Page 26 of Reckless

Young Archie Hooper, Anna’s husband, was never very happy to see me. He kept his distance, nodding at me warily as though every time he found me in the small sitting room with Anna, it was because I was there to reach into his chest, snap his ribs open, and tear his heart out. And one day, we both knew, I would. Anna had stopped treatment; I didn’t know how long she had left—weeks, or months, unlikely to be a year—but at some point it would become apparent she was at the end, and Young Archie’s fearful gaze met mine every time as though he was dreading it was today.

He was Anna’s age, a good-looking guy with dark hair and eyes, a tan, and stubble a shade lighter than his hair. He was awkward and quiet around me, but I’d seen him at the jetty some afternoons, unloading the boat he worked on, laughing and joking with his crewmates. I hoped he saved some of that laughter for Anna in their private moments.

This evening, like always, he jolted when he saw me sitting in his living room, chatting with Anna while the twins built Lego on the floor.

“Doc,” he said warily.

“Alastair’s joining us for dinner,” Anna told him with a tired smile. She reached out a hand and he closed the space between them. He took her hand and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. When he straightened up, her smile was brighter. “Go and shower first. You smell like fish.”

The twins giggled, and Young Archie’s mouth twitched. “Yeah.” He cast another wary look at me and retreated. The stairs creaked, and a few minutes later the old pipes groaned and rattled as the shower was turned on.

I helped Anna set the table in the kitchen. Like all the houses I’d seen on Dauntless, this one was old and small, with thick sandstone walls that kept things cool even on the hottest days. The kitchen was bigger than the living room, and the same mishmash of old and new that mine was; an electric stove sat against one wall, an old wood stove against the other. The first time I’d visited, I’d asked Anna if they still used the wood stove; in winter, she’d said, it could heat the whole place.

Once or twice I saw her pause in her movements, closing her eyes with a look that wasn’t quite a grimace of pain, but was something close. The second time, she put a hand on her abdomen.

“It’s not uncommon to have severe bloating, at this stage,” I said. “And pain in the muscles—not just around the stomach, but all over.” I immediately wished I’d simply asked if she was alright. Oh, that brilliant bedside manner of mine. But she seemed to appreciate my frankness, preferring in-depth descriptions of bodily functions to solicitous inquiries.

Now she gave me a small, wry smile. “I know. I’ve Googled it.”

My lips twitched too, though I was anything but amused.

She set out the glasses. “I thought I had more morphine than I do. I’m not sure what happened—if I accidentally took too much one day, or something. Promise, I haven’t got addicted, not as far as I know. Just, I thought I had another bottle.”

“I’ll get you more,” I said. “Chemo can make you foggy even long after you’ve stopped it. Or maybe you’ve needed more than usual lately—no shame in that.”

“Ah, well. I feel silly, if I’ve been using it wrong.”

“There isn’t really a ‘wrong’ at this stage,” I said bluntly. “It’s as needed.”

She nodded and turned to grab the pitcher of lemonade from beside the sink. “You know, you’re the only person on the island who’s supported my decision for what it actually is.”

I waited for her to elaborate.

“There’s people who say they don’t blame me for stopping treatment. But it’s because they don’t trust doctors, or don’t trust the mainland, or both. You know—why would I leave the island for weeks on end, stay in some hotel or hospital, let the mainland doctors shoot me full of radiation and chemicals? I should be here, at home.” She gave a small, light laugh that didn’t quite hide the underlying bitterness. “Even Archie. He hates hospitals. He can’t stand watching me sit for eight hours at a stretch with a needle in my belly, and that’s…It’s worse than his fear of me dying, in some ways.” She’d filled all the glasses, and now there was nothing left to do but wait for Archie to get out of the shower. “You’re the only one who treats it as my decision, one I’ve given thought to, and not one I’ve made just because the alternative is a mainland hospital. So, thank you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s not an easy decision, I know.”

She pulled out the nearest chair and sank into it, staring at the empty plate in front of her. “I’ve been wanting to ask you a favour.” She glanced at me for a fraction of a second. “Keep an eye on Archie, will you? When I’m gone?” She looked like she was about to say more but stopped herself.

“Alright,” I agreed, without fully knowing what she meant. The rest of Dauntless Island would look out for Archie, of that I had no doubt. Why put an outsider in charge of the task?

As though reading my mind, she said, “Oh, he’ll have meals brought to him and the shopping done and all that. What I mostly mean is, he’ll never get within ten metres of a doctor if he can help it, after what’s happened to me. The people here, they might be giving you a wide berth now. But most of them, they’ll come to you when it’s needed. They’re more or less glad you’re here, even if they won’t admit it.” Her gaze flicked towards the hall. “He won’t come near you, not as long as he lives. So if he’s—well, if ever he’s doing poorly, I hope you’ll find a way to help him.” She flashed me a brief smile. “I know that’s some nerve I’ve got, going on about how this is my decision and mine alone, then telling you to drag Archie forcibly into your office if you see him looking green or hacking up a lung, but…it’s different.”

I nodded. “I think he believes I’ve done this to you, in a way.”

She gave a hoarse laugh. “Yeah. I’ve told him you’re good people. That you’ve done a lot for me. But he definitely thinks you—not encouraged, exactly, but legitimised my choice not to pursue treatment. I hope maybe you’ll find a way to get on his good side. It’s…hard for him.”

“It’s hard for you,” I said quietly, knowing better than to stick my nose in. But on the mainland, I’d treated too many women who worried more about their husbands’ or boyfriends’ feelings than their own. Right to the bloody end. “The island doesn’t have a—” the word felt absurd even before it came out. “A therapist or anything, does it? Any kind of counseling centre, mental health services?”

I already knew it didn’t, not formally. But Dauntless had its own way of doing things, and everyone knew who to go to for milk and eggs, for carpentry and veterinary services. I wasn’t confident that many on Dauntless believed in mental health diagnoses or talk therapy. But did Red Joe, with his medical chest full of aspirin and bandages, also dole out life advice, spiritual guidance? I added: “Or just a friendly ear people seek out for their troubles?”

Anna gave me that sceptical look I’d seen on plenty of islanders’ faces. “No one here trusts you to so much as look inside their ears, doc. Do you really think they’d lie on a couch and tell all their darkest secrets to the likes of Mavis?”

I huffed out a laugh. “I can’t picture it, no.” I made a note to see if I could allocate some resources for a support group. Grief, addiction, mental illness…the islanders needed ways of coping with these very human problems. Death was everywhere, grief was everywhere. It did no good to bottle it up, as I could attest.

“We look after each other, and we look after ourselves,” she said, her smile fading. “But sometimes, I suppose, we’re not as good at it as we think we are.”

My thoughts turned to Robbie, looking after himself by going to the mainland once a month to find someone who’d be rough with him. He’d been lucky that an easily treatable STI was the worst that had happened. I wondered how many other people on the island were looking after themselves, and in what unhappy, unhealthy ways that manifested.