by Sue Lawson
“It’s one of Mackie’s,” added Vicky, chin quivering. “Last one she ever did.”
“I can’t take this. You should–”
Tim cut me off. “Please. We want you to have it.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Vicky hugged me and whispered, “But you did, Alex.”
Mackie’s side of the room stayed empty until I was discharged the next day. I’m not sure if that was deliberate or how it worked out. Either way, I was glad I didn’t have to face another roommate.
In those twenty-four hours Paul and I locked in weekly appointments for the next couple of months; Benny dropped by to ask if I was up for helping him train the junior water polo squad, until the plaster was off and I could play again; and Mum arrived, beaming, with the news she’d booked me into a week-long lifeguard course on the Great Ocean Road in summer.
I’m sure she was the one told Benny he could visit.
Tomorrow, Mum is driving me to the outskirts of Geelong for Mackie’s funeral. I didn’t have to ask. She offered.
But right now, I have to cope with being home.
Mum places Mackie’s painting on the new doona cover. “This would look good over your bed.”
I take it to the other side of the room and hold it above my computer. “I reckon I’ll put it here, where I can see it.”
Mum’s smile is brief. “I’d love a coffee. Want one?”
“Nah, I’m right.” I place the canvas on the floor.
“Oh.” Her eyes fill with disappointment.
“I’d kill for an orange juice. If we have any.”
She brightens. “I’ll squeeze you a fresh one.”
The sound of the juicer drifts upstairs. I leave my room, intending to go to the kitchen, but end up in Mia’s open doorway.
The pale pink walls and fairy frieze are gone. The room is now a soft green, with matching roman blinds and a cream doona cover. The quilt Aunty Jodie made for Mi when she was born is folded over the end of the bed. Rabbit sits on the pillow beside the fluffy penguin I gave Mi for her fourth birthday. Her Barbies, teddies and baby doll, which used to be scattered around the bed and floor, are piled in a basket under her window.
I can hear Mia’s giggle, feel the warmth of her hand in mine. Smell the strawberry bubble bath she loved.
Next thing I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging Rabbit to my chest, sobbing.
I don’t hear Mum enter the room, but I do feel her fold me in her arms. The two of us lean into each other. After who knows how long, Mum pulls away. She sucks in a shuddering breath.
I swipe at the tears and sniff. “You don’t even know how much I miss her, Mum.”
Mum rests her head against my shoulder. “I know, Alex. I know.”
86
72 MICHAELA CRESCENT
The sun sinks, pink and gold, behind the almond tree’s leaves. The warmth of the colours and the gentle breeze draw me from the family room, outside.
For the first time since Mia’s funeral I stand at the pool fence, watching the sunlight dance across the cubbyhouse roof to the water. Even though I feel stronger, a sense of unease niggles at my gut, a feeling that there’s something I need to do.
With a shaking hand, I reach for the pool gate.
“When’d you turn up?”
I spin around. Ethan stands by the outdoor setting, arms folded, smirking.
I’m determined to stay calm. “Yeah, I’m well, thanks for asking.”
“Like I give a rat’s about how you feel.” Ethan scoffs. “You’re an embarrassment, you know that?”
“Whatever, Ethan.”
He shakes his head. “A weak coward.”
“Right. I’m the coward.” I wrestle to stay in control. “Remind me again how the pool gate was left open? Oh, that’s right, you and your friends left it unlocked when you took off for munchies. Brave of you to tell Mum and Dad that.”
Colour drains from Ethan’s face. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just pointing out I’m not the coward.”
“Yeah? So why’d you jump in front of a bus instead of facing up to what a loser you are? Real brave, Lexie. Real brave.”
My heartbeat throbs in my ears. The thing I’ve locked deep within bobs to the surface. I don’t want to see it but I can’t look away.
… I was kneeling over Mia’s still body, pumping and blowing, pumping and blowing. My shoulders, arms and back were burning. No one told me how physically tough it was to do CPR.
From the phone on the chair beside me, the ambulance guy’s voice encouraged me and helped me keep count.
The smell of hot chips and burgers and the sound of voices filled the dense air.
Ethan and his mates had returned.
Sam spoke to Ethan. Calm. Reassuring, even when Ethan refused to help.
Fury built in my chest, but I forced it away. Mia was what mattered, not Ethan.
“So, Ethan,” said Sam. “I need you to wait out the front for the ambulance. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess.”
“Good man. And do you have a mobile?”
“Course.”
“Great. I also need you to ring your parents. Straightaway.”
Parents. Panic nipped at my gut.
Ethan’s next words ground my panic into the pavers. “Ginny, go out the front and wait for the ambulance. I need to clean this shit up before I call Mum and Dad.”
The memory fades.
I’m at home, by the pool again. There’s no ambos, no friends of Ethan, and no Mia.
Ethan stands opposite me by the outdoor setting. He puffs up his chest and swaggers closer.
Thunderheads of rage gather in my chest.
“You’re so pathetic, Alex, you can’t even get bumping yourself off right,” he snorts. “You even stuffed that up, just like you stuff up everything.”
The thunderheads burst.
“You piece of shit.” I lurch forwards, grab him by the shirt and shake him. Eyes wide, Ethan stumbles, fear etched across his arrogant face. He tumbles into a chair and squeals. “You’ve lost it, psycho.”
I stand over him. “I remember, Ethan. You can pretend all you like, but I know. Mia was dying and all you cared about was saving your own skin.” I reach down to grab him again, “I’m not the coward.”
“Alex!” bellows Dad. “Let him go.”
Mum rushes out the door. “Stop it, you two.”
“Tell them,” I hiss, releasing Ethan. “Tell them what a weak shit you are or I will.”
He huddles into himself.
Mum and Dad are beside us.
Dad pushes me aside and pulls Ethan to his feet. “For Christ’s sake, Alex. You should be institutionalised.”
I scoff. “Ask Dylan Junior what happened the day Mia died.”
Dad groans. “Not this crap about Ethan again. Your jealousy is–”
Mum put a hand on Dad’s arm. “Let him speak, Dylan.”
Ethan glowers. “You don’t have the guts.”
“Yeah, I do actually.” My hands start to shake. “Mi wanted to go swimming, but we couldn’t because Ethan had friends here.”
“What does that have to do anything?” snarls Dad.
I continue. “They took off for food. Mi …” I slump against the table. “I was on the phone to Tilly …”
“Oh God.” Mum’s hand flies to her mouth.
“I’ve looked at the call record a thousand times. We didn’t talk for two minutes. When I hung up, Mia was … I thought she was changing into her swimmers.” I rub my face with both hands. “Ethan left the pool gate open.”
Mum gasps.
“Who gives a shit, Alex. You were in charge,” says Dad.
I look into his face. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I should have looked after her better? That I completely fucked up?” A dull pain blossoms in my chest. It just about takes my breath away. “But Ethan …”
Ethan cowers. “It’s not true.”
“Ethan?” Dad sounds panicked.
“Ask him.” I glare at Ethan’s pale face. “He was here and could have helped. Should have helped.” I shake my head. “Ask him what he did while I was doing CPR on Mi.”
Mum and Dad both turn to Ethan.
Ethan’s bottom lip twitches but he says nothing.
“Say it, you piece of shit.” I spit the words. I wait for two heart beats. When he doesn’t speak, I keep going. “I asked Ethan to help me do CPR, but he wouldn’t.”
Ethan standing in the family room, garbage bag in his hand while I follow the ambos and Mi outside flashes through my head. I struggle to stop the pain that throbs in my chest from swallowing me whole. “Instead of helping Mia, know what big hero Ethan did? Before he called you? Instead of waiting for the ambulance out the front? He sent Ginny outside and tidied up the mess he and his friends made.”
“Jesus.” Mum’s voice is a whisper.
“Bullcrap,” thunders Dad. “You’re just trying to make yourself look better.”
“Enough,” barks Mum, cutting Dad off.
Tears spring to my eyes. I’ve ripped open my chest and she’s going to back Dad and Ethan. As usual.
Ethan, face twisted with hate, pushes up from the seat to stand beside Dad. He folds his arms and stares me down.
Mum steps closer to me. Her voice shakes. “Alex, swear to me you’re telling the truth.”
“I promise it’s true.” My voice is dead. “Why would I lie?”
“Oh, Alex.” Mum raises her hand and strokes the side of my face.
“Christina, accept it, he lied.”
Mum spins around. “Yes, Dylan, he lied.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. But I don’t feel sad, even hurt, I’m just exhausted.
“He lied, and worse, when my baby needed him, he wasn’t there.” Her voice is shrill. “Were you, Ethan?”
It takes me a minute to realise Mum isn’t talking about me. The smug expression slides from Ethan’s face.
“The son you call soft, Dylan,” continues Mum. “The son who you rip apart, day after day, has more integrity and courage than any of us. Enough, Dylan, enough. Open your eyes.” She places her arm around my waist.
The world shifts beneath my feet. Even though she’s shorter than me, I lean against her.
87
72 MICHAELA CRESCENT
After Mum took my side last night, Dad and Ethan’s bluster and fight faded. Mum sent me to rest while she, Dad and Ethan discussed “what had happened.” I ended up sleeping for thirteen hours straight.
When I wake, only Mum and I are at home. Mum’s eyes are puffy and her face pale. I wonder if she slept at all.
“So where’s Harv?” I ask, sitting at the bench.
“Stayed over at Angelo’s,” said Mum, pouring coffee.
I don’t ask about Dad and Ethan. Dad can pretend all he likes that Ethan is some sort of demi-god, but I know the truth. I remember and I’ve said aloud that Ethan acted like a complete coward the day Mia died.
Over raisin toast and fresh orange juice, Mum and I talk about what is suitable attire for a funeral. Apparently jeans and a T-shirt don’t cut it, so I end up wearing a short-sleeved shirt I can pull over my cast and chinos.
“You look good, Al,” says Mum when I climb into the car.
“Thanks.”
“You sure you’re up for this?”
I nod.
She pats my knee and reverses out the drive. The rumble of the tyres on the bitumen and the hum of the engine are the only noises until we reach the top of the West Gate Bridge.
“Alex,” says Mum, eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “Thank you for all you did for Mia.”
I look beyond the ugly ships to the bay sparkling in the sunlight.
“It was so brave. I … Thank you.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything without crying. The thrum of the car on the freeway fills the car again. Thoughts, too swift and slippery to hold, flash through my mind.
“Mum,” I say, after a while. “What happens now?”
Mum glances at me. “At Mackie’s funeral?”
“No, with us. Our,” the word doesn’t fit, but I force it out anyway, “family.”
Her chin quivers.
“Has Dad kicked you out for standing up for me?”
“Oh God, no.” Mum pushes her fringe back from her face. “Not at all, but he’s not happy about it.”
“Why do you stay? He always treats you like crap.”
“Not always, Alex. Before he took over the business, when you were at primary school, he was different. Remember?”
I frown as I search for scraps of the dad Mum is talking about, but all I can dredge up is wolf stares, frowns and indifference. “He’s never liked me.”
“He’s very hard on you, it’s true, but he loves you, Alex. And for all his moods and demands, I love him. Dylan doesn’t know how to …” Her words drift away and again we stop speaking. Paddocks, massive houses on tiny blocks and trees merge into a blur.
After a while, Mum indicates and turns off the freeway. “Should be there in twenty minutes, which means we’re an hour early. What would you like to do, Alex?”
“Change schools.”
“What?” asks Mum, her voice sharp. “Alex, that’s a huge thing to do at this stage of your education.”
“I know, but …” I search for the right words. “Let’s face it, Mum, I don’t fit. St James is Dad and Ethan’s thing, not mine. Especially not after everything.”
Mum nods and sucks in her cheeks. “Where would you go?”
“Probably not the high school. Maybe the Anglican school that’s up the road. Smurf goes there. The Christian College has a water polo program.”
“So you’re going to swim again?”
I shrug. “I miss it.”
Mum smiles. “Good. Mia would like that, Al.”
She turns off the main road onto a side street and parks beside a white building. “Geelong Library,” says Mum. “I used to borrow a stack of books from here when I was a kid.” She pulls on the park brake. There’s a grassed area with huge trees beyond the building. “Go have a seat on a park bench in the sunshine and I’ll grab us a drink from the cafe.”
Mum locks the car door and crosses the road. I slide onto the wooden bench. A memory rushes at me with all the force of a physical blow.
88
ALEX
Winter – grey and bleak. I was perched on a park bench outside the State Library in the city, wind icy against my neck. Inside my closed fist, the plastic penguin Mia gave me stuck into my palm.
My backpack, bulging with my school blazer, tie and pants, was cradled between my ankles. I’d dressed for school, but had no intention of going, not after the thing with Bash in the locker room. Instead of books, I’d packed my bag with jeans and hoodie. If only I’d brought a coat as well. I’d left it on my bed, beside my mobile.
On the corner, behind posters and stands of pamphlets protesting about some human rights atrocity, women stamped their feet and huddled into themselves. People scrambled past them, hunkered down in woollen coats and scarves, clutching takeaway coffees in gloved hands as though trying to leech the warmth from their drinks to their veins. Trams rattled and dinged. Cars whirred as they slowed at red lights and for a moment a strange peace settled over the city. But when the lights changed to green, the traffic roared back into life, an endless dragon of movement.
In the lulls of traffic my own rush occurred, not movement, but thoughts, words, images. Dagger-shaped memories that had been haunting me since last November.
Mia’s tiny body in the hospital bed.
The tube in her small mouth.
Mum clutching Mia’s chubby hand.
Dad, head resting against the emergency room wall, face contorted in pain.
The pale-faced doctor, words as slippery as oil and as hard to grasp, flowing from her mouth. Her trembling chin when she raised her eyes from the notes to meet Mum’s
for the first time.
A look that doused all hope.
Those words – organ donor.
Mum biting her bottom lip. The low keening sound. A sound that iced my skin.
A burst of laughter dragged me from my memories and back to the cold city, the women huddled against the cold and the dragon of endless traffic.
A group of girls wearing oversized beanies and long scarves strolled past the statues to the State Library entrance. They were all looking at a phone screen. Again, their laughter filled the grassed area.
I needed to laugh again.
I needed to play water polo and cut laps again.
I needed new friends.
I needed to regroup.
For Mia.
I was thirsty. Really thirsty.
Thickshake. That’s what I felt like.
There was a cafe about halfway between the State Library and home, where they made the best thickshakes ever. I tossed my backpack over my shoulder, turned on my iPod and walked towards the tram stop.
89
GEELONG PARK
“Alex?” Mum stands over me, holding a takeaway coffee and a milkshake. “Alex, you’re crying.” She places the drinks on the dirt beneath the bench and sits beside me, knees pressing into my legs. “You don’t have to move schools, you know. It’s okay if you stay at St James.”
“No, it’s not that.” I clasp her hand. “Mum, I remember. I know what happened.”
Mum sits a little straighter, as though bracing for bad news. “Mia?”
I shake my head. “No, to me. That day, in the city, when I had the accident. I’d ditched school because I couldn’t face Bash and Coop. I needed space to think. That’s all. And being on the tram is a good place to think. Somehow I ended up outside the State Library.” I squeeze her hand. “And you know what? I left because I was thirsty.” I was laughing and crying. “I figured I’d stop at that cafe on the way home. What’s it called? Twiggy’s? And buy a thickshake before I came back home to sort myself out. Stop fighting everyone. For Mia.”
I turn so my knees are pressed against Mum’s.
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself, Mum. I was just stupid. I didn’t check the street and I didn’t hear the bus over my iPod.”