Dickens and Me

CHAPTER ONE (Dickens and Me. Copyright 2009, Anita Birt)

Greg paused at the open window and gazed at the changed landscape in front of his family home. The maple tree shading the old-fashioned wooden swing had grown tall. A manicured terraced lawn, once a favorite tobogganing hill for him and his sister, swept down to the duck pond he'd dug with his father. Mallards paddled in the water.

Turning away from the window he smiled at the dog drowsing in a patch of early morning sunshine. Kim had been a frisky German shepherd pup when he'd left Canada, now her muzzle was more white than brown.

He had the run of the house while his parents were abroad for a couple of months visiting relatives in Australia. Still in culture shock after eight years working in Africa, the present leisurely pace suited him. He'd concentrate on the crime novel he'd been plugging away at and never had time to whip into shape.

He'd finished the first draft of A Murderous Crown and had a slew of questions requiring answers.

The chiming telephone jolted Kim from her sleep. Greg grabbed the phone on the first ring hoping the call was from Joe Easterbrook, ex-cop, his Dad's fishing buddy who'd promised to clue him in on police procedures.

"Greg Fraser."

"Hi, Greg, how's it going?"

He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it. A cheerful question from his kid sister usually spelled trouble, for him not for her.

He loved Laura but she seldom phoned unless a new problem loomed in her life. Her third phone call from England in two weeks did not bode well. Something was bugging her.

"No." Strike first. Force her on the defensive. He'd mastered the technique, didn't always work.

"What's wrong with you? You don't even know why I'm calling."

"That's right. Bye Laura, I'm working." He sat on the chair next to his computer.

Blubbering sobs quivered in his ear. "Please, please, help me just this once and I promise never to ask you to do another thing for me. This is an emergency."

"That's what you said last time when I had to fly to London and threaten to beat up the guy harassing you."

"That was two years ago and this is different."

He heard a loud sniffle and imagined the tears trickling down her pretty face.

"Different how?" Laura's tears always worked against him. Like Sir Galahad, he seemed destined to rescue her from the crises littering her life.

She cleared her throat. "It's about the baby."

"What's wrong? Is he sick? What have you done to him?" Laura had screwed up again. She was too scatterbrained to care for an infant and her boyfriend was in some God forsaken place in eastern Mongolia.

"I haven't done anything to him. David is fine. That's not the problem."

"Glad to hear he's okay." Greg relaxed. "So what's the panic? Won't Colin marry you? Should I dig out Dad's old shotgun and force him to make you an honest woman?"

"Don't be silly, of course Colin will marry me. All I want is a small favor."

The wheedling tone scraped along his brotherly nerves. He should have disconnected the phone or hidden out in the woods to escape falling into the quagmire of Laura's problems.

"What favor?"

"I want you to look after David for a few days."

"I'm not flying to London to baby-sit, can't spare the time. I'm at a critical point in my novel. Hire someone. I'll send you money."

"You don't have to come here. I'm bringing the baby to you."

Greg slammed his feet on the floor. Kim jumped up and barked. "Stop right there. What will you and its father do while I quit work? Don't answer. I don't want to know."

"David is not an it, he's a dear little boy." She sniffled again. "Colin's been injured. He's recovering in a Tokyo hospital."

"What happened?" Why couldn't Laura have taken up with an accountant or a simple tradesman, a peaceful man who stayed home at night? She attracted problems like ants hitting on a picnic.

"Thieves attacked their group and stole the camera equipment. Colin fell during the fight, slipped on sharp stones, cut his hand and elbow. His elbow got infected and blood poisoning set in. He was airlifted to the nearest town but insisted on going to Japan where he'd have better care."

Greg stared glumly at the screen saver dancing across his laptop. Dogs and cats holding umbrellas soared into cyberspace and returned. He'd like to knock some paternal sense into Colin Ferguson. "So why do you have to bring the baby here? I can't look after him."

"Of course you can. David is six month's old and not a bit of trouble." The sniffle switched to a cheerful chuckle. "All you have to do is look after David while I fly to Vancouver and meet Colin off the flight from Japan. His hand hasn't healed and his arm's in a sling. He's not in great shape. I'm worried about him. He's been away ten weeks and I'd like to spend a couple of days with him to make sure he's okay."

Greg refused to weaken. "Wait for him in London. Have a friend mind the baby."

"That's the problem. That's why I'm asking you for a favor. As part of his travel business he wants to check out places in Canada for tours, and I want David to meet his Uncle Greg."

With defeat staring him in the face Greg played a last desperate card. "I don't know diddly squat about babies. What if I drop him on his head or forget to feed him? I've got the dog, the two cats and Mom's African violets to look after, that's my limit."

"Greg, you are a sensible intelligent man. I'll make notes of everything you need to know. Mom and Dad told me they'd have a bedroom ready for David. You'll love him and it's only for a couple of days."

Their parents had been ecstatic when Laura told them she was pregnant. The fact she lived in England and wasn't enjoying wedded bliss hadn't stopped them from going all out to prepare for the promised visit from Laura and the baby as soon as they returned home.

"Can't do it. Wait until Mom and Dad get back."

"Please. This is important to me."

"I know it is but I'm not the fatherly type. Make other arrangements. Call a Nanny agency." He grasped at straws as the trap closed.

"It's too late. I've already made arrangements. Colin expects me in Vancouver next week. The baby and I are booked on an Air Canada flight arriving on Tuesday afternoon. Check the time of arrival and be sure to meet us. I've been borrowing a car seat from a friend so you'll have to buy one. Make sure your car has an anchor for the seat.

"See if Mom put supplies in the baby's room. We'll need baby soap, baby oil and baby powder. Please buy things like disposable diapers. Oh and you'd better stock up on baby food for a six month old. He's eating..."

She chuckled again. A self-satisfied chuckle. Probably enjoying the slow torture she was meting out to her brother.

"Sort of eating. I spoon it into his mouth and he spits it out so you'd better wear washable clothes."

"The answer is no. Get Colin to ask Air Canada for assistance or use a wheelchair. Meet him here."

Greg suspected Laura wanted a romantic reunion in Vancouver without the baby. Too bad. "Laura, I'm not the fatherly type. No way can I look after a baby."

"Of course, you can. It'll be so much fun. You'll love him and he'll adore his big, handsome uncle. See you Tuesday and thanks for everything."

"Laura! Where can I reach you?" He yelled into the phone.

"I'm staying with friends. They'll drive me to the airport. Now stop worrying. David is adorable. See you on Tuesday."

"Wait!"

She'd cut him off. He dropped the phone and grabbed the arms of the chair to anchor him to the real world. Blind-sided by his unfeeling sister and without her phone number to call back he'd lost the battle to save his sanity.

He slumped in his chair and picked up a pen. One minute he was on top of the world, the next he was caught in Laura's carefully laid trap. He jotted down the list of baby things he was supposed to buy. His vintage Corvette, serviced and newly licensed, couldn't accommodate a baby. He'd use his parent's new car, a jazzy Lexus sedan, to chauffeur the kid around.

He breathed deeply to clear his head. All he wanted was peace and quiet to write and Laura had thrown him to the wolves.

Correct that. Wolves he could cope with. They seldom attacked people. He'd faced down a sow grizzly once and lived to tell the tale. She'd whacked him around a few times, ripped off his backpack and sauntered back to her cubs. His nephew didn't have sharp teeth or claws to tear him apart but caring for a helpless infant was way out of his league.

An icy shiver snaked down his spine. He had never held a baby in his arms. Had never missed holding babies. Had never thought about holding babies. Now his screwball sister wanted him to care for her infant.

Why was she doing this to him? He was a poor excuse for an uncle. What if he accidentally harmed the child?

Greg's gut knotted. That wouldn't happen. He'd get through the ordeal somehow. It'd be a learning experience, like walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls or wrestling sharks.

Heaving a resigned sigh he stood. His plan to write five pages today had crashed. Laura's ambush had knocked his creative muse on to the back burner.

With Kim at his heels Greg headed to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee, a caffeine jolt to kick-start his brain. He heated a mug of leftover coffee in the microwave, sipped it slowly and brooded on his fate.

Stew and Mew, the family cats, dozed on a braided rug. Kim flopped down beside them and smiled a contented doggy smile.

What a life, Greg thought. Nothing to do but eat and sleep while his whole world tipped on its axis. He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall.

Friday. He'd planned to write most of the day and take Kim for a walk in the late afternoon. Tuesday loomed ahead. He found a pen stuck on the refrigerator and circled Tuesday in black.

Right. This is what he'd do. Tomorrow he'd shop for baby supplies. Today, the lull before the storm, he'd do some research for his book. He'd visit the walk-in clinic and with any luck, find a physician interested in answering his questions.

He'd considered going in with a trumped up ailment and decided against it. Better to be straight. Anyway he didn't have an ailment yet unless a gut-wrenching fear he might harm his nephew counted?

That was it! He'd ask for advice about caring for a six month old baby. He'd use a two-prong approach to mellow out the doctor, research for his book and information about baby sitting an infant.

Greg nudged Kim with is toe. "I'm going out." She wagged her tail. "I'm not taking you. We'll go out later. I won't be long."

Whistling, he picked up his wallet and keys from the hall table, locked the house and opened the door into the garage. He slid into his car and admired the immaculate interior of the Corvette. Not a car configured to suit a baby. He turned the key and the engine hummed into a finely tuned rumble as he buzzed the garage door open.

On the way into town he practiced his approach to the doctor. Something to pique his interest. How did he cope with the trauma of losing a patient? Had he ever thought about quitting? Had he ever testified at a murder trial? He'd play it by ear. Something would come to him.

He parked behind the Markbridge clinic and strolled around to the front of the building. In a window box petunias and trailing lobelias wilted in the June heat. Greg stuck his finger in the dirt. Dry. Not much of an advertisement for a clinic if their flowers died.

Pushing through the door he stepped into air-conditioned cool. On the far side of the waiting room a young woman sat behind a desk. She stopped making notes in a file, raised her eyes and waved Greg to a seat.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she said.

Greg sauntered over to her. A sign on her desk announced her name. Betty Harris, Reception.

"If you've got a pitcher of water handy I'll give the flowers in the window box a drink. They're nearly dead."

The receptionist straightened her glasses and gazed at him. A slight frown wrinkled her forehead. "Pardon?"

"Do you have a pitcher of water? The flowers in your window box are dying." He smiled pleasantly. No point antagonizing her. "I'll water them while I wait."

Her eyes widened behind steel rimmed glasses. Nice eyes. Unusualcolor. More violet than blue. He rested his hands on her desk.

"That won't be necessary," she said coolly and closed the file. "May I help you?"

Momentarily nonplussed Greg wondered what he'd done to warrant the frosty greeting. "I'd like to see a doctor."

"Have you an appointment, Mr...?" She flipped through an appointment book.

"Greg Fraser. I don't have an appointment. I thought this was a walk-in clinic so I walked in." He smiled even more pleasantly and hoped his light-hearted remark would make her stop frowning at him. It didn't. The frown stayed in place.

"Usually we handle some walk-ins but today we're booked solid until six. However, I can fit you in before the first patient." She stood. "Come this way."

Greg followed the chilly Miss Harris along a corridor and admired the view from behind. Navy and white checked shirt, a short navy skirt, navy stockings and navy flats. Tall and leggy she could model except for her face, not that it wasn't an attractive face, but she had a kind of stillness about her like someone not used to smiling. Maybe she smiled at others but sure as hell not at him.

She opened an office door. Dr. J. K. Balfour was printed in gold on it, snapped a printed form into it, selected a pen from a holder on the counter and sat on a wheeled stool.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Fraser?"

Somehow he'd got off on the wrong foot with the receptionist. "If you don't mind I'll wait for the doctor and don't bother filling in that form. I'm not a patient. I'm not sick. I'm a writer." He pulled up a chair and sat down.

"A writer?"

He felt like a damned fool but he'd come this far and soldiered on. "I hoped one of the doctors would be willing to discuss some aspects of medical practice, like the emotional fallout from losing a patient, and I'd also like information on how to care for..."

"If you are talking about research, Mr. Fraser this is a medical clinic not a public library." She put the clipboard aside.

Greg ignored the dismissive gesture. She had the uncanny ability of keeping her face expressionless. It was like being confronted by a blank page except for her eyes. Unless he was mistaken, anger glinted in them. Why?

"Ms Harris, I know this is a clinic. I'm willing to pay a consulting fee. If no one's available, I'd like an appointment for another day." Doggedly persistent he waited for her next move.

"I don't believe you understand, Mr. Fraser. I am Dr. Balfour. I have no spare time today. If I had I'd take a nap. Dr. Moreland is at a conference in England, Dr. Halliday is ill and our receptionist is dealing with a family emergency. I was up most of the night assisting at a difficult birth and I'll be seeing patients until late this afternoon."

She stood. "Please excuse me."

Put very impolitely in his place and stung by her rebuke, Greg got to his feet. "Sorry to have taken up your time, Doctor Balfour. Please bill me. Here's my address." He opened his wallet and handed her a card.