A Nurse In Crisis

‘And what’s his name?’ Aimee had asked, entering into the spirit of the thing.

‘Hers. Calliope.’

‘Felix and Calliope,’ she said. ‘The sort of names one considers calling one’s children, and then doesn’t dare, in suburban Australia, in case they’re teased at school.’

‘Exactly. Will you come?’

‘I’d love to!’

So here they were, watching Felix and the other birds disporting themselves in the still, greenish, dust-covered water of this pond from their viewpoint on the boardwalk bridge that crossed over it. Felix certainly was a handsome fellow, with his long, salmon-pink legs, lethally curved black bill and green and purple iridescent neck and head. He had a white breast with a black back and belly, and when he spread his wings the big white feathers spread like fingers.

Taronga Park had to be one of the world’s most beautiful zoos. Situated on land that sloped down towards the harbour, amidst a jungle of semi-tropical greenery, it had magnificent views from numerous vantage points, taking in the blue-green water and the constant plying to and fro of sailboats and ferries and ships, the black fretwork of the Harbour Bridge in the distance, and that other landmark which could have been a clipper ship in full rig but was, in fact, the Opera House.

‘Almost criminal to leave the place to tourists,’ Marshall commented as they crossed the boardwalk bridge and set off in the direction of the reptiles.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Aimee agreed. ‘I haven’t been here since the children were preteens, and that’s too long. Why are locals, in every part of the world, so blasé about the treats that their home town has to offer?’

‘Inertia?’ he suggested. ‘Our senses and our imaginations get dulled by the daily routine. It’s something I decided to teach myself after Joy’s death…Oh, it’s trite when you say it, but true on a level I didn’t understand before I’d felt that grief. To strive to live each day, not merely exist. I brought some cousins from England here several years ago, and that’s when I decided to get involved with the place.’

‘Zoos need people like you,’ she told him. ‘I’m afraid I…do coast a bit perhaps. I have my garden, the children and now my work. But nothing else that I’m really energetic about, or committed to.’

‘Nonsense, Aimee!’ he said. ‘You seem like one of the most alive people I know, not openly passionate about things like my daughter is, bless her, but game for whatever comes your way—like the skiing on the weekend. And you’re thoughtful, perceptive—’

‘Stop!’ she protested. ‘I wasn’t fishing for that.’

‘I know you weren’t,’ he said, a little gruffly, ‘but I wanted to say it all the same.’

He looked across at her, a fresh sea breeze ruffling his hair for a moment before they passed into the interior display of reptiles, and she couldn’t miss the heat in his expression. It made her insides dissolve like melting chocolate to realise that he was happy to show what he felt this way.

She let her own gaze linger on features that were starting to be so familiar and important. His blue eyes with the laugh lines at their corners. A straight line of a mouth that could curve to express so many subtle nuances of humour and opinion—quizzical interest, amused irony, studious patience.

And then he slipped his hand into hers and all she could think about was that, the smooth touch of his palm engulfing her fingers, his shoulder nudging hers as they walked and the dry, pleasant timbre of his English voice.

They stayed at the zoo for nearly three hours, then he dropped her home to change, picking her up again an hour and a half later to take her to dinner. They’d arranged this meal at one of Sydney’s most exclusive harbour-side restaurants more than three weeks ago, before Marshall had even suggested the skiing trip that had taken place last weekend.

Thinking back to the cautious way Marshall had explained, back at the beginning of the month, that the booking for the restaurant needed to be made well in advance for a Friday night, Aimee marvelled at how far their connection to each other had advanced in so short a time.

Then he hadn’t been certain that they’d both still want an intimate dinner like this three weeks into the future. Now she felt a rich wash of pleasure just at being with him like this, loving the way he shared his feelings about the working week…and even the way he brazenly stole one of her oysters fifteen minutes later when their appetisers arrived. He would never have done that—and he wouldn’t have grinned like a little boy as he’d done it—if they hadn’t felt so right in each other’s company.

It was a magic, sophisticated evening after the frivolity of their trip to the zoo. He wore grey—a dark grey suit, with a steel-grey shirt and tie, simply cut but with a quiet distinction of style that could only have come from one of Sydney’s best men’s outfitters.

She loved dressing up for him, matching his subtle elegance, wearing clingy, simply cut black, with her pale, silvery hair folded and pinned high on her head. She’d had to ransack her jewellery box for things she hadn’t needed—or bothered…to wear for years. A necklace of silver and garnets which had belonged to her grandmother. Matching earrings. A bracelet engraved with a subtle, filigree design.

Over dessert and the last of the white wine, Marsh started playing with the bracelet, rolling it around her wrist with his finger so that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers. It made her want more—more of his touch and his company, more of his conversation, which had all the seasoning of a mature man’s knowledge and experience, yet none of the rigidity and complacency that some of her women friends complained of in their husbands and which Alan had started to display when he’d reached his late fifties.

Perhaps it was because Marshall had been widowed while still in his thirties. His two children had been his closest companions, closest to his heart, and he’d retained their vigour and freshness of outlook. He’d said something about that time in his life that afternoon—that it had been Joy’s death which had taught him how to live.

His own thoughts had been travelling along a sober path as well.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier today, at the zoo, about sacrifice,’ he said, as their dessert plates were taken away, and she was pleased that he’d remembered their conversation so clearly and had thought it important enough to mull over.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re right,’ he told her. ‘Looking back on my experience, sacrifice is more common when there’s a change or a crisis involving people who care about each other. Knowing how her daughter feels, I wonder if Mrs Deutschkron will do what she thinks is best for herself, or what she thinks is best for Marianne.’

‘You won’t try to influence how she decides?’

‘I hope not. It’s hard. A doctor has to try to present the options in a neutral, factual way so that it truly is the patient’s decision. But if you do know your own opinion, it’s sometimes almost impossible not to let that colour the way you talk about it.’

‘And do you have an opinion in this case?’

Marshall sighed, and let his fingers trail down to rest across the back of her hand. She felt his heat begin to rise all the way up her arm. ‘I’d be inclined to say, “Leave it, and enjoy the time you have left”, but if she decides otherwise, I’ll do everything I can to help her retain her quality of life during the treatment and afterwards, as will her oncologist, of course.’

‘It sounds as if that’s all you can do.’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry we’re still taking about it.’

‘Not still. Again. We haven’t talked about it for hours. And it’s fine, Marsh. I’d hate to think you’d edit your conversation out of a desire to spare me,’ she told him, meaning it.

‘Making sacrifices of your own?’ he teased. ‘Putting up with me to that extent?’

‘It’s a thankless job, but someone has to do it!’

They both laughed.

Outside her house, half an hour later, he left the engine of his car running. Listening to its subtle purr, Aimee began to shape her mouth into a polite thank you, before an equally polite goodnight. Then she rebelled. That wasn’t what she wanted. Not tonight, after the deepening connection created by the time they’d spent together. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, and the weekend lay ahead.

‘Turn it off, Marsh, please,’ she begged him boldly. ‘I’d like you to come in.’

‘Would you?’ A light flared in his eyes, and there was a little catch in his voice.

‘We didn’t have coffee at the restaurant,’ she hedged, her courage already slipping. ‘We could talk a bit more, and—’

But he hadn’t heard this last part. The engine was off. He’d opened his door. He was through it, out of the car and bouncing onto his feet. Oh, heavens! Her heart started to beat faster and she was battling to suppress her grin of relief and pleasure. Courage? If she didn’t have it, he certainly did!

He’d wanted her to say that! Wanted it rather badly, if the swiftness of his response was any guide. And he didn’t care that she knew it.

Aimee was laughing as she got out, coming round the front of his streamlined car. And she was planning to say something clever and tender, like there was no point in his getting to the front door first because she had the key, but he didn’t give her the chance to say anything at all.

Instead, he turned suddenly and she cannoned into his mouth, then felt his arms wrapping her in a hug like a huge, friendly bear. She’d never known a kiss to get off to such a flying start, and for the first half-minute of it she was still laughing. Laughing against his lips, then with her head thrown back as he made a trail of moist fire from the edge of her jaw to the top of her collar-bone.

‘What’s funny?’ he growled, pulling off his glasses and sticking them heedlessly in his hip pocket, then glowering at her.

‘You’re so good at this!’

‘I should hope so,’ he growled again, and came back to her mouth for more. Much more. A hungry devouring of her that was so decisive it made her limbs as weak as water. ‘Admittedly, I haven’t been practising lately, but—’

She laughed again, and he frowned. ‘No, seriously, Aimee, is there something that—?’