Despite recent differences in opinion, Harry had always been close to Claire, but their dad’s illness drew them closer. Every morning, Claire, Jenny and the kids drove the half an hour from Yallambah to Wodonga. Claire made a second trip later in the day to pick Jenny up and take her back to Thornhill for the night. Harry offered to help with the driving, but Claire insisted he stay close to the hospital. He found accommodation at a cheap motel within walking distance of the hospital so that if his father needed or wanted anything, he’d be there.
He hoped he and his father might actually have a conversation and reconcile their differences, but so far Jim remained silent, barely acknowledging Harry’s presence. If only Harry could get him to open up and talk, but most days he struggled to speak full sentences or stay awake for longer than half an hour at a time. No one could believe how fast his decline was. They were referred to the Community Palliative Care team – the team of nurses and allied health specialists who would help make Jim’s illness tolerable when the time came. Harry had begged his mum to consider putting him into a nursing home but she refused to discuss it. She wanted him home on the farm. End of conversation.
As he sat watching his father sleep and wishing he was anywhere except the hospital, he thought about the dysfunctional relationship they’d had over the past fifteen years or so. The more he chewed on the bones of his discontent, the more his sense of hurt and anger withered until he couldn’t even remember why there was so much distance between them. The picture that kept running on repeat through Harry’s head wasn’t one he liked, and he saw he was as much to blame for their indifference as his father was. He closed his eyes and tried to dislodge the memories. He’d spent his entire life trying to impress his father but always ended up being let down. Why did he think things would be any different now?
He allowed his mind to drift to more pleasant things . . . Eddie. Despite everything going on with his family, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d called a couple of times and left messages, but so far he hadn’t had an opportunity to respond. He’d started a few times but a text seemed an impersonal way to share such huge news, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to call and have the conversation over the phone either. After they got things sorted with his father, he’d go and visit her and apologise in person for not replying.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Harry pulled it out and answered without checking who it was. ‘Hello?’ He kept his voice low so he didn’t disturb Jim, who was finally sleeping.
‘Harry. It’s Christine Jennings. I heard the news about your dad. I’m terribly sorry.’
He stood, walked over to the window and stared into the courtyard. ‘Thanks, Christine. It’s been hard. I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk to you.’ He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do. With Dad being so sick, I haven’t had time to rehearse. I haven’t sung a note since I got here. I would hate to let the cast down.’
‘Your dad would want you to do it,’ Christine said softly.
Harry wasn’t so sure.
Unexpectedly, hot tears pricked at his eyes and he brushed them away. Never in his life had he so badly wanted his father to hear him sing and now he wasn’t sure he could hold a note. ‘I don’t know if I can sing without breaking down,’ he said.
‘It’s still two weeks away. Plenty of time. Take each day as it comes. Spend time with your dad and trust your voice.’
‘Thanks, Christine.’ If anyone understood a singer’s fears that you were only as good as your last performance, Christine did.
‘How much longer will he be in hospital?’ she asked.
‘They’re hoping he can go home in the next day or two. His wound is healing nicely and they’ve started him on medication that will hopefully slow down the progression of the disease. It’s not a cure, but it’s something.’
‘Hang on to that hope, and let it motivate you to get out there and make this your best performance yet.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said.
‘Take care of yourself. I’ll say a little prayer for you.’
‘Thanks, Christine.’ He ended the call and pocketed his phone. Jim’s eyes flickered open. ‘I’m heading off, Dad. I’ll see you later.’
Jim closed his eyes again without replying. Once more rejection and disappointment squeezed tight around Harry’s heart. He brushed the emotions aside. As much as he craved his father’s approval, now wasn’t the time to be thinking of himself.
Chapter 14
Three days after Christmas Eddie headed into the hospital determined to find out how Harry’s dad was. She’d called Harry and left messages but either he didn’t want to speak to her or he was busy. The first person she bumped into at work was Lisa.
‘Did you and Steve have a good Christmas?’ Eddie asked.
‘We did, thanks. We went down to Melbourne to see Steve’s family on Boxing Day.’
‘Oh, that’s right, you worked Christmas Day though, didn’t you?’ Eddie asked.
‘I did. With Kristen. Why?’
‘Harrison Baxter came in with his dad. I wondered how he was doing.’
‘Nurse!’
Eddie and Lisa froze. The cry came again, weaker this time.
‘Nurse.’
They turned and sprinted down the hallway towards the voice and almost skidded into Room 4.
Lois Stephens lay curled in a tight ball on her bed. Eddie crouched beside her and put a hand on her arm. She pulled back in shock. Lois’s skin was on fire. She palpated Lois’s pulse and internal alarm bells went off at the irregularity and speed of Lois’s heart rate.
Her face, usually wreathed in smiles, was pasty white and contorted with pain.
‘I’ll call Kristen,’ Lisa said, darting from the room.
‘Can you tell me what’s wrong, Mrs Stevens?’ Eddie asked. ‘Where’s your pain?’
Lois made an effort to sit but the pain was clearly too much and she slumped sideways on the bed again. She grabbed her stomach. ‘I’ve had this awful pain in my stomach all day and I kept thinking it would go away. But it’s worse, and now I feel dizzy and sick.’
‘Why didn’t you press your call bell?’
‘The nurses were so busy today, I didn’t want to bother them.’
‘That’s what we’re here for.’
‘I know, Edwina, but you know I like to be independent.’
She squeezed Lois’s hand. ‘But while you’re in hospital, let us look after you. Now, let me grab the obs machine and check your temperature and blood pressure.’
‘I’m sure it’s just constipation,’ Lois said when Eddie returned, wheeling the blood pressure monitor back into the room. ‘Perhaps if you could give me a laxative I’ll feel better.’
‘I think it might be something more than that,’ Eddie said, wrapping the cuff around Lois’s arm and pumping it up, ‘but we’ll get you sorted.’ She injected optimism in her voice, something she didn’t remotely feel. Her gut reaction was that something was very wrong with Lois.
She checked Lois’s blood pressure, heart rate, oxygenation levels and temperature with rising alarm. Hypotensive, tachycardic, decreased 02 sats and febrile.
Lisa returned, pushing the IV trolley. ‘Kristen’s coming. We’re lucky. She’s in Urgent Care putting a cast on a kid with a broken arm.’
Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes the nurses had to work without a doctor on site. ‘Why’s Mrs Stephens in here?’ she asked Lisa as she prepared to insert a cannula and take bloods.
Lisa grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and scanned it quickly. ‘Her notes say she collapsed at home on Boxing Day. Her son and daughter-in-law found her and dragged her in here for tests. So far everything has come back normal.’
Eddie raised an eyebrow. ‘The doctor is on her way,’ she told Lois.
‘I don’t need a doctor.’
Lois needed medical attention – and fast. The problem was getting her to agree. Eddie had no doubt Lois was already in hospital again
st her will. She had a massive distrust of medical practitioners after her husband was misdiagnosed with a brain tumour fifteen years earlier and had died in hospital. Since then she’d lived alone and avoided doctors religiously.
‘Yes, you do. You’re a lot sicker than you realise.’
Kristen didn’t arrive for nearly twenty minutes, and in the time it took Eddie to cannulate her and take bloods Lois vomited twice – dark coffee-ground coloured vomit that had Eddie’s senses on even higher alert.
‘What’s going on?’ Kristen asked when she walked in the room.
Eddie gave her a brief history. ‘And in the last fifteen minutes she’s had two large vomits. I can’t hear any bowel sounds on auscultation. She’s guarding on palpation. I’ve taken off a round of bloods including a troponin, just to be safe, and done a VBG.’
It was the first time Eddie had had a chance to use the new blood gas machine and she made a mental note to let the president of the Rotary Club know – from their most recent fundraiser they’d raised enough money to purchase the machine.
‘She’s acidotic, lactate is up and her potassium’s only 2.7. No chest pain but I’ve done an ECG anyway. Other than the ectopics, which I’d expect with the hypokalaemia, it looks normal – no ST changes at least. Oh, and she said she hasn’t voided all day either.’
‘Temp?’ Kristen asked, her eyes scanning the ECG Eddie passed to her.
‘38.9.’ She pre-empted Kristen’s next question. ‘I’ve taken cultures.’
‘Good. Thanks. What’s her Hb?’
‘82.’
‘Do you know when she last used her bowels?’
‘I don’t, but it will be in the notes.’
‘Mrs Stephens, do you remember when you last had a bowel movement?’ Kristen asked.
Lois shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It’s been a couple of days maybe.’
Kristen turned back to Eddie. ‘She’ll need an IDC and an NGT.’ She unwound her stethoscope from her neck. ‘She needs a central line too but that’ll have to wait until she gets to Albury. Can you get some fluids into her? And we need to replace her K too. I’ll call the ICU consultant and retrieval team. We’re going to need to get her moved out of here ASAP.’
‘You’re thinking bowel obstruction?’ Eddie asked. If so, Lois could need urgent surgery.
‘Without a scan it’s impossible to tell, but, yeah, going by what you’re telling me I think it’s likely. Let’s get on with it. Can you pop in the nasogastric tube then start fluid replacement?’
Eddie nodded.
‘Do you want to start her on some antibiotics?’ Lisa asked, coming back into the room with two bags of intravenous fluids, antibiotics and a line.
‘Yes please,’ Kristen said. ‘Righto. You guys are under control here. I’ll go and call Albury ICU.’
Half an hour later, Lois’s condition had rapidly worsened and Eddie was grateful when she heard the wop-wop sound of the helicopter overhead.
Within minutes of the helicopter landing on the primary school oval, a small crowd had gathered. Almost like a guard of honour, locals lined the road from the hospital and exchanged curious glances and speculated about who was being airlifted out and why. No doubt Lois’s emergency transfer to Albury would make it into the local paper the next day.
‘Good teamwork, girls,’ Kristen said as they stood watching the chopper take off.
Hours later Eddie received a call from Albury to say Lois was out of surgery. As well as discovering a necrotic bowel, the surgeons had removed a large mass that was probably malignant. She was septic and would remain in the ICU in a serious condition.
It wasn’t until Eddie was turning off the lights and heading to bed that she remembered she’d been going to ask Kristen about Harry’s dad. She almost picked up the phone to call her but it was late, nearly midnight. She climbed into bed and settled under the covers. Maybe it was best to forget all about Harry and his family. If he wanted to see her again, he had her number.
Chapter 15
The next day Eddie was in her nan’s kitchen, music up loud. The windows were open allowing a cool, flower-scented afternoon breeze to fill the house. It had been a lazy day so far. After tidying her own cottage, she’d headed over to the main house to get it ready for her grandparents’ return. She couldn’t wait to have them home again. Nothing felt right without them.
The ingredients for her favourite double chocolate-chip muffins were laid out on the kitchen bench. Nan’s baking genes hadn’t been passed onto Eddie, but it didn’t stop her from trying. She scanned the handwritten recipe in the well-loved CWA cookbook. She needed to melt the chocolate in a bowl over simmering water on the stove – Nan insisted melting it in the microwave never worked.
There was a sign in Nan’s kitchen: No matter where I place my guests, they always like the kitchen best. It was true. Eddie’s fondest memories centred around the kitchen. While Nan prepped, peeled and preserved, Eddie would sit and watch and listen to her stories. Unfortunately, over the years the combination of Nan’s love of cooking and her inability to throw anything out meant every drawer was chock-full of stuff – most of it junk as far as Eddie’s inexpert eyes could tell. And the cupboards held more pans and platters than a MasterChef set.
As Eddie bustled around the kitchen, she remembered standing on a chair, her too-big apron reaching her toes, as Nan instructed her in the art of making scones and cakes and biscuits and bread. But no matter how hard Eddie tried, her attempts never turned out quite right. The best part was when her grandad would come home from work, wrap his arms around Nan and plant a noisy kiss on her cheek. Nan would boil the kettle and they’d sit at the table and talk about the day while eating the baked delights for their afternoon tea. Nan never worried about spoiling her granddaughter’s appetite.
Eddie heard a car pull up. They were home. Joy whizzed through her and she flew out the door to greet them. Nan still had a pronounced limp and needed the help of a walking stick, but her smile was steady. Eddie hugged them both and ushered them inside as the timer went off on the oven.
‘You’ve been baking?’ Nan asked.
Eddie nodded. ‘Don’t get too excited. You know my track record isn’t very good.’
Nan looped an arm around her waist. ‘I thought you only baked when you were stressed. Everything okay?’
‘Everything is perfect.’ Except that Harry hasn’t called. ‘Especially now you’re both home. I’ve missed you so much.’
‘And we’ve missed you too, sweetheart,’ Frank said.
After the kettle was boiled and the tea brewed, they sat in the lounge and Eddie filled them in on what had been happening since Christmas Day. When she got to the part about meeting Harry, a warm flush crept up her neck. No way would she admit her feelings for him. At least not yet.
Frown lines pulled at Daisy’s brow. ‘I bumped into his mother at the hospital. Dreadful news about Jim.’
It was Eddie’s turn to frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
Eddie shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Harry’s father’s been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease.’
Eddie felt the air rush from her lungs. ‘Oh no, that’s awful.’ That explained why she hadn’t heard from him.
*
Later that day, after Eddie was satisfied Frank and Daisy were settled in back at home, she was in her usual seat in the courtyard at Bean There waiting for Aimee. She checked her phone for the umpteenth time, hoping Harry might have finally replied to one of her texts, but there was still nothing. So while she waited, she scrolled through dozens of photos of him on the internet – most of them in costume from the various shows he’d performed in. He was clearly very good at what he did and seemed to be among the best in the business, at least in Australia.
Ten minutes later Aimee burst into the cafe and dropped into the chair opposite Eddie. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ She picked up the laminated menu and fanned herself. ‘Man, it’s hot out there. I
am so over this weather. Have you decided what you’re having?’
‘Yeah, I’ve already ordered.’
Aimee stood. ‘Give me a sec to order something and I’ll be back.’ She headed to the counter, weaving between the tables and stopping to greet everyone. She was back a few minutes later. ‘Do you have your ticket for the concert yet?’ she asked, dumping a flyer for the fundraising concert on the table.
Eddie pulled a face. ‘Nope. Not interested.’ She shuddered. ‘All that singing in Italian. Unless opera has suddenly become sexy and no one told me, I’m not going. Last year they had a guy who they touted as the brightest young operatic voice to come out of Australia. He was overweight and bald. And he had no chin.’
Aimee laughed. ‘I remember him. Wonder what he’s doing these days. Probably making a fortune singing with Pavarotti.’
‘Pavarotti died in 2007, Aimz.’
She tilted her head. ‘How do you know this stuff?’
‘Um, do I need to remind you? Nan. You know what she’s like. She’s been trying to indoctrinate me for years. I swear she wept for a week when she discovered I wasn’t pitch perfect like her and Mum.’
Aimee giggled. ‘You’re hardly tone deaf.’
‘Might as well be. Have you listened to me sing?’
‘Oh yeah, I remember now.’ Aimee grimaced. ‘Thirteen years of standing next to you in choir. I still can’t believe you kept going all those years.’
‘Like I had a choice. It was either the choir or the school band. At least if I sang I could mime the words and Nan never knew. I could never have faked playing an instrument.’
‘Good point. Anyway, you have to come. It’s Les Mis, so it’s not in Italian. Besides, it’s for charity. And there’s Harry.’
Yes, there was Harry. Which was almost enough to make Eddie change her mind. ‘I’ll make a donation. I watched the first half of the movie until I couldn’t cope with that Aussie actor’s voice any longer so I changed the channel.’
‘Hugh Jackman?’
‘No, the other one.’
One More Song Page 14