“You have to find someone you like, that you can talk to, that you can be honest with. Otherwise—”
“Gross.”
“It’s just bodies, and that can be good, but it’s better if your head’s in it too.” He gave her a squeeze then released her. “You’re not ready, Etta. Find someone you care about who cares about you first.”
“Your head was in it with Sky. But you broke up.”
He sighed. “We weren’t enjoying being with each other anymore. We had different expectations about life.” And Audrey, there was Audrey, accepting him for who he was.
“I’m giving them up, the cigs. I don’t even like smoking. It makes your hair smell rank.”
His phone rang. Merrill again.
Etta stood up. “You’re never getting the bedroom back.” That was all the thanks he was going to get from her. She went inside as he put the phone to his ear.
“I know you probably hate Joe and me right now, but we have a problem. Mia is sitting in the corner of her room. She won’t come out. We can’t distract her and the treehouse didn’t work. She won’t eat. She screams if I come near. I know she’s safe and she’ll tire herself out, but that’s so...I don’t know how to ask this since we shut you out this morning, but do you think she’d respond to you?”
There was no guarantee she would. But he couldn’t not try. He drove to Audrey’s. The door was open and Merrill was hovering in the hallway. She showed him through to Mia’s room. Mia had squished herself into a corner between a chair and a chest of drawers. She was whimpering and sniffing. He said her name and she went quiet.
He sat cross-legged in the middle of the rug. “There’s no room for me near you, Mia. If you want, you could come over here.”
“No.”
“I’m glad Merrill and Joe are here, but I’m sad about Mum, because she’s sick.”
“Mum has to come because it’s not good. I want Mum.”
“I do too.” In ways that made him ache that he didn’t understand. “Tomorrow we’ll be able to go see her.” Or someone would need to come up with a fresh lie.
“Now.”
“It’s very late now. At the hospital all the people would be in their beds going to sleep so they feel better in the morning.”
“Not Mum. She’s waiting for me.”
“You’ll see her tomorrow.”
“No. Now.”
“Tomorrow, Mia. After you have dinner and put your jammies on and have a sleep.” He let her think about that. She wasn’t sniffling anymore. “Do you want to come out?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll have to try to squeeze in next to you.” He took hold of the bed and gave it a shake to let her know he was serious.
“You won’t fit. You’re too big.”
“It’s always worth trying.” He crawled around the bed. She peered at him under the arm she was using to hide her face. “Hmm, it’s squishy here.” He shouldered the bed aside and sat back on his heels.
Mia giggled. “You’re too big.” She dropped her arm away from her snotty, tear streaked face. She’d had a very scary day.
“You’re too small.”
“I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, you are. Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Hey, you know what?”
“What?”
“I think I’m stuck.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Can you help me get out?”
Mia uncurled from the corner and crawled towards him. She pressed on his chest. He let her push and grunt and shove and frown at him. “You really are stuck.”
He opened his arms out and she crawled into his lap and held on around his neck. He shoved the bed further aside and got up with her in his arms. He could get her to eat. Get her cleaned up and into bed. He looked at Merrill, standing white faced in the doorway.
“Thank you.”
“It’s my job.”
It was the least he could do, it was who he was, and all he could think about is what would happen to Mia if Audrey didn’t recover.
What would happen to him?
14: Choosing
“Audrey, open your eyes. Audrey, I want you to open your eyes. Audrey.”
Why did they keep saying her name? She was asleep. She was too tired. She needed to sleep.
“Audrey, open your eyes, please.”
Go away. Let me sleep. Who was that talking? Doesn’t matter. She had such a headache. All that matters is sleep. But there was so much noise and something on her face and she couldn’t move her arm properly. There was someone crying. A child, crying, crying, crying.
She opened her eyes. “Mia.” Where was Mia? “Mia.” Her throat was sore. She coughed. What was this room? Where? Who were these people? “Mia, Mia.” Mia was crying and Audrey didn’t know where she was. Where Mia was.
“Mia is safe, Audrey. She’s with Esther. She’s not here. She’s with your mother. You’ve been very sick. You’re in the hospital. But you’re going to be well again. I’m Dr Barber and this is your nurse, Ronin. We’ve been looking after you.”
“Reece, where is Reece?” Mia should be with Reece. He wouldn’t let her cry. Oh, her head hurt so much. Too much to keep her eyes open.
“She’s asking for Reece. Do we know who Reece is?”
Why didn’t they know? Where was Reece? Where was Mia?
“No. Oh wait. Yes, he’s the guy who keeps ringing the nurse’s station.”
“We’ll find Reece, Audrey. Your mother is here.”
“No.” It hurts too much.
“Do you want to see your mother?”
“No.” Only Mia. Mia and Reece. She was so tired, so very tired.
The next time Audrey opened her eyes she was alone. It was dark, but there was enough light in the corridor to see the bed, the small room. A hospital room. Tubes in her arm. A tube in her nose; oxygen. Fish swam in her head and her throat was clogged with cotton wool. Her mouth was a birdcage bottom. Her stomach was cemented up. Her head was a blister of pain. Where was Mia? She scrabbled at the side of the bed, there must be a light, a button, a way to get attention. She needed Mia. She needed a bathroom.
In the corridor people moving about. “Hello.” She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
A woman in a uniform. “Ah, you’re awake.” A hand to her wrist. Another to her forehead, smoothing her hair.
Outrageous, painful thudding in her head. “Where is my daughter?”
“Honey, I’ve just come on shift. Let me find out for you.”
“Where is Reece? Why isn’t Mia with Reece?”
“Oh honey. I don’t know. Do you want me to get you a phone? But it’s after midnight.”
She got a bathroom visit on legs that were so unsteady the nurse had to help. She got a drink of cold water and that felt good. Mia was with Esther at home. She was nauseous and her head, her head, so tender it hurt to rest it on the pillow.
She slept again, but dreamed, fractured things. Birds crashing into walls. Glass smashing. An ambulance broken down. She was at work, but it was all wrong. There was no office, it was outside in the sun. Everyone had sunglasses. Les had freckles and Mia poured cordial. They were all so thirsty. And the birds where everywhere, making a noise, sitting on their computers. She wore a red dress but no shoes. She should have shoes on at work, but it was okay, everyone said it was fine. Mia was grown up now but she was still trying to catch the seagulls.
Morning came with sound rather than light. It came with voices and clattering, the sounds of people moving, things being dragged. Everything was too loud, hammering in her head. A different nurse. A man.
“Hello, good to see you awake. I’m Ronin. I’ve been looking after you with Dr Barber. She’s really good. You’re lucky to have her. You’re squinting. Do you have a headache, feel nauseous?
Audrey nodded, yes, yes to the headache, to feeling sick. “My daughter is with my mother?”
“Yes, with Esther.”
“Why isn’t she with Re
ece?” Mia hardly knew Nanna. Why wasn’t Reece doing his job?
“I don’t know.” The nurse checked the drip line. He had a tattoo running from his wrist up his arm and under his sleeve. “But I know who Reece is.” He fanned himself and she saw brightly coloured flowers, a skull and a black snake. “Tell me he’s a hunk. He’s been ringing here regularly wanting to know how you are. He’s the one who called the ambulance. He broke your door down to get to you. I mean, seriously. If you weren’t dying, that’s hot. Is he your boyfriend?”
Her head swam when she shook it, her brain felt bruised.
“Oh darling, then he needs to be.”
Reece called the ambulance. She had no memory of that, but why had he abandoned Mia? “No.”
“Good. Then I can flirt with him when he calls next.”
She licked her lips, so thirsty, and she had pins and needles in her legs. “Ask him to come. I need to see him.”
“Even better. I’m going to organise you a little bit of breakfast. And then maybe you feel like having a wash. Doctor B will be around later, and your mum will come in soon.”
“How long have I been here?”
He took her wrist in his hand and felt for her pulse. He looked at his watch. “You came in day before yesterday. So this is day three. You have meningitis, the scary, bad version, but you’re going to be fine. You’ll feel wobbly for a few days yet. You’re on antibiotics. We can stop the fluid if you’re drinking.”
“How long will I have to be here?”
He let her wrist go. “That’s up to Doctor, but if you get good rest, and we can get a handle on your symptoms, you might be able to be home at the end of a week, ten days maybe.”
Audrey coughed. That was too long. Mia was with Esther not Reece. What a disaster? “How did I get meningitis? God, could Mia have it too?”
“Mia’s on antibiotics, but she’s fine. No symptoms. It’s bacteria. You’ve come in contact with it somehow or it’s triggered in your body. Very unlucky.”
“Reece. Reece could be sick.”
“Doctor has him on treatment too.” Ronin put his hands on his hips. “And you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
He was her nanny, but he wasn’t doing his job. “I...”
He smiled. “I’m joking, and I can see you’re too sick for jokes. It’s a terrible shock to wake up and know you’ve been missing in action. But your friends have been here, Merry and Joe and Les and your mother too. I’m sure Mia misses you terribly and you’ll feel better when you see her.”
When food arrived, Audrey picked at it. She had no appetite. She was no steadier on her legs than last night but it felt good to sit under the shower and brush her teeth. Her headache was no better either and the pins and needles in her legs were a constant ache.
When Doctor Barber arrived she asked Audrey dozens of questions, but said the crisis had passed.
“Everyone is different with meningitis. People tend to think of it as a disease kids get, but for adults the bacterial version you contracted is life threatening. The worst has passed for you now, but the headache and nausea, the pins and needles, it may take a while before you have permanent relief from that. And you may find new symptoms appear. But you’re young and healthy and there’s no reason why you won’t be fighting fit again soon.”
She could barely move her head without pain. “I need to be home. I can’t be here. I have a daughter.”
“You need to be kind to yourself, Audrey. I’ve met Mia, she’s very cute and she needs you long term. You can’t compromise that.”
Audrey clamped her lips tightly together. She felt the burn of tears build behind her eyes inside the broiling cauldron that was her head. She couldn’t control this like she did everything else in her life. It wasn’t like deciding to have a baby. She couldn’t change the direction or propose an alternative path or hire someone with the right skills. She couldn’t force the timeline or set a deadline, or check on her own progress on nanny cam. She was sick and alone and scared. She was crying in front of the doctor.
“Your emotions might be all over the place and that’s normal. You have one thing to focus on and that’s getting well, and that’s what Mia needs.”
“I’m sorry.” Audrey’s breath caught. She scrunched her face but the tears came anyway, flooding her eyes and pouring down her cheeks.
“I tell you what.” A box of tissues appeared. “I’m a single mother too. I have three boys.” Audrey choked on a sob. How did a doctor, a specialist, manage with three kids? She wasn’t going to be able to manage one. “I know what you’re thinking, that everything will fall apart without you, but you have to let your support network take over.” She couldn’t stop the pathetic noise she made, this kindness made it worse. “I know you’ve got one, every mother has. It’s their turn to care for you and Mia. In any case, I prescribe a good cry. Medically it will release an endorphin called leucine-enkephalin, designed to reduce pain. A good cry will make you feel better. And it’s exactly what I’d be doing too.”
She didn’t see the doctor leave, hear if she said anything else. Audrey rolled on her side and sobbed and it didn’t make her feel any better. She felt lost and confused and anxious about Mia. She was worried about what would happen at work. She was dreading having to deal with her mother. But most of all, most of all, she was pathetically craving Reece.
She hugged herself and pretended it was his long muscular arms around her, his broad house of a chest she relaxed into. His big hands that were unfathomably gentle soothing her. But he’d abandoned Mia and maybe he’d abandoned her as well. She sobbed until she was exhausted and slept and when she woke next her head still throbbed, like a construction gang worked in it, but she was better prepared to see Esther sitting by the bed.
She coughed. “Hello Mum.”
“Audrey. Goodness, what a drama.”
“Where’s Mia?”
Esther waved her hand in the direction of the corridor. “That lovely Merrill has her.”
“Is she all right? Is she—”
“She’s been, oh never mind.” Esther shook her head. “She’s a little child, terrible twos. They’re all difficult at that age.”
“She’s three, nearly four.”
“Don’t you worry. You just get better. We’ll manage somehow. That’s what people do. When did they tell you you’d be home? I need to tell your father when I’ll be home.”
He didn’t come.
“We didn’t know if it was going to be worth boarding the dogs, you see. We couldn’t get anyone to stay at late notice. What will I tell him?”
Audrey closed her eyes. Her head hurt, her legs pained and itched with the pins and needles. It wasn’t the dogs. It was being an unmarried mother. She hadn’t seen her father since she’d told her parents she was pregnant. He was never going to forgive her. Never going to accept his granddaughter. He was a man of his word. He didn’t back down. He’d told Audrey she’d destroyed their relationship with her selfishness, her arrogance, and her willingness to put the life of a child at risk, but if her near death wasn’t enough to prompt a reconciliation, she didn’t expect to see her father until he was ensconced in a coffin, graveside.
His loss.
“It really is about the dogs. If you want your father to come I’ll tell him to. Don’t go to sleep. What shall I tell him about me coming home?”
She opened her eyes. This was classic Esther. Put upon. Martyred over next to nothing and pretending innocence and a lack of her own will. This was why it was easier if her mother wasn’t in her life. It had to be Esther’s way or not at all.
Audrey learned to distance herself growing up, using boarding school and the move to Sydney at seventeen as the primary tactics. But now, lying in a hospital bed, in a horrid hospital gown, open at the back, because her mother hadn’t thought to bring in one of her own, facing the woman who’d announced on her twelfth birthday that she’d never wanted children and Audrey had been a mistake, she thought disappointment might succeed in ki
lling her where meningitis had failed.
“I don’t care what you do.”
“That’s not very helpful, Audrey.”
“Where is Reece?”
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“Mia’s nanny.”
“Oh that man. I sent him away. We don’t want him.”
“I want him.”
“You can’t possibly. I have a theory. I think you were coming down with this disease when you hired him. You weren’t thinking straight. Why else would you hire a man to look after your child?”
“That’s not—”
“Merrill is perfectly happy with Mia. It’s practice for her. She’s taken holidays from work especially. She’s staying with me at the house. Her and Joe. It’s like a house party. A little bit of a holiday for me.”
A house party. A holiday. While Audrey was busy dying. “I’d like you to go.” Leave the room, leave Mia’s airspace, leave the house, leave the city. Vanish like a chip tossed to a seagull.
Esther had reacted to the pregnancy by saying Audrey had ruined her own life, by suggesting that there were ‘things’ a woman could do and when Audrey persisted with the ‘nonsense’, by ignoring the coming grandchild, and then taking the barest amount of interest in Mia, ‘out of respect for your father’.
Esther stood. “All right, yes, I’ll come back later. That was the plan anyway.” Audrey could interrupt and explain about the gobbled chip, but for the moment she might need Esther, if only to fetch supplies from home.
“I’m sure you’re tired. That man nurse with the punk hair and the awful deformity on his arm said you had a headache. Can’t they give you a pill for that? I’ll bring you flowers. Those ones you like.”
If there were flowers she liked especially, Esther was unlikely to know about them.
“Can you bring me a nightgown and my dressing gown? It’s hanging behind the door in the bedroom. I need my phone and my computer. I’ll make a list, but for now, just those things. And will you ask Merrill to bring Mia, please?”
“I wasn’t planning on returning to your place today before I came back. I was going to catch a movie while I’ve got the chance. I’ll bring you those things first thing tomorrow, all right. You don’t need them today. Merrill is out in the waiting room. I’ll ask her to come in.”
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