Found: A Father For Her Child. Amy Andrews

I’m afraid I’m just not a clinician.’

      But she was so good with Tilly. She’d been scared but he’d also heard compassion in her voice, seen it in the way she’d held the toddler close. And the way she had held that wound last night had been the epitome of professional technique. Maybe she was being too harsh on herself? ‘Really? Why? Did something happen?’

      Carrie stood up. She couldn’t talk about this with a stranger. She found it hard enough to discuss with her nearest and dearest. ‘It’s just not me. I’m not…good with people…with patients. Fortunately I found that out early. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’

      Carrie was at the door when his words halted her.

      ‘He died, you know. Three hours after getting to hospital.’

      Her hand stilled on the handle. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, and walked out the door.

      Charlie ran his finger back and forth along the rolled plastic edge of the chair where she’d been sitting. Quite the conundrum was Dr Carrie Douglas. She’d said she wasn’t good with people yet she’d taken the time to ring the hospital and find out what had happened to the man from last night.

      Only the good ones did that.

      CHAPTER THREE

      BY FRIDAY lunchtime Carrie was looking forward to escaping for two days. The drop-in centre was a very intense place to be. It was full of drifting kids and angry young men and jaded-looking young women. It attracted the drugged, drunk, violent and abusive of all ages. Too many of the faces told a heartbreaking story about the chilling, gritty reality of life on the streets and below the poverty line.

      Carrie had just tried to keep out of the way. Charlie had been right. It was utter chaos most days. A crazy three-ring circus. On steroids. It wasn’t her job to get involved. Her job was to complete a report for the hospital board on its riskiest enterprise. To establish the viability of the drop-in centre. And it wasn’t looking good.

      So for the rest of the week she’d stayed in the staffroom, tapping away on her laptop, sorting through mounds of paperwork, ignoring the various noises she heard from the other side of the door. The very loud music, the bad language, the punch-ups, the hysterical girls, the angry parents and the police.

      She had also ignored the regular troop of sweaty boys in and out of her work area as she’d worked through lunchtimes. And the sounds of good-natured competition drifting in through the high windows from the court outside. And the angry, tense exchanges that all too often broke out as recreation became serious.

      And worst, the disturbing presence of Charlie as he teased, cajoled, laughed, pleaded, reasoned, flattered and coaxed his way into the hearts and minds of a bunch of tough kids living tough lives. It was clear he was well respected by the regulars. Her ears homed in on his strong authoritative voice each lunch-hour as he encouraged and mediated, pushing the teens to be their best.