As if not coming was an option. His professional nonchalance made a habit of rubbing me the wrong way.
What is it? What’s happened?
A large clear mask covered her nose and mouth. A small tube connected the mask to an oxygen tank beside the bed. She lay flat on her back, the bed fully reclined. It was impossible to tell if she were alive or dead.
Well, it appears she had a small stroke. We have her sedated for now, and we’ve placed her on a ventilator to help her breathing until we can assess the damage it has caused.
He turned, smiled and patted her arm as if these things happened every day. In his world, perhaps they did.
With this type of dementia, blood clots are an ever-present danger. And as the brain is under constant turmoil, well, it only exacerbates the problem. We’ll keep her sedated until morning and then slowly bring her around, but the chances are the damage inflicted may very well be permanent.
The manner in which he described Mother’s condition was so infuriatingly matter-of-fact. I knew deep down he was trying to keep me calm; but right now, it just pissed me off.
That’s it? You’ll just monitor her? Can’t something else be done?
Unfortunately, not, Craig. I believe Ms Graham already informed you – and she really shouldn’t have…
I detected a note of annoyance, I hoped Judy hadn’t gotten into trouble.
… However, no further increases in her medication are possible. I’m afraid, Craig, you should start preparing yourself for her final days.
Prepare myself? And he’s afraid? What the fuck did he think I was feeling?
Though, it still may be weeks. She’s put up a tough old fight this one.
Such a calm way of putting it. She’s hung in there, but I wouldn’t take the over on the betting line. I’ve never wanted to hit someone so badly in all my life. I managed, somehow, to keep my temper in check.
Can I have a few minutes alone with her?
Of course, young man. I’ll be down the hall at the nurse’s station if you wish to talk further.
Leaning against the raised bars of her bed, I tracked the paths of wires and tubes leading from various machines back to my mother. She looked so tiny, so fragile; her chest rising and falling slightly but steadily. The bright green display above her bed showed oxygen level, blood pressure and pulse. And showed she was still with me.
Seeing her this way was more than I could bear, I kissed her goodnight and quietly left the room.
A light rain was falling. I made my way across the parking lot to the Beast. Leaning on the bonnet, I tipped my head back and let the coolness of the drops wash over my face.
The voice was quiet and soothing.
Taking a shower, or just thirsty?
Judy stood before me. Arms folded, her head cocked to one side as if asking for permission to step closer.
Just hoping to drown.
Come on, it’s never as bad as you think it is.
Yes. Yes, it is, Judy. It is as bad as it seems. In fact, it just about can’t get any fucking worse.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could cram them back in. And they stung Judy more than I would have imagined.
You think you’re the only one having to deal with the loss of a parent, or a loved one? At least you have happy memories of them both. What about…
What about what?
She’d hit a nerve, one I’d kept buried for years but remained painfully raw. Who was she, thinking she knew all about my family?
About my dad… the one I never saw? The dad I barely even knew. Or the real him at least. How about the memory of his mistress coming to his funeral? Mum, having her tossed out of the church. First time I’d ever heard her swear. And I learnt a new word that day – whore – took me a while to figure out the spelling so as to learn the meaning.
Craig, I’m sorry… I didn’t…
The floodgates opened. The horse bolted. Years of pent-up anger burst forth, and I was powerless to stop it.
Yeah, that was my old man. A wife and kid at home, and any number of tarts waiting for him in country towns across the State. And all I have to show for his sorry existence is the CD collection he left me. Three hundred discs of his music, and as I listen, I wonder who he was with when it was playing on his car stereo.
Craig, you can’t keep torturing yourself like that.
Torture? What would you know of torture? Your work here? Sure, I couldn’t do it, but it’s your choice to be here, and you can always escape and go home to your lovely little house in Heidelberg and your lovely parents.
It’s not my choice. And I don’t live there.
Absorbed in my rant, I’d not taken in the words spoken softly by a clearly distressed Judy.
What? What do you mean?
Can we get in the car, please? I’m getting drenched standing out here.
Judy rubbed her arms against the cold and sunk into the cloth fabric of the front seat. Staring a hole through the Beast’s glove compartment, she first got her emotions under control before speaking.
You need to understand a few things about me and my life. Then if you don’t want to continue seeing me, it’ll break my heart, but at least I’ll have a clear conscience.
The warmth of the Beast’s interior combined with our wet clothes quickly fogged the windows. The rain drummed a steady beat on the roof; the interior a warm cocoon sheltering us from the world outside.
The house in Heidelberg, where you met me, belongs to my friend’s parents. I live in a tiny hovel a couple of kilometres from there. I didn’t want you to see it, or my parents.
I don’t care where or how you live, and I’m sure…
No, Craig. You’re not bloody sure.
Judy turned to face me. The rising anger evident in her voice. The floodgates getting a good working over tonight.
My parents are both alcoholics. Dad was at least functional for a while, but then came the accident at work. Mum…
She shook her head as if in disgust.
Mum started drinking with him to be sociable. Now, she can’t even function without a bottle of whisky under her belt. Dad was always the breadwinner. Mum never worked. ‘My stay-at-home trophy wife,’ he’d joke. Jesus, what a bloody trophy she turned out to be. Dad made good money as a plumber but drank away most of it. One night, when I was still young, he decided we should dance to a song playing on the radio. They were both shit-faced of course. He picked me up and waltzed me around and around the kitchen. When he lost his balance, he decided it was a good idea to use me to break his fall. My face hit the kitchen table before he hit the floor. They both laughed their arses off. It was the next morning before they took me to the emergency room. This charming smile you love so much is the result of facial tendons not healing properly after the compressed fracture of my cheekbone.
The light rain began to fall more steadily, sounding like muffled applause as it bounced off the Beast’s roof. Across from me, Judy stared sullenly through the fogged windscreen. Her tears now dry, just the tracks on her cheeks remained.
Then he had the accident; I guess falling became a habit. He fell through a ceiling on a job one day, which left him with a broken back. Permanently disabled he is, can’t work, but it hasn’t hindered his drinking any.
Is that what got you interested in nursing, from helping with your dad?
Judy turned to face me. A look of pity on her face.
Oh, Craig. You just don’t get it, do you?
Get what?
I was getting tired of being treated like a moron. Was I that slow? What was I missing?
I hate them both with a passion, but what else am I to do? We have no money; we’re one of my pitiful pay cheques from this place away from being homeless. If I can’t intercept Dad’s disability cheque before he gets a hold of it, it would all go towards booze. We can’t even afford his medication. At least working here, I can get some from…
The penny dropped.
Are you stealing drugs from here?
I waited a moment for a denial, but none came.
A smart man would have taken the high road. Comforted her and been the steadying rock in a time of our mutual need. Oh, I was a rock alright. But only dumb as a whole box of them.
So, all of this, “I want to be a nurse” routine is just a cover for what? For what you’re really after?
Her chin dropped to her chest, and tears overflowed from the corners of her eyes, the dry tracks on her cheeks replenished.
No, Craig. I really do want to be a nurse one day. I love helping the patients here.
Really? Help them? I know you don’t have access to the pharmacy’s pill supply. So how are you skimming them? Oh shit, from the patients? Is that it?
Judy continued to gaze at the floor mat under her feet.
So how do you decide which patient gets shorted on their meds? Equal opportunity? Just from the ones who’ve pissed you off? Or the ones who can’t speak up? Jesus Christ, Judy! Have you ever fucking shorted my mum?
An inexplicable need to lash out at something, somebody, overwhelmed me. Again, words escaped my mouth I immediately wished I could take back. But I was angry, out of control. Thirty metres away my last surviving family member lay on life-support, and I was as helpless as a new-born baby to do anything about it. And the instant self-loathing for my actions only made matters worse.
My outburst cut Judy to the bone. There was anger in her voice now.
I’m doing what I can to survive. Is it so much different than what you’re doing? You’ve explained to me enough about how your bank operates, how Eric shakes down his clients to make his money. How long until you’re corrupted by the money? How long until you’re one of them, doing the same bloody thing? And you think you’re any better?
Before I could answer, Judy leapt from the car and slammed the door. At least I knew better than to follow; I’d caused enough pain for one night. Using the heel of my hand on the foggy windscreen, I wiped clear a small opening. Rain running down the glass distorted the shape of Judy’s white uniform. She ran quickly across the parking lot, then disappeared from view.
***
Bloody rain, and it’s turned cold too!
Garth O’Neal stared out the front window of Stathis watching the traffic glide by on Glenferrie Road. Water sprayed out from beneath passing wheels, and the slick tram tracks gleamed under the yellowish glow of the street lights. Across the table, Eric Mullane refilled their wine glasses from the chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
Jesus, Garth. Would you quit whining about the weather and enjoy the ambiance.
For a wet Tuesday evening, the Greek restaurant in Malvern was very busy. Two waiters hustled back and forth between tables allowing the owner to glide by in their wake gaining assurances from the diners everything was to their liking.
Eric, my friend. I’m happy to see you again. Have we taken your orders yet?
G’day, Jon. No, not yet. I think I’ll have the seafood souvlaki. And some more tzatziki, if you don’t mind. How about you, Garth?
Garth leant back and studied the large mural of Santorini blanketing the wall.
Ahh… I think I’ll have the lamb cutlets.
Excellent choices, gentlemen. I’ll get those orders in for you immediately.
Jon departed with the menus, and Garth brushed pita crumbs from the gingham tablecloth forming a trail from the bread dish to the tzatziki bowl.
It was Garth who broke the silence.
So, for what do I owe the pleasure of a free dinner? You are paying, right?
Yes, I’m paying you stingy bastard.
Eric chuckled to keep the mood light but couldn’t help thinking a fish’s arse couldn’t have been as tight as the solicitor sitting across from him.
It’s part of my semi-annual check-in with my clients. I’ve been hard at it all week contacting those making me my money and thought one of my better clients deserved a meal. Besides, it was late; I was hungry, knew you’d be available and that way I could expense it.
Who’s the stingy one now?
Touché, Garth. Cheers!
Both men drained the last of their wine and ordered a second bottle from a passing waiter.
Eric followed the progress of a young couple as they hurriedly navigated puddles and traffic crossing Glenferrie Road, then turned to Garth.
Any changes I need to know about regarding the hospice account?
Thom Lewis brought in the Catholic Archdiocese of Melbourne as a client many years ago. Then parcelled out the Sisters of Mercy account to Eric as a small reward. He wasn’t sure who’d been introduced to whom; however, for as long as he could recall, Williams & Teacher was the law firm on record for the archdiocese.
Garth withheld his answer as their dinner had arrived.
Enjoy, gentlemen.
Looks delicious!
The waiter nodded in thanks and melted into the background.
So… Anything I need to know?
Eric, eyes downcast, slid tender chunks of fish and calamari from the wooden skewers with his fork. Garth, knife and fork poised above a lamb cutlet, looked across at the banker with whom he was now irrevocably joined.
No. No changes to concern you.
Good, exactly the answer I was hoping to hear.
Both men resumed working their way through their main course. Between mouthfuls of fish, Eric snatched at triangles of pita bread before dragging them through the tzatziki.
This place does have excellent food. Though best we keep it a secret all to ourselves. What do you say, Garth?
Garth kept his head lowered, fully concentrating on the dismantling of his lamb cutlets, but could feel Eric’s eyes piercing his skull.
Yeah, a secret.
Rome, Italy
October 26, 2014
In the glory days of the Roman Empire it was said all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to the ultra-modern Italian Autostrade system, it was also possible to circumnavigate the ancient city using the A90 ring road. Due west of the city centre, a stone’s throw from the A90, Eamonn Mahoney lounged by the pool at the Holiday Inn, Aurelia. The diminutive Irishman tugged the bill of his cap lower to shield his eyes from the glare of the western sky. Off in the distance, a jetliner passed before the setting sun on its final approach to Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport. In a scant few minutes, the giant orb would be gone and with it the remaining warmth of the day.
He reached for his glass of whiskey sitting on the small glass-topped table beside his rattan chair and checked the time. Six o’clock. The last of his agents would be arriving shortly. All five spent the previous night at various hotels scattered throughout the city of Turin, and with just seven hours driving ahead of them to their final destination, each leisurely made their way south.
Each of the five were also allocated an assigned hotel in Rome along with detailed instructions for the handover of their packages. Three hours previous, the first agent arrived in Rome eager to complete the operation and to enjoy the remainder of he and his wife’s holiday.
The tracking application on Eamonn’s phone showed the last of the five exiting the A90. A few minutes later, the vehicle pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. He drained the last few remaining drops of whiskey from his glass and sauntered inside. While settling his bill at the bar, he watched a middle-aged gentleman and his wife cross the lobby and approach the check-in desk. The room for the couple had been pre-paid. As had the rooms in Turin, the rental cars, and the ferry reservations, by an Import & Export Company registered in Guernsey. By lunchtime tomorrow, each agent would return their rental cars to the drop-off location at da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport, then were free to sightsee for the remainder of the week. For their return journey; Eamonn supplied flight tickets to Brussels and train passes to Calais to collect their vehicles for the drive back to Ireland. A courier also delivered a small cash advance, for travelling expenses, to each of the agents the week before the robberies. Their final payment made in the same fashion upon their return to Dub
lin. Eamonn left nothing to chance.
The couple at the desk, she slightly shorter than the man, received their key cards and were directed to the elevators. They shuffled off, suitcases in tow, looking weary after a long three days of travel. Eamonn turned in the opposite direction, through the hotel’s sliding glass doors and to the parking lot beyond. He located the late-model Citroen, with its Europcar sticker on the back window, in the next to last row. The front door was unlocked, as instructed, he quickly leant in and pulled the latch for the boot. Inside the boot, a backpack.
Eamonn smiled, it was such a pleasure working with professionals who could follow instructions to the letter. Unzipping the backpack a few centimetres, he checked the contents. Satisfied, he slung the cheap nylon carry-all over his shoulder, shut the boot and ambled across the lot to his own vehicle. There, he opened the boot and tossed in the carry-all next four others of identical design.
As he pulled out of the parking lot and headed east towards the city centre a mere ten kilometres away, Eamonn looked ahead to tomorrow’s meeting and the completion of a successful operation.
Turn A Blind Eye Page 14