Page 22 of Prognosis Bad Timing

For once the brooding teenagers had been completely driven out of the clinic.

‘There’s a lot of people out there,’ she said, leaning against the doorframe of the treatment room where Charlie was setting up.

Charlie glanced in her direction. He was relieved to see she was back in her jacket. The full power suit reminded him why she was there. Which was what he needed after seeing her languorous stretch in the staffroom.

‘Angela makes sure the immunisation clinic has a high local profile.’

‘You were right about her, she is indispensable.’

Despite Angela’s suspiciousness around her, Carrie had been more than impressed over the course of the week. The receptionist was efficient, ran the place with military precision and could stare down a sullen teenager or stoned user better than the scariest sergeant major.

Not one regular dared to give Angela any lip.

Charlie gasped dramatically. ‘Me, right? Can I get that in writing?’

She smiled. ‘Don’t let it go to your head.’

Too late. Charlie had spent the last five nights with her and her damn pinstriped suits in his head.

He cleared his throat. ‘You handle the paperwork, I’ll give the injections.’ He grabbed a box of antiseptic wipes. ‘Angela has all the cards out for those she’s expecting. They’ll be in alphabetical order. For any drop-ins we can access their information through the practitioner portal at the national immunisation database website. Angela already has it up on the screen.’

He brushed past her, ignoring the brief press of flesh, and strode to the desk in the waiting area, demonstrating quickly how to access the information she’d need and how to update each patient’s records.

‘Weigh the babies if that hasn’t been done in the last month.’ He pointed to nearby scales.

‘Right.’ Carrie hoped she sounded present as her body busily processed the riot in her cells caused from the fleeting contact of his body. “Weigh the babies - check.”

Easy. She could do this. It was hardly practising medicine.

He stopped and gave her a searching look. ‘Are you sure?’

Carrie placed her hand on her hip and lifted her chin. ‘I have two degrees. I think I can manage some data entry and a set of scales.’

Her stance emphasised the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip and her haughty tone left Charlie the complete opposite of chastened. ‘Right, then, let’s get started before the mob starts to revolt.’

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Three hours later Carriewas relieved to see they had finally broken the back of the queue. Three agonising hours of watching Charlie cluck, cuddle, soothe and generally work magic with every baby, toddler and child in the room.

And their mothers.

He’d even managed to engage the odd bored, rather-be-shooting-hoops dad who had been dragged along, as well.

He was a natural with kids. They responded to him with that typical childlike exuberance. He pulled faces and put on funny voices and teased and joked with the older children. He wiped away their tears and gave out ‘I’ve Been Beary Brave Today’ teddy-bear-shaped stickers which quickly produced smiles.

She remembered him saying that his wife hadn’t wanted children. She also remembered getting the distinct impression that he wasn’t keen on them, either. Which was a shame — he really had a way with little people. He’d certainly won Dana’s heart with his Sleeping Beauty comment. She hadn’t stopped talking about him since.

Carrie’s mind drifted to her daughter. And then, as usual, to Dana’s father. Why couldn’t Rupert have been more like Charlie? The horrible night she had told him about being pregnant, the night he had broken her heart, was never far from her mind. It had been a particularly awful time, coming hot on the heels of her disintegrating medical career.

She had loved him and he had rejected her and his baby during the worst time of her life, and with such vehemence, such disdain, part of her had never recovered.

He’d become engaged shortly after that and had moved overseas to practise in London. But his betrayal had stayed close to her heart. As long as Carrie lived, she never wanted to be in a position where someone could destroy her again.

Love gave human beings extraordinary power and she was never handing that power over again.

She shut the website down with a vehement click, annoyed that she had let her thoughts drift, and surveyed the now empty waiting room. Her feet ached from constant getting up and down and walking back and forth. Her fashionable three-inch stilettos weren’t meant for movement. Sitting at a desk, yes. Going back and forth, no.

Easing out of Angela’s chair, Carrie flopped down on one of the squishy lounges, kicking her shoes off temporarily and wriggling her toes. She had to get back to the laptop, she was three hours behind, but for a brief moment she let her head fall back and sighed.

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