A man with a light baton waved them to the side of the road. She slowed into the line of cars waiting to be processed. A handful of police walked from car to car, poking their heads into the driver’s window. After a brief conversation, the car would peel off from the line leaving a gap, and the police would move on to the next car. As the police moved between cars, they called out to each other, ‘You taking a break now?’ or ‘Save some coffee for me.’ They didn’t look back to see where the drivers they had spoken to went.
While Hannah waited to move forward, she watched the road ahead. On both sides, police vehicles obstructed the road before and after the emergency U-turn bay they had used this morning. When a small line of cars had gathered, the police in the two nearer vehicles would move them, leaving a clear path to the other half of the divided freeway, back to Canberra. Once they were through, the police vehicles moved back into place and cars at the other roadblock got their chance to turn back to Sydney. She wondered if anyone else had found their cross-country route and whether it had been barricaded off.
The far roadblock looked very different from the makeshift checkpoint of the morning. The witches hats had been replaced with an unbroken line of large orange and white plastic barriers. The four casual police from this morning were now a patrol, efficient and coordinated. And although the two police lounging against the vehicle blocking the road looked bored, there was also a watchfulness under their feigned indifference as the Sydney traffic took the turn. As the last car reached the bay, a small white hatchback swerved out of the waiting line and roared towards the two police. One touched his gun, the other waved his arms and yelled at the car as it spun into the turn, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Hannah heard the detuned rev of its engine and when the dust cleared, it was several cars away, weaving in and out of the traffic.
Sean bumped her on the elbow. She hadn’t noticed that the line in front of her had cleared. In her haste to bring no attention to herself she clashed the gears and lurched forward.
She turned to Sean. ‘Am I flushed?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t look red?’
‘Stop talking, here he comes.’
She rolled down her window while the policeman was still several metres off, a little too eager. But not rolling it down might look aggressive. It was down now, she couldn’t change that. And they wouldn’t care, would they? Best to just say nothing and speak when spoken to. If she took the lead, she was afraid she’d blurt out something incriminating.
‘How’s it going?’ He was young and walked awkwardly, as if the weight on his belt threw him off balance.
‘Fine. It’s fine.’
‘Where are you coming from today?’
‘We’ve come from Canberra.’
He nodded at her.
‘We’re heading home. We met my son and his friend there, they had a school camp.’ Shut up, shut up, before he asks you when.
He looked them over with less interest than she expected. ‘Are your boys sick?’ He motioned to the masks.
‘No. No, not at all. No one’s sick. It’s just a precaution in the car. We’ve been trying to keep the kids apart, you know, little kids are germ factories. But he’s fine, too. It’s just...’ She trailed off. ‘You know kids.’ But at his age, he probably didn’t.
He leant his head in a bit more and talked to Zac. ‘Hey mate, say something to me.’
‘Like what?’ Zac was muffled by the mask.
The cop seemed satisfied and turned back to her. ‘So are you from Sydney?’
Don’t volunteer anything. ‘Yes.’ She willed him not ask when they left. Her brain went blank. Just when she needed a believable lie, nothing came.
‘We’re advising people to stay out of Sydney. I can give you a bit of time to think about it, if you like. Pull over to the side to clear the line.’
‘We want to go home.’ Sean said firmly.
‘Your funeral.’ The policeman looked sobered by the inappropriateness of his comment.
He waved to the police car parked at the side of the road beyond the turn bay, who waved back. ‘See him?’ He leant down to Hannah. ‘That’s Mick. Talk to him, he’ll let you through.’ Mick was older, moved more slowly and with more assurance. ‘Now then, you’re not thinking of going on are you?’
‘We have to get to Sydney.’
‘Why would you want to do that? You got kids in there and all.’
Sean broke in, a bit too emphatically. ‘We’re going home. Our home’s in Sydney, that’s where we’re going.’
‘Yes,’ Hannah tried to smooth over Sean’s stuttering, ‘we’re trying to get home.’
‘You’d be best off returning to wherever you came from. Were you staying with friends?’
‘No.’
‘You might get back into your hotel. We can give you something to say you never left the zone.’
She collected up her courage for one throw. ‘We’d like to go back home. If there’s any way, we’d like to go back home.’
‘I won’t stop you, but once you go in, you won’t be coming back out until it’s all over.’ Mick looked over at Sean then shrugged. He handed them a sheaf of Health Department pamphlets. ‘Keep your little ones safe.’
‘We will.’ Hannah gave a genuine smile, the first emotion she’d allowed onto her face since they’d reached the roadblock.
The boys in the back were quieter now, even Oscar was staring out the window. On the long straights, she could just make out another car in her rear vision mirror. A wave of tiredness crashed over her as the adrenaline drained away. They had the boys, they’d made it through the roadblock, everything was done. Getting home was a formality.
‘Hey.’
Hannah jumped. ‘What did I do?’
Sean smiled at her. ‘Maybe I should drive the rest of the way.’
‘It’s not far. There are no cars.’
‘We did it.’ He gestured his head to the back seat. ‘We got a full house.’
They were ten minutes from home.
‘You’d better pull in so we can fill up again.’ Sean waved his hand in the general direction of the petrol station.
‘We’re not stopping again.’
‘Be serious, we’ve got less than a quarter of a tank.’
‘We’ll make it home. Too many risks today, no more.’
‘And next time we need to take the car out? When it’s worse?’
‘I said no.’
Sean looked thunderous but said nothing.
As soon as they pulled into the driveway, the boys bundled out of the car and bounced around the small paved front yard.
‘Zac, Daniel.’ Hannah was still summoning the energy to haul herself out of the car. ‘You’re going to have to stay in your room for the next two days.’
Zac’s eyes were a mixture of outrage and dismay. ‘What if we need to go to the toilet?’
She sighed. ‘Then you can go to the bathroom, of course. But that’s all, and definitely no playing with Oscar.’
Zac pulled a face at Daniel, although the effect was hidden by his mask. ‘As if.’
Sean held the door as the two boys ran through, Oscar chasing them. He bent behind the low wall of the verandah. ‘Home delivery.’
She hadn’t noticed that the note was gone. He took two bags, she took the last one and the cold pack. ‘I need a coffee. And you can have real milk.’ She smiled at him.
‘I bet you wish you’d let me buy the espresso machine. Fully automatic, beans in the top, touch one button, a perfect cafe cappuccino out the bottom.’
She lingered on the step. The last light of the day was golden on the rooftops. In his front yard, Mr Henderson rested against his fence, chatting to Gwen. He lazily raised a hand to her without breaking his conversation and Gwen looked around and gave her a smile and a wave. Gwen should know better, she should know to stay indoors. And Hannah could only imagine where else Gwen went. Just as well they hadn’t left Oscar with her, she’d have had him gallivanting all
over the suburb. Hannah ducked inside before Gwen could come over and talk to her.
She found Oscar lying outside Zac’s room, his ear pressed to the crack at the bottom of the door. More than an espresso machine, Hannah wished she could know for certain that she was disease free. She wanted more than anything to open Zac’s door and give him a hug. It was such a small risk, such an infinitesimal possibility. But if she and Sean were sick, she needed Zac safe. An image flared into her mind, one she hadn’t had for a while. But instead of Sean’s shoulders supporting her family, now it was Zac’s slender frame.
Her back ached. She turned carefully onto her other side and it eased slightly. She stretched her left leg over the top of her right, trying to push her toe forward as far as she could without hitting Sean’s back. The pain disappeared and she let herself sink slowly back to sleep. But as she sank, the pain reasserted itself. She rolled on her back and stretched out her hips. Again the pain receded. Not really pain, more insistent discomfort.
She listened to Sean’s rhythmic breathing, trying to distract herself. But after a minute or so, she found she was actively listening to him. She couldn’t stop herself listening. It was as annoying as snoring. How was it possible that she ever slept next to the endless purring of his breath? There it was again, a dull ache in the small of her back. A need to move a muscle, which she couldn’t satisfy. Tonight, last night. She couldn’t remember if she had it the night before.
It was Monday’s long drive. More than eight hours sitting cramped in the car. And the anxiety. That would cause this kind of pain. Surely Monday must have been the first night.
Symptoms had to start somewhere. The cancer that kills you begins as one wayward cell. As far as she knew, there was no way to tell the normal grind of life from warning signs. She could ignore it and regret it, or she could lie here obsessing about backache.
After all, she hadn’t had a clue when she first saw her mammogram, a night photograph of the earth, bright white patches connected by well-illuminated corridors. The doctor worked his way around the image on the light box, until he got to one densely lit area. ‘That’s the one. We’re going to have to take that out.’ But the other clusters looked exactly the same to her, cities, more or less populous, but with no way to tell which were the nice neighbourhoods. Unless they were all bad and he was just pointing to the worst of them. Her eye caught on another patch that was, as far as she could see, the twin to the problem. ‘And all the others? Will we have to deal with them later?’ He looked quizzically at her. ‘Like this one?’ She pointed to the twin. He shook his head kindly, ‘No, no, no. That’s normal tissue.’
She turned again, twisting herself into a yoga pose, the only position in which nothing hurt. There it was, the sleep, if she could only grab hold. Something jolted her. Concentrate on the sleep. And again. Something out of place, a noise. She let go of the sleep. She opened her eyes to listen better. It came again, a car door opening. Someone coming in late or going out very early, not a reason not to sleep. On a weeknight. In the middle of the night. She heard voices. Why was somebody standing around a car talking in the middle of the night?
It was someone else’s problem, out in the street, nothing to do with her. Sleep was more important, if only she could get her mind away from the car. They would close the car door, drive away and that would be it, she could sleep.
The sound of the car door didn’t come, her mind sharpened, trying to make out the smallest changes. She slid gently out of bed, tripped over her shoes lying on the floor and banged into the wardrobe door. Sean snuffled, rolled over and went back to breathing loudly.
She put her hand between the curtains and made a gap to look out. Four doors up on the other side she could see a silver sedan with its doors and boot open. The porch light of the house was on, and the front door open.
The man who lived there leant into the backseat and when he stood up, Hannah could just see, by the weak light spilling from the house, his daughter in the back. He went to the boot, pulled out what appeared to be a blanket and tucked it around her. The girl’s mother was coming down the stairs with a large cardboard box, heavy by the pull of her arms. As the woman reached the open boot, the nearest streetlight caught its contents, and Hannah saw a carton of cereal sticking out the top. The woman put the box in and tried to close the lid. She pushed down on the box and tried again. She shoved on the lid as it sprung back, then started unpacking. Out came a suitcase, a small kettle barbecue and another couple of boxes.
There was a sharp noise from the house, like the door closing. Hannah saw the man push his shoulder against the front door and, satisfied, make his way down the stairs. The woman had repacked and was waiting in the passenger seat.
Hannah wondered where they were going. Anywhere, she supposed, if they had a tent. Sean had found a website the day after their trip to Canberra, of people sharing circuitous routes out of the city that hadn’t yet been closed but it seemed likely from the follow-up tales of failure that the police had found the site too. Maybe they were just going to another suburb, further south, further away from the hot spots.
Her back ached, there was no point going back to bed.
Light fell dimly through the panes in the front door, giving her a sketchy outline in grey to navigate by. She guided herself past Oscar’s room and into the living room by the tips of her fingers on the hallway wall. The curtains let through a small glimmer but outside Zac’s room, the hallway was windowless and engulfed in inky darkness. She paused to listen for noise. A stern voice had had little effect on Zac and Daniel, but they knew she wouldn’t come in to follow through on her threats. Now they were quiet, finally asleep. She tripped and jumped as her foot hit something just outside Zac’s door.
The bundle on the floor made little murmuring sounds. She felt her way to the light switch outside the bathroom, shuffling her feet against further surprises. Oscar lay across Zac’s doorway, in a nest constructed from his doona and pillow. His face was pale and empty and left her feeling disquieted and sad.
In the kitchen, her laptop was where she had left it that afternoon. It had been nine hours since she checked the internet. Seven of those before she went to bed. And it had been hard, steeling herself not to look. Nine hours of news that she didn’t know. There might be an explanation of why her neighbours were doing a flit in the night. Or some of it might even be good, there had to be progress sometime.
The blue light of the screen barely lit the walls. She scanned down the newspaper’s website, and registered that it was after midnight. Today was now yesterday. She found the number. Eighty-one. That had to be a typo, they meant eighteen. There were only thirteen dead on Monday. Only. Thirteen people dead in one day. But eighty-one. It had to be wrong. She snapped the laptop shut. Until the morning. The paper would notice their mistake and fix it by morning.
In the bathroom, she looked at her wan and fearful face. Through all the years of worrying and scanning her body, of being on high alert, this much she knew about cancer pain—you couldn’t make it go away by bending or stretching. She told the panic merchant in the mirror firmly, ‘This isn’t what cancer feels like.’
In her experience, cancer didn’t feel like anything at all. It was blob on a mammogram, a wrinkle in the skin, but she still didn’t know the difference between hysteria and prudence.
She took two painkillers and made her way back to bed, stepping over Oscar. She gently swivelled him so that he lay along the hall, not across it.
Oscar was stretched out on the sofa, in thrall to cartoons when she got up. His doona and pillow were still in a pile outside Zac’s door. As Hannah passed, Zac called out, ‘Can we get some breakfast in here?’
‘In a minute.’
‘Mum, Oscar’s been up for hours and he won’t get us anything. And he says we can’t come out. We’re starving.’ His voice was muted by the door.
Her head was muzzy from lack of sleep, but at least the pain was gone. ‘In a minute.’
‘Can we at least
come out?’
‘This afternoon. Two days is this afternoon.’ Zac said something which she couldn’t hear and wasn’t supposed to.
Of the bag of bread, only enough full slices remained for the boys’ breakfast, leaving her the crusts. A teaspoon of chocolate powder floated in a glass of long life milk for each of the boys, the powder encapsulated in bubbles of air that divided as she stirred harder but remained bone dry inside the translucent skins.
The tin of coffee felt light. She shook it, as if somehow that would make it heavier. Her calculations were off. Unlike the bread, she couldn’t blame it on Daniel. That had better be added to the next order. She filled the base of the ancient stovetop espresso maker with water, screwed the two halves together. The hiss and spit of an explosion of steam and shrapnel waiting to happen was exactly why she had retired it to the back of the cupboard years ago. But now that there wasn’t a barista around the corner, it had been recalled from exile.
She knocked softly on Zac’s door and, without waiting for a reply, opened it and slid the tray in. As she closed the door, she heard Zac’s whine. ‘Mum, toast. I hate toast, it’s like cardboard.’
Daniel’s voice was softer, not designed for her to hear. ‘More for me.’
‘Yeah, right.’
The painful brightness of the yard darkened the unlit office more, so that she could barely make out Sean hunched over the keyboard. ‘Knock, knock.’ He looked up at her but his mind remained in the virtual world. ‘Coffee.’
He put a hand out for the mug and took a sip. ‘Improving.’
‘How’s work?’
He snapped into focus. ‘Do you know there’s not a single case in Melbourne? The whole office down there is working normally. They’re going out to lunch today.’
An Ordinary Epidemic Page 11