Before This Is Over

by Amanda Hickie

  “Two!”

  “Point two of a second faster. That’s the fastest yet. Good job.”

  Hannah made a face at Sean. “Fitness and sums—what are you, Superdad?”

  “I’m doing it for you.” He gave her a kiss. “I’ve drained all the energy out of him. He should be an angel this afternoon.”

  “What about poor old Gwen? The noise is probably driving her nuts.”

  “I haven’t heard her. Maybe she’s not home.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t go running up and down the hall.”

  “She adores Oscar—she wouldn’t begrudge him a bit of exercise. Anyway, she’s a bit deaf.”

  “Do you think she’s”—Hannah lowered her voice although Oscar was right there—“all right?”

  “I haven’t heard any coughing.”

  “I mean coping, by herself.”

  Sean shrugged. Oscar was splayed out on the floor at her feet, his still slightly chubby arms and legs flung out. “I’m”—pant—“so”—pant—“hungry.”

  She reached down and tickled his exposed strip of belly. He contracted into a convulsing, laughing ball. “Well, lucky for you it’s lunchtime.”

  Oscar stretched himself out. “What’s for lunch?”

  Sean picked him up and hoisted the wriggling boy over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Toasties.” Oscar wiggled his legs in the air.

  “Let’s go look.”

  Oscar got toasties. When Hannah looked in the fridge, it was full to bursting, but all she saw was the food they didn’t have, so she cut the ham and cheese in paper-thin slices.

  Sean asked as she handed his plate to him, “Did you put mustard on that?”

  Oscar paused from eating his way frontward into his sandwich and looked at it with horror. The food dropped out of his mouth. “I don’t like mustard.”

  “Don’t be disgusting, Mouse—it won’t kill you. Anyway, there’s no mustard on yours. Did you taste mustard?”

  “I need some milk.”

  “There’s no mustard.”

  “Some milk!”

  “Just one cup, or a glass of water instead.”

  Sean came back with the tumbler of milk. “Your mum’s right—water after this. The carton’s empty.” Sean looked over at Hannah. “I’ll get some more after lunch.”

  “Where from?”

  “Around the corner.”

  “Through the front door, around the corner?”

  “That’s where the corner store is.”

  She gave him a look.

  “I need a cup of coffee. I mean need a cup of coffee after wrangling Superboy this morning. I can live without it being a cappuccino, just, but I can’t live without the milk. I’m all for not dying, as long as I don’t have to do it without coffee.”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “Come on, five minutes. I spent the whole day at work yesterday. Five minutes outside today won’t kill me.”

  “You can’t be half in quarantine. It’s all or nothing.” The way he looked her, he knew she was right, but she thought the coffee might still win. “I’m serious. It’s all, including the corner store.” She turned her back on Sean, focusing all her attention on Oscar. “Eat the rest of the sandwich. The crusts aren’t poison.”

  Oscar threw his head back in his best theatrical display of despair. “But I hate them. They’re revolting.”

  “They taste exactly the same as the rest of the bread.”

  Oscar pushed the thin right angles of crust across his plate and stuck out his bottom lip.

  “I mean it, that’s lunch. You’re not getting anything else.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Sean butted in. “A couple of crusts don’t matter. We’re not going to starve for a couple of crusts.”

  “We’ll regret those crusts before this is over.” She waggled a finger at him, only partly in jest. “Who knows how long this is going to go on for. Eat your crusts, Oscar.” Hannah gave her best mother face and Oscar jammed them into his mouth with a look of distaste.

  “You said you planned, but you didn’t think about coffee?”

  “There’s plenty of coffee, but milk doesn’t last. Things we need fresh we can get delivered from an online supermarket.”

  “I know I’m arguing against my own interests here, ’cause if I have to go without coffee there’ll be trouble, but they have germs online too. They’ll be packed by people who will touch them. And you’ll have to answer the door to some delivery guy with germy hands. How’s that different from picking up a carton of milk from Lily’s?”

  “You can pay online, they drop them on the porch. We leave them as long as necessary before we bring them in. I’ll ring Natalie—she can tell us how long.”

  “Fine, you do that, but right now I need milk for coffee.”

  “Because I planned, there’s long-life in the pantry. Make sure you write it on the list so I can order some more.”

  Oscar begged to be allowed to watch TV. It was early afternoon, he’d already done his schoolwork with Sean, and the only thing on was programs for toddlers. She told him he could have one hour and if he used it up on little kids’ shows now, he couldn’t watch something else later. He spent several minutes with the schedule, hand on chin with a furrow of concentration on his brow before firmly announcing that he wanted to watch now. All the big-boy trappings were falling off, and for a few days, in the privacy of his own home, he didn’t have to live up to anything. He didn’t even have a big brother to want to be like.

  She watched a few minutes of the brightly bobbing puppets. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she checked the news, quickly. Sean wouldn’t come in, Oscar didn’t need her. He didn’t even notice as she got off the sofa.

  As she snuck back through the living room door with her laptop under one arm, the TV didn’t sound right. The reflected light on Oscar’s face didn’t look right. She turned to the screen. The image wasn’t right. Instead of primary colors, it was filled with a photograph. The two boys she had seen in the newspaper on Tuesday, with the word ORPHANS blazed across the top and underneath, BREAKING NEWS.

  “…parents died this morning within hours of each other…”

  Hannah couldn’t stop staring at the picture. Two boys.

  A feeling welled inside her, old and familiar. When her doctor had sat her down and clearly, patiently said the unambiguous words that had been implied by mammograms and biopsies, she waited to cry. That was the expected response. What had blindsided her instead was overwhelming anger, a convulsion of rage. She had looked for her fear of dying but found in its place anger on Zac’s behalf. That a stupid, random mutation might stop her from finishing what she had started when he was born. That she might be forced to let Zac down.

  On the screen, an older woman looked pale and lost. “I just want to take them home. I promised my daughter, but they won’t let me take them home.”

  Hannah rubbed away a tear. These two boys had lost the people who were supposed to be there for them. She blamed the universe for doing stuff like this. She blamed the television for bringing it to her. She pressed the off button to shut it out.

  Oscar looked up at her, grave, the TV spell broken. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “That’s sad for those boys.”

  She tried to look behind the serious face, to gauge if turmoil lay underneath, whether he saw himself and Zac in these brothers. “I think they’re very sad now. But their grandma will look after them.”

  He was too young to know so much about death. And whether he knew or not, events would continue in the outside world. The best thing she could do for him was to keep it from invading their space.

  “Oscar?”

  “Yeah, Mum.”

  “I think I’d like you only to watch the kids’ channels from now on. Okay?” She turned the TV back on and changed the channel. Thank goodness for cable.

  She was saved from a
ny need to explain by the phone ringing. “I’ll only be a minute.” He went back to watching cartoons, savoring what was left of his hour. He seemed no different.

  She scrabbled around the kitchen, looking for the handset. “Hello?” She sounded more flustered than she would like.

  “Hi, is that Hannah? It’s Allison. I’m Mitchell’s mum? Mitchell is in the same class as Oscar? They play together a lot.”

  Hannah couldn’t bring to mind Mitchell and only had a vague idea who Allison was. “Oh, hi.”

  “Mitchell tells me that Oscar’s been away from school. I hope everything is all right.”

  “Yes, fine. He’s fine. I just decided to take him out for a few days, that’s all. You know”—she really needed to work out her story—“a few days to recharge his batteries.”

  “Aren’t you a good mother.”

  Hannah said nothing, waiting to see what Allison was leading to.

  “So, I was thinking, you know, how smart you were to see what was coming, and since you’re already at home, I thought Mitchell could come over to play.”

  “We’re very busy this weekend.”

  “But you’re home Monday.”

  “Monday?”

  “You must have heard—they’re closing the school today. And I have to go to work, but two are easier than one anyway. I’m sure Mitchell would keep Oscar out of your hair.”

  “So you could go to work?”

  “Exactly. I mean, I don’t know what the government is thinking. Who’s going to watch the kids? What do they think, we’re all going to stay home?”

  “Oscar’s not seeing anyone at the moment. That’s why he’s at home.”

  “Right, that’s the point. But he still needs to play, doesn’t he? Mitchell would be no trouble.”

  “No, the point is, we’re not having contact with anyone.”

  “Mitchell’s healthy.”

  “I’m sure he is, but you’re still going to work.”

  “If I wasn’t, I’d look after him myself. I’m very careful. I use a tissue when I open the bathroom door.”

  “No, I’m sorry. We’re not having any visitors at all. I’m sorry I can’t help.”

  “I can’t just take time off—I have a job to go to. And you’re already at home, so he’s not going to put you out. I think we all need to help each other at a time like this.”

  “I have a job to do too. Why don’t you take holidays or work from home? That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Well it’s nice for you that you have the option of not turning up to work if you want…” Hannah hung up. Her hand was shaking.

  The living room was empty, the TV off. Oscar wasn’t in his bedroom. She found him in the small square of garden, standing expectantly, one foot on his soccer ball. “Can we play now?”

  “Sure, but you’re going to win.”

  The sun and the running quickly heated her up and she was puffing within minutes—she wasn’t used to running around, and it was hard to catch her breath when she was laughing at the same time. Oscar’s moves tickled her. He had learned to use his small size and greater maneuverability against Zac, who far outclassed him in strength and speed, and he ran under her legs, doubling back around her full tilt. Zac would be back tonight, a much better soccer partner.

  Angry school parents, work deadlines, pantry lists. That was the outside world. This was real life—chasing a ball according to some random rules Oscar made up as he went along. Lying on the grass trying to catch her breath. As she lay, she heard the familiar sounds of Stuart’s car arriving home. She sat up to see Ella, seemingly floating in midair, emerge from the garage. Underneath her, Stuart’s head and shoulders rose as he straightened on the way out.

  “Hi, Stuart, you’re home early.”

  Stuart had a thin, angular face that looked a little like something unpleasant had just happened but he was too polite to mention it. He was a hard man to get to know, especially as Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling he found her in some way disappointing. Today he looked particularly put out. “Nat can’t get away. Too many patients to see and no one else to do it, and I couldn’t get the sitter to come—she says she’s busy, has to pick up her own kids. And apparently, they’re closing the daycare, so they wouldn’t even keep Ella an extra hour. You’d think they’d only just heard of Manba the way they’re going on. If it was safe enough to be there this morning, I can’t see why it’s not safe now.”

  “The daycare too?”

  “They could have kept her until five. Now I’m going to have to go back to work when Nat finally comes in. This whole thing is a complete screwup.”

  “It must be a worry, Natalie seeing so many sick people.”

  “They’re doing house calls, for God’s sake. You’re not allowed into the clinic with a cough because you might be infectious. Or you might only have a cold, in autumn. So she’s driving from house to house and has to suit up for each consultation. It takes her an extra half an hour, a ridiculous waste of time. I told her to send one of the junior doctors, but she says they’re her patients.”

  “If she’s got a moment tonight I wanted to ask her a question about how long the virus would last on, you know, plastic. Like a shopping bag or something.”

  “There’ll be a website. The government is very good at websites and public awareness campaigns.”

  “It’s very vague.”

  “That would be because they don’t want to look like they’ve got nothing to say. The only thing they’re good at is platitudes and press releases. Nat says assume nothing is safe.”

  “Daaad.” Ella pulled at Stuart’s hair.

  “I’m told it’s snack time. Usually she has it at daycare but they were worried about contamination. They could have at least thrown a biscuit at her. Okay, Pumpkin, snack time.”

  Hannah watched them disappear into the house.

  “Mummy.” Oscar tugged at her jeans. “Can Natalie be my mum when you die?”

  “I’m not going to die anytime soon, Mouse.”

  “I like Natalie. I like going to Ella’s house. They have ice cream after dinner. When you and Daddy die, I want to live with them. When Zac comes home he can live with them too.”

  “We’re not going to die. Of course we’re not going to die.” She was making promises she couldn’t necessarily keep. “We’ll be careful. And you could live with Aunty Cindy.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had to consider the ramifications of having no family left beyond one sister-in-law on the other side of the world. “It’s very, very unlikely.”

  Before she finished talking, Oscar was back kicking the ball around the grass. He was a difficult kid to read sometimes. He would kick the ball across the grass, then turn suddenly and steer it in the direction of the garage, all while keeping up a commentary to himself, just under his breath. Without breaking step, he punctuated his run with “I done it!”—although she couldn’t tell what the “it” was that he’d done—followed quickly, and just as unaccountably, by “Ohhh nooo.”

  He came running over to her. “Did you see that? Did you see that?”

  She wasn’t sure what “that” was, but he looked so pleased with himself. “That’s great.”

  The phone, the home phone that no one called, started to ring for the second time today. She pelted back to the kitchen.

  The machine clicked on, and she listened to her own voice give the message as she fumbled for the handset. For an instant she thought they’d hung up, then a distorted voice came from the answering machine. “Oh, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Halloran. It’s Paul Abrahamson, Zac’s teacher. There’s nothing wrong, Zac’s fine. I just rang to let you know…”

  Hannah got the phone to her ear. “Hello, hi, yes. I’m here.”

  “This is Zac’s teacher, he’s fine. I’m ringing around all the parents to let you know that we won’t be back at five.”

  Her heart was thumping from running, but to her body it felt like panic. “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, all the kids are fine.
There’s a bit of trouble with the bus. We’re trying to organize to get home tonight, but at this stage we couldn’t be back until at least eight. We may have to stay the night.”

  “But surely the bus company has a responsibility to get you back?”

  “As soon as I know something more definite, I’ll email everyone with the details.” And with that, he hung up.

  She stared at the handset. No. That was not how things went. Zac was coming back tonight, and everything would be under control. She had let him go reluctantly and she’d lasted five days—five days—with the dread of having done the wrong thing because tonight it was supposed to be all right. There was a plan, a timetable to be adhered to. This was how things go wrong, one small setback at a time. One quizzical look from a doctor who says, “It’s probably nothing, but let’s check it out.” One slightly flustered X-ray technician who says, “I didn’t get a good image, we’ll take a couple more.” She didn’t want to be on this train.

  She scanned through her mobile for Zac’s number. He answered right away.

  “Hi.”

  “Zac, are you all right?”

  “Hi, Mum, I’m good.”

  “What’s happening? Is everyone okay?”

  “The bus driver won’t take us. He says he won’t go back to Sydney, he’s safer here.”

  “What?”

  “It was so cool, ’cause we were all on the bus and everything, and the bus driver made us take all our stuff off. And then Mr. Abrahamson came, ’cause he was looking for Simon, and he told us to put our stuff back on. And Brandy was crying. I guess she’s really homesick. But Mr. Abrahamson swore at the driver. You should have heard him. And the driver said he wasn’t risking his life for someone else’s kids.”

  “So what’s happening now?”

  “Mr. Abrahamson says we need to find another bus company, but Ms. Eisler says that we won’t find anyone on a Friday afternoon.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re in the park across from the hotel. They said we can’t come back in, but they’re trying to find somewhere that can take us. They’re really nice. They had some conference that was canceled, and they brought us all the cakes and sandwiches and stuff, and some juice.”