You Don't Even Know

by Sue Lawson

  Mum doesn’t answer. She pulls the chair close to the bed and looks around, as though searching for a waiter in a restaurant. “Surely there’s a private room available by now.

  Exhaustion seeps into my bones. “Leave it, Mum. Please.”

  “But it’s not right, Alex. We pay our health premiums; we are entitled to a private room. In fact, I’ll enquire about having you moved to a private hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Bloody hell, Mum, leave it!” Pain hums round my head.

  Mum raises her finger. “I won’t, it’s …”

  Vicky returns, holding a coffee mug.

  Silence fills the gap between me and Mum.

  38

  ALEX

  Mum waved as she pulled away from the kerb. I flung my sports bag over my shoulder and walked through the automatic doors into the rec centre. My muscles softened as the wave of thick chlorinated air engulfed me. I normally trammed it to work and training, but Mum had insisted she drive me. The moment I had closed the car door as we left home I knew why.

  “Alex, this tension between you, Ethan and your father. I want it to stop.” We drove the length of the street in silence. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

  “What’s the point?” I muttered, watching the cars flash past. “Any chance of you ever sticking to the speed limit?”

  “Don’t deflect, Alex. Why do you always bait them?”

  I twisted in my seat to face her. “Serious? Me bait them? They gang up on me all the time. Make me feel like a piece of crap. Why don’t you ask them why they do that?”

  Mum stared straight ahead, face blank. “Can’t you please try to do things their way? Try–”

  “To be more like them?” I shook my head. “No way.”

  “Alex.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” I stuck my earbuds in and turned on my iPod. The Broken drowned out Mum’s bleating.

  Mum driving me to training meant I was first to arrive. I changed and was on my way to do warm-up laps when Benny called out.

  “Hey, Buzz. Dory can’t make it tonight. Give me a hand, would you?”

  Benny and I took balls, training gear and caps from the storage cupboard near the change rooms to the deep end of the pool. We placed “Training – no access” sandwich boards on the pool deck.

  “You’re quiet,” said Benny.

  “Am I?” I forced a smile.

  “Everything all right?”

  I watched a small boy in huge boardies run in and out of the spray spewing from the top of the giant mushroom sprinkler in the middle of the little kids’ pool. “Yeah, fine. Family crap.”

  Benny nodded. “So you could do with a bit of good news then?”

  “Training is enough to work it out of my system.”

  “Shame. I had pretty sick news. I was going to wait until everyone was here, but …” Benny rubbed his chin, making a big show of pretending it was a tough decision, but I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes he’d already decided he was going to tell me. “Ahh, stuff it, Buzz. You’ve been chosen to go to Canberra for a training camp.”

  I heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. “What?”

  Benny’s face was alight with excitement. “A training camp, in Canberra, with the national team. Australian Institute of Sport. For a week during the holidays.”

  My blood fizzed and popped like soft drink. “Serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  I stared at my feet, white against the cement pool deck. “Me?”

  “Yep, you and Smurf.”

  “What about Bart and Pumba? They’re way better players than me, and they’ve been on the team longer.”

  “You deserve it, Alex.” He clapped his hand on my bare shoulder, which felt kind of awkward, but good at the same time. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ring and tell your parents,” he said. “Let them know what a big deal it is.”

  Bart rolled up and flicked his towel, which snapped the air around my thigh. “So, Benny, Alex, what’s cooking?”

  “The usual.” Benny winked at me. “Right, you two. Cordon off this section of the pool with the lane rope.”

  I dived into the water and freestyled to the other side, smiling so hard, water rushed into my mouth.

  39

  ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL

  It’s rest time. The room is eerily quiet. The curtains are drawn and somehow they’ve dimmed the fluorescent lights in the corridor. I’m lying on my back, left hand sitting on my plastered right arm, tired, but I don’t want to sleep. If I sleep, I’ll dream. My dreams are always about Mia.

  I move my legs. The rustle of my tracksuit against the bedspread fills the room.

  Across from me, Mackie lies still and quiet. I watch the drip, drip, drip of fluid into the tube connected to her hand. The same two cards sit on the shelf over her bed. A coffee jar now filled with only daisies, sits between them.

  On my side of the room car magazines, a bottle of juice and a windcheater lie on the overbed table near my feet. Cards are strewn on the shelves and hang from the silver bar above my head. Flower arrangements cover shelves and the floor. Even in the dim light, it looks like a rainbow has taken a floral dump over here.

  I sit and ease my legs off the bed. My head begins to pound and the room spins. I grip the edge of the bed with both hands until the sensation passes. The moment it does, I stand and again wait for the swaying and pounding to ease before tottering to the flowers on the floor. I reach for a bouquet of irises, and carry it in my left hand to Mackie’s side of the room. I place them beside the daisies on the shelf above her head.

  The pain in my ribs doubles me over.

  “What are you doing?” asks a nurse in the doorway.

  “Can you help me for a minute? Please?”

  She comes closer, arms folded. “That depends.”

  “I’d do it myself but …” I raise my plastered right arm, while checking her name tag. Deb Foran. “I need to move stuff, Deb, to Mackie’s side of the room.”

  Deb frowns. “Why?”

  “Because the flowers are wasted on the floor. And besides, girls love flowers.”

  Deb sucks in her bottom lip. She looks from my side of the room to Mackie’s. “Okay, but then you must rest.”

  “You’re a legend.”

  I collect the cards from the arrangements before Deb carries them across the room where she places them on the shelf and bedside cabinet. While she works, Deb talks about gardening, shopping and her nieces. I grunt and mumble replies.

  “Can you make sure her mum’s flowers stay at the front?” I say, as Deb makes room for one more arrangement.

  When we’re done, Mackie’s side of the room is brighter, but I’m completely knackered. I slip into the seat Vicky sat in yesterday.

  “Looks better, eh?” Deb’s smile fades when she looks at my face. “You okay?”

  “Sore.”

  “Right. Bed now and rest.”

  Before I answer, a buzzer sounds in the corridor. Deb bustles from the room. I stay where I am, watching Mackie’s sunken face and cracked lips. Her breathing is slow and shallow. She looks sick. Seriously sick.

  The scrapbook Vicky showed me lies on the overbed table. It’s one of those big, spiral sketchbooks. The front page has been covered in floral fabric. The reds, blues and pinks remind me of Mum’s many scarves.

  When I touch the cover, it’s soft, as though it’s padded beneath the material. Letters, cut out in darker material and glued to the cover, read “Mackie’s Projects and Dreams”.

  I look back at her pale face and wonder if she is dreaming.

  With great care, I lift the scrapbook and open it. The first page is covered in a collage. There’s a photo of a girl holding two flop-eared rabbits, drawings of birds, and magazine pictures of knitted scarves, felt birds and handbags made from coloured jeans.

  I turn the page and see another collage, but this one is photographs of skirts, T-shirts, scarves and hats. The
background is the same in each picture – a pink, striped doona. Written at the bottom of the page, in thick black print, is “Completed projects”.

  The next page has more craft: a long skirt, a woven belt, painted canvas shoes, bows and more clothes. At the top is written “To Do …” and added in blue pen above the ellipses is “BEFORE”.

  Before what?

  I hear movement in the corridor and close the scrapbook. I wait, heart pounding. When no one enters the room, I open the book again at the completed projects page. The largest photo, a chunky scarf, isn’t completely glued down. When I lift it, there’s a list written in black, purple and blue ink. The list is surrounded by stickers and drawings of smiley faces, flowers, skulls and cartoons.

  RANDOM LIST OF STUFF TO DO BEFORE I TURN 30!

  * Fly somewhere, anywhere, but preferably overseas, in first class.

  * Stay at a five-star hotel.

  * Learn to surf.

  * Stand under the Eiffel Tower and kiss a really hot guy (Johnny Depp-hot, only younger) who is really into me.

  * Have romantic, candle-lit, perfect “movie sex”, with same hot guy.

  * Marry same hot guy and have fat-cheeked babies with chubby fingers and heart-melting giggles.

  * Buy a weatherboard cottage, with wisteria hanging down from the verandah (and picket fence to keep in babies and animals) and renovate it.

  * Own a brown labradoodle called Sampson, and a Himalayan cat called Miffy.

  * Breed lop-eared rabbits to donate to kindergartens, child care centres etc.

  * Design and make the winning dress in Melbourne Cup “Fashions On the Field”.

  * Watch turtles hatch on a remote Queensland island.

  * Climb Uluru.

  * Holiday at the snow.

  * Visit Disneyland.

  * Backpack around the world with Tammy.

  * Go to London.

  * See Kings of Leon in concert.

  * Meet Daniel Radcliffe. (And the guy who plays Snape.)

  * Watch Rafael Nadal play tennis at Wimbledon. Or Paris.

  * See elephants, rhinos and giraffes in the wild. (i.e. Africa.)

  * Fly in a helicopter.

  * Bungee jump.

  * Lie under an ice-cream machine, have someone turn it on and then eat!

  * Shower under a waterfall, like they do in TV ads.

  * Go to a music festival – Falls or Big Day Out. Damn it – both!

  * Volunteer at the RSPCA.

  I lower the scarf picture, and with my palm resting on the page, stare at the closed curtains. My head swirls with … what? Shame? Embarrassment?

  About half of the things on Mackie’s list, I’ve done, sometimes more than once. I’ve been in a helicopter, visited Disneyland, Paris, London and Uluru, holidayed in the snow, slept in plenty of five-star hotels and watched Rafal Nadal play a final, though it wasn’t overseas, only the Australian Open.

  “Alex, you promised.” Deb’s voice is gentle.

  I close the scrapbook and return it to Mackie’s table. “Sorry, I …”

  “It’s okay, but you need to rest.”

  Settled back into bed, I’m unable to fight the tiredness engulfing me. Facing the closed curtains, I shut my eyes.

  40

  ALEX

  I shut my eyes as the plane’s wheels left the runway. Maybe I’d sleep all the way to LA. God knows I was completely stuffed after this morning.

  Even though our flight didn’t leave until nine, which meant we didn’t need to check-in until seven, and despite the fact we’d spent the night in a family suite at the motel linked to the airport by a walking bridge, Dad had us all out of bed at five. Five!

  As if any of us needed two hours to shower, dress and eat breakfast.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Dad was furious. Smoke pouring out his ears, laser beams shooting from his eyes furious. All because he, who was too busy to organise any of the holiday, discovered after we arrived at the motel that Mum had booked us as economy passengers.

  Talk about volcanic eruptions. I took Mia and Harvey for a walk around the foyer as Dad exhausted his rage at Mum. For the rest of the night, and most of the morning, he bullied and blustered airline staff by phone and in person about upgrading us to business class. Nothing he said worked.

  Gotta love family holidays!

  The engines’ roar eased as the plane climbed higher. I wriggled into a comfortable position. As my shoulders became heavy, Mia twitched in the window seat beside me.

  “What’s up, Mi?” I asked without opening my eyes.

  “Harvey’s kicking my seat.”

  “He’s probably getting comfortable.”

  “But he keeps doing it.”

  So much for sleep. “Hey, can you see clouds?”

  She pushed herself up in her seat so she could see out the small window. “Uh-huh. And blue.”

  “Yep, we’re going right up past the clouds into the sky.”

  “I know that. That’s what happened when we went to Queensland.”

  Okay, so the clouds and sky weren’t a big deal for her. I thought about suggesting we play a game on her iPad, but it was too early in the flight to turn on electronic stuff, plus Mum had told me not to even think about it until we’d been in the air for a couple of hours.

  “Alex,” said Mia, still looking out the window. “How come the plane doesn’t fall out of the sky?”

  As if I knew? It just didn’t. “Um, because we’re going so fast.”

  “Faster than Daddy drives?”

  “Faster than Mum too.”

  Mum, sitting on my right, elbowed me. “Alex!”

  “Okay, maybe not as fast as Mum.”

  Mia giggled. A second later her face collapsed into a scowl. She crossed her arms. “Harvey’s doing it again. Harder.”

  I twisted to look through the gap between seats at Harvey. He sat behind Mia and beside Ethan. Dad was in the aisle seat, gripping the armrests, knuckles white.

  “Hey, Harv,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Can you try to not kick Mia’s seat, please?”

  “Christ, Alex!” spat Dad. “We’ve barely left the runway.”

  “And I’m asking Harvey, nicely, to watch his feet so Mi stays calm.”

  “I swear, if you are going to bitch the whole way, I’ll have you moved to the back of cattle class.”

  “I don’t get why we’re in cattle class anyway,” said Ethan.

  “We’re crammed in here because your mother stuffed up the booking.”

  Mum stiffened in her seat.

  “How hard is it to book seats in business class? Even premium economy? Hardly rocket science.”

  I gave Harvey a pleading look and slumped back in my seat. “Hey, Mi, want to play a game on your iPad?”

  41

  ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL

  It’s late. Or early. I can’t tell which. At home I can judge the time of night by sounds and sights. TV jabbering in the family room meant it was before midnight. Dad would be sitting up, laptop on his knees, doing paperwork. A soft glow from Harvey’s nightlight shining under my door but a silent house, meant it was after midnight. No glow, silence and a grey rather than black room and it was close to dawn.

  In hospital, it’s much harder to gauge. During the day the sound of a vacuum means it’s about seven in the morning. The food trolley rattling and clanging can be one of three times – breakfast at eight, lunch at midday or dinner at five-thirty. But if I’m awake after ten, it’s impossible to work out what time it is without checking my watch.

  Nights are kind of eerie. The hall lights are dimmed and night staff prowl the corridor armed with torches, so it’s never completely dark. Patients cough, cry out in pain and sleep talk. Night. Day. Day. Night. They roll on and on.

  Tonight, something has woken me – maybe a dream or pain. Perhaps a night staff visit. Who knows, but I’m wide awake. I lie still for a bit, listening to muffled voices, rubber soles squeaking on lino floors a
nd distant moaning.

  The moaning, though faint, is disturbing.

  I stumble out of bed and ease the heavy door of our room shut to block out the sound. On my way back to bed, I change direction and sit beside Mackie’s bed. Her scrapbook is on the overbed table where I left it. I switch on the reading light and flick to the page after “To Do Before”.

  This one isn’t filled with crafty stuff but pictures of hearts, silhouettes of couples kissing and all that girly stuff. Two pictures aren’t stuck down. The first is of a red-and-white hot air balloon against a blue sky. The curling writing underneath in black ink isn’t neat or decorated, but scrawled. The words are pressed into the paper.

  If every sucky day in the history of sucky days was lined up in a row, today would be right at the head of the queue. And that would be because today sucked. Big-time.

  As if I haven’t put up with enough. Chucking, mouth ulcers, needles, the shivers, that foul metal taste in my mouth and being bald. Today in the middle of school assembly, right when it felt like all that stuff was way behind me, I fainted.

  Collapsed.

  Passed out.

  Whatever.

  One minute I was counting the ridges in the basketball stadium roof while Miss Hindmarsh droned on about rubbish, and next minute, I was all hot and sweaty and cold. My vision blurred and then – bam! Nothing!

  Until I woke up in the aisle on my back, with Mr Jacobson and Miss Sutherland leaning over me. I could see right up Mr Jacobson’s nose, which was not pretty.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, my humiliation hadn’t even begun.

  Somehow when I fell off the chair, my school dress hoicked up to my armpits and nobody, not even Miss Sutherland, bothered to pull it down. And guess which knickers I was wearing, mainly because I was too stuffed to go searching for any others? Yep, the massive bog-catchers covered in old lady roses that Tammy gave me for a joke.

  If Mum hadn’t been busting her gut, working three jobs, I would have been wearing my Bonds knickers, which would have been way less embarrassing.

  But not even the granny bog-catchers was the worst of it.