by Janene Wood
Kate had been furious for weeks after the fight, but over the ensuing months her anger had faded to mere derision. Even so, she wasn’t close to considering a reconciliation, not without a full and abject apology from Heather first. If Heather wanted to talk to her, she would have to make the first move. And Kate wasn’t expecting that to happen any time this century.
“Are you alright, bruv?” asked Sam, unexpectedly sympathetic. Her brothers weren’t generally known for their sensitivity, but he and the rest of the family knew Heather had confessed to shooting Jack on purpose. She was nobody’s favourite person.
“Yeah,” said Kate absently, thinking how sad it was that her friendship with Heather had turned so sour. It wasn’t something she had given much thought to before now, but the things Heather had said – not to mention the very act of shooting Jack – were not the actions of a caring friend. In fact, they were so out of character, it was as if she had turned into a completely different person.
All of a sudden Kate had had enough of crowds and people. She wanted to go home and be alone with her thoughts. “Did you see where Mum went?” she asked Sam abruptly. Jane had been cheering Frank on with the other wives and girlfriends, but Kate didn’t see where she had gone after the tug-o-war finished.
Kate felt a sudden sharp jab in the back of her shoulder, and spun around swiftly.
“Are you mocking me, McDermott!” yelled Heather, her anger-distorted face a scant three inches away from Kate’s. She grabbed a handful of Kate’s dyed black hair and yanked it hard, as if she expected it to come loose in her hand. “Do you think that’s funny?”
Sharp pain went shooting through Kate’s scalp, making her eyes water. “Ow! What are you doing!” she cried, reaching up to grab hold of the hand Heather had wrapped around a hank of her hair. The girls grappled for a minute, knocking Heather’s hat off, before Heather gave up suddenly, loosening her grip. The abrupt cessation of pain was a relief and a surprise; Kate had been expecting a far more drawn out struggle. She immediately understood why.
Heather was bent over and panting heavily, trying to get her breath back. Kate stared at her in stupefaction. Not only had Kate knocked her hat off, but her hair – what was now obviously a wig – had come off too. Her real hair was patchy and only half an inch long.
Heather looked at her hat and wig lying on the ground, and then up at Kate. “Are you happy now?” she spat, her eyes filled with loathing.
Kate took a step backward, oblivious to the audience that had stopped to watch the unfolding drama. Her eyes were glued to the livid pink scar, the size of a grapefruit, on one side of Heather’s head. An icy shiver slithered down Kate’s spine as she realised what Heather must have gone through to get that scar.
“Heather…” she began uncertainly, but got no further. Mrs Colacino was suddenly standing between the two girls, trying to herd Heather back toward her father. Heather attempted to push her mother away, but she had no strength. Rosa wrapped her arms around her daughter and Heather sagged against her, exhausted.
“It’s alright, darling,” murmured Rosa soothingly. She glanced at Kate, her expression begging Kate’s forbearance. There was no accusation, only sadness in her eyes. Heather’s mother guided her away without further acknowledgment, leaving Kate and the two boys standing in stunned silence. Their eyes followed the Colacinos as they met up with Heather’s father and left the church grounds together, climbing into a big black car and driving away.
Tayo recovered his voice first. “Wow! That was crazy. Are you alright, Little M?”
In Kate’s shocked state the epithet was almost endearing. Her mind was a confused jumble of conflicting emotions and questions. Heather was sick, that much was obvious. Someone had cut an enormous hole in her head.
A hole in her head!
The most likely reason was a brain tumour. Did that mean she was better now? And if she was, why had she acted so bizarrely?
When Kate didn't answer, Tayo turned to Sam. “Who was that girl? Why did she go after Kate like that?”
Sam sighed. He, too, was having trouble making sense of what he had just seen. He struggled to reply. “It’s complicated,” he said eventually. Sam might not be the most sensitive soul in the world but he was loyal to a fault. “Come on, Kate, let’s go find Mum. She’s going to have a few words to say about this.”
Nearly three months later, Kate found herself cycling out to the Colacino farm with Jack in tow. It was Christmas Eve, and more than anything on earth, Kate wanted to turn her bike around and go home. She wanted to run inside and hug her mum and ask if she needed help with the preparations for tomorrow, just like she'd done yesterday. Yesterday, she had been looking forward to Christmas with almost manic excitement, but that excitement was gone now.
Everything changed this morning, and she was unable to pretend otherwise.
Heather arrived home this morning, so weak and emaciated as to be almost unrecognisable.
Holly heard it from Mrs Brown, who heard it from her neighbour, Mrs Arriga, whose husband, the Colacino’s gardener, had seen it with his own eyes. The big black car had pulled up outside the farmhouse just before lunchtime. Mr Colacino had carried Heather from the vehicle, looking so thin and frail that even her great-grandmother could have lifted her.
It was the first time the family had been home since October. For the last three months, the Colacinos had been in America, seeking a cure for their daughter. When the initial surgery in Brisbane to remove Heather’s tumour had been only partially successful, they'd had to look further afield for treatment. A hospital in Seattle reported great success with a new chemotherapy drug that targeted the specific type of brain tumour afflicting Heather. But according to Mr Arriga, who heard it from Nona herself, three rounds of treatment had little effect. The tumour continued to grow, seriously impairing Heather’s brain function and relegating her to a wheelchair most of the time. In the rare moments Heather was lucid, she made it clear she wanted to go home.
She wanted to die in her own bed.
The whole situation made Kate so angry!
The day after the church fete, she had gone out to the farm to convince Heather to let her help her. She had anticipated a great deal of arm-twisting and perhaps even some groveling on her part, but she was willing to say or do anything if it meant getting her friend back. She understood now that in the lead up to Jack’s shooting and their subsequent fight, Heather had not been herself. The tumour had altered her behaviour, making her aggressive and irrational. Kate realised now that Heather hadn’t meant what she’d said – she couldn’t have.
But when Kate knocked on the Colacino’s door, full of hope and good intentions, there was no answer. The house was empty. Even Nona was absent, having gone to stay with Heather's Uncle Umberto while the family was overseas. A few days later, Kate learned about the trip to America, and while she hoped the treatment would work, she couldn’t help worrying that it was a waste of time. It was so frustrating to know that months ago, when she and Heather had still been getting along, she could probably have helped, saving everyone this pain and anguish and uncertainty. If she had only known about it. Now it was probably too late.
So now, three months later, Kate knocked again on the familiar back door. Jack stood by her side, ever supportive, and ready if necessary, to add his voice to the argument that, in all likelihood, was about to take place.
They heard the sound of approaching footsteps. “Oh! Kate...Jack... We weren’t expecting you,” said Rosa Colacino uncertainly through the screen door. “Come in,” she offered at last, her good manners overriding her obvious urge to send them away.
The spacious kitchen was filled with various members of Heather’s family: her father, great-grandmother, two brothers, two sisters, their spouses and children. They were scattered around the large room, the women helping to prepare dinner, the men sitting around the long kitchen table drinking coffee or brandy, some just standing, talking. Children ran in and out, or played quietly in the corner.
They all turned to stare at Kate and Jack with expressions ranging from sympathy to hostility. Nona sat at the head of the table, flanked by her two grandsons, Heather’s father and Uncle Bert. She looked tired and unexpectedly ancient, but managed a wan smile for Kate.
Bit by bit, the family resumed their tasks and picked up the threads of their conversations. The atmosphere became even more strained when one of Heather’s sisters began crying for no reason. Kate realised they weren’t only there for Christmas Eve dinner. They were waiting for Heather to die. If not tonight, then soon.
“Come into the parlour, kids, where it’s quiet,” instructed Rosa gently, leading the way. She opened the door to an elegantly appointed room that neither Kate nor Jack had been in before. Rosa indicated they should sit on an uncomfortable-looking Queen Anne sofa and seated herself on the edge of a matching chair. The lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes were more deeply entrenched than they had been six months ago, but she was still the same generous-spirited woman who had welcomed them into her home on so many occasions. Out of nowhere, a tear trickled down one cheek. She wiped it hastily away with the back of her hand.
“You two have grown so much!” began Rosa with exaggerated enthusiasm. Kate and Jack smiled politely, aware how difficult it must be for her to see them, healthy and hale, their whole lives ahead of them, while her daughter lay upstairs, close to death. She took a deep breath and got to the point. “I expect you’re here to see Heather.”
“Yes, please,” replied Kate.
“You know she’s very sick, don’t you?”
“We know that,” said Jack, holding Rosa’s eye. Mrs Colacino had always had a soft spot for Jack. “It’s really important that we see her.”
“Look, I know you both mean well, but perhaps it’s best if you remember her the way she was,” Rosa suggested gently.
“But we’re her friends! We don’t care what she looks like,” said Kate obstinately. “It doesn’t change how we feel about her.”
“That's very sweet,” said Rosa delicately, “but she’s been finding it harder and harder to recognise people – even her own family. That can be very upsetting, especially for Heather.”
“We don’t want to upset her, but we really have to see her,” insisted Kate.
“I'm afraid not,” said Rosa decisively, standing to let them know the audience was over. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, Kate, but the very mention of your name puts Heather into a very agitated state. I don’t want her remaining time to be unsettled. She deserves a little peace.”
“But I want to help her!” argued Kate, getting to her feet.
“I’m sorry, Kate, but I said no. There’s nothing more anyone can do. All we can do now is pray.”
Kate refused to give up. “No! Please listen to me!” she begged. “There’s a chance I can actually help her.” She had hoped to get permission to see Heather alone and avoid a messy explanation – at least until afterward – but if an explanation was necessary, then so be it. “I can do things; I have a...a gift.”
“It’s true!” cried Jack, cutting off the protestations and denials that were sure to follow. “I’ve seen her do things that should be impossible!”
“I might not be able to cure her completely, but I can help! Maybe give her some more time,” insisted Kate. “She doesn’t have to die!”
Rosa opened her mouth to speak, but another voice chimed in first.
“Heather is in God’s hands now,” said Nona from the doorway, unexpectedly firm of voice. Heather’s father hovered behind the stalwart old lady. Neither Kate nor Jack had noticed them earlier, having been preoccupied with Mrs Colacino. Nona shuffled across the carpeted floor and cupped Kate’s chin with a dry, wrinkled hand. “We have to accept God knows best, child. He has decided it's Heather's time to go to Him. It is not for us to question Him.”
“No!” exclaimed Kate. “I don’t believe that! He’s the one who made me the way I am. Don’t you think He did it for a reason? To help people like Heather!”
“Kate,” said Rosa, “I know you’re upset...”
“Don’t you want to save her?” yelled Kate, loud enough to be heard all the way through to the kitchen. “Why won’t you let me try – even if you don’t believe it will work? Isn’t it worth trying everything?”
“That’s enough, young lady,” boomed the gruff voice of Heather’s father. “We want Heather to get better just as much as you do. More so,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But we have accepted there's nothing more we can do. I suggest you do the same. Go home and pray that Heather’s last moments with her family will be peaceful and pain-free. That is what her friends would do.”
“But...” began Kate. Jack stood and put an arm around his sister’s shoulder and told her to hush. They had done all they could; it was time for them to make their own peace. Perhaps it was God’s will.
Jack guided Kate toward the door, pausing only long enough to place a hand on Mrs Colacino’s arm and whisper, “I’m so sorry.” The sound of Rosa’s weeping followed them all through the kitchen and out the back door. The blazing afternoon sun seemed to mock their grief.
Felicitations of the Season
December 1964
Kate wiggled her toes, forcing them through the jungle of leaves to find purchase on the trellis for her bare foot. After heaving herself up another eight or so inches, she repeated the process with her other foot, all the while ignoring the stinging scratches from Nona’s climbing rose that crisscrossed her arms and legs.
Kate regretted the necessity of choosing this particular method of entry, but the long hours of waiting until the household settled for the night had allowed her plenty of time to consider the pros and cons of her two options. In her opinion, this was the most feasible. In view of the large number of people staying in the house, the trellis beneath Heather’s window was the safest, most direct route to her bedroom. The chance of accidentally bumping into someone was much too great to risk the far easier passage through the unlocked kitchen door. Consciously or unconsciously, everyone would be acutely alert for abnormal sounds and movement; there was nothing like the proximity of death to bring old superstitions to the forefront of people’s minds.
The sky was dark tonight, making it harder to see, but conversely, it would be almost impossible to see her against the backdrop of the house. The sugarcane in the surrounding fields rustled companionably while the cane toads and frogs croaked their familiar refrain.
The disagreement with the Colacinos that afternoon had left Kate feeling sick at heart. Their assertion that it was better to let Heather die in peace than to continue the desperate fight for her life was wrong. She understood their need to have an end to Heather's suffering, and maybe it was naïve and selfish of her to believe otherwise, but Kate knew in her heart that the fight was worth it, even if the end result was no different.
Instead of going home, Jack and Kate hid their bikes in the bushes across the road, then doubled back, sneaking past the house to the backyard, and hiding out of sight behind the old chicken coop.
Jack stayed with her until dusk, then returned home to reassure their mother all was well. From the slouch of his shoulders, she knew he felt he was abandoning her, but they both knew it was necessary. Sitting in the dark after he left, with only the ghosts of Mrs Colacino's chooks to keep her company, she had never felt more alone.
Kate was making good progress and was almost within reach of the window now. She could see the faint glow of a night-light spilling out over the roses, and her pulse stepped up a notch. Just a little bit further. Stretching her hand upwards as far as she could, she took a firm grip of the top of the trellis and pulled herself up the last foot.
She paused for a moment to make sure there was no sound from inside the room. It wouldn't necessarily mean Heather was alone, but hopefully anyone else in the room would be asleep by now. Once she was through the window she only had to sneak across the room and climb onto the bed. She was almost there...
&n
bsp; A second later, Kate was hanging from her finger-tips in mid-air. Without warning, the top corner of the trellis had come adrift from the wall. Her weight must have been too much for the rusty bolt holding it in place. She gave an involuntary yelp of fright, but even in the midst of such calamity, was desperate not to wake everyone. Gravity was against her; she could feel the dead weight of her body pulling the remaining bolt loose. Then she was falling...
In the brief moment before she hit the ground, it occurred to her that perhaps Nona was right. Maybe God, in His infinite wisdom, had made His decision and His decision was final. If God Himself had decided Heather should die, then nothing she ever did would make the slightest bit of difference.
Kate thudded to the ground with a loud whoosh of air as her breath was expelled from her lungs. Even as she gasped desperately for breath and felt excruciating pain seize her body, she felt strangely at peace. All the pieces had come together at last.
She drifted into unconsciousness, a serene smile on her lips.
Heather’s eyes flew open as she was yanked out of that fuzzy, drug-induced place that was neither sleep nor wakefulness, a place where dreams felt like reality and reality was little more than a memory. But at least there was no pain there; either of the physical kind that made her constantly nauseous, nor of the emotional kind, that tore at her heart every time she looked into her parents' eyes. She was hurting them, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Something had woken her, and for once it wasn’t the agonising pounding of her head. When the headaches took hold, even the simplest thought processes became unbearable. Even the effort required to think was sometimes enough to induce vomiting – which was why she was a virtual zombie lately. Her pain medication was so strong she was barely conscious most of the time. To be so clear-headed and relatively pain-free was nothing short of miraculous. The throbbing was still there, but it was a distant ache, almost as though she had caught the tumour napping. She planned to savour every lucid second.