This was the second machine they’d hit tonight. They had waited until they were sure the kids were asleep, like Christmas Eve, then had driven up to the local shops and done a circuit around the block to make sure no one was there. The shops had looked strange, but only in the way they would on any Tuesday night around midnight. Vacant, shut up, waiting for people. Bright shores on a dark street.
Sean had taken out the daily limit. And how pleased he had been with himself as he had pointed out it was a daily limit, that midnight was the end of one day and the start of the next. Which is why they had sat in the car for another half hour, waiting for the day to end.
‘Are you sure this will work?’
‘No, but we’re here now, where else do you have to be?’
‘Home.’
‘At home, we’d be asleep. How much protection would you be providing then?’
‘We were only going to be ten minutes. They’re alone, we got what we came for.’
‘When the banking system goes down and everything we need has to be paid for in cash...’
‘Fine, five minutes more.’
The machine was on a corner and she was parked diagonally, Parisian style, so they could see down both roads. She stayed in the car, watching all directions, jumpy, ready to yell. The idling engine was a magnet for anyone looking for trouble but if she turned it off, she would lose seconds starting it. They weren’t teenagers, they were parents of a teenager. If they met trouble, a quick getaway was their best bet. The empty street made her uneasy, no one to threaten them but no one to rescue them either.
She saw Sean turn his attention from the street to the ATM, hand out, looking down to the money dispenser. She watched the shadows, hoping that any danger was here and not at home.
That afternoon they had spooked themselves with the thought that the ATMs might not always be refilled and that they had almost no cash in their wallets. Sean had spent half an hour going through the boys’ things looking for a baseball bat.
‘Why would they have a baseball bat? They’ve never played baseball.’
‘It doesn’t have to be baseball. Anything threatening and hard that you can wield like a bat.’
‘They play soccer. The soccer ball is in the garden.’
‘Someone gave one of them a cricket set, didn’t they? I remember plastic stumps in the garden. Zac made me play with him. I’m sure.’
Zac and Daniel had watched, still and silent, as Sean had pulled everything out of Zac’s cupboards. They had followed him to the garage as he emptied every box. They had looked on, Zac embarrassed and Daniel bewildered, as he had arisen triumphantly with the tiny plastic bat.
The ATM was in a well-lit recess in the glass front wall of the bank. Sean was clear as day to anyone in the street. The bat was in his left hand, dangling at his side. It barely made it to his knees. She wanted him to hurry up. Leaving the boys alone was a mistake.
As they drew up, the house gave nothing away, dark and silent in solidarity with every other house in the street. A light drizzle shimmered in the cones of the street lamps.
‘Hey,’ Sean rubbed her knee, ‘we’re safe. Even thieves stay home when it’s wet.’
‘Your run of the mill career thief, maybe, but desperate people don’t care about a few drops of rain.’
‘What are the chances that someone would pick our house, in the one hour in the middle of the one night we’re not there?’
Worry was a talisman, it kept the evil at bay but it didn’t make leaving the boys behind anything but a bad decision. As she put the key in the front door, she thought about how pointless the lock was, how flimsy the house’s defences were. They were defences of convention, politeness. A general agreement to go in through the front door, not smash the window next to it.
Her first impulse was to place a hand on Oscar. By the light that seeped around his curtains, she could see his forehead forced into a little pucker that seemed out of place. Concern, Hannah thought, for a future he wasn’t aware of yet. But he threw his arms wide, as if they lay where they fell and his body oriented itself without heeding the direction of the bed. He breathed heavily, a child’s version of a snore, like a baby clone of Sean. She let herself watch him, felt a twinge of guilt for taking this liberty, for invading his incipient privacy.
She couldn’t do more than take a step into Zac’s room. The door opened only a fraction, wedged hard against Daniel’s mattress, which took up most of the floor. Even in sleep they defended their right to privacy. Two lumps in two beds, two sets of breathing and two mops poking out from the sheets. They were safe.
Her nerves jangled but she ached with tiredness. As Sean stuffed the wad of fifties into one of his weekend work boots, it bothered her that it looked like nothing more than a roll of paper. Hannah wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Couldn’t you pick a nicer shoe?’ As if that would make a difference. Any thief worth their salt already knew all the places amateurs like them hid their money. They were trying to second guess themselves.
‘We can go again tomorrow night.’
‘Getting home and finding the kids still safe is a reprieve, not licence to keep doing it.’
‘I’ll go by myself.’
‘The petrol gauge dropped below empty, you’d have to walk.’ She could picture the long walk, him standing alone at the ATM, everything that didn’t happen tonight happening. She turned away from the thought, like a sharp wound.
‘Let’s see how things are tomorrow.’
She slid into bed, hunkered down under the doona and turned towards the luminous numbers of the clock. Half past one, much chillier now than it had been when the kids went to bed.
Oscar would be up in five hours. Five possible hours of sleep. But her muscles were full of stored energy. She had an itch to get up, expend the tension, but she was pinned in place by the collective need to not wake everyone. Her mind was exhausted but her body felt ready to go, coiled tight. Tomorrow she should run up and down the hall like Oscar did.
A quarter past two. Four hours until Oscar woke. The streetlight through the curtains made patches on the ceiling, like a map. She traced paths between the islands of light.
The clock said five to three. Her mind presented her with all the hiding places in all the heist movies she’d ever seen. In the freezer, inside a fish fingers box. The cistern. Images, connections, over which she had no control, came to her. The toilet flushing, all the money squeezing through the pipes, floating out to sea. Her mind grasped in passing at the idea that there was no water but was distracted by the thought of the sea only just down the hill. She tried to un-tense her body, let it sink into the bed.
She thought it was nearly four.
Hannah woke up to a gloom that felt like seven but the clock told her it was ten. A thin, steady hiss of rain fell, its low grey clouds scattering and attenuating the sunlight.
In the living room, the boys were in their pyjamas, surrounded by Oscar’s toys, books, playing cards, interspersed with plates and bowls. The remains of breakfast.
All the glass in the kitchen windows and door let in the chill in place of morning light. She brought a cup of tea and some toast into the living room. With both hallway doors closed and the little fan heater going, the living room was pleasantly toasty.
Yesterday, Zac had announced his intention of reading ahead in case classes were going on in Canberra without him. Judging by his place in his textbook, he was making progress.
Daniel had clearly shanghaied Oscar’s colouring pencils and a sketchbook. The fat triangular pencils and cheap pulp paper were no match for his artistic abilities. He was sprawled out on the floor, lying on his stomach. The pages were divided into irregular panels like a comic, the contents roughly sketched in lead. He methodically worked his way across and down the page, bringing each frame to colourful life. From time to time he stopped to look over what he’d done with a critical eye, sometimes going back and adding to a previous frame.
All the schoolwork they had brought home for O
scar had been finished days ago. He lay on the sofa with Zac, curled up in a ball around his game. His only movement was the rapid tapping of his thumbs and the occasional jerk of his whole body as he moved with the screen. Zac said, without looking up, ‘Turn the sound off Oz, I can’t concentrate.’
She picked up the book she was halfway through. There was never going to be a better opportunity to work her way through all the books she’d bought and never finished. Although she yearned to be like Oscar and cast off the ‘shoulds’, for the time being she persevered. If she couldn’t concentrate, the flaw was in herself. She was going to get right to the end.
Oscar twitched and she lost her place. He hadn’t done anything she could legitimately tell him off for. She tossed the book on the lounge. Her brain was fogged with tiredness. This morning all she could handle was a simple plot that went from beginning to end and characters she didn’t have to think about. The room was too small, the house was too small.
She leant forward, trying not to be obvious, in an attempt to make out more detail in Daniel’s drawings but his arm crooked around the top as if shielding it. Zac looked over at her a couple of times, disapprovingly.
‘What are you drawing, Daniel?’
‘Just, you know.’
It could be a window into how he felt, she should try to show an interest. ‘Can I have a look?’
Daniel looked pained. ‘It’s not really ready.’ He coloured self-consciously. His art was the only space that was his in the whole house.
She picked up the book again. If she made it all the way through to the end, she’d reward herself with a kid’s novel. Zac had a shelf full, starting with everything she’d ever read him, moving on to the ones she didn’t know, the ones he’d read himself. Those would be the books she’d read next. Oscar twitched again, she lost her spot again and shot him a cross look. He didn’t notice.
Zac said, ‘When’s lunch?’
‘I don’t know, are you planning on making it?’
‘I made my own breakfast, didn’t I?’
‘Well, you get a gold star then.’ For that, she received a sour look. ‘We’re all home all the time, you can take some responsibility and pull some weight. I don’t need to do everything for you.’
‘Yeah, like that happens.’
Pencils scratched, buttons clicked, pages turned. The quiet was irritating, distracting her with the absence of noise. She got to the end of a paragraph and realised she had no idea what it said, the words slid across her eyes. She yawned.
Sean swept into the room, laptop in hand, all noise and bustle. ‘It’s freezing in the office, I can’t feel the ends of my fingers.’ He looked around the room, satisfied with the independent industriousness of the boys. ‘Shove over, I need to finish this thing, I can’t even think, my brain is so cold.’
Sean’s cheerfulness grated on her nerves. ‘I don’t know why you bother, what difference does it make if you don’t get it done?’
‘The guys in Melbourne are waiting for it.’ Sean barely looked up from his screen.
‘The guys in Melbourne are safe and get to go to the office. The guys in Melbourne can do it themselves.’
Sean stopped typing and considered the idea. ‘While I can still do something useful, that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t see why I wouldn’t.’
‘As if moving electrons around makes any real difference at all.’
‘I’m not sure this is the time or place for that conversation.’ Sean nodded his head in the direction of Zac and Daniel. ‘Anyway, I’ll just say the words “mortgage” and “bills”.’
Zac’s head twitched, almost as if he was trying not to look at them. Daniel studiously continued his art, with a kind of alert obliviousness.
‘It’s not even that cold.’
‘And yet you have the heater on. It was okay when I started but I think I sat still so long the blood stopped pumping to my extremities.’ Sean rubbed his hands together in an exaggerated motion. ‘So much better.’ His cheerfulness was noisy. ‘You look wrecked. Maybe you should go back to bed.’
‘I don’t feel like it.’ She wasn’t going to give in to her body’s needs, instead she forced herself to re-read the last paragraph. Each word made sense but she couldn’t join them to make anything meaningful. She closed her eyes and rested her head back on the couch.
‘Sean, could I ring my mum sometime this morning?’
‘I’d like to talk to your dad first, so wait until I’m finished. Then, for sure.’ Daniel looked at him quietly, waiting for more. ‘She’s getting better, your dad said yesterday, didn’t he.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
Sean ran his hand over Hannah’s hair. ‘Why don’t you lie down?’
‘I don’t want to lie down.’ But she did. She wanted to sleep, but in here. Here in this safe, warm, quiet room, with her boys around her.
She curled up in the corner of the sofa with her head on the armrest looking for the sweet spot, the exact place that would let her drift off. She fidgeted and turned, the noisiest person in the room. The syncopated clacking of Sean’s keyboard added to the rhythmic quiet. She stretched herself out, nudging Sean’s laptop out of the way with her head to rest on the edge of his leg. He perched the laptop sideways on his knees, arching his arms over her to reach to it. She drifted off.
She woke on the sofa. A crust of drool had dried in the corner of her mouth. She swallowed, parched from breathing warm, dry air. Her neck complained as she tried to return it to a normal angle. The room was lit up, with the kind of vibrancy no electric light could produce. The sun streamed in the window through the pulled back curtains. A warmer, clear, noon sun.
She eased her head onto the armrest and poked around in her mind for the bad mood of the morning. It had gone, leaving nothing in its place. More than nothing, an absence of mind.
She felt vacant as she followed the sounds to the kitchen, thinking about last night. They shouldn’t risk that again. The cash they had was enough for emergencies and she had to believe that the banking system would keep going.
Home was safe. She was always relieved to return home. Even on holidays, she felt wary, vulnerable, tempting fate. Bad things could happen on someone else’s territory. You couldn’t control, only improvise.
‘It moves!’ Sean laughed at her as she came through the kitchen door. ‘Just in time for a pikelet.’ He clumsily turned the golden rounds, smearing uncooked batter from the top across the frying pan.
‘Is this lunch?’
‘Lunch? I’m sure it’s not lunch. This would be a terrible lunch.’ The boys giggled, even Zac. Sean gave her a smile that melded with a supplicating light in his eyes. ‘We’ll get to lunch eventually. Lunch is only a time of day. We are not slaves to the clock.’
Oscar was heaping jam on his pikelet with a spoon. The jar was half empty. Drips meandered down the side and pooled on the bench. It had been nearly full yesterday.
The heat of the pikelet melted the bottom of the jam, and the blob glided frictionlessly as Oscar stuffed the pikelet in his mouth. He folded and turned it to catch the jam as he pushed the last bit in. Before she could get a protest out, he had wiped his jammy fingers on his pyjama pants.
‘Eww, gross.’ Zac rolled his eyes.
‘What?’ Oscar’s mouth hung open, still stuffed with red streaked pikelet.
‘Double gross. I can see the food in your mouth.’
‘Next batch.’ The boys rushed for the plate. ‘Ah-ah-ah. Your mum hasn’t had any yet.’ They held respectfully back while Sean took one and put it on a small plate. As soon as he was done they descended on the remaining two pikelets to argue about who had had how many. In the happy noise, her apprehension leaked away.
‘Hey Mum,’ Zac didn’t have a pikelet in his hand, he must have deferred to the guest and his younger brother, ‘Dad thinks you can whip condensed milk like cream but he wouldn’t do it without asking you first.’
Oscar paused, a jam-laden pikelet halfway to his mouth, not wanting
to waste another bite if there was going to be cream.
Sean looked around at the eager eyes, slightly guilty. ‘Well, I think my grandmother might have done it once but I don’t know how. Sorry.’
‘We could try.’ Hannah mentally tallied the cans in the pantry, weighed the happiness apportioned against the worry of running out, all while Oscar’s pikelet hovered. ‘Next time.’
‘Aaw.’ The pikelet disappeared into his mouth.
Sean dropped another set on the plate and poured three more spoonfuls of batter into the pan. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Thanks.’
‘S’okay.’ He looked at the small bubbles forming on the top. ‘It’s a terrible lunch. Lucky no one can see, I’d have my parenting licence revoked.’
‘We can have lunch later.’
‘Hey,’ Sean raised his eyebrows theatrically, ‘Daniel’s mum rang us. Isn’t that great?’
‘That’s great. How is she?’
They all looked at Daniel, who chewed uncomfortably, trying to finish the pikelet in his mouth so he could speak. ‘Good.’ He swallowed. ‘She’s out of bed, it’s good. Dad says I can come home soon.’
‘Well, that’s great. I think that’s great.’ Hannah smiled at Daniel and snuck a glance at Sean for confirmation.
Sean pushed the pikelet around the pan, scraping with the metal spatula. ‘Yeah, well. You know, of course. As soon as it’s safe. But you’re fine here. We should ring your dad and tell him you’re fine here.’
‘Did your mum see a doctor today, Daniel?’
‘Dunno.’
If she hadn’t seen a doctor, Hannah couldn’t convince herself Susan wasn’t infectious. But a doctor visited other patients, brought new germs along. So, knowing about the doctor couldn’t tell her how safe it was but it was information and that was comforting if useless.
Oscar absent-mindedly munched his food, staring out the window. Something about his look, a suppressed, distressed comprehension made Hannah follow his gaze to the lawn. There, with one paw up on the patio, was Mr Moon. Oscar twitched slightly. The same small pucker between his eyebrows that he had when he slept barely dented his forehead as he looked down at his plate with great concentration. He got up from the table and put one hand up on the windowsill. On the other side of the glass, the cat silently meowed. Mr Moon looked less kempt than he’d been a week ago but not particularly thinner. She felt bad for the cat. She felt bad for the birds and mice he’d probably eaten.
An Ordinary Epidemic Page 17