Sick Bay

by Nova Weetman

  The magnolias look out of place in the front room. Like they’re trying to show off and aren’t quite capable of dragging the rest of the place up to their standards. I wonder if I should move them.

  ‘Meg?’

  Mum is in the doorway wearing her old paint-splattered t-shirt. It swamps her entirely, draping down to her knees. ‘It looks lovely in here. Thanks for cleaning up.’

  I risk a nod.

  ‘New t-shirt?’

  I look down. The rainbow is stretched in coloured lines across my chest. I hope Peggy didn’t expect it back. Mum walks in to the room and I watch her closely. She stands in front of the couch for a second, and then slowly sits down, like she’s trying it out. She pats the seat next to her. I’m slow to join her and, when I do, I leave a cushion width between us.

  ‘How’s school?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I did some gardening today … weeding. I pulled out weeds,’ she says, holding out her hands like I should be able to see the evidence. ‘It was gorgeous outside. The days are getting warmer,’ she says.

  I notice the pink in her cheeks. She’s usually so pale. Today must have been a better day. If only there was a row of better days before the bad days come.

  ‘Thought I’d cook something tonight. Do you feel like pasta? There’s basil in the garden,’ she says.

  I don’t want to be fooled; I’ve rushed into these moments before.

  Through the window, I see Peggy walking along the footpath with a basket of washing. I catch her eye as she passes and shake my head firmly, hoping she understands, but she keeps coming.

  ‘Meg?’ Mum asks.

  I’m staring out, the sun beaming in, knowing that any second there will be a knock or a doorbell or something. My left knee starts shaking, vibrating, like it’s getting ready to run.

  ‘It’s Peggy,’ I whisper.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Outside,’ I tell her, snatching a quick look at her face as she processes the information.

  The knock is quiet when it comes, like she knows it will be met with fear.

  Mum gasps and drops her head, looking at the ground.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum.’

  Leaving her, I go to the door.

  ‘Your washing, madam,’ says Peggy, holding out the basket to me, the smell of detergent strangely reassuring. I slide my hands into the rope handles, and notice that she’s pressed and folded each piece. And on top is a large orange Tupperware container that I’m guessing is full of lasagne.

  ‘Your mum home?’

  I shake my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Can I come in?’ She starts edging towards the doorway, but I hold my ground, blocking her with the washing. There’s a cough from inside the house like someone’s being choked. Peggy scans my face and then places her hands on my shoulders and turns me to the side so she can pass.

  She heads straight for the front room, shutting the door behind her as she goes inside, leaving me in the hallway with the washing.

  At first I pace. Up and down the hallway. Then I stand outside the closed door with my head pressed against it trying to listen. I can hear crying and voices, although nothing specific. What is going on in there? Last time Peggy came, Mum told her to leave and never come back and, afterwards, Mum was in bed for a week.

  It wasn’t like this after Dad died. Not straightaway. After a few weeks off, she worked and I went to school and at night I’d creep in and slip into Dad’s side of the bed and wake up wrapped in Mum. But then she stopped talking about him, stopped getting up in the morning, and starting sleeping on her side, away from me. And I didn’t know what to do. Soon after that I saw her use a paper bag for the first time, her breathing fast and choking, and her face stained with tears.

  It was his heart. His big sweet heart. It just stopped one day on a building site and his friend called an ambulance, but it was too late.

  I think that’s what got to her. The speed of it. The here one day, gone the next. Instead of healing with time, her grief just grew and grew until it settled somewhere inside.

  I feel it too, the pain of him never coming back. I understand why she’s like this. Although unlike her, I try to remember him. His hands, measured up against mine, swamping me. His laugh that started somewhere down deep and shook his body. And that he smelt like wood. He’d shake his hair and shavings would fall from it like snow. He’d take off his boots and a small splinter would drop. Peggy told me once he could read the grain. He could run his hands down a timber beam and know how it would react. I always loved that idea.

  I miss Dad. I do. But I miss Mum more.

  What is going on in there?

  Riley

  ‘Here’s your snack, Riley,’ says Jess, the aftercare worker.

  I take the package wrapped in foil. Everyone else gets to line up in a long snaking queue across the middle of the playground and choose whichever slices of jam-covered bread they feel like. Me? I have twenty grams of specially prepared snackage. I should do a test before I eat the crackers, just to check I’m not low or high.

  But instead, I decide to sit down on the edge of the wooden steps and wait for Lina. I’m only here on Wednesday afternoons and Lina is almost never here. There are kids everywhere. Some are kicking balls and others are chasing each other around the school.

  ‘Apricot jam is so underrated, don’t you think?’ She stands in front of me, squishing together the two slices she’s holding and takes a big bite.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I have Vegemite. The only spread with zero grams.’

  I show her the rice crackers smeared with the thick brown paste.

  ‘Yummy … Lucky, R.’ She sits down next to me, her leg squashing against mine.

  ‘Eat up, R,’ she says, stuffing in the last of her sandwich.

  ‘Why? You want to play footy with the grade twos?’

  She shakes her head at me and I see a shine of something in her eyes that I can’t quite pin down. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Lina’s only here because I am. Her mum doesn’t care if she walks home to an empty house. She has her own key and money to buy snacks on the way. She told me this morning that she’d asked her mum to book her in to a casual session, but she never told me why.

  ‘Time for you to have some fun.’

  The dry Vegemite cracker wedges in my throat and I cough to free it. I’m suddenly not very hungry.

  She grabs my arm and pulls me up. ‘I’ll meet you round near the back of the library. Leave your stuff. We have to come back. What time’s your mum coming?’

  ‘Lina … I can’t …’

  She sighs and rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, you can. This is what friends do. What time’s your mum coming?’

  I shrug. ‘I dunno. Five thirty … six.’

  ‘Cool. We’ve got nearly two hours or so.’

  She runs off towards the gym. I know she used to skip out of aftercare before her mum said she could walk home, but this is the first time she’s asked me to do it too. If Mum finds out then I’m dead. Plus, I’m not even sure I want to skip out of school. But if I don’t go, Lina will never let me forget it. She holds onto everything. And maybe this is a chance to show her that I can do things. I toss the last bits of my rice crackers into the bin and head off after her.

  There’s a small gap between the back of the library building and the fence, and it’s planted with bushes and trees. I can see Lina huddled behind them when I round the corner. My hands are clammy, and I can’t stop looping the thought of being caught through my head.

  ‘I’ll jump the fence first. Okay?’ she whispers.

  ‘Okay.’

  I watch as she puts her hands out and springs over the rail, doing a handstand at the top, like it’s a gym routine.

  I squeeze through the bushes, feeling the scratch o
f the twigs and sharp leaves on my bare arms. There’s so much rubbish on the ground. It’s like everyone comes here at lunch and dumps half-eaten sandwiches and apple cores. I reach the part of the fence where Lina climbed over.

  ‘Hurry up,’ she says.

  I sling my leg over and haul myself up and over the thin metal. I look around to make sure nobody’s seen us but everyone is on the oval or in the art room or kitchen. You’re not supposed to come down here during aftercare and I guess they figure if you’ve signed in then it’s unlikely that you’ll do a runner. I throw myself clear of the fence and land clumsily near Lina.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Lina pulls her phone out of her pocket. We’re supposed to hand our phones in at aftercare but somehow she always manages to fool Jess that she’s left it at home that day.

  I watch her text and try to read over her shoulder, but she keeps it just slightly out of sight so I can’t. ‘Lina?’

  She pockets her phone and strides ahead. I skip to keep up, worrying that this is not a good idea. I never really walk anywhere without Mum or Dad. Someone is bound to see me leave school. Or maybe Jess will go to check on me and they won’t be able to find me at school and they’ll call Mum. My palms are itchy. I flick my nails across them, hoping to scratch the feeling away.

  ‘How much further?’

  ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

  Lina checks the traffic at the roundabout and heads across, pausing in the middle to let a bike go. I follow and we pass a row of identical-looking grey houses. I wonder how far we’re going.

  ‘Let’s cross here,’ says Lina, reaching the end of the street.

  We walk down another street that looks the same as the last one. I’ve only lived here for eighteen months and I have no idea where I am. If I had to find my way back to school it would be disastrous. Lina bumps against me as we near the corner of the main road. She turns left and I follow.

  ‘You going to tell me where we’re going?’

  She looks across and grins. ‘Almost there, R.’

  I roll my eyes, pretending not to care, but inside my stomach is churning like it does when I haven’t eaten properly.

  ‘Mum said I could get a limo for graduation and pick us all up. What do you think?’ she asks.

  I think my mum will have something to say about that, but I nod and try to animate my face. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘I know. I’m so lucky. She’s letting me get my make-up done so that it stays on for the afterparty. Mum might be super busy but she totally gets what I’m into.’

  I think about my mum and how little she gets what I’m into.

  ‘Mum’s going overseas next week so she won’t be at graduation,’ adds Lina. Her mum is away a lot. It means she has to stay with her dad and his new family who Lina doesn’t get along with.

  ‘She might even miss Christmas,’ whispers Lina, her head down.

  ‘Oh. That sucks.’ I touch her arm, trying to be supportive and she lets me for about ten seconds before she pulls away and shrugs.

  ‘Yeah, but imagine the presents I’ll get when she comes back. A-mazing!’

  Lina skips across the road in front of a car. I wait until it cruises past before following after her.

  ‘So, what’s with you and Slipper Girl then?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Lina pins me with one of her famous ‘as if’ looks, complete with an eyebrow up in judgement.

  ‘TBH, she’s okay,’ I finally say.

  ‘Bonded in Sick Bay, have we? Nice,’ she says coldly. ‘She’s probably delighted to have some attention.’

  ‘Why do you hate her so much?’

  She shrugs. ‘It’s just a bit of fun, R.’

  Then I look up and see a boy waving at us from about one hundred metres away.

  ‘Is that Matt Park?’

  Lina turns and smiles at me. ‘Sure is.’

  ‘We’re meeting Matt?’ I say, realising I’ve just been dragged from aftercare for a boy.

  ‘And Nick.’

  I groan. ‘No, Lina. I don’t like Nick.’

  ‘I couldn’t meet them on my own, could I? I needed a bestie,’ she tells me, slipping her arm through mine and pulling me closer to the boys.

  I’m not sure whether I feel angry with her or relieved that she just called me her bestie.

  ‘And you get to have your first ever Slurpee! My shout,’ she says, as we reach the boys and I notice that they’re waiting outside the 7-Eleven for us.

  ‘Hey,’ I mumble to Nick.

  He mumbles back at me while Matt and Lina start giggling about something. I really wish I’d stayed at aftercare.

  ‘Riley’s never had a Slurpee before,’ says Lina. ‘Let’s show her how it’s done,’ she says, pushing the door open and waving the three of us in.

  Matt bangs in before me but Nick stands back so I can go next. This is so awkward.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Yep.’

  Inside, the store is fluoro bright and busy. I’m trying to imagine what Mum would be angrier about – me ducking out of aftercare, meeting a boy, or having a Slurpee. I can’t decide. Probably all three. Hopefully she’ll never find out, just like she never found out about the swimming.

  Lina hands me a giant cup. ‘Slurpee initiation begins!’

  Nick shuffles closer and talks me through the available flavours – Coke, Fanta and Raspberry – and then shows me how to hold the cup up to the nozzle and turn it on. I’m madly trying to calculate the grams as a stream of bright pink icy goo pours out and starts filling the cup.

  Matt flicks the tap off halfway. ‘You gotta get all three flavours.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m not drinking Coke,’ says Lina loudly. ‘It’ll rot your teeth.’ Then she laughs like she’s hilarious and bumps Matt along so she can fill her cup with the stream of icy Coke.

  ‘Here, Riley,’ says Nick. ‘You need a straw-spoon thing.’

  He pushes the paper down from the outside of a straw and hands it to me. My cheeks are probably as red as the Slurpee and I start drinking because I don’t know what else to do.

  ‘Go slow. You’ll get a brain freeze!’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ I sip tentatively, knowing I have to do a test and put in grams. But how much of this is soft drink and how much is air? I know that soft drink is packed full of sugar, which means carbohydrates.

  As Lina turns around to go to the counter and pay, I lean in and whisper, ‘How many grams do you think this would have?’

  She pulls a face at me and starts sucking on the straw. ‘I dunno!’

  ‘But I have to put the grams into my pump,’ I say louder than I mean to.

  ‘Live a little, R!’

  Nick looks over and I can see him trying to work out what’s going on. Embarrassed, I turn away. I don’t want to have a conversation about diabetes with him or Matt.

  I decide to sip as slowly as I can. It should be okay. It has to be okay. It was okay when I went swimming and that was exercise and a milkshake and chips. This is just flavoured air and a bit of ice. I try to breathe normally as Lina pays and the boys crash into the street with their Slurpees.

  ‘Let’s go to the park,’ says Lina.

  ‘What’s the time? I have to be back soon,’ I say nervously.

  ‘Yeah, yeah … plenty of time.’

  Lina walks up to Matt and they head towards the traffic lights. I can see the big park across the road. I know it’s not far from school because we walked to it for inter-school sports this year.

  ‘What’s your favourite flavour?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Um … I dunno.’

  ‘I like Fanta. All that orange.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We walk next to each other but both of us are looking down like our Slurpees are fas
cinating. I have to ask him a question to break the silence but I don’t know what to start with. After a few moments, I say, ‘Are you excited about graduation?’

  He shrugs. ‘I guess. The afterparty’s supposed to be fun.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The lights change and we keep walking, Matt and Lina metres in front. I can hear Lina’s voice chatting away and I wonder what she’s finding so easy to talk about.

  ‘You excited?’ he asks.

  I sip a bit more Slurpee but can’t work out what flavour is what. It all just tastes sweet and cold.

  ‘Yeah. I have to do a speech.’

  ‘Bummer.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I blink a couple of times, trying to shift the sharpness in my head. ‘I think I have a brain freeze!’

  ‘My dad reckons you should punch your head … like this.’ I look across as Nick bangs the flat part of his palm against his forehead. His eyes close as he does it and it makes me laugh.

  ‘No thanks!’

  ‘It doesn’t work,’ he says. ‘Probably makes it worse.’

  ‘Yeah. I reckon.’ I take another sip and realise I’ve drunk more than I meant to, but it tastes delicious.

  ‘Over here, R!’

  Lina’s sitting on the swing in the playground and Matt is on the ground at her feet. I follow Nick across to them.

  ‘Slurpee verdict?’ Lina asks me.

  ‘Yeah … good.’

  ‘Told you! You were missing out. Such a drag being diabetic,’ she says.

  Blushing, I focus on my Slurpee and wonder what Lina is playing at.

  ‘So, should you not have sugar?’ Nick asks.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I tell him.

  He nods and I really hope he stops with the questions. I hate talking about diabetes like it’s a public forum.

  I’m getting anxious about putting grams into my pump. I have to do a test first because if I put in grams without knowing what my reading is then I could cause a low or a high. Then I realise I didn’t even test before I had half the crackers at aftercare. It’s always a risk if you eat without testing because you don’t know what your blood glucose level is and then you’re adding more food to it. It makes it impossible to know how many grams to put in. But there is no way I’m going to test in front of the others. I scan the park looking for a toilet, but I can’t see one anywhere. There are just joggers and kids on bikes and more seagulls than I’ve ever seen away from the beach.