No Worries

by Bill Condon

  Dad was there with a huge snapper.

  ‘This bloke’s too much for me to have on me own. Thought I might give it to you and yer mother. Good eatin’ in that.’

  Dad stayed and cooked the fish, and made some chips to go with it. All the time he raved on about his fishing adventures. I think he remembered every fish he’d ever caught. And each of them had its own story. He talked about cricket and boxing and the dumb things he got up to when he was a kid — stories I knew off by heart. About the only thing he didn’t talk much about was Mum.

  When he did, it was short and sweet.

  ‘Now Bri, what you have to remember is that yer mother is a survivor. Tougher than you and me, son. Oh yeah! By a long way. She’ll get through this. You can bank on it. Everything’s gunna be okay.’

  It was okay while Dad was there, making me laugh with his corny jokes. But eventually — ‘About time I crawled into the cot, Bri. Early start tomorrow’ — it was just me and Mum again. Like it always was.

  I opened her door a crack and listened. No sounds of sleeping.

  ‘Mum.’ I whispered it. ‘Are you awake?’

  She rolled over to face the wall.

  I used to put myself to sleep by dreaming about being a tennis champion. It’d always be Wimbledon. I was always the underdog. I’d be five games to love down, and then I’d start coming back, doing all these amazing dives, thumping down aces, playing trick shots, and long before I got to hold up the trophy I’d be asleep.

  It didn’t work that night. I kept on going back over everything that had happened. Smashing the window. Tying up Mum. The stupid contract. It was worse than being in the tunnel with the rats.

  Nothing could get me to sleep.

  * *

  At 6 am Mum turned the light on in my room.

  ‘Where are the car keys, Brian? They should be hanging up behind the door where they always are, but they’re not. Why aren’t they there?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Get out of bed and help me look for them.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I knew we weren’t going to find them because I’d hidden them, just like I’d hidden all the sharp knives in the kitchen.

  ‘If people would only put things back where they belong …’

  She tipped the contents of a drawer onto the carpet, then sprawled down there herself.

  ‘Am I asking too much? All I want is the damn car keys!’

  If ever you needed to stay cool, it’s now, Bri.

  ‘Where you going, Mum?’

  No answer.

  ‘Maybe we could go out somewhere together if we find the keys? We hardly ever have a day out, just you and me. I could make some sandwiches — a picnic down by the beach. What do you think?’

  She looked up from the floor.

  ‘Brian, there’s a prescription in my handbag. It’s for antidepressants. I want you to go down to the 24-hour chemist. Take your bike. Get the prescription filled for me. There’s money in my bag. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yeah, I can do it, but why don’t we wait until 9 o’clock and I’ll call Doctor Rezni and ask her what to do? You know, what pills you should be taking.’

  ‘If you have any feelings for me at all, you’ll get the script filled as I asked you to. And then you’ll go away. That’s all I ask.’

  I knew exactly what the pills were for.

  ‘You’re asking me to help you kill yourself, aren’t you, Mum?’

  She began sobbing and I dropped down beside her.

  ‘I can’t, Mum. You can’t ask me to do that.’

  ‘Then give me the car keys!’

  ‘Let me call Doctor Rezni.’

  ‘She doesn’t care.’

  ‘She does! Every time I’ve talked to her she’s told me you’re special.’

  ‘I can’t do it any more.’ More tears. ‘I just want to sleep and never, never wake up.’

  ‘Let me help you back to bed. Come on.’ I dragged her to her feet. ‘And I’ll call Doctor Rezni right now. She starts early. We might get straight through to her. She can fix you, Mum. You know she can. You have to give her a chance.’

  She sobbed all the way to her room.

  I dialled Doctor Rezni, and got a recorded message. Her receptionist, Wanda, drawled as she always did, ‘Surrrrgery. Doctor Rezni’s hours are blah blah blah — please leave a message after the tone.’

  I left a message, stressing the words emergency and urgent. Begging Doctor Rezni to ring me.

  I went out to the shed. The lights were on and Dad was up and getting ready for work.

  ‘Yer mother’s not crook again, is she?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad, but I don’t want you to come over. I’ll be fine. Just wanted to see you before you left for work.’

  We stood looking at each other for a few seconds. And then I dropped all pretence and folded up into his arms. I knew he hated that sort of thing, but he held onto me anyway.

  ‘You poor bastard,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be okay, Dad. It’s just not easy sometimes.’

  And he still hung onto me.

  ‘I can stay with yer if you want. Got sickies comin’ to me. You tell me what you want me to do, boy.’

  ‘You’ve done it already, Dad.’

  I went into my room and found some of Mum’s sleeping pills that I’d hidden. I took out two.

  ‘Take these and then you can rest for a while.’

  I handed them to her with a glass of water.

  ‘Are there more? You have to give them to me, Brian.’

  ‘Just take these ones, Mum. And I’ll wake you when Dr Rezni calls. Okay?’

  She put her head in her hands. ‘Why won’t you give them to me?’

  ‘Because I love you, Mum.’

  Sobbing, she swallowed the pills and slumped down on the bed, utterly defeated. I lay next to her, the door ajar so I wouldn’t miss the phone when it rang.

  ‘Doctor Rezni won’t call,’ Mum said. ‘They always say they care but they don’t.’

  I knew she was right

  ‘She will, Mum. She will.’

  We both slept. It was 10 am when I woke. No phone call.

  I slipped out of the room to ring Doctor Rezni’s office again.

  ‘Surrrgery. Wanda speaking. How may I help you?’

  ‘Did you get the message I left? My mother’s really in a bad way.’

  She said what they always say.

  ‘Doctor’s already been given your message. She’s been very busy today. But I’ll pass it on to her again. All right?’

  I went back to those words emergency and urgent. I said them again with added feeling, and wondered if yelling them would make it any clearer.

  ‘Doctor Rezni will call me back, won’t she?’

  ‘I can’t make promises on behalf of Doctor. I know she always does her best to return calls, but it’s been hectic here, and you have to remember it’s Saturday.’

  ‘She works Saturday, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Only til twelve.’

  Twelve … the last straw.

  Eleven am. Mum emerged to shuffle to the toilet, one huge lump of misery.

  ‘She didn’t ring, did she?’

  ‘She’s real busy, Mum. There was some emergency. But she should call any minute.’

  ‘Hah.’

  Another hour and I was going out of my mind. Then the phone rang. What a fantastic sound.

  ‘Putting Doctor on the line now …’

  I called into Mum’s room.

  ‘It’s Doctor Rezni! She called back, just like she promised.’

  It only took her half the day, but she did it.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Doctor Rezni asked, the chirpy voice telling me her life was good and happy, a world away from what I was feeling.

  I talked like a race-caller, words flying out of me.

  ‘Mum took pills. She tried to kill herself. I caught her in time, got her into hospital, then a few hours later they let her go! A
ll she had to do was sign a contract that said she wouldn’t kill herself! Can you believe it?’

  I’d hoped my anger would be contagious, but Dr Rezni’s voice remained in neutral.

  ‘Yes, the hospital left a message for me. It’s so sad to hear. She was going so well, too. How’s she feeling now?’

  ‘You’d have to see her to understand. There’s this look she gives me. It’s like she’s saying she’s sorry — because she’s going to kill herself. First chance she gets. I know her and I know exactly where her head is.’

  ‘That must be a huge worry for you. How are you coping, Brian?’

  ‘This isn’t about me. I’m fine but my mother isn’t!’

  ‘Hmm … yes, of course.’

  Doctor Rezni was more laid-back than anyone I’d ever known. In the past I’d liked that about her, but I wanted something more now. I felt like shaking her.

  ‘It sounds like we need to reassess the medication.’

  I would have hung up if I hadn’t needed her so much.

  ‘She needs more than medication right now.’

  ‘Brian, it’s essential your mother stays on regular medication. You have to insist.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  You try to insist with my mother.

  ‘That’s something we’ll have to address at the next appointment.’

  ‘Look, I need help today. Forget the next appointment. Can you see her this afternoon? She’ll listen to you.’

  I heard her flicking through the pages of a notebook. At least that made it sound like she was trying.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Brian. I’m backed up with patients. The earliest I can fit her in is next Monday.’

  ‘You don’t understand. She won’t be here on Monday. If I get off the phone and tell her you won’t see her, it’s all over. I won’t be able to stop her.’

  Another flick through the notebook …

  ‘Of course the best thing would be for her to come into the hospital here. I could see her every day when I do my rounds.’

  Oh God, please!

  ‘That would be perfect! She told me she won’t go to a hospital, but if you were there, she’d go. She trusts you. Do you think there’s a chance?’

  ‘Well, I know there’s a vacant bed. Does she have private medical cover?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmm … that makes it hard.’

  ‘I’ll pay it back. I’ve got a job. I can get a loan from the bank or I can sell something. I’ll pay whatever it costs, I promise, I promise I will!’

  ‘Oh, this is such a difficult one.’

  Difficult to tell me to go away? Difficult to tell me to just let my mother kill herself? Well, go on, get it over with. Tell me!

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I think we can treat this as a special case.’

  Was I hearing right?

  ‘We could put your mum in here for a little while. I’m sure I can swing it so it won’t cost anything.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I think it’ll be all right. The hospital director will probably allow it on my recommendation — on compassionate grounds. I’ve worked here for ten years, so I’d say he owes me a favour. Let me think for a second …’

  Please don’t change your mind.

  ‘Yes, I’m certain there won’t be a problem with that.’

  ‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’

  ‘Can you bring her up right now?’

  ‘I’m almost out the door!’

  ‘I’d better get things organised then. See you soon, Brian.’

  I rushed into the bedroom.

  ‘It’s good news, Mum. It’s really good news.’

  She could only manage a sarcastic smirk as if good news always ended up rotten.

  ‘Doctor Rezni wants you to go into hospital. Her hospital, Mum! She’ll look after you herself. See you every day until you’re better. She’s waiting for you right now.’

  Her eyes drifted to me.

  ‘No, you’ve got it wrong, Brian. That’s a private hospital. We can’t afford that.’

  ‘It’s all fixed. Dr Rezni’s getting you in there. She says you’re special, Mum. She cares about you. She told me herself. She really wants to help you.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes! Honestly! And this won’t cost a cent. She said the hospital owes her a favour. The best treatment you could possibly get, the doctor you like, and it’s all for free!’

  Her head fell back onto the pillow like it was all too hard to cope with. I sat on the bed and held her hand.

  ‘You know I’ve only stayed alive this long because of you, Brian. I never ever wanted to hurt you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that, Mum.’

  ‘It’s so hard to keep trying. I’m so tired …’

  ‘Please. Just once more. This is going to turn everything around. Say you’ll do it, Mum.’

  More tears. More death in her eyes. Then at last …

  ‘All right then, Brian.’ I stroked her cheek. ‘I’ll try.’

  Mum moved herself slowly, as if merely getting out of bed was a mighty effort. She grimaced at the thought of putting on clean clothes, showering.

  The phone rang.

  Dad.

  ‘Thought I’d check up on yer, see how you were travellin’.’

  I told him about the private hospital.

  ‘That sounds a bit hopeful anyway,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. To be honest things haven’t been too good, Dad. I thought Mum’s doctor would never ring back. But now, like you say, it’s hopeful.’

  Dad never rang me from work. I could hear his mates in the background, talking and laughing. Someone yelled out to him. But he didn’t answer them.

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, really. Everything’s under control. But thanks for ringing, Dad. It’s good to know you’re there.’

  ‘I’m here all right, mate. Not much good to yer most of the time, I know that. But I’m workin’ on it, boy. Give me another twenty years and I’ll be a bloody saint.’

  A weight had lifted from me just talking to him. But then it was time to go.

  I got Mum out of the house in record time. In the car she moved the seat right back so it was like being in bed. Her face was still grim and resigned but at least she wasn’t lying in her room daydreaming about ways to die. Now there was hope. And for me it was relief — incredible relief.

  As we were backing out of the driveway I heard the phone ring inside the house.

  I should have kept on driving, but I thought it might be Dad so I stopped and got out, ran up the steps, unlocked the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Doctor Rezni.’

  ‘Oh. Hi. We were about to leave.’

  ‘I’m glad I caught you. Look, I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Brian …’

  Please don’t tell me any bad news.

  ‘This is going to be difficult for you, I know, but I made a mistake. There isn’t a bed here for your mum. We’ve had two admissions that I wasn’t aware of … Brian?’

  There were no words for how I felt.

  ‘Now what you have to do is this — if your mum gets really bad, ring an ambulance. Will you do that? In the meantime I’ll give you the number of the mental health team. They’ll come out and assess her. If need be, they can get her admitted. Do you have a pen?’

  ‘I have their number!’ I held the phone away from me and tried to get it together. But I couldn’t. ‘She won’t see them. I told you that! She’s sick of hospitals, sick of being bloody assessed! You’re the only chance I’ve got!’

  I should have saved my breath.

  ‘I know how upsetting this must be, Brian, but please call the mental health team — they can help you. Now I’ll expect to see you both on Monday morning at 9 am.’

  I ran my hand back through my hair. The world was such an empty place sometimes.

  ‘Brian, are you still there?’

  ‘I have to go.’

  I hung
up the phone.

  ‘Who was it?’ Mum sat up as I got into the car.

  The truth was too hard.

  ‘Someone from work. They wanted to know if I’d do some overtime. That’s all.’

  She closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat.

  The hospital was an hour away. All the time I kept hoping … maybe Doctor Rezni would change her mind and find a bed. She couldn’t turn Mum away, could she? Not after she saw how bad she was. Or maybe Dad would be waiting when we got there. He’d get someone else to finish his mail run and drive to the hospital to support me: ‘Bri, me boy, anything for you, son.’

  I tried not to think that the drive was pointless, that there would be no bed, no Dad. I couldn’t face it. Just like Mum, I was tired.

  To be honest, more than a few times I’d thought it would be easier to simply not be around any more. But I always I knew I’d never do it. Things were pretty bad, but I kept telling myself it would work out all right. I’d be back at my job on Sunday night, joking with my mates. Some time soon I’d share a can with Dad. Mum would get her head together again. And before long Emma would be home again and today would all be just a rotten memory.

  But some time soon was an eternity away. Surviving now was the hard part.

  I just wanted to come out from under and breathe. I wanted to be a kid. Seventeen. No worries.

  I took myself back to the beach, Emma beside me, Sassy playing ball.

  ‘I’m not in love with you.’

  My heart broken into a thousand jagged pieces.

  Then her head resting on my shoulders.

  ‘Don’t go away, Bri … please don’t go away.’

  I grabbed hold of those words and hung on fiercely.

  Mum opened her eyes as we jolted over a pothole.

  ‘Are we nearly there, Brian?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Nearly there.’

  First published 2005 by University of Queensland Press

  Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

  This digital edition published 2015

  www.uqp.uq.edu.au

  © Bill Condon 2005

  This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.