English Doctor, Italian Bride

‘I don’t need to for a skinny thing like you. It’ll just pop back in.’ Still she could see the towel over the trolley that Deb would pull on and nerves started to catch up with her as she remembered the pain she’d been in.

‘It’s going to hurt!’

‘It won’t hurt at all. We’ll wait till the sedative has taken effect, and anyway,’ Hugh reassured her, ‘it’s a brilliant amnesiac—you won’t remember a thing afterwards!’

‘Your mum’s on her way pet,’ Deb added, but that only made things worse. The next batch of tears for the day came pouring out as she thought of her mother on the way.

‘She doesn’t need this!’ Bonita sobbed into the paper towel Hugh ripped off the dispenser and handed her, ‘what with dad being so sick and everything… And it’s tourist time; the shop’s really busy at the moment—’

‘Hey!’ Hugh cut off the dramatics. ‘This could be exactly what she needs. You’re going to have a few weeks off with this shoulder—it might help having you around right now.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Your dad will love having you home…’ Hugh soothed. ‘OK…’ He dragged a stool over with his foot and carried on chatting away as he connected the syringe to the bung, talking to calm her down as he would to any nervous patient. ‘Let’s get this medicine into you. Now, just think nice thoughts—it will all work out. I know things are difficult at home right now, but this could end up being the best thing that ever…’ His voice was sort of slowing down, his mouth moved at normal speed but the words were starting to sound jumbled. She could see Deb walking over and talking to Rita who had come to the theatre door, could see Hugh staring down at her as he quietly and calmly waited for the sedative to take effect, knew that she was OK, because Deb was still happily chatting to Rita and Hugh didn’t look remotely fazed.

He was looking at her again, his eyes holding hers, observing her carefully.

He really did have beautiful eyes, Bonita thought—though green didn’t really accurately describe them. Maybe hazel would be a better choice, because just at the inner rim of the iris there was a swirl of gold. He was smiling at her, a sort of soft, gentle smile that she hadn’t seen in a long time, a patient, kind smile that she remembered of old.

The one that had always made her tummy curl into itself, Bonita thought dreamily.

And even if he was a bastard at times, even if it had been so hard to work with him in Emergency, to see him with her family, these past few months, it was as if all the mist that had surrounded them was finally clearing and just the simple truth remained.

‘I do love you!’

She could see him frown just a touch, see him glance up to where Deb was still chatting, then he gave her a sort of patronising smile. She could feel his hand patting her in a sort of ‘there, there’ motion, as if she had no idea what she was saying, as if she couldn’t possibly know how she felt. She knew she was drifting off and suddenly for Bonita it was imperative that he get it, imperative that she make herself absolutely clear. She tried to lift her head off the pillow, only it was too heavy. All she was able to do was look at him and hopefully the urgency in her eyes might convey this imperative point, as she sensationally elaborated.

‘Hugh—I’ve always loved you.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘ALL done!’ Deb’s smiling face was the first thing Bonita saw as she awoke, her voice soothing as she welcomed Bonita back to the world. ‘Everything’s back where it should be so you should be feeling a lot more comfortable. For now just have a little rest!’

In stages she remembered: the tackle at netball; the journey here; Hugh… She cringed at the scene she’d made when he’d tried to get the IV in and cringed again when she remembered that she’d been sick.

Not that Hugh noticed her cringe now—he barely even glanced at her as he spoke.

‘Wiggle your fingers for me!’ he snapped, deigning to give her nothing more than a cursory glance as he slipped his fingers into the navy shoulder immobiliser and again checked her radial pulse. ‘How does it feel?’

‘Fine.’ Bonita blinked in surprise, because it actually did feel fine. Staring around the familiar room from where she lay, she carried on wiggling her fingers, even rearranged herself a touch on the pillows, and it didn’t hurt a bit! ‘Did it go back OK?’

‘Easily!’ Hugh gave a tight smile. ‘It popped straight back.’

‘How long was I out for?’ Bonita asked, but Hugh wasn’t listening. His duties over, he was back to being his usual abrasive, rude self where she was concerned. He didn’t even attempt to answer her question, just filled out her notes.

‘You were just out for ten minutes or so.’ Deb filled in the silence. ‘Everything went really well.’

‘You’ve got a visitor!’ Rita popped her head around the theatre door, closely followed by Bonita’s mother’s rather striking head of curls.

‘Oh, Bonny! What on earth happened?” Carmel Azetti was one hundred per cent Australian but, having been married to Luigi for forty-four years, some Italianisms had certainly rubbed off. Seeing her daughter, pale, drained and looking wretched, Carmel came marching over with her arms outstretched. In fact, as Bonita, mindful of her newly placed shoulder, cringed on the trolley, she thought it was odd that the one time her mother might just display some affection, she didn’t want her to!

‘Gently Carmel…’ As if Hugh had applied brakes, Carmel came to a stop in the nick of time and Hugh caught Carmel into a hug of his own, which was probably the last thing he wanted to do, given her mother was dressed in grubby jeans and a T-shirt, with even grubbier boots, and she reeked to high heaven of horses! Not that Hugh seemed to mind but, then, he’d always adored her mother—it was the daughter he had issues with!

‘Sorry to call you to come to the hospital like that. It must have given you a fright.’

‘It did,’ Carmel admitted. ‘Mind you, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, three sons and then Calamity Jane here…’ She gave an exasperated sigh as she stared over at her daughter. ‘After you knocked yourself out last year, you said you weren’t going to play netball this season.’

‘The team were short a player!’ Bonita grumbled. ‘They’d have had to forfeit the game otherwise.’

‘Well, I wish they had!’ Carmel sighed, her brief display of affection soon wearing off as she reverted to her rather more usual brusque self. Bonita couldn’t blame her. Her mother had a terminally ill husband, a winery to run, horses to exercise and take care of, and now she had an incapacitated daughter to deal with.

‘I’m sorry, Mum!’ Bonita said. ‘I just didn’t think—’

‘You never do!’ Carmel snapped.

‘Well, I’m going to have to leave you ladies. I’ve got one more patient to wrap up and then I really must get going. Andrew will see you tomorrow at ten a.m. at the fracture clinic,’ Hugh instructed, ‘just to check everything’s OK. Then your GP can take over your care.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You need to be reviewed tomorrow!’ Hugh clipped.

‘It feels OK,’ Bonita insisted, knowing how busy Sundays were for her mother, how busy every day was for her right now, but Hugh wasn’t having any of it.

‘It feels fine because while you were under I injected local anaesthetic into your shoulder to help you through tonight, but you ought to be seen when it’s worn off—to make sure there isn’t a trapped nerve or anything. Which,’ he added, just to make her blush for her carryon before, ‘you yourself were worried about.’

He wasn’t even pretending to be nice to her now. He just stalked off with her notes to see his other patient.

Of course he wouldn’t have sat twiddling his thumbs waiting for her to come back from X-Ray. The place was busy so naturally he’d help out, Bonita thought as Carmel tried to help her into jeans that felt way too small. Bonita didn’t even attempt to put on the T-shirt.

‘I’m in an arm immobilizer, Mum!’ Bonita grumbled. ‘How would I even get it on? I’m just going to have to wear the gown home.’

“Well, excuse me for trying,’ Carmel snapped back as she did up Bonita’s netball runners. ‘I’m a farmer’s wife, not a nurse!’

‘I need another gown,’ Bonita said, ‘to cover my bottom—’

‘Just hold it!’ Carmel said briskly. ‘We’re not borrowing two! I’ll wash it and you can give it back tomorrow when I bring you for your appointment.’

‘I can get a taxi tomorrow,’ Bonita offered, chewing her bottom lip. ‘You’ve got church.’

‘I’ll just have to go to evening Mass,’ Carmel said, trying, but not that hard, to make out that it didn’t matter, that Bonita wasn’t this massive inconvenience that had suddenly landed on her.

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

‘Stop it!’ Carmel said firmly. ‘I can deal with anything except your tears! Let’s just get you home.’

Home!

Bonita knew Carmel didn’t mean the little flat she shared with Emily. She shuffled along the corridor, clutching the gap in the hospital gown for dear life. It really didn’t help that all her colleagues came out to say goodbye and Carmel seized the opportunity for a quick word with Hugh, who was on his way out with Amber.

‘You are coming to the barbeque, I hope?’ Bonita’s heart skipped a beat as she walked into the end of the conversation. ‘You too,’ Carmel added to the surly face standing beside him. ‘Nothing fancy, just the annual Azetti barbeque, too much food, too much wine…’

‘I’m actually working that weekend Carmel,’ Hugh politely declined, ‘though I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Well, please, do!’ A straight shooter, it would never have entered her mother’s head to read between the lines, Bonita realized. She wouldn’t even guess that Hugh was trying to politely wriggle out of it. And why would he want to come? It may be a tradition but it had been years since Hugh had been here. He’d been in London, had spent a year in France, for goodness’ sake. As if he and Amber were hankering for a sausage in bread and the whole circus of her family. ‘We’d like to see you there—especially with Luigi not being well.’ For a second so fleeting it was barely there, Bonita could have sworn she saw her mother falter, knew, because they all knew, that this would be the last Azetti barbeque with Luigi—not that she wavered long. ‘You wait in the foyer,’ Carmel instructed Bonita. ‘I’ll bring the ute round.’

Why would she expect anything less that the ute today? Bonita thought with a sigh as she sat on the little bench in the foyer and awaited her chariot. The whole day had been a complete embarrassment from start to bitter end, so why would her mother spare her blushes by bringing the car? Oh, no, bring out the shabby ute with the dog tied in the back and spades and Eskies and goodness knows what else piled up high. She could almost hear the banjo playing as she climbed on in, could see the slight smirk on Amber’s lips as they drove past in Hugh’s sleek silver sports car on their way to a sumptuous dinner and endless champagne.

‘A nice cup of tea.’ Carmel jerked the Ute into first gear. ‘That will soon fix you up.’

Home.

Seeing the cellar door sales sign and the endless rows of vines catching the sun as they drove up the driveway, Bonita felt her stomach turn over. Oh, she’d come home almost every other day since her father’s condition had worsened, which was more than her brothers did. Ricky and Marco were partners in an equine veterinary practice out near Bendigo, which was a good couple of hours away, and with their busy schedules they couldn’t get away that often. Her brother Paul, a surgical registrar at the same hospital where Bonita worked, seemed permanently busy these days—only managing a whirlwind visit to his parents once or twice a week. This left the everyday things like doctors’ appointments and shopping for Bonita to deal with, and though she didn’t mind in the least, was glad to help out her parents as much as she could, living here again was going to be an entirely different matter.

As she gingerly lowered herself from the ute, sniffed at the familiar scent of fermenting grapes, heard the horses whinnying, saw the endless rows of vines—despite the abundance of space, she could almost feel the walls closing in around her, a nervous thud of recognition as her mother scolded her to hurry up, and not for the first time since they’d commenced the journey home, Bonita wondered if she was up to it.

Dinner she could handle.

Living here she wasn’t so sure about.

‘Hi, Dad!’ He looked so small in the chair, her big strapping dad just this shadow now. His hair was still as black as hers, but it was limp and brushed back from his hollow face. Making her way over, she kissed him hello and with her good arm cuddled him, horrified at his frailty, that even in the couple of days since she’d seen him he seemed to have lost yet more weight. His cheeks were sunken, his wide shoulders rounded now, and she could feel tears welling in her eyes. But catching her mother’s warning look, Bonita blinked them back. ‘I’m sorry about all this, Dad.’

‘Never be sorry! It’s good you are home.’

He was so delighted to see her, delighted even that she’d had an accident if it meant that it brought her home, and it felt good to sit down, to sink into her regular spot on the comfy sofa, all the drama of the day catching up with her as the drugs wore off. Her shoulder was starting to hurt a bit now, and Bonita was touched when her mother made a bit of a fuss, brought her a mug of tea and insisted that she put her feet up, even helped her when it proved a bit difficult, nudging a few cushions behind Bonita, before giving her the brew.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Bonita mused, relaxing into familiar surroundings. The cat jumped onto her lap and purred loudly. Surely this was way better than trying to recuperate at the flat and feeling like an unwelcome guest as Emily’s new boyfriend helped himself to the contents of the fridge. They’d shared a flat for a couple of years now and it had worked well till Emily had broken up with her long-term partner and Bonita had broken up with Bill.

No, a few weeks at home might be just the tonic she needed.

‘Hugh looked after her!” Carmel said proudly, wrapping a rug around Luigi’s knees and pouring out his medicine. With Bonita in her immobilizer, the front room resembled the dayroom at an old people’s home.

‘As he should!’ Luigi nodded.

‘No, he was off duty,’ Carmel explained. ‘On his way to a wedding reception and he stayed to make sure Bonita was OK. By the looks of things he’s back with that girl he used to date before he left Australia, that pretty radiographer…what’s her name, Bonny?’

‘Amber.’ Bonita tried to keep her voice light, but the single word seemed to catch in her throat.

‘That’s the one.’ Carmel nodded. ‘Maybe she’s the reason he came back.’

‘Maybe he just likes living here!’ Bonita retorted. ‘It’s not as if he’s got any family back in the UK.’

‘Poor pet!’ Carmel always fussed over Hugh, in a way she never did over Bonita. ‘We should ask him to eat with us more often—he can come and have a nice meal when he exercises Ramone.’

‘I’m sure he’s got other things to be getting on with,’ Bonita snapped as her mother shot her yet another warning look, but Bonita wasn’t about to be deflected, her own disappointment slipping out as she stated the obvious. ‘He didn’t even want to come to the barbeque.’

‘Hugh’s not coming?’ Her father frowned and instantly Bonita felt guilty for upsetting him, but, hell, what did they expect? As if Hugh was going to bring Amber to one of their get-togethers.

‘He’s working, darling,’ Carmel said, smiling at her husband while simultaneously freezing Bonita with a look! ‘You know how busy he is, but he did say he’d try to come.’

Why did they constantly make excuses for him? Bonita thought, more than a little rattled now.

It was as if the fact his mother had died when he was young and he’d been raised in a boarding school was excuse enough for Hugh to pick and choose when he turned up, excuse enough to bed half his fellow medical students and then work his way through the rest of the hospital personnel.

Every exploit, every broken heart, every late or non-arrival had been brushed off and forgiven by her brothers and parents.

Well, all bar one, Bonita thought, closing her eyes on the beginning of a thumping headache. She wondered how forgiving her father would be if he knew how badly the fabulous Hugh had treated his own daughter.

‘How long did Hugh say you’d be off work for?’ Carmel asked despite Bonita’s closed eyes.

‘I’ve got two weeks in this contraption, and then it all depends. Another two to four weeks…’ Bonita let out a weary sigh and opened her eyes as an impossible thought dawned. ‘After my knee last year and everything, I’ve only got five days’ sick leave left.’

‘Well, you can’t go back before you’re ready—they’ll understand that!’

‘I know,’ Bonita replied, ‘it’s just…’

‘And you don’t need to worry about money. It’s not as if you’re not going to be going out much or anything.’

‘I know!’ Bonita said, irritated, because her mother didn’t get it, thinking of the rent that would still have to be paid, half the electricity bill that was tucked behind the fridge, and the fact sick pay didn’t give shift allowance.

‘We’ll sort it out a bit later!’ Carmel broke into her thoughts, gave Bonita a tired smile that showed maybe she did get it after all, and that they’d talk about it away from her father.

‘You can do some work here,’ Luigi said later, when after a doze on the sofa they had dinner and, with far less gusto that Bonita, he tried to work his way through some home-made mushroom soup. ‘You can work on the till.’

‘She’s not going to be able to work the till and pack bags with one arm,’ Carmel huffed. ‘She can’t possibly work at the shop.’

‘She can answer the phone!’ Luigi said.

‘What—and tell them to hold while she puts down the receiver to write things down? A one-armed helper in this place is as useless as tits on a bull!’ Carmel said, in her usual manner. ‘And she can’t help with the wine-tasting, because she won’t be able to pour.’

‘I have got one arm!’ Bonita said indignantly. ‘I’m sure I can manage the wine-tasting!’

‘Are you going to call me down from the stables to pull a cork?’ Carmel snapped. ‘And, anyway, you don’t even like wine! The customers will know you have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘So you’re basically saying that I’m useless!’ Bonita bristled, hoping for a dash of guilt from her mother, not surprised when it never came.

‘Pretty much—yes!’ Carmel responded, then turned to her husband. ‘You’ll just have to keep her company, Luigi—stop her moping about the place.’

Taking another gulp of her soup, Bonita was about to give her mother another smart reply, another surly Sorry even, but her spoon paused midway, and it was there again, something in her mother’s eyes that she’d seen at the hospital.

What was it Hugh had said as she’d been going under?

Dipping buttered bread into the soup, Bonita tried to recall, but it was like chasing a dream, tiny little fragments of conversation, like scooping water with a net, the words slipping away…

‘It might help… The best thing that ever…’ She could hear those words again, hear his voice lulling her as she had drifted off.

Was her mother, in her no-nonsense way, letting them both off the hook?

Telling them both that there wasn’t a thing she could do?

Maybe just her being here with her father would be a help on its own….

‘Have you heard from your young man?’ Luigi asked, pushing away his nearly full plate.

‘He isn’t my “young man” any more.’ Bonita smiled. ‘It’s over between Bill and I, Dad.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Luigi checked. ‘You were together a long time. Maybe he’ll change his mind.’

‘He’s not going to change his mind.’

‘Then he’s a fool,’ Luigi said darkly. ‘What sort of man would finish with his girlfriend at a time like this?’

‘Come on, Gig,’ Carmel interrupted, calling him by his pet name, ‘have a little bit more soup.’

It was the closest, Bonita realised, they’d ever come to admitting that her father was so ill and, yes, it was a question that plagued her family and colleagues—how could Bill have even thought about breaking up with Bonita now, when she had so much going on in her life? Only Bill wasn’t the bastard they all made out. Bill, as it turned out, knew her almost better than she knew herself.

Bill, ending it when he had, had solved a massive dilemma for Bonita—just not one she could ever reveal.

‘Bill’s a nice guy, Dad. It just didn’t work out between us, we weren’t right for each other.’

‘And it took you three years to work that out!’ Luigi huffed. ‘He should have done the decent thing by you ages ago.’

‘Why don’t you have a bath?’ Carmel said, and this time Bonita was grateful for the interruption. According to her father’s rules she and Bill should have long since been married—that they had been dating for three years and there wasn’t even a ring to hurl at Bill was proving impossible for her father to understand. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

Her mother bathing her was not an option, and Bonita immediately shook her head.

‘I’ll have a wash at the sink.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Carmel said, picking up the plates, trying hard to pretend it didn’t matter that Luigi had only managed two spoonfuls of soup. ‘But, I’m warning you, I won’t have time to help you in the morning. If you want to go for your appointment half-washed, then it’s up to you! Oh, and by the way, your hair smells of vomit!’

A farmer’s wife she may be, but Carmel would—Bonita realised as they headed to the hallowed sanctum of her parents’ room, which was on the other side of the house to the ‘children’s’ bedrooms—actually have made a very good nurse.

‘We’re all set up for it in here!’ Carmel smiled as she flicked on the light in her bathroom. There was a little stool perched in the bath and a hand-rail the occupational therapist had arranged to be inserted, along with a handheld shower. Even groggy from the day and with one arm out of action, Bonita, could, in fact, have a decent wash.

Carmel would have made a lovely nurse actually because when for the first time she could really remember Bonita had to strip in front of her mother, instead of saying it didn’t matter and she’d seen it all before, Carmel held up a towel. Then, once Bonita was seated, Carmel gave her a moment before she dealt with the practical and covered her daughter’s arm with a large garbage bag. Then she chatted away, wiping imaginary spots off the shower as her daughter washed.

‘Do you want me to wash your hair for you?’ Carmel offered.

‘It will dry all fluffy!’

‘If you rub it dry and don’t put some product in, it will.’ Carmel gave a half-smile. Bonita looked at her mum’s salt-and-pepper coloured corkscrew curls, as long and as wild as her own dark ones. ‘Curly hair is something I know about.’

‘OK, then,’ Bonita said, closing her eyes and letting the wretched day go as her mother massaged shampoo into her scalp.

And it did feel nice to be clean, nice to be wrapped in a big towel as her mother sorted out something for her to wear to bed.

‘This will do!’

‘It will not!’ Bonita baulked at the vast flannelette nightdress her mother held up. ‘It’s hideous.’

‘I know!’ Carmel agreed. ‘Ricky bought it me for Christmas.’

‘Yuk!’ Bonita pulled a face, wondering what on earth had possessed her elder brother.

‘What about this?’ Carmel proffered another creation, and Bonita was about to pull a face but realised it was one of her own gifts that she had given her mother a couple of birthdays ago.

‘Wait till you get to my age.’ Carmel grinned, popping it over her head and helping her pull through her good arm. ‘I’ve got a drawer full of nightdresses—I don’t even wear a nightdress.’

‘Mum! Too much information, thanks!’

Hideous nightdress or not, it was nice to sit in her mother’s room. Carmel didn’t rub her hair dry as she had when Bonita had been a child but instead patted it then put through half a bottle of anti-frizz. It was actually nice to talk to her mother.