by Rowena Mohr
After a while, when I was a little less numb, I got up and walked around looking for Danny. There were bodies in every cubicle – most of them conscious and upright, fortunately, just very bloody.
I found the reception desk and asked the woman about Danny, but she said that since I wasn’t a relative she couldn’t give me any information. I wandered around hoping someone would let me know what was going on, but all the nurses ignored me.
Five little porcelain dolls came through the doors of the Emergency Room. Everyone turned to look at them, so I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. From somewhere like a dream came a vague recollection of something bad to do with pink-and-white dolls but I couldn’t quite grasp it.
And then one of the dolls turned into Meko, and it was all right, because she threw her arms around me and said, ‘Ruisa, are you arright? We heard there was a bomb.’ The other dolls came in close, and we had a group hug in the middle of the Emergency Room.
‘You were so great in the fashion parade,’ I whispered to Meko’s neck, suddenly remembering what the bad thing was. ‘And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.’
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered back. ‘But you owe me big time.’
I don’t know how long it took for Dad to turn up, but I do remember exactly what he said:
1. Luie, thank God you’re all right.
2. What did you do to my car?
And that’s when I started to cry.
Chapter 20
IN ALL THOSE BOOKS YOU read where the main character’s mother or father or brother has died, you know they’ve been really affected by the death and aren’t coping very well because they never cry until right at the end when something snaps inside them and suddenly they can’t stop crying. But when they finally do cry, that’s meant to be a sign that they’re going to be all right from then on.
Well, I think that’s a crock. For a start, it’s not true to say that I never cried. I cried all the time for about a year – but only when I was alone at night in bed. I’d stuff my pillow into my mouth so I wouldn’t wake Dad or Nina, and I’d cry until I fell asleep. I just never told anyone about it.
Especially not Jane. That’s another thing she keeps asking me – whether or not I ever cried. I never cry when I go to see her, so I think she thinks I’m weird. I think perhaps a lot of the other people who go to see her cry a lot because there’s boxes of tissues all over the room. But for some reason I can’t cry in front of Jane – or I don’t want to. I’m not sure which. What I feel about what happened is private. It’s between you and me and nobody else.
But when I thought I’d killed Danny Baldassarro, I started to cry and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what happened. It was stupid and kind of embarrassing, but I simply couldn’t make myself stop.
In the end, Dad had to ring the Baldassarros, because I was in serious danger of total dehydration. And then he drove me back to the hospital in our borrowed car, even though I told him I didn’t want to go.
I got a bit of a shock when I saw Danny, because I didn’t expect him to look so bad. I don’t know what I was expecting, really. And I know this sounds awful, but I couldn’t help wondering what had actually happened – whether Danny was doing the White Knight thing and had thrown himself on top of me to protect me, or whether he was just blown on top of me by the explosion. Either way, I shouldn’t be ungrateful – I escaped with a cut on my arm and a couple of pieces of glass in my leg. Danny, who was facing away from the blast, ended up with about five hundred tiny chunks of windscreen in his back and his butt.
Danny was asleep when I walked into the room, so I had a chance to have a good look at the damage I’d caused. They were still finding bits of glass in his back, so he had to lie on his front. His back looked like – I don’t know – some maniac had taken a screwdriver and stabbed him a million times. A total mess, in other words. I have been trying not to think about what might have happened – what could so easily have happened – but it’s hard not to when everyone’s treating you like you’re Dr Evil’s illegitimate daughter and you planned the whole thing.
And then Danny opened his eyes. He looked at me blankly for a couple of seconds. I almost stood up and walked out right then, because I don’t think I could have handled it if he’d been angry with me, but then he smiled.
‘Hey, Lu,’ he said, his voice all croaky.
I was so relieved that I almost jumped on top of him. ‘Hey yourself.’
I didn’t know what else to say. Should I thank him for saving my life? Apologise for all the terrible things I’d done? Or pretend nothing had happened? My mouth had ideas of its own, though, because what I actually said was, ‘I just came in to see Jet and thought I’d better come and see you too.’
Doh! What a totally stupid, insensitive, unfunny thing to come out with – and it wasn’t even true. Though Danny obviously didn’t know whether to believe me or not. I had to pretend it was a really hilarious joke.
‘Ha ha, sucked in,’ I said, and punched him in the shoulder. This was even dumber, because he yelled in pain and turned three shades paler than he already was.
An old grump of a nurse stuck her head through the doorway and gave me a disapproving look as if she thought I was trying to kill her favourite patient.
‘So how is Jet?’ Danny croaked, once he could speak again. He was trying to pretend that he cared, but he wasn’t very good at it.
‘Let’s just say that the zoo is very interested in him for their new echidna enclosure. They didn’t say anything about you, but if Jamie Oliver ever needs a man-size strainer – I bet you’d be in!’
Danny smiled crookedly and mumbled something into his pillow.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said it was worth it.’
Suddenly, I was all embarrassed and I didn’t know why, so I changed the subject and told him about all the other casualties – as if none of it had anything to do with me and I was just an innocent bystander.
Can I tell you something? I haven’t told anyone about this. I was going to talk to Dad about it, but I never found the right time and I didn’t think he’d want to know anyway.
After I saw Danny that day, I took the lift up to the fifth floor of the hospital. I’m not certain why I wanted to go back there. Maybe I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t just dreamed everything. I mean, obviously I hadn’t or you’d still be here, but you know how sometimes you can’t tell the difference between what you’ve dreamed and what’s real? Well, that’s how I feel about you sometimes.
I’ll wake up in the morning, and for just a second I’ll have forgotten. It’s not as if I’m suddenly deliriously happy or anything, more like everything is back to normal. And then I remember, and some little part of me shrivels like a burnt-up match.
That day in the hospital I went up to the fifth floor, to your old room. Everything was the same – the dirty-yellow paint on the walls that you said reminded you of old cheese, the print of the dog barking at the moon, the TV that was always slightly off-station – and standing around the bed was a family just like ours.
I could see how frightened they were by the way they stood so close together, the two little boys jammed up against their dad, one on each side, as if they thought they might lose him too. The dad had an arm around each boy, and his shoulders and back were as rigid as rock. Posed at the end of the bed like that, they looked as though they were launching a narrow white ship out to sea. I wondered if they had already said their goodbyes.
I turned and took the lift to the ground floor. I was about to leave, but as I passed the reception desk I saw a couple with their daughter, heading for the lift. I recognised the girl – she was Danny’s little sister. She must have recognised me too, because she grabbed her mum’s arm and whispered something.
Mr and Mrs Baldassarro both turned to stare at me, and suddenly I felt as though every pair of eyes in the hospital was focused on me. I was half-expecting Danny’s parents to start shouting at me right there in the reception area, but they just turned
back to wait for the lift. I walked out of the front doors and all the way home.
I didn’t want to go back to visit Danny after that. I was terrified his parents would be there, and that if they saw me they’d try to kill me, or at least have me arrested – or something. I know that doesn’t make sense, but all I could think was that Danny had nearly died because of me, and if I was Mr and Mrs Baldassarro I’d want to kill me.
So I stayed home. Mr McGregor had ‘suggested’ to Dad that it would be best if I took some time out and talked things over with Jane, the school counsellor – which I know is just a polite way of saying, ‘Keep your nut-job daughter away from us.’
It was weird. Nina was at school and Dad had to go to work, so I was at home by myself. I’d write a bit of this letter and then I’d have all day to think about all the terrible stuff I’d done. So to stop my brain working, I cleaned.
That’s what you used to do when you were angry or upset about something, so I figured it might work for me. I remember when Abbie died you went on a three-day cleaning frenzy. Dad had to hide all the brooms and dusters so you’d stop. Sometimes – not that time – he’d laugh at you. He’d say to Nina and me, ‘Watch out, girls, your mum’s on the warpath. If she’s got a sponge in one hand and a bottle of Jif in the other, you know she means business. Run for your lives.’
I never quite understood what all that was about. I still don’t. And I don’t understand why Dad was so upset with me when he saw what I’d done. I mean, the house hadn’t had a good clean for ages, so I was just making sure that everything was perfect! Like it used to be before you got sick. I cleaned all the shelves and cupboards but once I’d done that, I didn’t want to put all the old stuff back, so I took it outside and burnt it on the brick barbeque.
Okay, I did throw a lot of stuff out – but it was just clothes and books and things we don’t use anymore. There was some stuff that belonged to you, too. I didn’t know Dad had kept it. It was all packed up in garbage bags in the bottom of his wardrobe as if he’d been meaning to throw it away anyway, so I don’t see what the problem was. Everybody knows you’re not supposed to do that – you’re not supposed to hang on to stuff after the person’s gone – so I got rid if it for him.
Dad didn’t seem to understand that at all. In fact, he was really mad at me. And then he went into the bedroom and rang Jane and spoke to her for ages. I guess he was talking about me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Chapter 21
I’M SORRY I HAVEN’T WRITTEN for so long.
How stupid does that sound? Like I’ve been writing you a letter every day.
I just mean that I didn’t have anything to say for a while, you know. Everything just dried up. Maybe it was all that crying I did when I thought I’d killed Danny. Maybe I just wanted to stop thinking for a bit. Have a brain-vacation.
I had to go and have all these meetings with Mr McGregor about resitting my exams next year because I missed the last five weeks of school. To be honest, I don’t think he’s all that thrilled about the idea of having to spend several hours alone with me in a classroom.
I just thought of something. All this stuff I’ve written – maybe you know all this already? I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it’s like that book The Lovely Bones, and you’re watching us from your own private heaven. I wonder what’s in your heaven. Grandma Abbie? Sancho Panza? Do dogs go to heaven? I hope so, but I don’t know much about it. Dad never takes us to church anymore. You’re probably not too pleased about that, but I guess after you were gone he didn’t see the point.
To be honest, Dad kind of lost the plot there for a while. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticising him. Maybe I was angry at him for a long time – deep down, perhaps I did blame him for a whole lot of stuff – but not anymore. Not now. I can see that it’s been hard for him, too. And lonely. I don’t think Nina or I were very good company, you know. I was always too busy bossing him around, making sure he was on time for work, and Nina just became even more of a ballerina bun-head than she was before.
No wonder Dad loved being around Danny so much. Danny looked at Dad and saw a really talented musician who’d done all these great things – not just a guy who wasn’t coping very well after his wife had died.
Yes, I was angry with Danny too. And maybe just a little bit jealous. Okay, a lot jealous. But you can see why, can’t you? It was bad enough losing you, but no one said anything about losing Dad as well. Especially when he’s still here walking around in front of us. Except he’s not. Not really. He’s just going through the motions. Moonwalking through life. Until Danny came along, that is, and suddenly Dad’s playing and writing and sprinting ahead again. Just not with me and Nina.
Do you know what Jane said to me last week? She said that this might be one of the reasons I burnt all your stuff – because I was angry at Dad and trying to punish him. But she said something else. She said that maybe I was trying to give us all – Dad, Nina and me – permission to move on. You know, clear away all the old stuff so we can get on with the new. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? And maybe she’s got a point. But what do I know? I don’t seem to have much idea of what’s going on in my head at all – not according to Jane, anyway. I mean, you would think that after everything that had happened I’d be able to figure out a few things. Have some idea of what people were thinking. Well, you’d be wrong.
Take last Saturday morning. Dad was in a weird mood; he was pretending to be all jolly and happy, but I could tell he was faking it. He even made breakfast – scrambled eggs on English muffins – which he so never does. Usually it’s just toast and Weet-Bix. Nina was humming some ballet music to herself – totally oblivious to anything else as usual. I was starting to get a bit freaked out by Dad’s manic Father of the Year act when there was a knock at the door. And – here’s a good indication of how loopy I am – I thought it was the police coming to tell me I’d killed someone else. I was seriously halfway down the back garden before Dad caught up with me. He had a woman with him – Mrs Delfazio from the newsagent – and right away I had a bad feeling about what was coming.
We all went back inside. Dad made Nina and me sit down across from Mrs Delfazio. I’m not sure what happened next. Something sort of exploded inside me – a bit like Dad’s car, but with less collateral damage.
‘No! Dad!’ I yelled. ‘You can’t do this.’ I turned to Nina, hoping she’d back me up. ‘Tell him, Nina.’
Nina looked at me blankly as if she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I started to cry – again – and Dad practically leapt across the table and threw his arms around me.
‘Luie. It’s okay. It’s not a criticism of you. I’m just trying to help you out. Help us all out.’ He squeezed me tighter. ‘I’ve let you look after things for too long and I’ve realised …’ He sounded strange, all choked up, as he whispered the words to the back of my head. ‘I’ve realised that I haven’t been very fair to you. I’m so sorry.’
I pushed him away. ‘Dad,’ I pleaded, ‘you can’t do this. Please.’
‘Lu, it’s okay. It’s only going to be for three days a week.’
‘What? What difference does that make?’ None of this was making sense to me. Now Dad was trying to say it was okay, because it was only part-time.
I swung around to Mrs Delfazio and hissed at her, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. What’s your husband going to say when he finds out?’
Mrs Delfazio didn’t seem to think her husband would mind. In fact, she said she’d already discussed it with him and he thought it was a great idea.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where suddenly everything becomes totally surreal? Where you look around and everyone has shiny blue tusks and three eyes? In the dream, though, having blue walrus teeth is actually normal and all the walrus-people are looking at you as if you’re the freak. A bit like the Mad Hatter’s tea party in Alice in Wonderland. Well, that’s exactly how I felt listening to Mrs Delfazio.
; ‘I won’t let you,’ I shouted. ‘Go home to your own family and leave us alone.’
Mrs Delfazio was staring at me nervously, as if it had suddenly occurred to her that all the stories she’d heard about me were true. I turned back to Dad.
‘What about Mum?’ I asked accusingly. ‘Is that it? It’s all over and you’re all better now?’
‘What are you talking about, Luie?’ Dad was looking at me in exactly the same way as that day in the supermarket – as though I was an unexploded bomb with a very short fuse.
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘No, I don’t. I really don’t. What’s your mother got to do with Mrs Delfazio coming to work for us?’
See what I mean about not having a clue? Me, I mean, not Dad.
‘Work?’ I repeated stupidly.
I could tell Dad was trying not to laugh. ‘Luie, Mrs Delfazio’s going to be our housekeeper. That’s all. Three days a week – so you don’t have to do everything anymore. I should have thought of it a long time ago.’
‘Housekeeper?’
‘Yes. Housekeeper.’
‘But I thought …’ ‘I know. It doesn’t matter.’ Dad folded me in against him and held me tight.
‘But Dad, what am I going to do?’ I broke away, suddenly thinking of all the extra time I’d have to think about things I’d rather not think about. ‘I won’t have anything to do.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’ll find plenty to do. In fact, you can start by reading these.’ He reached for the top of the fridge and tossed a whole lot of brightly coloured brochures onto the table in front of me. Brochures with pictures of churches and castles and people on horses wearing funny hats. I still didn’t understand.
‘A holiday,’ he said. ‘I want you to plan a holiday. For you, Nina and me. Just the three of us. I thought we might go to Spain.’