by Sarah Ayoub
‘So did you check upstairs?’
He goes quiet for a moment. ‘Oh my God. She wasn’t saying she’d been ill upstairs,’ he says, dread in his voice. ‘She was saying Gill’s upstairs.’
And then my battery goes flat.
I don’t know how it happens, but the bouncer puts me in a cab, gives the cabbie a fifty-dollar note, and the next thing I know I’m storming through the emergency ward of RPA. I don’t even know if Gillian’s there, so when I smash against the reception desk and say her name, I’m hoping I’ve just blown out the situation in my mind; that Gillian just got bored and left the party early.
But the receptionist nods and my worst fears are confirmed. She has just been admitted.
I ask the receptionist if I can see her.
‘Are you immediate family?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I say. ‘But I’m the one who cares the most.’
She gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Sorry, immediate family only.’
‘I just need to know she’s OK,’ I beg.
‘I’m sorry, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Like I said, immediate family only.’
But her parents don’t care, I think.
‘And Tammi Kapsalis?’ I ask, feeling weird about using her full name. ‘Tamara, sorry.’
‘Yes, she arrived a while ago. She’s with the doctors. I can’t tell you any more.’
I sigh, defeated, then walk over and take a seat.
‘You shouldn’t stay here,’ she calls out to me. ‘It’s 1 a.m.’
‘Trust me, I’m all she has,’ I tell her.
She shrugs and gets on with her job. A few minutes later, she comes up to me with a Post-it.
‘Put your name and number here,’ she says. ‘Home and mobile. I’ll do what I can.’
‘If it’s all the same,’ I say, ‘I’m just gonna stay here. My mobile’s dead anyway.’
She smiles politely and walks away, and I slump back into my chair.
Poor Gillian. We all thought it couldn’t get any worse after the webcam hacking; God knows what has happened to her now. And Tammi! How did she get involved? I grab my phone to text Ryan, to ask more questions — and then I curse myself for using it to record snippets of the band showcase at the bar.
I start feeling claustrophobic, so I head outside for some fresh air. But I can’t escape the feeling of the world closing in. I sit next to a man on a bench, and try to slow my breathing, but I can’t. It just gets more rapid.
‘You OK, kid?’ the man asks, with the faint trace of a foreign accent. ‘You’re breathing like my wife during one of her contractions.’
I shake my head, my eyes welling up with tears. ‘Something’s happened to two of my really good friends,’ I tell him. ‘And they won’t tell me anything because I’m not family.’
He nods sympathetically and a jolt goes through my body when his eyes lock on mine. For a second I feel like I’ve seen him before, in a distant dream. But it’s probably just my shock talking.
‘Sometimes it’s better,’ he says. ‘Not seeing them. My wife convinced me she doesn’t want me there at the birth. Too much happening, you know?’
I nod, but my friend’s not giving birth. She’s . . . something else.
A policeman appears before me. ‘Are you Matthew Fullerton?’
I nod quietly.
‘I’m Tamara Kapsalis’ father, Nick,’ he says, extending a hand. ‘Were you at this party my daughter was at?’
‘No, sir,’ I tell him.
‘So you don’t know what she’s had to eat or drink tonight?’
‘No, sir,’ I say again.
He sighs. ‘Has anyone in your grade ever sold or taken synthetic substances?’
‘As in party pills?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘Not that I know of,’ I say honestly. ‘But I was never part of Tammi’s crowd.’
He grunts. ‘She’s having her stomach pumped,’ he says. ‘You kids have so much at your disposal, but you’re not very bright. What about the other girl. The politician’s daughter?’
‘She’s my best friend,’ I say in a hushed tone.
‘That’s why you’re here?’ he asks.
‘She means a lot to me,’ I say. ‘They both do.’
‘It could be a while,’ he says. ‘I’ll ring someone to come get you. You shouldn’t be here alone.’
I watch him walk away, then bury my head in my hands.
The stranger hasn’t moved, and I find his presence oddly comforting.
A phone beeps. His, not mine.
‘A girl,’ he says, leaping up. ‘I have a daughter!’
‘Congratulations,’ I say, giving him a half-smile through my sadness.
He shakes his head, smiling. ‘Life is a wonderful thing,’ he says.
A few minutes later, Charlie leaps outside and into his arms. She doesn’t notice me.
‘A girl!’ she says, excitedly, embracing him. ‘She says she can’t pick a name.’
‘Shall I go up?’ he asks earnestly.
‘Sorry, Stan, she wants to get cleaned up first.’
‘Of course,’ he says, deflated.
I stand up and she finally sees me.
‘Oh my God, Matty!’ she exclaims. ‘Ryan’s not replying. Is this where they brought Tammi?’
‘Yes, but we don’t know anything yet,’ I tell her. ‘About her or Gillian.’
‘Gillian?’ she asks, confused. ‘What are you talking about? Gillian was fine.’
We look at other, bewildered, as if we’re communicating in two different languages.
‘She was upstairs, I think she might have been unconscious . . .’ I say.
‘Unconscious?’ she whispers, stunned. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know,’ I tell her. ‘Ryan said he found her, like, forty minutes ago.’
She gasps. ‘She must’ve been out for ages then . . .’
‘You two know each other?’ the man asks. We both nod through our shock.
‘I’m sorry, Chi,’ he says. ‘I guess that means they were your friends too. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to ring your aunty.’
We both watch him walk off.
‘Charlie,’ I say after a moment, ‘I thought you guys were going to the party together?’
She bites her lip. ‘We had a fight,’ she says, sighing. ‘Gill thought I was giving my mum info about her for Mum’s thesis. But I’ve been talking to Mum about everything, just as a way to deal with it. I need help too, you know.’
‘Because you’ve been really hung up on the trolling and everything — trust me, I know,’ I say.
‘Exactly,’ she says, her eyes watering. ‘But Gillian just stormed out of my house. So I followed her . . . and she wouldn’t talk to me. She wanted to have a drink with Lauren instead.’
I swallow hard, trying to keep my emotions down.
‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she says. ‘It could be all fine, right?’
I nod, unconvinced, but I feel like I owe it to her. I feel like I’ve ruined a happy moment by being here.
‘So . . . is that Stan?’ I ask. ‘He has an accent.’
‘He was a Polish exchange student at our school once,’ she says. ‘Isn’t that cute? His real name is Stanislav Rezynoliki, but he changed it to Reynolds because no one could spell “Rezynoliki”. He went to Sydney Uni too, which is why he’s bugging me to go there.’
A sudden shiver comes over my body and she notices it.
‘He went to our school?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, why? Why are you acting weird?’
I realise I’m breathing extremely fast again.
‘Matty, you’re scaring me. Sit down,’ she says, dragging me to the bench. I sit down and put my head between my knees. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I just have this weird feeling,’ I tell her.
‘Should I go get a doctor?’ she asks.
I shake my head and look up, noticing a figure coming towards me. As she comes into full view, she look
s tired, worn, more aged than ever, but so beautiful at the same time.
‘Mum!’ I say, embracing her. ‘What are you doing here? Are you OK?’
‘The cops said you needed me,’ she says, sadly. ‘I figured it’s about time I stopped failing you. Are your friends OK?’
I start to reply, but a stunned look comes over her face as her eyes are trained on something behind me. I follow her line of vision to Stan.
And then my mother falls to the floor.
She comes to on a chair outside one of the wards.
‘You fainted again,’ I tell her, grabbing her hand. ‘Here, have some water.’
She doesn’t look at me.
‘This Stan guy,’ I say. ‘Did you run into him at the supermarket?’
‘Matthew, don’t,’ she says. ‘I’m tired.’
‘So am I, Mum,’ I exclaim. ‘I’m sick of being in the dark. I deserve to know.’
‘And so do I,’ Stan says, emerging from around the corner.
‘What were you doing, hiding there?’ she asks him.
I stand to attention — confused, scared, uncertain. He looks at me for a moment, then at her.
‘I had to see for certain if it was you,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re still so beautiful, it’s like you haven’t changed.’
She grunts.
‘But obviously you’re still good at keeping your cards close to your chest.’
Her face reddens, and her eyes fill with tears. I drop her hand and wipe my own on my pants. I’m so sweaty, and my heart is beating loudly in my chest.
‘We used to be married,’ Mum says, turning to me.
‘And pregnant,’ Stan adds.
‘Jellybean,’ I say, filling in the puzzle.
Stan raises his eyebrows. ‘He knows?’
‘No,’ I correct him. ‘I’ve been snooping.’
‘So where’s Jellybean now?’ I ask.
‘We killed him,’ he whispers.
‘Stan, don’t start that again,’ she says. ‘Please.’
‘Start what, Anna? It devastated you, but you went through with it anyway. You couldn’t care for a baby with Down’s syndrome. Or you could, but you just let the doctors bully you into believing you couldn’t.’
I look at her, shrinking down into her seat.
‘I didn’t know it would hurt so much,’ she says.
‘You forget how well I knew you,’ he says, as he reaches for her hand. She looks at him sadly. ‘How much I fought to be with you. Despite our differences. We could have done it.’
‘Well, why didn’t we?’ she asks.
‘Because you said it was your body, your choice . . . whatever the line was,’ he points out. ‘I had to respect you.’
‘But you couldn’t respect her enough to stay?’ I say, finding my voice. For her, for me, for Jellybean.
‘He stayed, he stayed,’ she says, giving him a half-smile. ‘For ages. And for months I would wait, see if I was given another chance. I bought ovulation kits and made him shelve his business plans — I was desperate to fall pregnant again.’
‘And then one day I told you I couldn’t take it any more,’ he admits, swallowing. ‘And I left.’
‘I found out three weeks after you walked out,’ she says sorrowfully.
‘And you didn’t think I deserved to know?’ he asks, hotly.
‘You were so adamant,’ she says defensively. ‘You were convinced we had done something so bad that it would never happen for us again. And you never called me.’
‘You could have told my lawyer!’
‘I was done!’ she says. ‘Just like you said you were. I left you free to concentrate on your business, build another life. You had already sacrificed so much for me.’
‘I was so happy fifteen minutes ago,’ he says, looking at her. ‘I thought I had left you in the past. But now you’re back, wrecking my present.’
He shakes his head and starts to walk away.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘What about me?’
He stops for a moment and looks at me sadly. ‘Your mother made a decision for her family,’ he says, cocking his head towards her. ‘And I have another family now. One that wants me around.’
He disappears as quickly as he came into my life, and I shrink to the floor, gasping for air, alone again.
Tammi
Tammi Kap is sorry.
The smell hits me first and I know I’m in a hospital before I even open my eyes. When I do, my fear is realised: Dad is with me, sitting in a chair on the other side of the room.
‘Thank God,’ he says, exhaling. ‘Your mum and I have been worried sick.’
‘So how much trouble am I in?’ I ask.
‘Do you really want to know?’ he replies, standing up.
‘Well, if I’m going to be stuck here for a while yet, I might as well have something to mull over,’ I say bitterly.
‘Hey,’ my father roars, coming over to me, ‘don’t you dare take that tone with me. I’m not the one who put you here. What were you thinking, Tamara? Honestly, what went through your head?’
‘Let’s say, hypothetically, you really wanted to know what “went through my head”,’ I say. ‘I promise you that you wouldn’t be able to handle it.’
For a moment, he’s silent. Then he says, ‘Do you know what it’s like for me? I go out and police the meanest, grittiest people and parts of this city, yet I have no control over my daughter. Do you know how humiliating that is? Do you know what it was like, telling people at the station my daughter had to have her stomach pumped because she was taking drugs at a party? I had to be the father that I have felt sorry for countless times over the years; the father who discovers their kid has done some stupid thing and not come out of it the same. Or not come out of it at all.’
‘Look at me, Daddy — I’m still the same,’ I say.
He walks across to the door. ‘Not to me you’re not,’ he says, before leaving.
I must doze off because when I open my eyes again, he’s back where he was. In the chair near my bed. My protector. Guardian of my life. I don’t know if I should love or hate him for it. I’ll probably never know.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I say quietly. ‘Really. I know I stuffed up.’
‘I know teenagers, Tammi. I know they want to experiment. I know you’re a good kid, but you made a foolish choice. A choice that could have cost you your life.’
‘I know, but I thought I was being careful,’ I point out.
‘Careful how?’ he asks.
‘I took a tiny bit of the pill. A really small dose. I didn’t drink, and I stayed with friends.’
He scoffs. ‘Tammi, when you say you stayed with “friends”, who exactly are you referring to? Half of the party were off their faces when the cops arrived.’
‘Cops? At David’s house?’
‘How do you think you got here, Tamara?’ he asks, bitterly. ‘Cops and paramedics. Thank God.’
‘Come on, Dad,’ I beg. ‘You were young once. Plus it’s not like I took anything illegal.’
‘Tammi, you took a synthetic drug!’ he exclaims. ‘They’re sometimes worse than the ecstasies and the heroins and the meths. They haven’t been around long enough for us to know their dangers.’
Woah. ‘I had no idea,’ I say. ‘I was told they were herbal.’
He sits on the edge of the bed and holds my hand. ‘Did you give them to your friend?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, why?’ I ask.
‘She hasn’t woken up yet,’ he says. ‘And she might not.’
‘We had the same amount,’ I say, my voice hoarse. ‘So how come I’m awake and she’s not?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he says, getting up. ‘Other people might take the same thing and be OK. Doesn’t make it worth the risk.’
I go quiet and bite my lip.
‘That orange drink your friend Lauren made you? Gillian’s was spiked,’ he explains, pacing my bedside. ‘I only know because Lauren told me. Apparently it was supposed to be part of some joke. T
hey wanted to film her doing something stupid and play the video at the formal. I don’t get your generation, in all honesty.’
‘We’re not all the way you think we are,’ I whisper.
He shrugs and leaves the room.
When he returns, it takes a lot of effort for me to try to sit up.
‘Any news?’ I ask.
‘The doctors say it was the combination of alcohol, that drug you gave her and whatever they used to spike that drink that caused her vitals to shut down. I’m sorry, honey, but she didn’t make it.’
I start to cry silent tears that turn into sobs, and then howls. Howls that I’m sure they can hear in the next ward. I cry for what seems like ages — until the sun fades into blackness, until my father leaves. For hours and hours, I cry for her lost youth, and for my own, which took hers away, until I have no tears left to weep.
The next day, I’m allowed to go home. There are flowers all over the house. I cut every single flower off its stem one by one and burn them in the backyard. Mum doesn’t say anything when she comes home and sees my destructive art.
Two days later, Ryan, Charlie and Matty come to visit.
I cry as soon as they walk into my room. Every single one of them looks haggard, gaunt.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘Hey, it’s not your fault,’ Matty says, while Charlie sits next to me and rubs my arm.
‘I gave her the pill,’ I tell them. ‘It is my fault.’
‘No, because if she just had the pill she might have recovered, like you did,’ Ryan says. ‘You didn’t know about the prank.’
‘And, what, now her trolls get away with it?’ Matty asks.
We all go quiet.
‘Do you think they will even learn?’ Charlie says bitterly.
Ryan doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I can’t defend them any more.
‘It could’ve been any of us,’ Matty says, sullen. ‘How many of us really think about what we’re doing when we’re trying to play a joke or prove a point?’
‘I bet they don’t think that way,’ Charlie says. ‘They’ll still refuse to see it. Their part in all of this.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ryan says, shrugging. ‘I can’t speak for David, but Lauren — well, let’s just say she’s learnt her lesson.’