Pump, pump. He was pushing as hard as he’d ever done, needing his muscles to ache and his head to shut up. And Emma damned Hayes still managed to sneak in and wave at him. As if she were saying, ‘Don’t ignore me, I’m not going away.’
Yeah, got that in spades. We work together, and we both need our jobs, love our work, won’t be moving out of the department any time soon. He had to find a way to stop thinking about her all the damned time.
Push harder. The body wasn’t complaining enough yet.
The first outlying houses in Glenorchy came into view as Nixon sped around a long, sweeping corner. He glanced at his watch, pride lifting his mood. Not bad.
Then his phone chirped and dropped his mood back to ground zero.
Ignore it.
Except he was head of the emergency department. That wasn’t an option. He braked hard, the cycle sliding in the loose gravel on the edge of the road as he skidded to a stop.
‘Hello?’ If he sounded grumpy whoever was annoying him might go away.
‘Cameron here. Your Mr Rodgers’s ankle is all put back together with some shiny steel. Yanky’s paying him a visit tomorrow once he’s fully recovered from the surgery.’
Yanky being the resident neurologist. ‘You agree with me?’
‘That our man might have Parkinson’s? Yep, afraid I do,’ Cameron confirmed.
‘That’d knock him off his sleigh if he hadn’t already come a cropper.’
‘Quite a character, isn’t he?’
Nixon asked, ‘So what’s up?’ Cameron wouldn’t have phoned to talk about their patient unless it was urgent.
‘I’m knocking off. Feel up to a beer?’
Nixon’s mouth watered instantly. He couldn’t think of anything better with all the fluid pouring off his body at the moment. ‘Could certainly use one. Only problem is, I’m out at Glenorchy—on the bike.’
He hesitated. He didn’t often drop in for a beer with the guys, but cycling wasn’t banishing Emma from his head. ‘Where will you be?’
‘The Thirsty Pig.’
‘Put one up for me in forty-five. Pick an outside table. I won’t be smelling sweet.’ Nixon stuffed the phone back in its pouch and took off for his destination, eager to get back to town and that cold beer. Just what a bloke needed after a bit of exercise in this heat. And meeting up with the guys gave him a strange sense of belonging as he spun around the end of the road and aimed for Queenstown. Not strange, more like comfortable. A welcome distraction from Emma. Damned good, in fact. It had taken nearly a year, but finally he was getting to know his colleagues outside work, pushing aside the usual hesitation he had about getting too pally with people. Queenstown was working its magic, drawing him in and showing there was more to life than being a great specialist and an aloof relative or friend. Was it Queenstown’s magic or Emma’s?
The front wheel wobbled dangerously and he fought to straighten it up without taking a dive onto the road. Pedalling hard didn’t stop other questions popping up. Had he learned to be reticent from Henry? That’d been nagging him for days.
Focus, man. There’s a beer at the end of this. Think of nothing else.
*
‘Get that down your throat.’ Cameron handed him a condensation-coated bottle moments after he leaned his bike against the outside wall and whipped off his helmet to join the surgeon and Yanky at an outdoor table.
‘That’s pure nectar,’ he said appreciatively after pouring a third of the liquid down his throat. ‘It’s hot out there.’
‘Only if you ride like a madman. Why do you do it?’ Cameron asked. ‘There’re lots of ways of keeping fit and having fun without going hell for leather on two skinny tyres that don’t look strong enough to hold your weight.’
‘He’s taken up kite flying,’ Yanky got in before Nixon could come up with an acerbic reply.
The beer he’d been about to swallow snagged in the back of his throat. ‘I what?’
‘He what?’ Cameron also spluttered, but then he began laughing. ‘Kites? As in those things that are tied to string and lift off the ground only to crash back again, often getting broken in the process? I know I suggested tiddlywinks, but kites? For real?’
Yanky had plenty more to offer. ‘There was a little girl attached to the other end of the string.’
Think I can hear a phone call coming in. At the very least a text saying I’m urgently needed back at work, or any damned place but sitting here with these two comedians.
‘Knew there was a reason I didn’t do drinks with the guys.’
‘Can’t handle the pressure?’ Cameron gave him a shrewd nod. ‘Would that have been a little girl with dark curls and a stunning mother?’
‘Shut up, man.’
Through a roar of laughter, Cameron said, ‘I like it when people take my advice.’ He drained his beer. ‘Your round.’
‘Your advice, your orders.’ Nixon stood up, debating whether to escape or buy some beers. The beer won out. He was parched. Also, if he left here then he’d just go home and for once his swanky house wasn’t at all appealing. It was empty, cold—lonely. Digging his wallet out, he headed inside to the bar.
The guys weren’t done with him. The moment his backside hit the seat he got a grilling.
‘Emma Hayes, eh?’ was Cameron’s opening shot. The man sounded smug.
‘Been seeing her long?’ Yanky wasn’t any better.
‘I am not seeing her.’ Then
what the hell had he been doing following her down to the park after Abbie had told him where to find her? Taking her pulse to see if she was ready to return to work? If any pulse had needed reading then it would’ve been his. It had been out of kilter for days, starting when he took Emma home to the family farm out in Gibbston Valley. Or had it begun its crazy erratic beat earlier when he’d sat beside her hospital bed while she’d slept? Or back on the day she’d sobbed out her fears on his shoulder? The day he’d tried to pull away, and hadn’t quite managed.
‘Why ever not? Emma’s a great lady. A good match for you.’
The beer soured in his mouth. Coming here was a bad idea. ‘I’m not a good match for her.’ He made to push up onto his feet.
Cameron held up his hand. ‘Sorry, mate, just ribbing you. But for the record, I think you are. She’s got history that needs patience and caring and understanding.’
‘She does and all—from someone more settled than me.’
‘I hear her family didn’t run you off the property last week.’ That smirk didn’t suit Cameron. ‘That’s got to be a thumbs-up, if ever there was one.’
Seemed nothing was private around this town. So he’d redirect the discussion, find out what he could. ‘You ever meet the ex?’ One thing he’d learned about this town was everyone knew everyone if they’d grown up here.
‘Stitched him back together once after a brawl he got into and lost.’
‘Hope you went easy on the pain relief.’
‘No comment. It was no surprise he died fighting. He was getting more and more out of control by the time Emma’s family ran him out of town. She did well getting away when she did.’
Nixon’s heart died. Emma had been abused. He’d known that, but was Cameron intimating more had gone on? ‘Just as well the man is dead.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Yanky nodded. ‘Guess it’s my round.’
He mightn’t like how the conversation had started, nor where it had gone, but Nixon was glad he’d joined these two. He was unused to letting his guard down, but they’d taken the choice out of his hands and he wasn’t offended or angry. It felt good to talk about Emma and learn she had so much support. Not that she’d ever ask for help from just anybody, but that it was there was good. The upside of smaller towns, he supposed.