by K J
“Done. And have a great night. Don’t let anything interrupt your date.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Ben blushed. Yousef laughed and, with a wave, he made his way down the street.
The activity listed for Tuesday night in Craig’s finals-week schedule was a ten kilometre run, which caused some of the first-season players to blink in confusion.
“That’s it?” said Hara, her nose wrinkling as she stared at Craig.
“Yep. That’s enough. You’ve still got three more nights, you know. Anyway, the run'll take you about an hour. You’re doing two laps of our training oval…” He stared wistfully at the stadium. “Next year, we’re on that field in that stadium. I’m gonna make it happen.” He clapped his hands. “Right, so two laps of this field, then out onto the track around the Botanic Gardens, then back here.”
“But it’s dark,” said Louise, bouncing slightly on her toes.
“Brilliant observation,” drawled Fitz from the rear of the group. Nadine backhanded Fitz's shoulder as Louise flicked up her middle finger, which earned her a laugh.
“Okay, okay.” Craig shook his head good-naturedly. “It’s not dark. The lighting on the Botanic’s track is excellent. You’re all running as a group, or as close to one anyway. Besides, you’re athletes, for crying out loud. All of you can outrun pretty much anyone. I’d particularly like to see some poor sod try to catch Sophia or Naomi.”
There was a group chuckle, and Sophia and Naomi shared a grin. After the mandated stretching which Fitz led, even though they all knew the movements, the group of twenty-five jogged the perimeter of the oval twice, then they were off out the gate, and onto the crushed sand track of the gardens. The rhythmic scuffing of their sneakers, like a downbeat to their breathing, was underscored by the whoosh of the cars in the distance, and the soundtrack inspired contemplation. The chatter ceased at the six kilometre mark. A quiet reverence descended on the players, held while the wildlife settled around them. The last birdcalls, and the individual notes of each insect ushered them onto the grass of the oval just over an hour later, where hands gripped heads or knees as the cool night air was sucked into lungs. Then, in the stillness, after a warm down, there was a murmured thanks to Craig, who also seemed to defer to the finals-week moment, as he sent everyone on their way, either to the showers or, for some, straight to their cars and home.
Sophia turned to Nadine. “I need another twenty minutes around the oval. Want to come?”
Nadine shrugged. “Sure. While the lights are on. Who knows when they’ll get flipped.”
The much slower pace allowed Sophia to notice, on the first lap, the decrease in the number of cars in the carpark, and while she and Nadine kept up a running conversation of topics ranging from idiot politicians to the weather, Sophia’s brain counted cars with each lap. It was weirdly comforting. Finally, after the designated twenty minutes, they jogged to the change rooms to collect their gear.
“You showering here?” asked Sophia. Nadine rolled her hands in contemplation.
“Nah. Paul’s dealt with my sweat before.” She smirked, then laughed at Sophia’s grimace. “Geez, you bite well. I’ll shower before he makes me sweaty all over again.” Nadine laughed at Sophia’s eye-roll and they bumped shoulders.
“Come on. We’re the last ones. Time to head home.” Sophia pulled the self-locking door closed behind them.
The exit to the grandstand led out to the halfway point of the carpark, and Sophia noticed Nadine’s little white sports car further along to the right, while Flo was huddled under her friendly street light to the left near the exit. Nadine threw a ‘see you tomorrow’ over her shoulder as she strode away, her feet crunching on the gravel.
Sophia didn’t move. The blue sedan directly in front of her, about thirty metres away, pulled her attention, and it was as she cocked her head in confusion that Louise, hand-over-hand, traversed the front of the car, her feet dragging woodenly on the ground. Clearly the vehicle was the only thing keeping her upright. Suddenly abject terror registered on Louise’s face.
The surrounding air inhaled itself, its breath held tight, as Sophia’s arm hurled her bag at the ground, and her legs lifted into a full sprint, so that she was only a metre away when Louise’s body contacted heavily with the bitumen.
“Nadine!” Sophia could hear her voice, a disembodied banshee. “I need help!” She dropped to her knees beside Louise’s trembling body.
“Louise! Lou! Oh God.”
Sophia’s hands skittered over Louise’s heaving chest, as she darted her eyes to her face.
“Soph….Soph…it hurts.” Rapidly accelerating breathing pushed the words away. All of a sudden her eyes widened, and a temporary rictus set her lips. Then vomit burbled from her mouth, and Sophia wrenched Louise onto her side. She retched, her stomach heaving, while Sophia fought with her own jacket, wrestling the sleeves from her arms, then balling it up and shoving it under Louise’s head. Nadine’s bag smacked down beside her.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
“Ring an ambulance!”
The sounds and vision clamouring around Sophia’s head narrowed to such a degree of sharpness that she could see each breath from Louise’s mouth. The fluttery hitch of hyperventilation that Louise directed wetly into the ground blended with the quiet panic of Nadine’s voice, as her words punched into Sophia’s back.
“…carpark D. South Melbourne Football Ground. Brewis Road entrance.”
“Soph…” A tiny voice. Gaze searching.
“I’m here, Lou. It’s okay. The ambulance is coming. It’s okay. I’m here.” Sophia’s eyes felt too large for her head. She reached for Louise’s hand, her brain registering the coolness of her skin.
So cold.
Sophia watched, horrified, as the tremor began in Louise’s legs, then her body vibrated, as if the bones were agitated by the very idea of skin.
“…collapsed. Louise Verheer. Just now. Eighteen years old. Yes, I can. Nadine McNamara. Sophia Lindstrom. Yes.”
“I’ve got you, Louise.”
“S…S…Soph? Don’t go.”
“I’m not, sweetie. I’m not leaving.”
Louise jerked violently, and clutched at her stomach, dragging her face off the jacket and onto the ground.
“…vomited. Looks like tremors. Yes. I don’t know. Thank you. Yes, I can stay on the line.”
“Soph?” A whimper.
Sophia’s hand shook as she brushed Louise’s damp, stringy hair away from her eyes.
“What is it, sweetie?”
“They’ve…they’ve left the lights…the lights on at the g…ground.”
Sophia whipped her head around, taking in the now darkened stadium. She spun back, then the air around her pushed, and shifted, and the increase in pressure seemed to force her attention to Louise’s eyes, as they widened, then gently closed.
“No! Fuck! Louise! No. You stay here. You’re not leaving. You fucking stay!” She knocked away the hand that suddenly landed on her shoulder. “No.” The hand pressed gently.
“Sophia? Are you Sophia? My name’s Georgia. I’m a paramedic.”
Sophia jerked her head up and around as the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was like a pair of curtains opening in a darkened room, as lights splashed onto the ground. Quick fingers were inserting tubes and needles and cutting clothing and sticking pads on skin. Sophia blinked.
“What?” She shook her head. “Louise…”
“She’s unconscious. We’re taking her to hospital. Can you let go of her hand for me?”
Sophia stared in bewilderment at Louise’s hand clutched in her own.
“Oh.”
“Sophia, I need you to step back a little so that Michael can work on Louise.” Georgia’s incredibly calm voice encouraged Sophia to sit back on her heels, pause, then push to her feet. She looked vacantly at Georgia, solid and competent in her dark blue cargo pants and button-up shirt, then her gaze drifted to Louise, her body tiny as Sophia’s vision pulled away. It was like looking down from a gre
at height. Nadine inched close to her shoulder.
“Soph, I’m going to ride in the ambulance to the hospital. I know Louise’s parents, so I’ll ring them once we get going.”
“Good. Good.” Her nodding was manic, and she scanned Nadine’s face. “Good. Okay.”
“I know. Louise is okay. She’s going to be—”
“Okay, Nadine. We’re moving. Can you jump in the front, please?” Sophia marvelled at the relaxed tone of Georgia’s voice. Didn’t Georgia want to punch the air as if it was solid, and scream just like she did? Nadine grabbed her shoulders, forcing Sophia’s face around.
“Are you okay to ride home?”
The frantic nodding restarted. “Yeah. Nah, it’s all good. I’m fine. Yep.”
The ambulance doors banged. She waved her hands at Nadine.
“Go. Look after Louise. She’ll be fine. Ring me later. Let me know how she is. Good. Good.” With a final worried glance over her shoulder, Nadine dashed around the ambulance and threw herself into the passenger seat, thumping the door closed. Then with sirens wailing, the ambulance tore out of the carpark and turned left onto Brewis Road. Sophia listened to the sirens until it was only an echo in her imagination.
I can’t feel my hands. The observation seemed so random that an uncomfortable laugh, which didn’t hang about in her mouth, fell from her lips. She stared at the ball of material that was her jacket, and jerked towards it. Then stopped. Then made another indecisive movement. Sophia shook her head, bent over and seized the jacket as if the ground had held it captive. Forcing her legs to move, Sophia collected her bag, shoved the jacket inside, then made her way to Flo.
Flo’s seat is wet. I’ll need to dry it. Sophia blinked uncomprehendingly at the sky, while her already damp clothing became soaked.
“It’s raining,” she said, her voice raspy as if the only way she’d communicated for the last twenty minutes was by screaming. She peered down at her T-shirt, its colour deepening with every drop. Huh. I wonder if the rain is cold.
She stared at her palms.
Take me home please, Flo. I’m not sure I know the way.
Chapter Seventeen
The numbness was still spreading through her body like a creeping virus, as she unlocked her front door and stepped inside. It felt right to place her keys and bag on the floor.
Just there.
On the floor.
Sophia blinked. I locked Flo. Yes. I did. She peered at her feet. Perhaps she’d take off her shoes. That seemed the best thing to do. Yes. There. That was better. It’s dark in here. A light. That one in the corner. Her hands were shaking so badly that she needed to employ all her fingers to turn on the switch. Agitation introduced itself to her feet. Her body jerked its way around the lounge room, pacing robotically in circles across the floorboards and over the rug, and after two circuits, her left hand commenced tapping the top corner of the couch on every pass. Her right hand joined the percussion one lap later, as it flicked the kitchen stool at the end of the bench. I wonder how Louise is doing? Tap. Flick. She’ll be okay. She’s had food poisoning this season. Maybe it’s left over from that. Tap. Flick. It’s probably not. I know that. It could be, though. Tap. Flick. It’s not.
On circuit six, she suddenly detoured via the kitchen to grab a glass tumbler, tossed two ice cubes into it, and caught up the new bottle of Johnny Walker Black that had spent the last month waiting expectantly in the dark inside the cupboard above the fridge. With her gaze now focussed on single entities—the coffee table, the bottle, the glass, the floor—she cracked the seal, a sound which was dangerously soothing, and splashed the amber liquid liberally into the tumbler. Sophia slid to the floor, so the top of the coffee table became a bar to lean on, and she swallowed heavily as she made conversation with the invisible bartender.
“Louise is not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not Dad. She’s not Dad. She’s. Not. Dad.”
The imaginary bartender swept the towel over the wood, and pushed the bottle of whiskey closer. Sophia nodded in thanks and refilled her glass.
“She’s not Dad. She’s not Mum, either. Louise is in hospital. Where people leave. People leave in hospitals. That’s where they go.” Each swallow was a gulp of whiskey and a toast to truth.
“I could have gone to the hospital as well. No, probably not. Nadine’s there. She’s there. She’s not leaving. No. Louise isn’t either. It’s okay.”
The bartender slid the bottle a little closer, and Sophia peered into the glass in her hand, watching the liquid run slowly down the sides, like thick rain.
“Did you know that Louise gets away eighteen handballs each game?” She filled the glass up to halfway, and tipped it slightly in gratitude to the bartender. “Twelve kicks per game. Those are great stats, you know. She’s a terrific rookie.” She swallowed. “So I’m waiting for a phone call from Nadine when she knows how Louise is going.” Another enormous swallow.
The alcohol filled her mouth, emptying slowly down her throat to simmer and subdue. I wonder who Craig will put into Louise’s position for the preliminary final. He’ll have to do some shuffling. Hope she’s well enough to come and watch. She spun the glass in its puddle of condensation on the wood, the liquid turning in the opposite direction, and focussed on the way it skated about on the thin film of water. The spinning slowed, everything slowed and her head felt heavy. The whiskey had begun to take effect and Sophia reached for it like an old friend.
“More? Abso-fucking-lutely.” She stared owlishly at the slow-motion movement of her hand as it clutched the bottle, and tracked it, with a slight delay, as it headed towards her glass.
The latest Australian pop song she’d set as her ringtone caused her hand to twitch as she finished the pour, and drops of whiskey decorated the wood around the glass.
“Huh.” Sophia thumped the bottle down, and fumbled with the zip on the pocket of her track pants, eventually dragging out her phone and cradling it in both hands. She stabbed at the green button to silence the incongruously upbeat music, and smacked the screen to her ear.
“Yep.”
“Sophia. It’s Craig.”
“Uh huh. Hey, Craig. Louise was sick in the carpark, and Nadine went in the ambulance.”
“I know, Soph.” His voice was tight, forced, like he was holding onto the last threads of emotional control. “I’m calling you about Louise.”
There was silence.
“Soph?”
Sophia breathed and breathed and then didn’t. “Mm.” She turned her mouth into an upside-down ‘U’, mashing her lips together, and grunted, the sound coming out through her nose. “Mm. Just tell me, Craig. Just say it. Please,” she whispered.
Craig’s voice hitched, shaking with the sobs submerged in his chest. “Louise’s parents have given me permission to let the team know…let you know…that Louise died an hour ago.” He gasped, possibly at how enormous it was to deliver the message again and again twenty-four times. “She suffered organ failure and they couldn’t do anything to bring her back. Louise’s parents said you should all know because Louise loved football and the team and—” He gasped again.
Sophia felt like she was hoarding air. An oxygen miser. “I…I don’t understand. She was fine.”
“No, she wasn’t, Soph. She didn’t regain consciousness from when she was in the carpark. I’m so sorry to give you this news.” Sophia could hear the tears in his voice.
“Oh. Oh…oh…right. Right.” Sophia had to widen her eyes so her own tears could fit. She flicked her head towards the ceiling, and her mouth fell open simply to exhale.
“Do you have someone who can look after you? Maybe Ben?”
Sophia dropped her head and stared at the bottle of Jonny Walker. She nodded. “Mmhmm. Yeah. I got a guy.”
“Okay. I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go now, okay? But I’ll be in touch.” Craig’s swallow was audible, and he hung up.
Sophia stared at the dark screen for minutes and minutes and minutes. “Nope.” She shook
her head. “Nope.” Her body shifted slightly, side to side. “Nope.” The tiny rocking action helped. Rocking helped. “No.” Head shaking and rocking. “No.” Shaking and rocking. “No.”
The rhythm was set and the word punctuated the spaces between each movement. Her lungs insisted on air, so she breathed sporadically amongst the motions and the word. Then she thrust her hand at the bottle and shoved the opening of it past her lips, swallowing and filling her mouth so much that the whiskey trickled out the sides. The bottle settled onto the rug, her hand clasped around the neck, and she felt her heart get bigger and bigger, expanding into her chest cavity. Or maybe it was her lungs, filling with air and refusing to release it. Sophia’s insides twisted with grief, so she brought the bottle to her mouth again to tamp down the gnawing ache that had started to bite. The glass rattled against her teeth. She sobbed as she swallowed, so that the resulting cough spat the alcohol through her lips. A low moan fell from her throat, quiet, a prelude to the orchestra of pain that she knew was coming.
“No,” she breathed, the word stretched and pulled sideways. Her body rocked. Her head shook. The eerie syncopation of her rocking, shaking and keening was the pulse for the little space of grief that Sophia inhabited between the couch and coffee table. She drank.
After a while, she realised that her phone was still clutched in her left hand. Her head swayed sideways in her attempt to focus on the screen, and somewhere in her brain, in the part that remembered things, she knew that Ben and Lin were on their date. Their date.
She keened wordlessly.
She rocked and shook.
Then that same little part of her brain realised that Cam knew Louise because Cam interviewed people. Cam interviewed players.
Sophia keened.
She rocked and shook.
She drank.
Eventually, after several aborted attempts, her finger poked at the message icon, then Cam’s name, and pressed letters to create text. The words, swimming in front of her, were stark and real and awful.
‘Louise died tonight’
***
Cam stared at the incomprehensible message that sat inside its rectangle in the middle of her phone screen. Even auto-correct had been unable to save it. J’aann and Francine halted their conversation to stare at her in tandem.