Sixty Seconds

by Jesse Blackadder

  Didn’t have too many options for how, but that never stopped anyone who was serious. Just needed something to put around my neck, strong enough to take my weight, and something else to tie it to, right? The old gum tree out the front had strong branches and any bit of cloth that was long enough would do.

  Down the corridor, Mum and Dad were pretending to be asleep. But even if they were awake, they wouldn’t hear me. The wind that had nearly swept me off the beach and blasted me with sand was even stronger now, its roar drowning out the night.

  Scrabbled around in the dark cupboard. Track pants. Grey soft cotton. Made in China, I guess. Not made to last, but they’d last for this. One leg around my neck. The other around the branch. Important thing was not to think too much about it, or I’d be too scared.

  We’d all got good at creeping around the house in the night. Didn’t make a sound opening my door, getting down the stairs on the balls of my feet. Lifted the screen door slightly so it slid without a sound.

  Outside, the monsters snarled and the gum tree beyond the gate thrashed in the wind and the whole night roared at me: Do it, do it, do it.

  Grass underfoot. My breath coming in and out, in and out. Dark, but the streetlight down the road showed me the way. Bright stars up there. I hesitated and remembered the afternoon, and shame shoved me across the grass, shame pushed open the front gate, shame knotted a loop in the tracksuit pants and put it over my head so it settled around my neck.

  Soft. Like a promise this wouldn’t hurt.

  The bark had peeled off the trunk in long ribbons and crackled under my feet. Above me the trunk was smooth and white. Not warm, not cold, under my hand. Put my cheek against it for a moment, then reached up, grabbed the first branch, boosted myself. When my arms felt weak I thought again of the afternoon. The shame roared inside me. Hooked my legs over, hauled myself up and lay on the branch, trembling.

  The branch swayed and I grabbed it with both hands to keep my balance. Had to do it right now. Lay down along the branch, wedged my thighs on either side, gripped it, found the other end of the tracksuit leg. It was harder to tie it on than I thought, in the dark and with the tree moving and my hands starting to shake. I couldn’t see much anyhow and stupid tears were running down my face and my nose was running. I was such a cry-baby.

  Toby?

  I wanted to be with him so bad, even if I was all fucked up. Maybe it wouldn’t matter there. All I had to do was get the knot tight, push myself off the branch and we’d be together. Where the monsters were roaring and we would be kings.

  FINN

  Wind buffeted the house, as if trying to pound it to the ground. It reminded Finn of those Hobart nights when the winds of the Roaring Forties came up from the Southern Ocean and smashed against the windows and even their brick cottage trembled under the onslaught. Perhaps a cyclone was coming. It would be a relief if something external tore through their lives, flattened the house, flooded the town, flung them out.

  She was gone from the bed again. He got up and crossed to the window. Kneeled and rested his chin on the windowsill.

  Ripples on the pool’s surface. He peered, trying to make out her shape. What did she do in there? How could she bear it?

  ‘Are you coming to bed?’ he asked, too softly for her to hear him.

  The wind roared and whirled around him. He closed his eyes and murmured, ‘Just come to bed, Bridget.’

  A muffled splintering, cracking sound reached him over the wind and his eyes flew open.

  What was it? A loud noise far away or a soft noise close by? Below, Bridget surfaced.

  ‘What was that?’ he yelled, loud enough to reach her.

  Her face turned up to him, a glimmer in the dark. ‘I don’t know.’

  Finn pushed himself to his feet in a single move. He’d sworn never to ignore a strange noise again. He turned and headed out of the room towards the stairs. As he reached the top he glanced towards Jarrah’s room. The door was shut. It hadn’t woken him, then. But the unaccountable urgency shoved him down the stairs and he broke into a run. Slid the verandah door open to find Bridget running from the pool, a towel flung around her.

  She grabbed his arm, pointing. ‘Over there?’

  Outside the gate Finn could see an odd, flickering light that filled him with a formless panic. He sprinted across the lawn, wrenched the gate open, skidded to a halt. Tried to understand what he was seeing as Bridget ran up behind him.

  A huge branch of the gum had come down, its leaves obscuring the grass verge. Through the leaves, the light flickered. He could hear something, maddeningly indistinct.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Finn tried to shove his way through.

  ‘Help!’ he heard.

  Bridget caught her breath. ‘Oh Jesus, Finn. Oh Jesus.’

  By the glancing, flickering light of an iPhone: branches and leaves everywhere, a bent back. A head of hair. Too many limbs. Or not enough limbs.

  Tom’s bent back. Tom’s panicked voice, hoarse: ‘I can’t get it off him.’

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  Because it couldn’t be true, what he was seeing in snatches of light. Jarrah’s ashen face, the choking sounds coming from him, and Tom struggling with something around Jarrah’s neck. Finn fell to his knees beside them.

  ‘Loosen it, loosen it!’ Tom urged.

  Somehow he and Tom got the two sides of the knot and prised it loose. Jarrah took a wretched, rasping in-breath over the wind. Then exhaled with a keen of agony.

  Behind Finn, Bridget cried out. ‘His leg!’

  Finn glanced to his left, and shuddered. A glimpse of bone and blood, crushed under the heavy fallen branch. He spun back to her, met her eyes. She nodded, turned and ran.

  Tom was pulling the fabric out from under Jarrah’s neck. Jarrah cried out again, and Finn found his hand, and grabbed it.

  ‘It’s all right. You’ll be all right.’

  ‘I was worried,’ Tom panted. ‘I texted him to come and talk. I was waiting over the road. But he climbed the tree and …’

  He looked up and extended what had been around Jarrah’s neck in Finn’s direction. It told Finn he’d nearly lost his second son; that if Tom hadn’t been out there on watch, or the branch hadn’t snapped, a second unimaginable nightmare would have engulfed him.

  ‘What the hell did you fight about?’

  ‘I don’t know! He had a bad day with his girlfriend. I think they broke up.’ Tom looked ready to run.

  Jarrah groaned again and writhed. Finn couldn’t tell if he was fully conscious.

  ‘I can’t …’ Tom pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’m sorry.’ He scooped up the phone, backed away and turned and ran, leaving Finn in the dark.

  Over the wind Finn heard Bridget shoving her way through the branches to reach them again. ‘They’re coming,’ she called.

  Above the wind, the wail of a siren rose.

  BRIDGET

  You force yourself to face this. You hold Jarrah’s hand and watch as Finn and the paramedics lift the fallen branch off his leg. You see the jagged ends of his tibia piercing the skin, the sickening crush and angle making your head swim. You keep hold of him as they lift him to the stretcher and he cries out. You feel his grip slacken as the nitrous oxide kicks in. You don’t know how conscious he was, or is. You squeeze into the ambulance next to him, understanding distantly that Finn will follow somehow. You won’t let Jarrah go to the hospital without you. Not this time. Not this son.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ one of the paramedics says, as the ambulance pulls out. They’re not the same ones who came for Toby, thank God. She’s trying to comfort you, and you nod as though agreeing. But how can Jarrah possibly be all right? How have you got it all so wrong? The broken leg is just the surface. Jarrah’s deeper wounds have been turning septic, poisoning him. You didn’t notice. It might yet be too late to save him.

  Oh God, teenagers and their loose grip on life! No fear when they should have fear, and too willing to give life up. Don’t th
ey know how precious it is? If losing Toby has taught Jarrah anything, shouldn’t it be that?

  The siren wails through the dark wind-lashed streets. You remember, from when the police drove you after the ambulance carrying Toby, that the hospital is only a few blocks away from the house. Rounding a corner rouses Jarrah and he opens his eyes, gazing at you without focus.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘I’m here, darling.’ You bite your lip to stop yourself telling him everything is all right. ‘We’re nearly at the hospital, Jarr. Not much longer.’

  His lips move. He’s trying to tell you something and you lean close. ‘I changed my mind, Mum. I was trying to get down.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jarrah.’

  ‘But really. I couldn’t get the stupid knot undone. The wind …’

  His eyes close and you swallow hard. He’s too out of it to see that you’re crying.

  ‘Are we nearly there yet, Mum?’

  ‘Nearly there,’ you murmur.

  ‘Is Toby asleep?’

  Oh God. He’s more out of it than you knew. You murmur something comforting and his head rolls to the side.

  You let your gaze burn into him, as if you can read his heart, trace the lines that led him out to the tree in the dark to break his own neck. Your heart’s been so dark and raging you haven’t been able to see into anyone else’s. You’ve refused to see Jarrah’s agony.

  You bend close and whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The ambulance halts outside Emergency. Murwillumbah Hospital, a place seared into your being. When you ran in here just three weeks ago, you’d still dreamed some miracle would happen when Toby reached medical care. As you follow the paramedics pushing Jarrah’s gurney into the hospital, the smell of antiseptic hits and the memories come hard.

  You repeat to yourself: He’s alive. He’s alive.

  FINN

  Finn edged his chair close to the side of Jarrah’s bed. Bridget was on the other side holding their son’s hand as he slept. Finn couldn’t. Couldn’t bear it. Could hardly breathe. Their lives were holding together by the slimmest of threads.

  Jarrah would recover, the surgeon had assured them. Six weeks on crutches for the fractured leg, but no other serious injuries. The mark on his neck was milder than the bruises coming out on other parts of his body, and so far, no one seemed to have realised its significance.

  The hospital hummed with activity. Chatter from the nurses and the orderlies, phones ringing, incessant beeping, voices. Finn let it wash over him, concentrating on Jarrah’s sleeping face.

  A voice intruded: Meredith, peering around the curtain.

  ‘My God, what’s going on? I just saw Jarrah was admitted.’

  Finn forced himself to turn and face her. ‘A branch fell on him in the storm.’

  Her eyes narrowed. She was wired for suspicion, Finn thought. He shot Bridget a warning look.

  ‘Jarrah was mucking around in our big tree with his friend Tom last night. Crazy boys. Like to push the limits.’

  Bridget looked at him, confused. Meredith studied Jarrah for so long with her horrible, knowing eyes that Finn wanted to stand and block him from her sight. He couldn’t tell any more if the mark on Jarrah’s neck stood out or not.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Meredith asked.

  Finn shook his head. ‘We just need some privacy.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her gaze lingered on Jarrah for too long before she withdrew.

  Finn got up and walked to the window. The storm was still blowing itself out, the wind gusty but no longer ferocious. Grey clouds scudded across the sky and drops pearled on the glass. He forced his mind to work, to lay out the evidence.

  If anyone there – even Meredith as a volunteer – suspected Jarrah tried to commit suicide, it would be mandatory for them to report it and unleash the system upon them. The world where institutions took your children away wasn’t one Finn had inhabited – but he felt its chill breath on his neck. What if they judged that he and Bridget had neglected Jarrah? What if they tried to take him away? Meredith would be a witness against Finn at the hearing, and here before her eyes was more evidence of his failure. Another son endangered. The court case might not be the worst thing facing them.

  A nurse bustled into the room, startling him. ‘Time for Jarrah’s obs.’

  Finn put his hand on Bridget’s shoulder and leaned close. ‘Can we talk?’

  She followed him out of the room, down the squeaky-floored hall, into a small lounge where a television murmured in the corner. Finn checked the corridor; they were alone. When Bridget sat, he crouched down in front of her.

  ‘It was an accident,’ he whispered. ‘Both the boys were mucking around in the tree and it broke.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘If anyone thinks … they might take him away. Look at us. We look like bloody dangerous parents. Meredith was suspicious straight away.’

  Bridget’s forehead creased. ‘But – they’ll ask Jarrah – and Tom – surely?’

  ‘I’ll call Tom now. You talk to Jarrah as soon as he wakes up, before that bloody Meredith can get to him.’

  Her eyes scanned the room. ‘Christ, Finn. Really? It seems crazy.’

  He leaned in close. ‘As soon as Jarrah’s discharged we’ll take him away. We’ll get out of here. Go somewhere. Anywhere.’

  ‘But …’ Bridget took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. ‘For God’s sake. Look at us. We can’t make any decisions right now.’

  Finn groaned and rocked back on his heels.

  ‘I’ll go on leave,’ Bridget said. ‘As of right now. I’ll stay home and look after Jarrah until the house settles. I’m not deciding anything else.’

  The nurse who’d been seeing to Jarrah walked briskly past and Bridget half-rose. Finn grabbed her arm. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to him.’

  Finn held her tighter. ‘Are we agreed?’

  She hesitated, then nodded. ‘All right.’

  ‘The story’s the same for everyone. Not even family can know.’

  ‘Tell me you’re not just worried about how this looks in court?’ She glanced at her watch.

  Fury rose in Finn. ‘I’m just trying to protect—’

  But Bridget interrupted him. ‘Isn’t your court thing this morning? It’s nearly ten.’

  Finn felt sick. ‘Shit. It starts at ten.’

  She pulled free. ‘I’ll stay with Jarrah. It’s just the mention, isn’t it? You’ll have to get changed, though. You look like a wreck.’

  He was wearing muddy shorts and a tattered T-shirt he’d flung on the night before, as he raced to the car.

  ‘You’ll have to go on your own,’ she said. ‘We can’t have him waking up alone. Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Finn said. He had to be. No choice.

  ‘We’re not taking off. We need some stability.’

  Finn watched her turn away and hurry up the hall almost at a run. She thought he was worried on his own behalf. She hadn’t even started thinking it through. The decision hit him with the force of a revelation. It was his to make and his only.

  BRIDGET

  Jarrah’s plastered leg lies outside the blanket, neat and straight and clean, all the pieces put back together again. He looks asleep, still deathly pale, the fine skin around his eyes still dark.

  You take up your position by the bed, but don’t reach for his hand. Until today, you’ve not examined Jarrah closely for a long time. He’s had the teenage way of sliding out of your gaze, hiding himself. He must have hidden so much from you. Is it only since Toby died? Or for longer?

  He’s been shaving. His skin is still fine, but the wisps of hair appearing on his chin have been razored. He has a few pimples, little ones, but not many. His hair is longer than you realised – you haven’t been paying attention to things like haircuts. His left arm, flung outside the sheet, is showing muscles you haven’t seen before. He’s turning from a boy into a young man
, a metamorphosis that’s sudden and shocking and beautiful. You’ve been oblivious to it.

  He stirs slightly and you move back so that when he opens his eyes you’re not looming in his face.

  ‘Mum.’ His voice a croak.

  ‘Darling, I’m here.’

  He tries to move and winces. ‘Is it bad?’

  Patching his smashed leg took three hours and he must still be awash with drugs. You try to smile. ‘You won’t be jogging for a while. Your leg is broken. Apart from that you’re fine. You were lucky, Jarrah. We were lucky. Thank God.’

  He’s silent for a few minutes, downcast. Then, in a half-whisper: ‘Does everyone know?’

  You wait until he glances up and shake your head. ‘Only Dad, me and Tom. We told the hospital you and Tom were both mucking around in the tree and the weight broke the branch.’

  He looks afraid. ‘Why? What’ll happen to me?’

  Why did you even agree to this? Is Finn being paranoid? It’s too late now, you’re in and you’ll have to stick with it.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just better to keep it simple. You might be asked a few questions. You can say you don’t remember. And then we’ll take you home and look after you, Jarr. I won’t leave you alone, I promise.’

  He seems slightly reassured by that. Turns to look out the window.

  ‘Would you like me to tell Laura?’

  He closes his eyes wearily. ‘No.’

  ‘Sure. Nothing you’re not ready for.’

  He seems to be drifting and you resist the urge to keep talking. If you’re never going to leave him alone, you’ll have to be OK with silence.

  When you’re sure he’s asleep you step outside again, back to that little room off the corridor, and dial.

  ‘Chen.’

  ‘What is it?’

  You’d forgotten how well he can read you, even with just a word. ‘Jarrah’s in hospital with a broken leg.’