When she finds her glasses she props them on her head and drops to her knees before Mum. ‘I won’t be long. I promise.’
Mum nods, sniffs like she’s trying to stay strong.
Siena turns to me. ‘You take care of her. I’m going to be back as soon as I can.’
‘Fine,’ I say dragging a magazine off the chair and realising that it’s the same one I looked at last time I was here. I flick through it anyway, unwilling to look Siena in the eye right now. She gives us both a final hair rub before click-clacking down the corridor in a Felicia kind of way.
Mum sits quietly, with the same look of fear on her face that she always has when she’s in this waiting room. Her hands in her lap, she stares straight ahead. We seem to be the only people here.
‘Where is everyone?’ I say.
‘Either they’ve all been cured, or they’ve all died,’ she says grabbing my wrist. I laugh, thinking she’s making a joke, but when I see her face I realise she is serious. I take her hand in mine and hold on tight. We wait quietly until a nurse calls her name.
‘We can take it from here, love,’ says the nurse, taking the wheelchair handles from me.
‘Can I stay with her?’ I say, but she is already moving and pushing me out of the way.
‘We won’t be long,’ she says and closes the door, leaving me in the waiting room on my own.
Siena is gone a lot longer than half an hour. In fact almost two hours pass and I am still waiting for her. In the meantime, the clinic has begun to fill up. I am about to ask the receptionist if she knows what’s holding things up, when Mum’s nurse comes out and looks around the waiting crowd. I lift my hand, and when she sees me she walks over and takes a seat next to me.
‘Are you the daughter?’ she says.
‘I’m Sofia Verdi’s daughter.’
‘Your mum said her sister was going to be out here,’ she says looking around me as though I might be hiding her behind my back.
‘Siena is coming back soon. Do you have the scan results?’
‘Your mum wanted me to speak to her sister,’ she says patting my hand. ‘Can you ask her to come and see me when she gets here? I’ll just be in that room.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s best if I speak to your aunt.’ And she smiles and walks away.
So for the next half hour I am feeling like I want to scream, turning and folding the magazine in my hand. Finally, I see the doors open and Siena walks in with a huge smile on her face and a skip in her step.
‘Guess what?’ she says, flapping past me and sitting down with such a bounce her legs kick up and start swinging like she’s a schoolgirl sitting on a too-high chair. ‘Everything has been finalised. I open the restaurant in a month!’ She squeals and grabs me tightly in a hug. ‘Can you believe it, Mira? I’m finally going to have my restaurant!’
Then she sees my face.
‘What’s happened?’ she says.
‘The nurse wants to speak to you.’
‘Do they have the scan results?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me. She said Mum asked for you.’
‘It’s going to be okay, Mira,’ she says trying to look calm, but she drops my hand and walks quickly to find the nurse.
In the meantime, I am left once again to experience the waiting room and the waiting game that goes with it. I stand up and pace around, unable to stand the jittery feelings in my legs. Finally the door opens and I see Mum and Siena coming out. I search their faces looking for clues. Mum looks the same as she always does in this place – frightened and distant. Siena is smiling and looking happy but it’s obvious she has been crying.
‘Time to go home,’ she says pushing straight past me towards the doors so that I have to quickly grab my bag and follow. It’s raining gently, and the chair’s wheels whirr as they push through the wet car park. Siena holds her handbag over Mum’s head to shelter her from the rain.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ I say.
‘Let’s wait till we are in the car,’ says Siena.
‘What were the scan results?’
‘Everything is okay, Mira.’
‘Mum?’ I say, but she ignores me too. I run around to stand in front of them. ‘TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!’ I scream so that several people turn around to look at us from under their umbrellas. Siena’s face is wet with the rain and I can feel my own cheeks are damp.
‘This isn’t the place, Mira,’ says Siena but Mum puts up her hand to silence her. Her eyes are strong, much stronger than I have ever seen them, and these eyes on my usually soft and yielding mother are scaring me most of all. She peers at me from under Siena’s red handbag.
‘The cancer is still there, in my back and now in my neck,’ she says coolly.
‘Okay,’ I say, gesturing for calm like I am going to sort this mess out. ‘So more radiation therapy? Maybe some chemotherapy? What’s the next step?’
‘Yes, Mira,’ says Siena. ‘They will do those things, but there is something else too. They have found some more cancer. It has spread to her lungs.’
I can’t look at my mother. I keep my eyes on Siena.
‘But they’ve found it early, right? They can fix it?’
‘They are going to try.’
‘So she’s going to be, okay?’
Mum kicks my shin. I look down and she is staring at me hard, like I’ve done something wrong. She leans forward and the handbag over her head slides with her.
‘I am not giving up, understand?’ she says jabbing her finger at me. ‘I am going to do everything I can, everything the doctors tell me, and more. I don’t care how sick or tired it makes me feel. You have my word.’
She flicks her hand for me to get out of the way. Dazed, I stand aside and Siena pushes her past me to the car. Around us people are still staring, and I eye them one by one until they get the message and go back to examining their own lives rather than being spectators in mine. At first this feels good, but then, as I stand alone in the car park with everyone avoiding my gaze and Mum and Siena far ahead of me I get this unpleasant feeling of loneliness. I run to catch up with them and help Siena get Mum in the car. I ask nothing more and nobody offers to tell me anything else. We drive home in silence.
***
Via takes the news in her customary manner. She rolls up her sleeves and begins scrubbing benchtops that have already been scrubbed thin. She orders Marco and Sera to pick up their toys and Siena to rearrange the cutlery drawer. Mum is sent to bed and I am recruited to chop parsley and garlic for the night’s meal. The house is a whirr of activity, and everyone focuses diligently on his or her tasks as though the survival of the world depended on my house being sterile and my family having the world’s most incredible dinner. This frenzy gets us through to the afternoon. Via and Siena, wiping their hands on their dresses and surveying the house with a satisfied nod, take their bags and the children and disappear into their cars with promises of more cleaning and food making to come.
Then I am alone.
It starts to rain again and the room closes over with darkness. I sit at the table and look at the clock; listen to its regular ticking, conscious of how each second feels as it passes, one after the other. My need for distraction is desperate, and with few options available to me I swallow the remains of my pride and dial Felicia’s number.
‘Hi, it’s me.’
‘Hi Mira.’
‘Doing anything today?’
‘Oh you know. Not much,’ she says uneasily. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m just at home,’ I say. ‘I don’t have anything to do.’
Long silence.
‘I thought maybe we could...’ I start to say but she cuts me off.
‘Um, I’m seeing Guido actually. It’s his last day at home. I would ask you to come along, but, you know. You don’t get on.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m sorry, Mira. Maybe we can do something later in the week?’
‘Yeah, sure. Whatever.�
��
Long silence.
‘Look, it’s important I spend time with Guido at the moment. He’s leaving soon and...’
‘Yeah I get it, Felicia. He’s going away and you want to spend time with him and he doesn’t like me. Whatever. I don’t really care.’
She sighs. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
More silence.
‘Is everything okay?’ she says after a while.
I look in the direction of my mother’s room.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You just sound a bit weird. Is something going on?’
I twirl the telephone cord around my finger, try and keep my breathing steady. In my head I am repeating: I am not talking about my mother, I am not talking about my mother. The last thing I want is Princess Felicia feeling sorry for me. I don’t think I could stand it.
‘Everything is fine. I’m just a bit bored. Hey,’ I say trying to force a bit of cheer into my voice. ‘Did you watch the news last night?’
‘No. I was out, you know.’
‘Oh right. Sure, with Guido.’ And I can’t help it, I sound whiny.
After a pause she says, ‘so what about it?’
‘Huh?’
‘The news. What was on the news?’
I rub my eyes. ‘Oh nothing big, just something about Gorbachev saying he would agree to banning intermediate-range missiles. I just wanted to say, you know, if this keeps up I might have to start believing you that everything is going to be okay.’
‘That’s nice, Mira. Look, Guido will be here soon, so I gotta run.’
‘Sure. Of course. You lovebirds have fun.’
‘I’ll call you soon, okay?’
And before I can even say goodbye she hangs up on me. I put down the phone and cradle my head in my hands. I guess she finally worked out we are not going to be friends. I look up at the clock which has inched forward two minutes. My need for distraction has not waned. I pick up the phone again, shut my eyes tight as I try not to dwell on the wisdom of my decision, then I dial for a taxi.
‘Where to?’ says the operator.
And I give her the address.
‘Okay, love. A cab should be there in about ten minutes.’
In the kitchen cupboard I find the sugar bowl with the money and peel out a fifty-dollar bill. I walk quietly down the hallway to fetch an umbrella from the hat stand, pausing by my mother’s closed door to listen for her throaty breathing. I wouldn’t usually leave the house without telling someone where I was going, but these are strange times, and I am feeling like the old rules just don’t apply.
‘I’m going out,’ I whisper. ‘Not sure what time I’ll be back for dinner.’ And I kiss the cold door.
The cab arrives within minutes and before I can change my mind I am putting on the seatbelt and wringing water from my hair. The cab takes off and I shake nervously.
The house looks even more dilapidated in the daylight. The dark hid many of its more derelict features, including cracked windows held together with packing tape and lifted roof sheeting. If it weren’t for the muffled sound of music coming from inside, it would be easy to think that the place was abandoned. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I hang my umbrella on a lone picket and step into the long grass.
There is no answer to my first knock, so after a few minutes I knock harder and longer, hoping to get someone’s attention. It works, and soon I can hear heavy steps coming down the hall. The door opens to an empty hallway that smells strongly of cigarettes and mould, and then Harm peers around the corner, eyes blinking like he’s staring into a strong light. There are black shadows where his eyeliner has smudged. His skin is looking splotchier than I remember.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you up?’ I say.
‘It’s raining?’ he says looking past me with surprise.
‘It’s been raining for a few days now.’
‘Really?’ he says scratching his very matted hair. ‘I suppose that explains the puddle of water in the kitchen. Must have a leak in the roof.’
‘Are you busy?’ I say, thinking that this delay at the door is building up to a rejection, but Harm laughs and swings the door open.
‘God no,’ he says, standing there in just a shirt and his underwear. ‘Come on in and have a drink with me.’
I follow him down the hallway, gaping openly at the chaotic state of the house. There are plates of mouldy food on the floor, empty beer cans and Coke bottles scattered everywhere, many of them packed full of cigarette butts and chocolate wrappers. Everything is thick with dust and the cobwebs hang low and hairy from the ceiling. And that’s just the hallway. He stops at one of the doors and leans into it with his shoulder and shoves hard. The door swings open and music spills out. Harm stands to the side and waves me in.
It’s only when I enter that I realise this is Harm’s bedroom. I was expecting to walk into a lounge room, and in my mind I am picturing my mother’s anxious eyes should she ever find out about this. To be honest I’m a bit nervous about it myself, unable to shake off years of preaching about being a ‘good girl’. There’s not much in the way of furniture, just a bare mattress on the floor, a battered cassette player in the corner and some milk crates spilling over with unfolded clothes and shoes. Harm goes over to the pile and pulls on a pair of jeans before sitting down on the mattress. He pats the spot next to him to indicate that I should sit too, and then he begins to roll a cigarette.
‘It’s okay,’ he says when I hesitate to join him on the bed. ‘I don’t bite. The fleas might, though.’ And he laughs when he sees I take this seriously. ‘I’m joking. Come and sit down.’ And he pats the mattress again. With nowhere else to sit other than the floor, I take him up on the offer.
‘You want one?’ he says, offering me the packet once he’s finished taking a pinch of tobacco from it.
‘I don’t smoke. Is anyone else home?’ I say, nervous about encountering Apocalypse or Andrew again.
‘They moved out,’ he says. ‘A few weeks ago actually.’
Harm looks sad about this but I am feeling relieved knowing that I won’t have to deal with either of them. I lean back on my elbows, study the intricate design of the ceiling rose above Harm’s bed.
‘So you’ve got this whole place to yourself?’
‘For now. Apparently they are going to knock it over soon.’
‘Really?’ I say, looking around at the room, picturing a great cloud of dust as the walls and ceiling come crashing down. ‘Where will you go?’
‘That’s just it,’ he says, pouring himself some wine from a cask. ‘I’ve got no idea. At this stage it looks like I’m going to be living on the streets.’ He raises his glass like he wants to toast this.
‘Can’t you go back to your parents?’
‘Maybe, but I won’t. The last time I saw my father he called me a parasite and kicked me out of the house.’
‘Have you tried talking to your mum?’ It’s easy for me to imagine a father being mean and nasty, but surely, everybody has a mother like mine? I think if my dad tried to kick me out Mum would probably kick him out first.
‘Mum does what she’s told, so even if by some miracle she wanted to help me, she wouldn’t do anything to upset him.’ He gives me a light punch to the shoulder. ‘Cheer up,’ he says. ‘I’ll find something. I always do. So how about you? Your parents any better than mine?’
‘I’ve got a mean father, too.’ I say picking at a fraying bit of the mattress. ‘My mother’s always nice but she’s sick now and I don’t get to talk to her much.’ I feel myself start to choke up but it just doesn’t seem right to start crying. Compared to Harm’s life my story is simple and I don’t think I have a right to feel this way. I clench my hands and focus on stopping all my thoughts. I concentrate on the ceiling rose, trace the lines round and round from the centre until I have pushed away all the images and memories of my house, my father, and my mother and her sickness. ‘Everything is fine, really. Sometimes I just wis
h I could get away, that’s all.’
‘You can always come and sleep under the stars with me.’
‘That sounds kind of nice,’ I say, imagining myself lying down on the cool grass, stars blinking through the branches of the tree above me and the sounds of crickets lulling me to sleep. Harm smiles and picks up the cask of wine.
‘I suppose you don’t drink either?’
‘I’m not a very good drunk,’ I say, wincing at the memory of my night with Felicia and Guido. ‘I just get miserable. And argumentative.’
‘Maybe this then?’ he says pulling a fat cigarette from his pocket. ‘You didn’t look miserable the last time we shared one. Do you remember?’
‘I think that day is the reason I’m here,’ I say. ‘That’s the last time I can remember being happy.’
‘Me too,’ he says, reaching out and patting my knee. ‘I’m really glad you came, Mira. I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Nah,’ I say flapping my hand dismissively. ‘I’m pretty hard to get rid of. I’m like a stain.’
‘You left your mark on me,’ he says.
‘That’s really lame, Harm.’
‘I haven’t had much sleep,’ he says laughing. ‘I’m still warming up in the joke department. So what do you say? For old times?’
I look with apprehension at the joint he is holding, but more than anything right now I need to feel what I felt that day at the lake. I want it so much I think I would be prepared to smoke a thousand joints if it meant I could get even a little of it back again.
‘Sure.’
He claps his hands, delighted. ‘Ladies first,’ he says putting it to my lips. He pats around the mattress until he finds the lighter and holds the flame to the end of the joint until I have sucked it into life. The drug works quickly, and I can feel it creeping from my chest to my brain in a tickling, warming way. Soon I am smiling and relaxed and the music is rocking me in its arms and soothing me with its words. We say nothing but it does not feel uncomfortable, and I am grateful for his ability to just sit with me without feeling a need to fill in the empty spaces. We pass the joint back and forth until it is finished. Harm drops the end of it into a beer bottle and it sizzles as it hits the bottom. He lies back onto the mattress with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed. His breathing is so shallow that I worry for a moment that he is going to go to sleep, but then his hand reaches outwards and pushes me gently on the leg.
The Mimosa Tree Page 21