by B M Carroll
So here it is. The phone call she’s been waiting for since the last time. The phone call she’s been dreading and fully expecting.
‘Is he breathing? Does he have a pulse?’ she croaks. She wants to shout and scream but her voice is like the rest of her: sapped of strength.
‘The ambos said his vital signs are good but he’s unresponsive ... He’s out cold, Mrs Harris.’
She sees her son in her head. Pale, lifeless, oblivious to everything: the panic he’s caused his ‘friend’, the weary resignation of the attending paramedics, the helpless terror of his mother at the end of the phone.
‘Find out where they’re taking him,’ she says.
She hears a muffled exchange in the background. One of the paramedics mentions ‘Northern Beaches’ before Liam comes back on the line to confirm it.
Annabel almost has to pinch herself. Her husband is in ICU on the first floor of the hospital, and her son is about to be brought into A&E.
‘This can’t be happening,’ she sobs. ‘This can’t be real. It’s too much.’
Liam is still on the line. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Harris. I’m really sorry. I hope he’ll be okay.’
If he wasn’t the prolific drug user she knows him to be, she could easily mistake him for a responsible and empathetic young man.
Daniel regains consciousness just after 8.30 p.m. He opens his eyes abruptly. Squints into the bright lights of the emergency room. Blinks in surprise when he notices his mother. Stares down at his hand, which is grasped in hers. His face fills with confusion.
‘Hello,’ Annabel whispers. ‘You’re in hospital.’
‘What happened?’ He sounds remarkably lucid. Must be whatever they’ve pumped through his system, washing out the toxins.
‘You overdosed. You’ve been unconscious for almost two hours. Apparently, you were vomiting and unable to move your head. Liam put you into the recovery position and called an ambulance. It was very fortunate you were with someone responsible.’
She can’t believe she’s making Liam sound like a hero. Things have become that surreal. Standards have become that low.
‘Sorry,’ Daniel mutters, his eyes cast downwards.
‘Here you are,’ Annabel says sadly. ‘And your father is upstairs. What am I to do, Daniel? What am I to do with you both?’
The irony is, she had a serious chat with Daniel only last night. They were both home at the same time – a miracle! – and she took the opportunity to sit him down. She explained the gravity of his father’s condition, how she felt compelled to be by his side, and how much she needed Daniel to stay on the straight and narrow and not cause problems at home.
Now this. Less than twenty-four hours later. She had obviously been wasting her breath.
Daniel is to be kept in for observation overnight. He’s given a bed on the third floor.
‘You don’t need to come with me, Mum, I just want to sleep. You should go back to Dad.’
She doesn’t put up a fight, which immediately makes her question what kind of mother she is. She watches the orderly wheel him away and tries to comprehend her mixed-up feelings: detachment, defeat, a reluctant acceptance of the situation. More than anything she feels a need for space, to be away from him in order to get her head together and work out what to do from here.
‘Annabel?’
She swings around when she hears her name. Zach. Again?
He grins as he comes closer. ‘Hey, I thought it was you. We must stop meeting like this.’
That’s twice in the space of a week. In addition to the time in the alcohol and drugs centre. How can it be possible to have so many ‘accidental’ encounters after twenty-odd years of practically nothing?
‘One of my elderly patients had a fall,’ he says, obviously noticing the quizzical look on her face. ‘Thought I’d check on her on my way home.’
He’s a GP and this hospital is the closest major hospital to his practice. Of course, she’s a lot more likely to run into him here than anywhere else.
‘How’s Jarrod? Any improvement?’
He asked the same question last night, as soon as she arrived at the police station. The answer hasn’t changed.
‘He’s the same. There’s still a lot of pressure on his brain. They can’t wake him up until the pressure is within a normal range.’
The doors to the department swing open and a stretcher is pushed through. A teenage girl, circled by doctors and nurses, trailed by paramedics and shell-shocked parents. The scene radiates urgency and Annabel is revisited by the terror she felt when Daniel was wheeled through. She needs to get out of here. She doesn’t like this part of the hospital. The terse instructions from the emergency doctors, the palpable distress of the families and friends, the agitation and obvious pain of some of the patients. She much prefers the calm orderliness of the ICU.
She hurries to catch the doors before they shut. Zach falls into step beside her.
‘How’s your son? I meant to ask at the pub but couldn’t get you alone.’
Now she’s suspicious again. If he’s here to see a patient, why stick around asking questions about Daniel? It’s so odd he has turned up again. Is he too concerned about Jarrod and Daniel? Are all these ‘meetings’ accidental or staged? Then she has a thought out of nowhere. The note he showed her – the one where the author was fantasising about killing him – what if he wrote that note himself? What a perfect way to throw them all off the scent.
Stop being so paranoid. Zach is an old friend of Jarrod’s. Of course, he cares about both Jarrod and Daniel.
Annabel walks through the waiting room, keeping her eyes trained ahead. Finally, she’s outside, away from all the disinfectant and despair. Zach stands next to her, his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to answer his question. Now that she’s out in the fresh air she realises her imagination has run away with her. Zach has no ulterior motive other than concern.
‘My son overdosed,’ she confesses, her voice overly harsh from her efforts not to break down. ‘He’s being kept in for observation ...’
Zach rests his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘He could have died. His friend called an ambulance. He saved him. I should be grateful.’
Zach is embracing her now. Her cheek comes to rest against the thin cotton of his shirt, warmed by his skin beneath. His aftershave smells nice and she wonders how she can notice such things while being so distressed.
She tilts her head back so she can look at his face. ‘I don’t know what to do, Zach. I am all out of ideas.’
He stares down at her, his grey-green eyes narrow and pensive.
‘I’ll ask Izzy if she can see Daniel before he’s discharged,’ he says eventually. ‘She has a way with teenage boys. For some reason they seem to listen to her ... You just concentrate on Jarrod.’
46
KATY
Katy is setting chemistry homework when a runner knocks on the classroom door. Runners are Year 8 students who get a day off school in return for delivering paperwork around the campus. Usually the paperwork relates to permission notes for debating, sports or drama. On this occasion the note is addressed to Katy.
Detective Brien in the foyer waiting to speak to you. Will send a sub teacher to cover your next class. Jenny
Jenny is the school office manager, known for her strictness with students and teachers alike. Katy is slightly alarmed that a sub teacher has been organised so promptly. Is Jenny using her intuition or has Detective Brien inferred that their discussion will not be brief?
The bell goes and the students rise from their seats. Chair legs scrape the floor, bags are hoisted on to shoulders, and chatter and laughter erupt as they escape the confines of the laboratory. Katy wipes the whiteboard clean and packs her books away. What does the detective want? Surely, it could have waited until lunchtime or after school?
She runs into William on her way to the foyer. He’s wearing an unflattering maroon-coloured shirt and a hopeful look on his
face.
‘Katy, I was wondering—’
‘Sorry,’ she cuts in breathlessly. ‘Can’t stop.’
One of these days she’ll have to tell him the truth: Nothing is ever, ever going to happen between us. I’ll never be that desperate. Look somewhere else for your future wife.
Detective Brien is studying the student artwork displayed on the walls of the foyer. She’s in plain clothes.
She smiles and sticks out her hand. ‘Katy, nice to see you again. Let’s go and have a chat ... The vice principal has offered the use of his office.’
The vice principal? What has any of this got to do with the vice principal? Katy catches Jenny’s eye as she passes the front office. Jenny’s expression is a mix of curiosity and knowing. Does she believe that Katy’s in some sort of trouble with the police? How long has the detective been in the building? It’s evident that she’s spoken to both the vice principal and Jenny. Who else has she spoken to? And why?
The vice principal’s office is lacking in both air and natural light and there’s no sign of its usual occupant. The detective waits until Katy is inside before shutting the door behind them. They sit down at the small circular table that’s usually used for student conferences.
‘Has something happened?’ Katy asks with concern.
‘There’s been a development.’
‘What’s happened? Is everyone safe?’
‘Everyone’s fine. I’m here because Robbie McGrath admitted to trespassing on school grounds. CCTV footage corroborates that he was here Tuesday two weeks ago.’
Katy’s breath catches in surprise. Well, that explains the vice principal’s involvement; CCTV and grounds security are part of his remit.
‘What on earth was he doing here? Was he lost or something?’
The detective’s brown eyes lock with hers. ‘He was watching you, Katy. He also admits to following you home on the bus and back to your apartment.’
Katy shivers. She pictures herself on the bus, busy on her phone or gazing sightlessly out the window. She sees herself walking through the all-but-deserted side streets of Neutral Bay, pondering what she’ll have for dinner, or perhaps gearing herself up for a run. She shivers again, goose pimples on her bare arms. Why would Robbie do such a thing? Does this mean Zach was right all along?
‘Are you saying that Robbie’s behind the notes?’
The detective shrugs. ‘We don’t know. What we do know is that the school’s CCTV footage removes him from our inquiries about Jarrod’s assault. But at the same time, it raises new concerns ... about your personal safety.’
What were Robbie’s words the day she and Zach went to see him? I’m an epileptic who suffers from depression, not a psychopath. But how can he justify stalking someone? Surely that’s approaching psychopath territory? She remembers taking his hand in hers. The overwhelming sympathy she felt for him. The urge to help him in some way, although she couldn’t for the life of her think how.
‘I don’t think Robbie would actually hurt me.’ Even as she’s saying these words, Katy is asking herself how she knows this for sure. She has no idea what he is capable of. ‘Has he been following anyone else in the group?’
Once again, the detective shrugs. ‘He claims that it’s you only. Says he wanted to reconnect ... It’s obvious he has unrequited feelings for you.’
Katy’s face floods with colour. It’s not as if this news is a shock. She suspected that Robbie had romantic feelings for her at school, although she never encouraged him. ‘I was kind to him when no one else was.’
It’s obvious that he’s still hanging on to that kindness today, attaching meaning to it. How sad!
‘There is one other matter of concern,’ the detective continues. ‘We’ve noticed that the note you received is markedly different to the others, both in structure and tone.’ She pulls a notebook from her jacket pocket and reads the words that Katy knows verbatim: ‘You need a boyfriend, Katy, and better security in your apartment block. Great idea to have a new yearbook, though. Hope you’re enjoying my contributions!’
The detective has an expectant look on her face, as though she is waiting for Katy to suddenly cotton on to something. Katy frowns and concentrates. Yes, she supposes it could be Robbie. It’s definitely less hostile than the other notes, and could even be interpreted – in a very warped way – as being protective. It fits with the stalking and the unrequited feelings, but it doesn’t fit with what she saw when she held his hand in hers: the honesty in his eyes when he denied his involvement.
‘I don’t know why, but all my instincts are still telling me it isn’t him. He may have the motivation, but he doesn’t have the vindictiveness, or the slyness, or even the cleverness to orchestrate something like this.’
The detective nods, as though she has the same doubts. ‘The author of this note seems to like you more than the others. Is there anyone else, either in the group or on the peripheries, who may have especially liked you? Any old boyfriends who come to mind?’
Katy blushes again. The detective seems to have the impression she was some sort of femme fatale, which is almost laughable. She sees herself in her school uniform going between classes, clutching her books like an armour: neither popular nor unpopular, one of those plain girls who boys never noticed – except for Robbie. Then her thoughts jump forward, to today, and latch on to Mike.
‘There is someone.’
She tells the detective all about Brigette Saunders’s husband, who negotiated his way into her apartment and into her bed and who – through her naivety and poor internet controls – had access to all sorts of confidential information.
The detective takes reams of notes and follows with some hard-hitting questions.
‘How do you know that Mike was actually married to Brigette?’
Good question. Katy took his word for it, which now seems rather lame. He sent some photos but, really, it could have been any woman in those photos.
‘And you say that he works in security? Do you know the name of his firm?’
No, she does not.
‘When did you last see or hear from Mike?’
At least this she can answer.
‘Last night.’ He phoned while she was out running. She didn’t pick up.
The detective snaps her notebook shut. Her tone is urgent. ‘Avoid seeing Mike or even speaking to him until we run some inquiries and forensics finish having a look at your laptop. Be careful, Katy. Don’t be alone if you can help it ... I’ll be in touch soon.’
47
LUKE
‘Hands on the wheel at ten to two ... Now move your foot from brake to accelerator ... Gently, gently ...’
Luke tries to be gentle, he really does, but the car surges forward, startling both him and his father. He immediately jams on the brake pedal, almost sending the two of them through the windscreen.
‘Okay,’ Tony breathes. ‘Okay.’
They’re in the car park at the local aquatic centre, a popular location for learner drivers. It’s reassuringly deserted at this time of day.
‘Let’s try again. Gently, gently, that’s good ...’
This is difficult for both of them. Luke is twenty years too late learning these skills. His father is an old man who might be a lot more patient than he used to be, but whose heart may not be able to withstand too many frights.
‘Corner coming up ... Ease off your foot. Easy ... Easy ...’
Luke makes a mess of it, Tony having to eventually reach across and guide the wheel around. Luckily, there’s lots of space; they need it.
‘Sorry, that was crap,’ Luke apologises.
‘You’re all right,’ Tony says, and something about his tone makes it seem as though it’s meant in a much broader context than the driving lesson.
‘I can take you out in the car today, if you like,’ he had blurted out over breakfast.
Initially, Luke thought his father was suggesting they go for a drive somewhere.
‘We could go up to the aquati
c centre. There’s nobody up there this time of day.’
Luke finally understood. His father was offering a driving lesson. He wanted to say, ‘No, thanks, too fucking late,’ but Aaron kicked him in the shin and chirped, ‘Great idea. You guys can do that while I catch the ferry to the city.’
So here they are. Stopping and starting, again and again. Turning the wheel, then straightening it. Stopping, starting, turning, straightening, going round in circles. Luke hardly notices the time – more than an hour has passed. By the end of it, he can move off relatively smoothly. He can turn the wheel, although his hands are not always quick enough to complete the arc satisfactorily, and he can brake and come to a stop without inflicting whiplash.
‘It’s a start,’ Tony says, when they swap seats for the drive home.
Luke has two weeks left of his holiday. If they do this every day, he might be someway competent going back to the UK. He’ll at least have the basics. A start.
Maxine and Jed are coming out of their house when Tony pulls up at the kerb. Jed is on his tricycle and is so distracted by the sight of Luke and Tony, he almost crashes into the gatepost.
‘Easy,’ Tony says, averting Jed’s crossbar to avoid the collision. Luke laughs inwardly. Tony has gone from one crap driver to another.
‘This one needs to learn to keep his eyes on the road,’ Maxine says with a grin.
Tony jerks his head towards Luke. ‘Tell me about it.’
Something about the exchange makes Luke suspect that they’ve spoken about this before. About the fact that Luke – at the grand old age of thirty-seven – can’t drive, has never been taught. Did his father admit to Maxine that he used his son’s sexuality as leverage for lessons?
Stop being such a faggot and I might teach you.
Luke’s been called a faggot many times since, but none that rendered him so powerless because driving, when it came down to it, equated to independence. Did flying become his substitute? All those kilometres clocked up in the air, all those long distances between countries and continents. Who needs wheels when wings can have the same effect, and better?