that led down to the sea and the roar of the surf that filled the air with the zip and tang of salt. He’d waxed lyrical about the exhilaration of catching a wave and riding it all the way in to shore.

      Horseshoe Bay. He hadn’t thought about the place in years. Despite growing up in the privileged leafy suburbs of Melbourne with every possible advantage, his happiest memories were the holidays at Bide-A-While. He’d spent every long, hot summer there and he and his brother had run wild—swimming, surfing and beachcombing—the sun bleaching their hair white and darkening their skin to honey brown.

      When he’d turned sixteen, they added bonfires on the beach and parties to their repertoire. He’d shared his first kiss at Horseshoe Bay. He’d ecstatically given up his virginity in the dunes with—God, what was her name? Other than a flash of white skin illuminated by moonlight, he couldn’t form a picture of her, but then again it had been eighteen years ago. His body sagged as the elapsed years unexpectedly clawed at him.

      A memory of luminous almond-coloured eyes ringed by jet lashes bloomed in his mind and he smiled. Lauren. He may not remember the other girl he’d had his first fumbling sexual encounter with, but it was impossible to forget Lauren. She’d been his saving grace in the worst summer of his life. Old regret ached but he was an expert at ignoring it. It was pointless questioning why life threw curve balls and disrupted the good things. Turning away from the melancholy memories of Lauren, his mind darted to find something to soothe his intense disquiet about returning to Melbourne.

      Bide-a-While! While he worked out his appointments and organised a real holiday somewhere far, far away from that southern city—one that fitted in between the obligatory counselling sessions—he’d ensconce himself with Gran down at Horseshoe Bay. With its clear views to the horizon, and a solid two-hour drive from Melbourne, it might just be the wide safety buffer he needed between him and his parents.

       CHAPTER TWO

      LAUREN TOUCHED THE hands-free green button on the car’s console and answered her mobile. ‘Hi, Mum. How was The Langham?’

      ‘Just gorgeous! But, darling, I’m so sorry about the red costume.’ Sue Fuller’s voice boomed around the car. ‘Apparently, school notes are going out of fashion and I need to download an app. Anyway, Shaylee refuses to take off her costume and Dad and I want to cook you dinner as a thank-you. Can you make it?’

      If anyone ever offered to cook for Lauren, she accepted in a heartbeat, because at the end of long and busy days, rustling up the energy to cook often failed her. ‘Dinner sounds fabulous. But fair warning, I missed lunch so I’m starving.’ She flicked on her indicator, slowed, turned left and immediately changed down into first gear as the car took on the extremely steep gravel road. ‘All things being equal, I should be there by six-thirty. I’ve only got one house call left.’

      ‘Have you seen Anna Ainsworth?’ Sue asked, suddenly sounding more like the district nurse she was than her mother. ‘I didn’t like the look of her leg on Tuesday.’

      ‘I’m driving to Bide-a-While now.’

      ‘You’re doing a home visit? Is she okay? She’s one of my naughtier diabetics and in typical Ainsworth style she won’t be told anything.’ Her mother warmed to one of Horseshoe Bay’s favourite themes—the locals’ opinions of the well heeled Melbourne-ites who owned holiday mansions in the town. ‘You’d think that as the mother of an eminent surgeon, she’d be better behaved. Then again, we all know how Randall Ainsworth likes to throw his weight around and how the rules don’t always apply...’