want to drink?”
Crap. I don’t want to talk about it. But Gavin has been so open and honest with me, it’d be cruel not to give him a little bit about my past. “I hated how I felt when I woke up the following morning,” I say. “I hated who I was when I was...” I feel a lump form in my throat. “I just didn’t like who I was.”
Gavin can obviously sense my discomfort and reaches out and takes my hand. He doesn’t ask me any more questions. We sit out on the balcony in silence and watch the city below us shimmer.
*****
Mikey is calling out to me. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Sydney, Monday night. Remembering that I’m sharing a suite with Mike, I throw on a robe and head to Mikey’s room. He’s lying down, curled up in the foetal position. He’s crying.
“My tummy hurts,” he says.
I go to his side and press my hand to his forehead. “Damn.” He’s hot, very hot. I pull the blankets off him and run back to my room for my small first aid kit. It has a thermometer in it.
I grab the first aid kit and my phone, slip on a pair of track pants and a jumper. I have a feeling we’re going to be making a trip to the hospital.
Mikey’s temperature is 41.8 degrees Celsius.
That’s not good.
That’s really not good.
My heart starts to race as I pick up the phone next to his bed and dial reception. “This is Lyndsay from the penthouse apartment.”
“Yes Miss Griffin,” the receptionist says.
I wonder how she knows my surname but don’t dwell on it. “I need a taxi to go straight to the Alfred Hospital immediately.” I start to scroll through my list of contacts for Mike’s number.
“Miss Griffin, if it’s an emergency, I could call an ambulance for you?”
I look down at Mikey. He’s really not doing so well. “How long will I have to wait?”
“Not long, I can assure you of that.”
“Okay, yes please. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
I tap my screen to call Mike. It rings before going to message bank. “Mike, it’s Lyndsay. Mikey is sick and I’m taking him to the hospital. Please call me.”
I lift Mikey into my arms and without giving thought to anything else, I head toward reception.
I only wait a minute before an ambulance shows up. The male paramedic takes Mikey from my arms and puts him on the trolley bed. I scramble into the back of the ambulance and sit on a small stool next to Mikey. The paramedic is talking to me, asking me questions about symptoms. I answer them as best I can. Mikey is still crying.
When we get to the hospital, I’m asked a series of questions about Mike. Full name, date of birth, Medicare number. Health Insurance information. And I can’t answer any of it. I don’t know this child. I shouldn’t be here. All my training and experience suddenly seems pointless as I stare down at the little boy in front of me, who is still clutching at his belly.
“I’m just the babysitter,” I say, hating the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
The nurse gives me a desperate look.
I look down at my hands. One hand grips my phone, the other holds a little black book. In all my panic, I’d taken the book with Mike’s information in it and bought it with me. I laugh before I look back at the nurse.
“It’s all in here,” I say and open the book.
The nurse takes the details and hurries off.
I try calling Mike again. It’s now four o’clock in the morning and I’m hoping I’ll catch him before he goes to bed. He doesn’t answer so I leave another message. “It’s me again. I’m at the hospital with Mike. Please call me.”
I try to call Wayne also, but his phone goes straight to message bank. Gavin’s phone rings out.
I’m not sure what happens over the next few minutes, hour’s maybe. There is a lot of talking between doctors and nurses. They ask me questions. I feel my mouth moving to answer them, but I hear nothing of what I’m saying. All I can hear is the blood pumping through my body as my
Crap. I don’t want to talk about it. But Gavin has been so open and honest with me, it’d be cruel not to give him a little bit about my past. “I hated how I felt when I woke up the following morning,” I say. “I hated who I was when I was...” I feel a lump form in my throat. “I just didn’t like who I was.”
Gavin can obviously sense my discomfort and reaches out and takes my hand. He doesn’t ask me any more questions. We sit out on the balcony in silence and watch the city below us shimmer.
*****
Mikey is calling out to me. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Sydney, Monday night. Remembering that I’m sharing a suite with Mike, I throw on a robe and head to Mikey’s room. He’s lying down, curled up in the foetal position. He’s crying.
“My tummy hurts,” he says.
I go to his side and press my hand to his forehead. “Damn.” He’s hot, very hot. I pull the blankets off him and run back to my room for my small first aid kit. It has a thermometer in it.
I grab the first aid kit and my phone, slip on a pair of track pants and a jumper. I have a feeling we’re going to be making a trip to the hospital.
Mikey’s temperature is 41.8 degrees Celsius.
That’s not good.
That’s really not good.
My heart starts to race as I pick up the phone next to his bed and dial reception. “This is Lyndsay from the penthouse apartment.”
“Yes Miss Griffin,” the receptionist says.
I wonder how she knows my surname but don’t dwell on it. “I need a taxi to go straight to the Alfred Hospital immediately.” I start to scroll through my list of contacts for Mike’s number.
“Miss Griffin, if it’s an emergency, I could call an ambulance for you?”
I look down at Mikey. He’s really not doing so well. “How long will I have to wait?”
“Not long, I can assure you of that.”
“Okay, yes please. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
I tap my screen to call Mike. It rings before going to message bank. “Mike, it’s Lyndsay. Mikey is sick and I’m taking him to the hospital. Please call me.”
I lift Mikey into my arms and without giving thought to anything else, I head toward reception.
I only wait a minute before an ambulance shows up. The male paramedic takes Mikey from my arms and puts him on the trolley bed. I scramble into the back of the ambulance and sit on a small stool next to Mikey. The paramedic is talking to me, asking me questions about symptoms. I answer them as best I can. Mikey is still crying.
When we get to the hospital, I’m asked a series of questions about Mike. Full name, date of birth, Medicare number. Health Insurance information. And I can’t answer any of it. I don’t know this child. I shouldn’t be here. All my training and experience suddenly seems pointless as I stare down at the little boy in front of me, who is still clutching at his belly.
“I’m just the babysitter,” I say, hating the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
The nurse gives me a desperate look.
I look down at my hands. One hand grips my phone, the other holds a little black book. In all my panic, I’d taken the book with Mike’s information in it and bought it with me. I laugh before I look back at the nurse.
“It’s all in here,” I say and open the book.
The nurse takes the details and hurries off.
I try calling Mike again. It’s now four o’clock in the morning and I’m hoping I’ll catch him before he goes to bed. He doesn’t answer so I leave another message. “It’s me again. I’m at the hospital with Mike. Please call me.”
I try to call Wayne also, but his phone goes straight to message bank. Gavin’s phone rings out.
I’m not sure what happens over the next few minutes, hour’s maybe. There is a lot of talking between doctors and nurses. They ask me questions. I feel my mouth moving to answer them, but I hear nothing of what I’m saying. All I can hear is the blood pumping through my body as my
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