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Carrie stared after the man while she tried to quieten a scared Tilly. ‘Doesn’t he need to go to hospital?’
‘No,’ Donny said, leaning heavily against the bed. ‘All he needs is to score again.’
Carrie shook her head. Try as she may, she couldn’t understand the addict mentality. How could somebody who once upon a time must have been as innocent as the squirming toddler she held in her arms waste it all like that?
Tilly was reaching for her uncle and Carrie held her close a moment longer, gave her an extra-big squeeze then handed her over with still shaking hands.
‘You OK?’ Charlie asked. She was looking pale again, like she had last night.
She nodded. ‘I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.’
Charlie watched her walk out of the room and sink into one of the seats in the waiting area. ‘You OK?’ he asked Donny.
‘Sure, but I’d better go. My sister will be starting to wonder what I’ve done with Tilly.’
‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Charlie pulled a face at the little girl and was rewarded with a watery smile. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you out.’
‘Wave goodbye to the nice lady, Tilly,’ Donny crooned as they passed where Carrie was sitting.
‘’Night, Tilly.’ Carrie smiled at the toddler, suddenly desperately missing her own little girl as Tilly gave her a shy wave. This was a whole different world—grungy and gritty and real—and she was pleased her child would never be exposed to it.
Carrie watched Charlie and Donny walking to the door, their deep voices hushed but reaching her nonetheless.
‘You taking your medication?’ Charlie asked.
‘Of course, Doc. I promise. What about you?’
‘Absolutely. But it’ll be fine, Donny, don’t worry. Really.’
‘I’m so sorry, Doc…’
They walked outside and Carrie couldn’t hear them any longer. Intriguing. Medication for what? Did that have something to do with the tablets she’d seen Charlie taking earlier that day? Sorry about what?
Charlie came back inside and wandered over to stand in front of her. ‘You were great with Tilly. Thanks.’
‘There’d be something wrong if I wasn’t. Little girls are somewhat my specialty these days.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘Still, you didn’t…’
‘What? Choke? Like last night?’
He smiled. ‘I was going to say freeze, but if you prefer choked…’
Carrie smiled. ‘Don’t judge me on what happened last night. I’m afraid I’m just not a clinician.’
But she was so good with Tilly. She’d been scared but he’d also heard compassion in her voice, seen it in the way she’d held the toddler close. And the way she had held that wound last night had been the epitome of professional technique. Maybe she was being too harsh on herself? ‘Really? Why? Did something happen?’
Carrie stood up. She couldn’t talk about this with a stranger. She found it hard enough to discuss with her nearest and dearest. ‘It’s just not me. I’m not…good with people…with patients. Fortunately I found that out early. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’
Carrie was at the door when his words halted her.
‘He died, you know. Three hours after getting to hospital.’
Her hand stilled on the handle. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, and walked out the door.
Charlie ran his finger back and forth along the rolled plastic edge of the chair where she’d been sitting. Quite the conundrum was Dr Carrie Douglas. She’d said she wasn’t good with people yet she’d taken the time to ring the hospital and find out what had happened to the man from last night.
Only the good ones did that.
CHAPTER THREE
BY FRIDAY lunchtime Carrie was looking forward to escaping for two days. The drop-in centre was a very intense place to be. It was full of drifting kids and angry young men and jaded-looking young women. It attracted the drugged, drunk, violent and abusive of all ages. Too many of the faces told a heartbreaking story about the chilling, gritty reality of life on the streets and below the poverty line.
Carrie had just tried to keep out of the way. Charlie had been right. It was utter chaos most days. A crazy three-ring circus. On steroids. It wasn’t her job to get involved. Her job was to complete a report for the hospital board on its riskiest enterprise. To establish the viability of the drop-in centre. And it wasn’t looking good.
So for the rest of the week she’d stayed in the staffroom, tapping away on her laptop, sorting through mounds of paperwork, ignoring the various noises she heard from the other side of the door. The very loud music, the bad language, the punch-ups, the hysterical girls, the angry parents and the police.
