The Good Teacher

by Petronella McGovern

  Allison leant backwards against the kitchen bench, pressing the phone hard to her ear.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She had a reaction. Her body went into shock.’ Another sob. ‘They don’t understand why.’

  ‘How is she now? Are they taking her off the trial?’

  A silence. Was Gracie’s last hope gone after all their efforts to get her there?

  ‘She didn’t recover.’

  The edge of the kitchen bench wasn’t holding her up. Pulling out the stool, Allison collapsed onto it.

  ‘They tried everything … they couldn’t save her.’ He was sobbing loudly down the line, his breath coming in great gasps every few seconds.

  Allison gritted her teeth to prevent the pain in her chest from erupting as a deep moan. ‘She was supposed to stay the same or get better,’ she muttered. ‘They said the drugs couldn’t harm her.’

  ‘You know they told us about the risks.’

  But Allison had refused to hear.

  If they raised enough money, if they flew Gracie across the world to the right hospital, if they saw the right doctors who provided the right infusion of drugs, if the whole community treasured her enough …

  All of that medical support and the power of love from a whole community should have been able to protect their little girl.

  19

  Upstairs in Gracie’s bedroom, Allison opened the wardrobe and touched the school dress. Imagined the little girl inside it, running through the playground, swinging on the monkey bars—even when she wasn’t supposed to. Circled by friends.

  ‘Gracie, let’s build a fort under the tree.’

  ‘Gracie, come play our game!’

  ‘Gracie, when are you gonna die?’

  Cradling the green uniform, Allison slumped onto the bed. A bare bed without the usual collection of animals; Gracie had taken her stuffed toys on the plane with her, along with Winnie the Wombat. Allison hoped she’d been holding one of her favourite toys, that she hadn’t been frightened. She asked me to come. I should’ve been there.

  Tears dripped down Allison’s face and onto the school uniform, creating dark splotches. Overhead, the rain continued its drumbeat on the roof. From Gracie’s window, usually she could see the bush leading towards Manly Dam but the trees had disappeared into a mist of cloud and drizzle. Like Gracie. Was she somewhere white, in heaven? With her mother? Allison mouthed a prayer into the whiteness: Dear God, take Gracie into your care and protection. Please look after our special girl.

  It seemed that Allison’s mother arrived as soon as she’d hung up the phone but time must have passed. When she opened the front door, the sky was dark and streetlights had flickered on.

  Mum hugged her so tightly that Allison felt faint.

  ‘Such terrible news, darling.’

  Nodding, she disentangled herself from her mother’s grasp and walked into the lounge room. In here, there were no photos of Gracie. When Allison sank onto the couch, Barbara sat next to her and patted her thigh.

  ‘I was positive it would work,’ Barbara said.

  ‘The infusions were meant to boost her immune system.’ Allison shut her eyes. ‘She wasn’t supposed to … die.’

  The word echoed off the walls. What if Gracie’s cold—the cold that Allison had passed on to her—had made her more susceptible to the rare side effects? What if the allergic reaction caused by Allison had harmed her immune system?

  Barbara sniffled and searched for a handkerchief in her bag.

  ‘Luke’s not coping,’ Allison said.

  ‘Of course, he’s not.’

  ‘No, I mean, his body’s not coping. He’s gone into shock. Not shock.’ Allison had been the one in shock; too shocked to listen properly. ‘He’s had some kind of heart episode.’

  ‘That happened to one of our golf ladies when her husband died.’ Barbara clutched her hands against her own heart. ‘The symptoms of a heart attack but no permanent damage. They had to postpone her husband’s funeral until she was out of hospital.’

  A funeral. Luke’s approach to Gracie’s illness had been smiles and sunshine. They’d never discussed her death. His wife’s funeral had been organised by her parents; he’d said he was too numb. I’ll always regret not doing the eulogy for her. I didn’t even choose our favourite song. Sarah’s death had blindsided him. At the time, they’d been focusing on getting Gracie through chemo.

  A funeral. A coffin. Or would he have to choose a cheaper option—cremation—to get Gracie home? Oh God, now Luke was a patient in an American hospital, he’d have to pay for his own care.

  ‘They’re doing tests on his heart,’ Allison explained. ‘He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to stay in there.’

  ‘It’s probably Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. They call it broken heart syndrome.’

  Allison could feel her own pulse throbbing in her neck.

  Broken heart syndrome.

  All of Wirriga would be suffering from it.

  Allison followed her mother into the kitchen and watched as she poured tomato soup from a tin into a saucepan. At the sight of the oozing blood red mixture, her stomach cramped. The green smoothies, the restricted diet, Luke’s approved list, no sugar, no junk food—all for nothing. Gracie should have been allowed to eat ice-cream every day of her short life. Allison reached down to the cupboard where the bullet blender was kept. Yanked it out and, with the power cord trailing on the floor, carried it across to the kitchen bin. When she went to close the cupboard, the door caught on a small plastic container. As she kicked at it, Allison realised there were more of them; they’d been hidden behind the blender. Four different containers of pills and a glass bottle with liquid inside. Super Strong for Super Bones, read one label. Great Greens, Great Health. Detox for Cancer.

  She’d never seen them before. Had Luke been blending these in with the green smoothies? Allison shook the containers—less than half full. No list of ingredients. The labels said: Detox for Life! Bounce Back the Natural Way. Imported by the Bio-Antidotes Company.

  How had these containers ended up in her kitchen cupboard? They’d talked about the evils of alternative remedies; Curtis had even written that blog post. She thought Luke agreed. Some of those so-called remedies made patients sicker. Just like Aesop’s fable about the pigeons inviting in a hawk to protect them from the kite; the hawk had slaughtered the defenceless birds. She’d read it to the children last term and explained the moral: Avoid a remedy that is worse than the disease.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’

  Her mother must have overheard her muttered swearing.

  What if this herbal shit had killed Gracie? Allison closed her fist around the plastic container. She’d taken the lead in encouraging Wirriga to donate for Gracie’s exciting new treatment—thousands and thousands of dollars from mums and dads, grandparents, sports clubs and local businesses. Oh dear God, what if all of that had been undone by something that had happened in her house?

  ‘Allison?’

  The note of alarm in Mum’s voice made the decision for her. Allison put the pills back on the shelf, shut the cupboard doors, and stood up. For once, she was going to make a fast decision and overcome her fear. She had to find out the reason for Gracie’s unexpected death.

  ‘I’m going to America tomorrow.’

  After her mum had left, Allison scrolled through a list of flights on her laptop. Twenty hours to Chicago via Los Angeles—nearly a whole day up in the air; she wouldn’t think about that part. Gracie had been brave, and she’d follow her example. Last year, they’d planned to go to Hawaii for Nadia’s fiftieth birthday. She’d found an online course which was supposed to cure the fear of flying, plus her GP had given her a prescription for Valium. Allison had got her passport and the electronic travel authorisation to enter America. But she’d never made that flight. A week before, Tony’s best friend in England died from a stroke. So unexpected. Tony had begged Allison to come to the funeral but she couldn’t do it; the sudden death had made
Allison even more afraid to fly.

  Slouching over the desk, Allison wondered if she should take the rest of the year off, get a one-way ticket, stay in America, hide out as far away from Wirriga as possible. Sell the bloody house. Get away from Tony and his new woman and baby. Walk away from everything. But that would mean leaving Felix. She groaned at the thought of having to tell her son the news. Her poor boy was having such a rough year and now this.

  With a heavy heart she dialled his number, but there was no answer. She’d only seen him twice in the school holidays: at the party when they’d celebrated achieving the goal and the night he’d come over to say goodbye to Gracie. He’d given her a small electronic game to play on the plane. Allison had no idea where he’d got the money. Felix still hadn’t forgiven her for accusing him of stealing. You took Luke’s side over mine without even checking! She’d offered to help him with homework, drive him to holiday activities, but each time, he’d say, ‘No, thanks’. Perhaps he was avoiding her so she couldn’t ask about the baby.

  When Felix rang back an hour later, she found it hard to break the news.

  ‘What’re you saying, Allison?’ he asked.

  Three weeks ago, he’d stopped calling her Mum. That tone, every time he used her name, was a slap in the face.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry to tell you that Gracie died at the hospital.’

  ‘What? Fucking hell!’

  Allison let the swear word pass by; it was warranted in these circumstances. More hurt and confusion for him. And this time, she’d brought it into Felix’s life. She explained that she was flying to Chicago tomorrow to sort out the logistics. Presumably there would have to be an autopsy. What would they find?

  ‘You’re going on a plane?’ Felix made a choking sound. ‘By yourself? No way. Dad won’t believe it.’

  Tony would be happy to have her out of the country, on the other side of the planet.

  ‘Please let him know.’ She wished Felix was at home with her now, so she could enfold him in her arms like she used to. ‘I love you, sweetheart. I’ll text you from Chicago.’

  ‘Don’t text. Use WhatsApp. It’s free. Remember? I set it up for you.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Good luck, Mum.’

  A glass of wine in one hand, Allison unzipped her bright red carry-on suitcase and wondered what to pack. It wouldn’t be cold in Chicago; despite being spring there, the weather was similar to Sydney’s autumn. She’d take the pills to show Dr Mercado. Sitting on the bed next to the empty suitcase, Allison made two more difficult phone calls, to Nadia and Shona.

  Ten p.m.—still too early to phone Luke again. She had no idea how he’d cope with Gracie’s death. This broken heart syndrome—she’d googled Takotsubo cardiomyopathy—would take weeks to recover from. He wouldn’t be able to tackle his despair by training in the gym, pressing weights, jogging for endless miles.

  Her mobile rang, and Allison grabbed for it, nearly knocking over the wineglass.

  ‘Hey, Ally.’ His voice so quiet she could barely hear him. He should be resting.

  ‘How’re you feeling? I mean, how’s your heart?’

  ‘My whole body hurts. I keep thinking of my brave little girl being stuck in a hospital bed just like this. She never complained.’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be with you soon.’

  ‘But you’re scared of flying, Ally. Don’t worry about me. Brian is coming from Boston.’

  The kindness of strangers. Brian’s brother had died from thymic carcinoma last year and now Brian was campaigning for more research into this rare disease. That was how he’d come across Gracie. He’d emailed Luke all sorts of information about new treatment options in America.

  ‘I’ve already booked the flight,’ Allison said.

  ‘Won’t the children need you there?’

  Luke sounded exhausted—physically and emotionally. And in the midst of his own grief, he was thinking of others. But for once, Allison was thinking of herself. She couldn’t go to school tomorrow, hide her own broken heart, and help the children through their sadness.

  ‘Shona and Declan will look after them. I’ll be there for you.’

  ‘You’ve already done so much, Ally. I can’t ask you to do more.’

  He hadn’t asked her to do any of it. In fact, it was Gracie and Luke who had kept her going this year.

  When they’d said good-bye, the house was silent again apart from the drip-drip-drip of rain in the gutters. It reminded her of Gracie’s footsteps tapping up the stairs. Dancing around the room. Jumping up and down for her rabbit joke. How do rabbits like to dance? Hip-hop style!

  On the laptop, Allison clicked to the blog post from two weeks ago, when Gracie had been starting the immunotherapy trial and they’d all been full of hope. Luke had explained the treatment, and underneath were dozens of comments wishing Gracie good luck. The last one stood out—Allison hadn’t seen it before.

  TN from Georgetown: Why has this child been accepted onto this clinical trial? Please get a second opinion.

  Allison stared at the words: second opinion. Luke had moved to Sydney for Dr Rawson; he’d always trusted the specialist’s advice. Never questioned the treatment. Followed the recommendation for the trial, despite the enormous cost and the upheaval in Gracie’s life.

  Why didn’t Luke get a second opinion? What if Dr Rawson made a mistake in sending Gracie to that clinic in Chicago?

  20

  MAZ

  Maz placed the plate of chicken breast and green vegetables in front of Dad, and sat down opposite Mum. She’d rushed to get home, have a shower and cook a healthy dinner for them.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ Dad said. ‘Don’t we normally have mash with this?’

  ‘Remember, we’re carb-free this week, Dad. How much have you lost now?’

  Dad picked up his knife and fork. ‘Dunno. Maybe twelve.’ He polished off the chicken breast in three mouthfuls.

  ‘That’s awesome! Don’t give up after all your effort.’

  ‘I’m tired, love. Long day at work.’

  When Maz studied him properly, she could see a tinge of grey around his eyes. Despite that, he was almost a different person from three months ago. The extra layer of flab under his chin had shrunk right back and he had some definition around his cheekbones. These days, he looked nothing like Joseph, the man who’d collapsed at the gym.

  ‘Have you heard from Luke?’ Mum asked.

  ‘He texted early this morning. Gracie’s doing well.’

  She’d sent him a selfie taken at the gym: in her Lycra, chest out, ponytail over one shoulder, holding up a boxing glove. Her lips in a kiss for him. Her reflection replicated over and over in the mirror behind. I’m gunning for you & Gracie, she’d typed under the photo.

  Luke had texted straight back. Too hot to handle! Miss you lots. Love you, babe. xx

  Neither of them had said the L word before. Oh my God, did he actually mean it? They made such a good team. Maz had spent ages working out her reply. She typed back slowly: Miss you too. Hope it’s going well. Love you + hugs + kisses. She’d added two smiley face emojis, a love heart and a balloon. Maz watched as Dad left the dinner table and helped himself to a VB from the fridge. So much for no alcohol during the week. But she wouldn’t say anything; he seemed shattered.

  In her bedroom, Maz checked the time in Chicago. Two a.m. Luke would be asleep. As she clicked through the phone, she realised she’d missed a WhatsApp call from him. Wait, it showed that he was online now. Maz typed out a quick message: Are you awake?

  He rang instantly. As Luke told her the news, she started shaking. She could still see Gracie waving goodbye from the back seat of Allison’s car as they set off for the airport. Grinning with excitement about America.

  ‘Oh, babe,’ she whispered. ‘Gracie seemed so much better when she left. I thought the pills were helping …’

  Maz suddenly felt very young; she didn’t know the right words to say, didn’t know how to comfort him
. Could she help him through this into their future together?

  After they hung up, Maz lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Oh God, Gracie had died. DIED. She rubbed at the purple bracelet on her wrist. And Luke was all the way over in America by himself, sick in a hospital bed. He’d asked her to tell everyone—her parents, her sister, Nico at the gym, all the instructors, his clients. They’d all donated. When Nico had given nine thousand dollars, she’d overheard another instructor complain it was an insane amount that would affect their wages and equipment. All of that money to save Gracie’s life and now … Unable to be saved, just like Joseph.

  First, Maz rang her sister, asked her to come over so they could tell the parents together.

  ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me,’ Kelli shouted down the phone. ‘Gracie was s’posed to get better. Not fuckin’ die.’

  ‘Calm down before you get here. Mum and Dad are going to be so upset.’

  Mum had taken Gracie under her wing. Played games with her, babysat, watched kids’ TV shows. Even when Maz was at work, Mum would invite the little girl over.

  ‘It’s just plain wrong,’ Kelli said. ‘It should be old Mrs Grainger down the street. She’s ninety-five. She’s already had ninety more years than Gracie.’

  Maz couldn’t wrap her head around that.

  ‘Just hurry up,’ Maz said. ‘I can’t leave my bedroom until you’re here.’

  ‘Okay, I’m coming. By the way, you might want to think about your website. Is Gracie still the poster girl?’

  Normally, Maz loved early mornings best: a time for those who wanted to make the most of their lives. The magical dawn of a great day, with endless possibilities. Not today. Mum and Dad had been as upset as she expected last night. And now she had to tell Nico before anyone else.

  The gym was already buzzing at five-thirty. Maz got through her two early classes, a fake smile on her face, her body heavy with every step. By eight, Nico was in his office. When he heard the news, he leapt from behind his desk and wrapped his arms around Maz. It wasn’t a comforting hug; with his huge biceps, Nico could probably squeeze her to death like one of those pythons with their prey.