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“I was about to suggest we play a little Willie,” the guy said; as in ‘Willie Nelson’ I guessed.
Someone snorted.
The guy smiled at me.
I said, “I don’t know you well enough for that . . . yet.”
The laughter that followed flowed all around me, wrapping me up, and welcoming me home.
“Maybe we should remedy that,” the guy said.
* * *
His name was Sean and he’d been in the Service longer than Cathy. He was also a paramedic, so more qualified than Cathy or me. We spent the evening talking. The rest of the party blurred into the background; white noise that meant nothing to him or me.
And suddenly, the Big Smoke didn’t seem so smokey.
Suddenly, I felt like I’d found a home away from home.
He wasn’t a New Worlder but I was definitely living the dream.
* * *
“He’s a lovely boy ,” my mother said. “He’s not Kent. But he’s lovely.”
“He’s from Waikato,” I said to appease her. “So, he understands what it’s like to move to the city.”
“It’s good to meet people from your home,” Dad offered. He spoke from experience. He was an Englishman in New Zealand, after all. A long way from his homeland.
Mum started rearranging the little china ornaments on a shelf beside her seat. Dad shifted in his oversized armchair. I flicked my gaze from one to the other and then said cheerfully, “I like him. I think I like him a lot.”
“That’s good, honey,” Dad said, genuinely pleased for me.
Mum started rearranging the furniture. My heart squeezed.
“You don’t need to do that, Mum,” I said softly.
“If I don’t do it, no one will.”
“But the sofa’s fine where it is.”
“No it isn’t,” she argued fervently.
“Ky,” Dad said. “Leave her be.”
* * *
The wind blew little dust flurries into the corners of the ambulance bay. Ours was not the only one at ED right then. But the ambulance beside A 1-8 belonged to Mt Wellington Station. I didn’t know the crew well. I’d seen them around, but not worked alongside them.
In the Service, though, we were all one big family.
“Hey, Kylee!” someone called out as I hauled a couple of repurposed hospital pillows with me into the rear of the bus. “Heard you went to that house in Belmont. North Shore’s Zoo.”
I laughed. The house had been an old weatherboard bungalow, with bare floorboards and peeling wallpaper. That hadn’t been what made it stand out.
The seventeen ducks and geese hanging out in the lounge was what made the job memorable.
“I had to wash duck poop out of my hair back on station,” I said.
