You Don't Even Know

by Sue Lawson

  “I guess.”

  “It’s normal to be scared about leaving hospital, Alex.” She unpeels the tape from my arm. “I’ll be back with Sanzia to take those staples out later.”

  After she leaves, I stare at the empty doorway.

  Home.

  80

  ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL

  Paul arrives at the same time as Vicky. He helps her carry an overnight bag, quilt and matching pillow to Mackie’s bed.

  “Hey, smaller dressing,” says Paul, checking out my head when he comes back.

  “Yeah, staples came out today.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Not exactly painful, but not exactly easy. Kind of like having hot needles wrenched from your skull.”

  “Ouch.” Paul screws up his face. “So, it’s a fantastic day outside and I have permission to take you across the road to the park. Keen?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Paul raises his eyebrows. “Absolutely. We’ll grab a drink on the way.”

  Outside on the footpath, waiting for the pedestrian lights to change, the spring sunshine is so bright I have to shield my eyes. “Wish I had my sunglasses.”

  “We’ll sit in the shade.” Paul carries his iced coffee and my mango smoothie.

  I squint past the endless line of cars, vans, trams, buses, trucks and bikes to the green parkland spread in front of us like a desert oasis. The combination of engines and brake noises, sunlight flashing off glass and the smell of exhaust is overpowering. The ding of an approaching tram makes me jump.

  “You right?” asks Paul.

  “Fine. It’s …” I search for the right word. Loud? Confronting? Alive?

  “If it’s too much–”

  “It’s fine. Different after being inside, that’s all.”

  As we cross the road, the bones in my legs go all soft and rubbery.

  “What about over there?” Paul jerks his head to where an elm’s new season leaves throw shade across a picnic table.

  I slide into the seat that faces the park, leaving Paul to look at the hospital hulking behind us.

  Paul stirs his iced coffee with the straw. “So, home in a couple of days? How does that feel?”

  I shrug. “Dunno.” I gulp my drink. My palate aches. First signs of brain freeze.

  “You okay with Mackie staying in your room?”

  “You know, as far as changing topics go, you suck.”

  “Home or impending death,” Paul laughs. “Not the best way to get you to relax.”

  “Maybe not.” Ahead of us a poodle weaves across the oval, nose to the ground. His owner whistles and the dog bounds across the grass, ears flapping. “About Mackie. I’m glad she’s not in a palliative care room. That’s where they moved Mia.”

  “Mia died in hospital?” It’s like Paul has found his way to the room deep inside where I’ve locked everything away. He has his hand on the door handle and I’m too tired to stop him from opening it.

  “Technically. But she was dead when I found her. Me doing CPR and stuff only prolonged everything. For hours. And hurt her.”

  Paul rubs his chin. “It’s not like you had a choice, Alex. You had to try.”

  “It would have been better for her if I hadn’t though. All that thumping and needles and tubes down her throat.” I scrape my thumb nail along a groove in the table. “I should have been there when they did it.”

  “Turned off the ventilator?”

  “Yeah.” My throat and chest are being squeezed. “I don’t know how it happened. I’d bolted.” I look into Paul’s face. “Impressed by my bravery now?”

  “Doesn’t change anything.” Paul twirls his drink. “Which hospital?”

  “Children’s.”

  Silence wraps around us. After a few minutes, I whisper. “The trip to the hospital was, well, they didn’t speed or use the siren or lights, except at intersections. Duncan said it was safer that way, for Mia and the guys in the back, but I wanted them to floor it, you know?”

  “Duncan?”

  “The ambo. He was driving. When we pulled up at the hospital, a guy was waiting for us. He talked to Duncan as they wheeled Mi inside. The moment we entered the hospital, people in scrubs swamped Mia. One of them took my arm.” I place my hand on the plaster encasing my right forearm. “And I started going off, yelling that I had to stay with Mia. But the nurse guided me away, and said in this steady voice, that the best thing I could do for Mia was stay out of the way and let the doctors do their job. ”

  The park, the rustle of the leaves, the smell of possum pee is gone and I’m pacing in that waiting room again, body numb and brain buzzing.

  81

  ALEX

  “Have a seat,” said the nurse, guiding me to side room.

  “Why didn’t they use lights and sirens the whole way?” I asked. “Get here faster?”

  The guy cleared his throat. “Mate, they had ambos working unrestrained in the back. It’s better for them and your sister if they don’t speed.”

  I couldn’t take any of it in.

  “She has the best doctors, nurses and all kinds of specialists helping her. How about I go check on her so I can tell you how she is?”

  “Hey,” I said, before he reached the door. “My sister – her name is Mia.”

  “Mia. Okay.” The nurse nodded and left.

  I paced for a bit then hunkered down on the sofa, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. The whole time I pleaded. Prayed. Bargained. Begged.

  I’d never fight Ethan again.

  I’d be everything Dad wanted.

  I’d start rowing.

  I’d drop the whole lifeguard thing.

  The door opened. The nurse who brought me here stepped aside and Mum and Dad entered. Mum’s face was white. She clutched her bag to her chest. Dad reminded me of a cornered dog – ready to attack.

  My heart skidded in my throat.

  “I’ll be back with an update on Mia,” said the nurse. He smiled at me but gave Dad a cold look.

  Dad opened his mouth, clearly about to issue an order, but the nurse was faster and closed the door on him.

  For a moment the three of us were frozen, lost in our thoughts. Then Dad charged, teeth bared like an attack dog. He grabbed me by the T-shirt and pulled me from the sofa.

  “You were supposed to be looking after her.” A fine spray of spittle hit my face. I kept looking down, unable to face his hate-filled eyes.

  “Stop it,” yelled Mum. “This is not the time or place.”

  “It’s never the time or place to deal with Alex, is it, Christina?”

  Mum cringed under Dad’s wolf stare.

  Dad released me. I tumbled back to the sofa.

  “What happened?” he snarled.

  I stared at the lino squares. “I don’t know. She wanted to swim. I told her to wait until Ethan and his mates left.”

  “Ethan had friends over?” said Mum. “Today?”

  “Christina, we’re facing much bigger issues than any lies Alex tells about Ethan.”

  Mum sunk into the chair.

  “Well, what happened, Alex?” Dad folded his arms. “I’m waiting.”

  Heat exploded in my chest and sparked against my skin. I raised my head and looked Dad in the eye. “Fucked if I know.”

  Dad stepped forwards, fist clenched.

  Good. He was going to hit me.

  A woman wearing a bright shirt and navy pants entered the room. She took in the scene before her. “My name is Kath. Can I bring you anything?”

  A different father?

  “I need to see my daughter,” said Mum, her voice shaky. “Please?”

  “The doctors are still working, Mrs Hudson. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?”

  Dad’s phone rang. He swore, took it from his pocket and brushed past Kath, out the door.

  “A coffee or a cold drink?” Kath’s voice was softer now Dad had left. I wondered what mayhem he’d caused when he arrived.
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  “I’d love a coffee, please,” said Mum. “And one for Alex too. Thanks.”

  When she left, Mum started to cry. Not big, loud sobs, but the worst kind of crying – silent tears.

  I chewed my bottom lip. Mia’s blue face, floppy body and clammy skin didn’t leave any room for comfort.

  Mum blew her nose. “Alex, he doesn’t mean what he says.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, he does. Always has.”

  Mum’s skirt rustled and her heels sounded on the lino. She sat beside me, her leg warm against mine.

  Kath returned holding two steaming mugs.

  82

  MAYFIELD PARK, OPPOSITE PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL

  A strong breeze rustles the leaves above the table where Paul and I sit. A twig lands on the table beside my drink. I reach for the smoothie and take a sip. It’s thinned a little while we’ve been talking.

  “Paul, do you think Mum really believed it when she said Dad didn’t mean what he said?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’re coming over all therapist,” I say.

  Paul smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  A gust of wind blows across from the road. I shiver.

  Paul checks his watch. “We’ve been out here for ages. I should get you back.”

  While we walk back to the hospital, Mum’s words swirl and twist around my head with all the stuff Dad has said and done until they form a massive snarl.

  One Christmas, I nagged and nagged Mum for a stunt kite. First time I flew it, the string tangled into a knot the size of my hand. I sat on the sand, legs crossed and unteased and unravelled that tangle. Right when I knew I’d done it, as the rush of excitement surged through me, Dad stormed across the sand, snapped the line either side of what was left of the knot and tied the two ends back together. He chucked the tangled string into the water.

  I know I have to tease and unravel the tangled mess in my head the same way, only like the knot, I have to do it on my own, without Dad.

  As the lift arrives at the third floor, I turn to Paul. “I understand if you don’t want to, but, after I go home, could we still talk? About things?”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  “Alex,” he cuts me off. “I’d love to. But I need you to think about it a bit longer, make sure this is what you really want.”

  “It is, Paul. Anyway, I owe you a smoothie.”

  “Two,” says Paul with a grin. “I’ll bring my appointment book and business card to your room later.”

  “Good.”

  “And, Alex, well done today. That was tough going.”

  “Yeah.” I walk down the corridor, completely drained, but somehow freer.

  83

  ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL

  A folding bed has been set up between Mackie’s bed and the window. Vicky stands near the bunched curtains, talking on the phone. Her voice is soft, too soft to hear what she is saying.

  The afternoon tea guy arrives and I ask for a milo. He places a mug and biscuits and cheese in crinkly plastic on my table. I take both across to Mackie’s table.

  Vicky ends the call. She startles when she sees me.

  “Milo, but no sugar. Is that okay?” I say, passing the mug.

  She opens her mouth, but the words catch in her throat. Vicky slips the phone into her pocket, takes the drink and sits on Mackie’s bed. “Have a seat.”

  Though all I want to do is rest, I perch on the visitor’s chair.

  I watch the curls of steam rise from the mug as she sips the drink.

  Her shoulders drop. “That was Tim. He’s trying to find a flight back tonight. The doctors think it will be …” Her words trail away.

  She doesn’t need to say it. I know. Mackie’s breathing is much slower and sometimes there are long breaks between each breath.

  “What about her dad? Ash?”

  “They want to remember her as she was.” She shrugs. “Okay for some.”

  Mia lying on the pool deck. Blue stickers on her chest and side. That plastic mask over her mouth. “I get the remembering thing.”

  “When your sister …” Vicky stares the mug. “Were you there?”

  “No.” The word is a whisper. I close my eyes and the inky water is before me again …

  … still and silent, a beast waiting for prey. The pool fence pressed into my back. Not that it hurt. My back had long passed pain and was numb, like my mind.

  I raised my eyes from the water to the cubbyhouse perched in the ancient almond tree that towered over the back fence. Lightning speared from the brooding clouds, forking either side of the tree. Thunder split the air, so close the sound rattled the house windows.

  That’s when I knew; knew in every cell of my body, it was over.

  I open my eyes.

  Out the window, sunlight sparkles on the bay, the spring leaves glitter and sway amongst endless buildings. “I was at home. Sitting outside. This big arse thunder cracked, and I knew.”

  “Do you regret not being there?” asks Vicky.

  Do I? A sparrow lands on the concrete balcony, chirps and hops to the window. It pecks a bug and flies off. I turn back to Vicky, who watches me. “No, I was with her when it mattered.”

  Vicky breathes out. She reaches for the packet of biscuits, rips it open and offers it to me.

  84

  MACKIE

  Mackie is flying, skimming above a patchwork carpet of green hills. There are no trees, no houses, just hills. Apple, jade, lime and forest green hills, dotted with golden flowers. Cattle with calves that gambol and kick. Caramel horses with white flowing manes nuzzle foals. It’s so beautiful. Peaceful.

  Pain rips through Mackie’s scalp to her toes. It drags her down, down. She lands with a thud on something soft and smooth. She’s cocooned in cool cotton.

  Steady beeps break through the silence and pressure builds on her upper arm, as though someone is squeezing it with both hands. Her head throbs a deep and steady beat like a bass drum.

  She’s tired. So very tired.

  Whispered voices. Movement. Shadows.

  A rush of warmth floods her and spreads to her fingertips and toes.

  Mackie is flying again.

  No, floating, near the ceiling. She looks down, and though some part of her knows it is early morning and still dark, she can see clearly. She watches her broken body, lying still, small and white in the hospital bed.

  Beside her a nurse unwraps the blood pressure cuff and places it on the trolley. She talks to Vicky, who sits on the edge of a fold-up bed. Vicky nods, tears tumbling down her face. She takes Mackie’s hand in both of hers.

  Mackie thinks about stroking Vicky’s hair, hugging her. Staying with her. But it’s too hard. She wants to keep floating. Free.

  She glances to the other side of the room where Alex sleeps. He’s on his back, plastered arm on top of the blue bedspread, mouth agape.

  He’s hot, even with a bandaged head.

  Mackie smiles and takes a slow breath.

  There’s something she has to do.

  Look after Mia.

  85

  72 MICHAELA CRESCENT

  Mum pulls on the handbrake. My heart hammers against my ribs. Ahead of us, our home looms grey and oppressive.

  “They aren’t here,” says Mum. “Dad has taken Ethan and Harvey away for a couple of hours.”

  Am I relieved or upset? Relieved. It’s not facing them that’s eating me, it’s being here. Being home.

  “You okay?” asks Mum, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

  “Yeah. Course.” But I’m not. It’s as though molten lead is creeping through me. My hands are clammy and my head heavy. I push open the passenger door. “Pop the boot, Mum.”

  “I’ll bring your bags.”

  “I can do it.” I know I’m snapping but I can’t help it. With my left hand, I heave my gym bag from the boot. Mum is beside me
, white faced. She reaches for the painting on stretched canvas.

  Air breath rushes out of me. “Sorry.”

  She raises her hand. “It’s okay, Al. I get it.”

  She hasn’t called me Al for ages.

  Mum leads the way to my room.

  I stand in my doorway. There’s a new striped doona on my bed – red, white and blue. The heavy drapes have gone, replaced with sleek roman blinds. The rest of the room is so ordered and neat, it sparkles. I drop my gym bag and take a slow deep breath. “Mrs P has been busy.”

  “Actually, I did most of it. I only tidied though. I didn’t throw anything out.”

  “It’s okay, Mum. Looks good.”

  I stare at the canvas Mum has placed on the bed.

  A dark-haired girl sleeps on a bed of lilies, golden waves, autumn leaves and books. Behind her, the sky is blue and gold. The full moon shines on the sleeping girl’s face. It’s Mackie’s painting.

  Even though I was sure I’d be holding her hand, maybe make it easier for her to let go, I was asleep when Mackie died. It happened as the sun was rising, according to Vicky.

  The moment I woke, I knew. The air was stiller and the room emptier. Vicky lay on the bed, eyes shut and arms wrapped around Mackie.

  I climbed out of bed and crept over. Vicky opened her eyes and smiled. “No more pain, Alex.”

  I slumped in the seat and reached for Mackie’s hand. We stayed like that until Paul arrived. He was the only one who came near us – no nurses, Celie, physios or breakfast tray.

  Paul waited while I showered and took me to the café for breakfast.

  When I returned, Mackie and Vicky were gone. I pulled the curtain around Mackie’s stripped bed.

  Later that afternoon, Vicky, Ash and Tim turned up to collect Mackie’s stuff. Tim was like I figured he’d be: easygoing, relaxed and honest. Ash, though, was nothing like I imagined. He wasn’t a surly, tattooed, pierced bogan in a heavy metal T-shirt who swore more than Benny. He was quiet, like Tim, slight and unsure. Almost fragile. I understood why Mackie felt she had to protect him.

  It was Ash who gave me the painting. “Thanks,” he said, thrusting the canvas at me.