It didn’t make any difference, Ana couldn’t get enough of her.
To Ana, her mother was the alien. A wild, unpredictable force to whose tumultuous moods she constantly had to adjust, changing as they did within a breath. When she loudly complained that Ana was always underfoot, Ana kept her distance but even that seemed to bother Ellen – the child’s eyes always on her.
The girl is probably retarded, was her grandmother’s refrain, either not knowing or not caring that ‘the girl’ was hiding close by and could hear everything. What else did Ellen expect with all the filth she brought into the house? It was a bloody miracle Ana had been born with all ten toes and fingers!
As kids do, Ana learned to adapt. To stay in the shadows, from where she could watch all she liked without being caught. In time becoming so practised at it that now, years later, she can almost convince herself that she is invisible.
The forgotten front door squeaks, startling Ana, whose eyes flick to the hallway. A single light she leaves on day and night illuminates the passage to the other rooms.
Lately the house has been feeling too big and Ana too aware of the spaces that are not her own. Even here she has trodden lightly, imposing herself on just a small section of the house. The rest has faded into the background, like off-stage rooms in a play the audience are told exist in the wings but never get to see.
Normally she can keep them at bay but she feels them with her now. Their ghosts trapped in the dark rooms, dead mouths stretched wide enough to swallow her, silently demanding attention. Not malignant but not friendly either. They’ve gone unheard for too long and, as in the final days of their life together, they refuse to speak to each other, preferring to invade Ana’s head.
It’s the presence of her mother that most unsettles her. She who has been gone the longest speaks the loudest, just as she did in life. All these years later she can still make Ana feel like a trespasser in her own house.
A sudden ragged breath ripples through her. Her body reminding her to keep breathing. She can feel the cereal sitting heavy in her stomach, like she’s swallowed concrete. The brief moment of grace she had while running like a wild thing with River is long gone. It taunts her as though from the distant past of a different life, one she could never sustain.
A door bangs loudly now and Ana forces herself up, propelling her aching body over to the hallway where she confirms the swinging front door as the culprit. She glances back at River, who hasn’t moved but his eyes are open now, watching her, his uneaten breakfast in a bowl by his side.
It’s just his arthritis, she tells herself, nothing more. There’s been no sign of that other trouble for months and he’s been so good since she upped the dose of his anti-inflammatories. Like a puppy.
Ana tells River to stay, even though it’s quite clear he has no intention of following her.
She makes her way down the hallway, heavy steps punctuated by the odd creak of a straining floorboard. The bones of the house are still solid enough but the flesh is as tired as the old dog’s, only it complains a lot more than River.
Ana peers out through the door. The sun has disappeared along with the morning. A gloomy haze blankets the road at the end of the overgrown driveway where her old hatchback sits.
She should have put him straight in the car and driven to the vet. Now he’s settled it’s going to be hard to move him.
Ana shuts the door, telling herself she’ll take him soon, give them both some time to rest. She pauses there, at the open doorway of the living room. Aside from her bedroom it’s the space that belongs most to her and she tries now to anchor herself to the familiar objects, the few things she has claimed as hers alone. The rest of the house is neat to the point of austerity – the habitat of someone whose presence is felt mostly in the meticulous order of things – but the comfy old couch tells a different story, its soft cushions perfectly moulded to Ana’s shape. It seems almost decadent in comparison. It’s there she disappears into distant worlds within the pages of her books or in the occasional film or television show, River always stretched out on the couch by her side.
Across the room empty eye sockets hold her in their sights, her little army of watchful souls, resting comfortably on the wooden shelves that contain her found treasures. Small things gathered from a lifetime of walking every inch of the forest – smooth bits of driftwood, a neat display of different shaped leaves, some so fragile now they would crumble if touched, but Ana’s favourites by far are the delicate skulls, both native and feral – possums, birds, rabbits, even a tiny baby fox. Those belong both to her and to River.
It was River who would find the decaying creatures and delight in rolling in them – Ana was seldom quick enough to get to him before he’d covered his fur with a smell so putrid it took numerous washes before he could be let back in the house. He’d find them but she’d claim them, putting them out of his reach on the roof of the old greenhouse out back, until only the bleached bones remained, taking care to hide her smile every time her grandmother motivated herself enough to search for whatever it was stinking the place up.
She never once thought to search above her head.
You shouldn’t have let him run.
The words assault Ana from the inside.
Neither her mother nor her grandmother were cruel, at least not to her. Neglectful yes, spiteful even, but not cruel. This voice is something else, it belongs to her as surely as the things in this room do. It’s one thing Ana has always known about herself.
She can be cruel.
The lure of the couch is even stronger now than the shadowy recesses of the kitchen table but as much as Ana is tempted to fall into its embrace and sleep this feeling away she knows it will still be there when she wakes.
She needs to face this.
FOUR
‘Still giving him the medication?’
Ana nods in reply but keeps her eyes focused on the deliberate movements of the vet’s hands as they make their methodical way around River’s body. Over the years she’s grown familiar with those hands, much more so than the woman’s face. She’s seen the skin loosen over the knuckles, age spots appear and spread, as Ruth has inched ever closer to her elderly years.
Ana’s own hands were smaller the first time she stood here, firmly cradling River’s head to stop his furious snapping. He was still a puppy then but already had attitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ruth, more that he’d tolerate only so much handling before deciding that enough was enough. As usual he picked up on the residue of fear and distress from other animals the moment they entered the clinic.
‘How long has he been like this?’
Ana feels Ruth glance up at her.
‘Just today.’
‘And you didn’t notice anything before that?’
Ana shakes her head, shrinking with the shame of having waited until the very last minute to bring him.
‘He’s been so much better.’
‘Hmm … but we talked about that, right? About how the painkillers only mask the underlying problem? There’s no cure here, Ana, it’s more about how we manage things.’ Ruth notes Ana’s remoteness but continues regardless, reminding her that if she thinks his pain is a five out of ten it’s probably closer to eight or nine.
Ruth’s hands slow, gently manipulating River’s sore leg, stopping the moment he yelps and whips his head back, canines bared.
‘Steady, old boy, almost done.’
A warning growl rumbles through River’s throat but Ana has him held fast. She strokes his greying snout while Ruth goes in for another try but River nudges her hand away, his eyes wild and wounded. Ruth laughs and backs off. ‘I think he’s had enough,’ she says, offering him a liver treat from her pocket. River sniffs at it suspiciously before deigning to accept it.
For the first time Ana’s eyes settle on Ruth’s face, noting the fond expression as she gives River a scratch behind his ears before moving aside.
‘Is that it?’
‘Well, I could run more tests but the
re’s no point spending good money to tell us what we already know. How old is he now, fifteen, sixteen? It’s a very good innings.’
Ana remains silent as she lifts River down to the floor.
The dog limps straight for the door, making his outrage felt, paws tapping a sharp rhythm on the linoleum. He wants out of there. Now.
Ana remains adrift in the middle of the room, anchoring her eyes on the messy contents of a noticeboard above the examination table. A paper shrine overflowing with thank you notes and snapshots of animals; cats and dogs mainly but it’s a small black rabbit that Ana fixes on. One eye gazes back at her from under the awning of a floppy ear.
‘My mother used to call me Rabbit,’ she suddenly says, surprising herself as much as Ruth, who in all her years of treating River has never heard Ana offer anything personal about herself. She waits but Ana says nothing more.
It’s a nice memory, one of the few Ana has of her mother touching her. If she focuses she can still feel it, the sensation of her hand stroking the soft down on her head, coaxing her timid pet out from her latest hiding place. Ellen always seemed more comfortable treating Ana as an animal than a little girl and Ana never questioned it. She loved those moments of being her mother’s rabbit, even if Ellen didn’t always respond with affection the next time she nudged her for a pat.
Ruth leans forward, about to say something, but Ana beats her to it.
‘Are they all dead?’ she asks, making it sound like a challenge.
Ruth smiles faintly, her eyes passing briefly across the noticeboard, seemingly unperturbed by Ana’s bluntness. ‘It’s the saddest thing, isn’t it? Knowing we’ll outlive them.’
Ana keeps her eyes on the board.
‘Why don’t you sit, Ana?’
Ana throws a sidelong glance at the chair. She wants out of there just as much as River does and has to force her feet to cross the open space. Even then she accepts only the very edge of the seat.
‘I’m sorry, Ana, I wish there was more I could do.’
Ana studies her hands, her cuticles raw and throbbing, ripped to shreds. Her foot traces an old tear in the linoleum. The very first time she brought River to this place he’d had a fight with a Staffie whose locked jaw had torn a chunk out of his tiny snout. A battle scar he still bears, amongst the many others that came after. He has always been a fierce little fighter, loyal in his self-imposed role as Ana’s protector. Over the last few years those roles have gradually reversed but Ana doesn’t feel like she’s done such a great job of protecting him so far.
In the silence, she can feel Ruth’s eyes on her. She already knows what she is going to say next.
‘Have you given any thought to our last conversation?’
Ana glances back at River, who has given up on his getaway and is in the process of manoeuvring his tired old body to the floor. He sighs loudly as he settles his head down, eyes coming to rest on Ana.
The trust in those eyes renders her speechless, but it’s more than that, it’s that stoic quality all dogs have but River has in spades. Ruth is right, no matter how well she knows him she can’t know for sure how much pain he is in. Ana wishes, as she has always done, that he could speak. That he could tell her what to do.
‘Ana?’
‘I can’t …’ Ana croaks, the reply strangled in her throat.
Ruth nods. ‘No one ever feels ready.’ Her kind eyes once again flit to the noticeboard. ‘It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or next week, but you do need to prepare yourself. Sometimes it can help to get a new puppy. Or even a rabbit.’
She regrets the joke as soon as she sees the dismay on Ana’s face.
‘It’s my fault. I made him run.’
Ana’s distress is so palpable Ruth is taken aback. Her eyes shift to the open door into a connecting room.
‘There is stronger pain medication we can try,’ she finally says.
For the first time Ana’s eyes hold Ruth’s. She doesn’t have to say a word … Anything. She’ll try anything.
After a moment Ruth gets up. Ana follows her progress across the room until she disappears through the doorway. She remains focused on the door, listening to the fumbled sound of a key in a lock, a cupboard being opened and then closed, Ruth’s shuffling feet as she emerges with a small dropper bottle grasped in her hand.
‘This may buy you a bit more time but it’s morphine based so it’ll wipe him out. There are side-effects – nausea especially. That can sometimes be just as bad as the pain.’ She continues to hold on to the bottle, seemingly reluctant to hand it over. ‘If I give you this, you’ll need to think seriously about his quality of life.’
Ana nods, fighting the urge to grab the bottle and run. She wants it to be the answer even though she already knows there is no answer.
What she wants is a miracle.
‘How’s his appetite?’
Once again Ana looks at River. It’s obvious how much weight he’s lost since they were last here.
‘He still wants to walk twice a day.’ She forces a small smile. ‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
Ruth glances at River, whose eyes remain glued on Ana.
‘Who is he walking for, Ana?’
*
The light is fading as Ana drives through the outskirts of town heading for home. Stopped by a red light, her fingers tap an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel as she fights the growing urge to vomit. It’s a sensation she knows well – her stressed nervous system’s immediate connection to her gut. She feels the familiar heat of it spreading up across her chest and winds down her window, letting the sharp air flow through her, welcoming the clean bite of it on her face.
It’s only when she hits the long stretch of the forest road that her temperature regulates and the twisted mess in her belly starts to settle. She flicks on the headlights, focusing on the tunnel of deep green forming ahead, one hand settling on River, who is curled up in a blanket on the seat beside her, the first dose of the new pain meds already bringing him relief.
For Ana relief will be a slightly longer project. It’s not that she didn’t know this time was coming. She’d started to plan for it, squirrelling away any pills she knew were strong enough from the drug repository at work, slipping them discreetly into her bag under the counter when she knew the coast was clear. All under the cover of sorting through the leftovers that found their way back to the pharmacy. It was a place full of old people – the young ones generally couldn’t wait to reach the legal age to escape, first closer to the city, then to the mainland and beyond – which meant there were always plenty of painkillers and sedatives going around courtesy of accident prone, ailing pensioners who, luckily for Ana, mostly disposed of their unused drugs responsibly.
Ironically, Lenny had put her in charge of the repository because he didn’t trust his cousin Kristy not to set up a side business selling to her friends. Ana had been surprised when he confessed he’d done exactly that when he first worked in the pharmacy for his dad, which explained why he always seemed to have so many friends back then. It was the heavy-duty painkillers prescribed after operations that were most prized. Anything opiate based or derived seemed to frighten the general population, particularly the older folk who didn’t want them lying around for their grandchildren to accidentally eat. Lenny was scared into stopping when one of his ‘friends’ almost died from an overdose after mixing too many painkillers with too much booze.
It was that story, along with Lenny’s complete trust in her, that gave Ana the idea.
She’d made the decision when River started getting sick and the past months had been bearable because she had her plan. Her escape hatch. When the time came, Ruth would come out to the house and administer River an overdose of sedatives in the comfort of his own bed. There would be no pain, apart from the prick of a needle. One drug would sedate him, sending him into a calm, twilight sleep, the second would stop his heart beating.
It was a simple plan, elegant even. First River and then, once Ruth had gone, Ana wo
uld be free to join him. For them both, it would be just like going to sleep. Easy.
Except she doesn’t yet have enough pills.
*
Night has fallen already when Ana pulls back into her overgrown driveway, headlights settling on the weather-beaten doors of the garage at the side of the house.
It’s not until she shuts off the engine and the light from her headlights disappears that she notices something is off.
The house is dark.
Her stomach does an immediate flip. She is certain the hallway light was still on when they left for town. As it always is.
River remains calm at Ana’s side, unaffected by her sudden agitation. If something was wrong, normally he’d be the first to feel it but the drug has dulled his already fading senses. Settling a hand on his side, Ana remains there, surveying the house. The curtains are all drawn, just as she left them. No broken windows that she can see. The front door is closed but the back door would be the easier one to break into.
Her eyes flick to the overgrown path that disappears into the shadows at the side of the house.
That’s where they would enter.
She casts her mind back. She passed no other vehicles on the drive home and it’s unlikely anyone would be all the way out here on foot. Even so she remains on guard as she climbs out of the car. She quietly shuts the door to extinguish the interior light and peers quickly around, scoping out the surroundings.
The closest light is half a kilometre away, a bank of darkness separating Ana from her nearest neighbour. The isolation has never bothered her and she’s surprised to find herself spooked by it now because of what she is sure will turn out to be a blown globe.
Even in the darkness, on her first glance around she knows nothing has changed since they left. It’s in the things no one else would notice. A fine-tuned attention to detail courtesy of her grandmother, who taught her to read the night. The old woman abhorred surprises of any kind and could tell immediately if something was out there lurking in the dark. The quality of the air changes, she said. You can feel it on your skin. The human animal has an innate sense for danger just like other animals, it’s just been dulled by the constant white noise of modern life.
Lonely Girl Page 2