Page 14 of A Country Practice Christmas
‘Rest, ice, compression, elevation. At the five-day mark, if you’ve got no pain while walking, then you’ll know it was just a strain. We can start some gentle stretching exercises then. In three weeks it’ll be like it never happened.’
‘Elevation. So, up a ladder will be fine, then?’
‘Funny. No ladders.’
‘That might be a problem. The pub has the Twilight Markets coming up, and I’ve barely started hanging the Christmas decorations.’
‘Outsource it. Isn’t there a committee running that?’
‘Well, sure, but the average age of the committee members would be pushing seventy.’
‘Sounds like something you’ll have to figure out.’ She paused, then said abruptly: ‘Does Carol seem okay to you?’
He blinked. ‘Sure. If you’re wanting me to agree with your mother that she can’t look after herself anymore, then sorry.’
‘She told you why I’m here.’
‘Yep.’ He grinned slightly. ‘Me and Carol are pretty tight.’
‘Something happened this morning. Something that made me wonder if Carol’s got more going on than a wonky hip.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m not sure if I should say. Maybe you can ask her if she wants to talk about anything next time you see her.’
Mysterious. ‘Okay.’
They were silent, so he closed his eyes and forced himself to ask the question he’d been avoiding.
‘Worse case scenario: what if I’m still limping after day five?’
‘Then you go get an MRI. There must be a hospital nearby with medical imaging. Lismore, I suppose.’
Yeah. That was why he hadn’t wanted to ask.
‘Nearly done. Now, bend your knee while I rotate your leg. I want to be sure your injury is limited to the belly of the muscle before we abandon that MRI plan entirely.’
Those fingers. She wasn’t digging into the sore mass anymore. Up-upagain, only this time he was lying face upwards and while her eyes weren’t on his—she was gazing off into the hibiscus hedge, her mind clearly on what her fingers were up to—his eyes were on hers, and he was tryingnotto focus on what her fingers were up to. This was absolutely not the sort of activity that felt like it should be occurring between two almost strangers.
Chapter 7
Carol was nowhere to be found when Jodie returned home. Had she taken the opportunity to have a lie-down while Jodie was at the pub? The morning had been, after all, quite eventful. Jodie had been finding crystals from the Clarence Gardens sugar bowl in her clothing ever since.
But no. A spidery cursive note on the kitchen table read:I’ll be at the Clarence Museum and Historical Society if you need me. Just down the street. Look for the double-storey building with the 1879 plaque out front. Carol xoxo
Hmm. The house was quiet, just the old clock on the kitchen wall tick-tock-ticking its way through the afternoon—a metronome for the steady breath of daytime sleep.
Did Jodie want to have a lie-down? That’s what she’d be doing back home in Katoomba. She’d done more today than in months, if you discounted the long drive, but—and she was as surprised by this as she imagined everyone in her inner circle would be—she feltalive.
Was it leftover adrenaline from bearing witness to the war that had been unleashed in the hushed blandness of the Clarence Gardens residents’ kitchenette? Or was it, perhaps, the satisfaction of coming to a solid diagnosis in the impromptu physiotherapy session on the picnic table?
Whatever it was, this upswing of vitality was not, absolutelynot, the result of laying her hands on Hero Boy.
Of that she was almost certain.
Jodie’s memories of the short main street of Clarence consisted of chocolate milkshakes from the old-fashioned supermarket, vanilla slices from the bakery and a whitish, yellow-toothed, mean-eyed mutt that had spent its days in the shade of the fuel bowser at the servo, on the lookout for teenage girls to chase.
The dog, she was guiltily pleased to note, was gone, but the bakery window was still chockers with treats like sticky buns and slices and lamingtons. Carol’s house was just a few doors from where the shops began; the other end of what could loosely be termed ‘downtown’ was marked by a motel swinging itsVacancysign about a hundred metres further along the road. Not much chance of missing this Historical Society then.
