Crashing Down (19 page)

‘Okay?' Dad is holding her hand.

She feels humiliated and degraded. She nods.

‘The cervix is dilating,' the doctor says. ‘This is a miscarriage.'

‘Oh.' Lucy shuts her eyes as the pain courses through her again. ‘What will happen?'

‘Your body is doing everything to expel the contents. In a matter of hours, I would suggest, this will be complete. Because you are here, you can
stay — or, if you prefer, go home. I see no reason for it to be complicated. It's all pretty textbook. If the miscarriage turns out to be incomplete, I'd ask you to return to your GP for a D and C. Otherwise, it will pass naturally.'

‘What's that?' Lucy looks at her dad.

‘A dilation and curettage — they open up the cervix and scrape the uterine lining to remove anything that might be left behind,' he says. ‘Don't worry about that, though, the doctor says it's textbook.'

‘Why is this happening?' Lucy says. ‘Is it because I was going to have an abortion?'

The doctor shrugs. ‘No one knows why miscarriages occur. There is no definitive research to suggest stress is a cause; however, we see a lot of stressed women miscarry. If stress is a factor, you would certainly be in the high-risk category, with everything you've gone through.'

‘We'll go home,' Dad says. ‘I'll monitor the situation.'

Lucy nods. She wants to get the hell out of the clinic. She just wants to be at Dad's — he'll take care of her. ‘Let's go.'

The bleeding and cramping increase.

‘All natural,' Dad says.

He makes her chicken soup and tea. She is constantly up and down to the toilet. Monitoring the blood loss, changing the pads. It's disgusting, she thinks. But there is a weird sense of relief that washes over her. It was never going to happen. She was never going to have a baby. Despite the fact that she'd made the decision, and was there to do it, the onus has been taken away. Right to the last minute, she wasn't sure of her conviction. And now she'll never know. Never have to know.

It takes three hours for the cramping to subside. The blood loss is quite heavy.

‘It may continue for a few days,' her dad says, reassuring her. ‘No tampons, only pads.'

‘What happens next?' Lucy says.

‘I think in a week we'll do another pregnancy test. Confirm this is over. And then move forward.'

She nods. ‘Okay.'

Moving forward seems like a terrific option — but can she really? Can she leave this wreckage behind? Move on. Forget Carl, this pregnancy —
everything that has shaped her over the last few months. But she doesn't want it to define her. And so, to the future.

There's the prospect of really dealing with Carl's death — she knows she hasn't had the opportunity to truly grieve for him, knows that in the coming weeks and months it may become difficult. But she has Dad and Mum and Emma, Lydia and Georgia. People who will listen. People who will support her. And in spite of the horror that lies behind her, and the uncertainty in front, she feels reassured knowing they are there.

‘It's over,' she tells Lydia and Georgia. ‘Finished yesterday. Dad says another pregnancy test next week and that's it.'

‘Awesome,' Lydia says. ‘You get what you want but don't have to feel bad about it.'

‘Lydia!' Georgia says. ‘That's awful!'

‘Whaaat?' Lydia moans. ‘What did I say?'

‘Just stop it.' Georgia frowns and dismisses her.

‘To be fair,' Lucy says, ‘she's right.'

‘I am?'

‘It's true,' Lucy says. ‘No one ever knows what they will do until they have to do it. People can bang on about what they think they'll do — and with conviction — but no one ever really knows. I never
thought I'd get pregnant. And I always thought that if the unthinkable happened, I'd get an abortion. Straight up. No hesitation. No doubts. But it wasn't as easy as that. There is this huge conflict, and you just can't know what you'll do until you face it.'

‘Yeah.' Lydia nods in agreement, though it's apparent she's not convinced that that was what she said.

‘I will never know whether I could have gone through with it, despite actually being in the clinic.'

‘Then that
is
awesome,' Georgia says.

‘Yes and no,' Lucy says. ‘I didn't want to continue the pregnancy, but when I was there and the protesters waved pictures at me, I started to get nervous. Rethink what I was doing — whether I could actually do it. I hadn't got to the point of no return, which I guess is the anaesthetic. I could still back out. And that scares me the most.'

‘Why?' And Georgia is more puzzled than Lydia.

‘Because if the decision hadn't been taken away from me, I may not have done it, and I'd still be pregnant now. Even though I so desperately didn't want to be pregnant, I'm not convinced I could have had the abortion. So Lyd is right — I get what I want
with a dose of reduced guilt.'

‘That's okay, but,' Georgia says.

‘I guess, but it doesn't eliminate the guilt,' Lucy says. ‘I guess nothing will.'

‘What's happening with exams?' Georgia changes the subject.

‘Special consideration,' Lucy says. ‘Mum's been on the phone to the Curriculum Council and they're prepared to waive the exams and give me an ATAR based on my current record.'

‘That's awesome,' Lydia says.

‘Sure.' Lucy sighs. She can't escape the images of Carl and JD. And the jellybean foetus, the bulging artery — she can't get her head away from them.

‘It's awful, Luce,' Georgia says. ‘Nothing will make what you've been through any better. But at least you don't have to go through the exams now.'

‘I know.' And now she can't restrain the tears. ‘But I keep feeling like I'm cheating. It's another thing I'll never know — if I could have done it. Passed the exams with the ATAR I wanted.' She feels hysterical. ‘It's like I can't finish anything — I can't know what it's like to win.'

‘Or lose,' Lydia says. ‘Why should you have to do
it? Why? You've always been a perfect student. To sit them and not get your best would be totally unfair.'

‘Lyd's got a point,' Georgia agrees. ‘Why do you have to prove it now? You've proven it for years. You need to be a bit nicer to yourself.'

Lucy nods — she's supported by their words — but they don't know what it feels like. No one else does.

She thinks of Atticus Finch's words in
To Kill a Mockingbird:
‘You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view — until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.' If there is one thing she has learned, it's that there is no such thing as black and white, only shades in between. Perhaps this is what it means when you turn grey as you get older — less convinced and more unsure.

It's Graduation Night, the last school function they'll attend before WACE exams and the Awards Night. It's so hard to believe. Then, after the exams, Leavers.

Lucy wasn't going to go to Leavers, even though halfway through the year they had booked a chalet down in Dunsborough. After everything she had gone through, it seemed inappropriate. How could she go out and have a jolly-up when Carl was dead? But both her parents had strongly encouraged her to go.

They had all laughed at the positions they'd assumed.

‘Who would ever think a parent would be coercing their kid into Leavers?' Mum said.

Dad nodded. ‘It's a strange situation — but fits
perfectly with the last year. You need to go, Rabbit.'

‘Dad! You've always been strongly against it. You said, and I quote, “It's nonsense as a rite of passage. Society shouldn't encourage it. We need to find other ways to celebrate”.'

‘All true,' her dad agreed. ‘However, one needs to be flexible in one's opinions. And if experience dictates anything at all, it's to learn from it, embrace change and anticipate the unexpected.'

‘You need to be a part of things,' Mum said. ‘This is why you endured all you did — to be a kid, to live your life. You have to go.'

‘Okay.' Lucy put her hands up in surrender. ‘If you insist, I will. I wouldn't want to be grounded for not going to Leavers.'

She rang to tell Lydia that she was back in, would be making the trek to Dunsborough, and that she'd be designated driver for the week.

‘As if you weren't going, right,' Lydia said.

‘I just thought it might be a bit soon to be doing stuff like that.'

‘Stuff like what? Living?' Lydia said. ‘Carl would've wanted you to get on with your life.'

But that has been part of the problem: Lucy isn't
sure he would have. She hates thinking about how miserable she made Carl before he died. She is glad she has her first psych session tomorrow. She needs it, before all this thinking sends her mad.

The idea of returning to school, to that same hall that housed the Thrift Shop Ball, makes Lucy anxious. But this is it.

They pull in to the car park. Already school looks different — this place she attended nearly every day for five years. She holds her parents' hands as they walk up the steps. She feels like she's steeling herself. The gym is decorated with flowers and balloons. A PowerPoint presentation plays behind the podium, showing snapshots of the last five years: the ball, the river cruise, assemblies, camps. Most parents sit in their seats, watching.

The graduates aren't paying any attention — they are hugging each other as though they haven't seen each other for years, when in fact it's only been weeks. The girls are dressed in short summery dresses in bold colours and swirling prints, most tottering about on four-inch heels. The boys look casual in open-necked shirts and long pants.

Lucy sees Big Al and Ben leaning against a wall, talking to someone seated — she can't see who it is. And she has a sudden pain in her heart. Carl is not here. And he'll never be anywhere ever again. He is gone. The reality is forceful. Al glances over, and his face breaks into a smile when he sees her. He waves her over. Her parents nod for her to go and socialise, as they take their seats in the audience.

‘Hey.' Al reaches down to give her a hug. Where Carl was huge in comparison to her, Big Al is a man mountain. ‘Look who's here.' And when he steps aside, Lucy sees who they are talking to — it's JD. He's sitting on a chair and his head is haloed in a new metal contraption that holds his neck still. He is pale and thin, but he smiles when he sees her.

‘Lucy.' He offers a bandaged hand. She grabs it gratefully. ‘How are you?'

‘Great. Good. How are you?'

‘Not too bad. Getting around, as much as they'll let me.' He nods towards his parents, who sit holding hands, watching him cautiously. ‘I'm in portable traction now.'

‘Hi.' Lucy waves and goes over to the Tans. She hugs Mrs Tan and then Mr Tan.

‘How are you, beautiful girl?' Mr Tan says.

‘Still here,' she says lightly.

‘Me too,' Mr Tan says so sadly, ‘and life goes on, despite everything.'

‘I know.' Lucy takes a step back. Mr Tan's guilt is palpable — but then, she guesses there are many of them who feel guilty, not just her. The Tans, for rejoicing in JD's survival; Big Al, who plays
what if
all the time; Ben, co-pilot to Al's guilt trip; her parents, for their relief that things have worked out — no, are turning out — the best way for Lucy. The only people not wracked with guilt, but consumed with grief, are the Kapulettis.

As if on cue, Lucy sees them enter the hall. She feels herself wilt. She expected them, but didn't. Tonight Carl would have graduated — of course they would come. What else do they have to do with their lives now?

‘Antonio and Morella,' Mr Tan says, seeing them. He grabs Lucy's arm. ‘Stay with me. I'll talk.'

Again, she feels grateful for support, people rallying around to shield her from any anger or blame. But she didn't really do anything wrong.
Did she?
If so many people feel the need to protect
her, then maybe she did. Her muscles tense as the Kapulettis approach.

‘Relax,' Mr Tan says, feeling it too. ‘It'll be cool.' He releases her arm to embrace first Mr K and then Mrs K, who clings to him tightly. ‘How are you?'

‘It is so hard. Just to put one foot in front of left one,' Mrs K says, wiping her eyes. ‘Too not believing.'

Lucy finds she has retreated behind Mr Tan, but Mr K puts out his hand.

‘Lucy, cara mia,' he says softly.

She wants to weep, but won't.
Stay strong, like at Carl's funeral.

She finds herself in his cigar-scented embrace. ‘How we have missed you.'

She relaxes, feels forgiven, looks over his shoulder at Mrs K, but recoils. Mrs K is looking at her with pure hatred. Lucy flinches. She wants to say something but can't, her vocal cords paralysed.

‘Morella,' Mr K says, looking at his wife, ‘it's time to forgive. Nothing can change what has been done. We love her.'

Mrs K bristles — won't break eye contact with Lucy.

She speaks to her husband. ‘That girl, she kill
my Carlo. She not want his baby. She make his head hurt. She make his baby die. I never forgiving her. May she burn.' And to everyone's horror, she spits on the floor and walks off to sit in the rows near the front.

Lucy is trembling. ‘I'm so sorry,' she says, eventually giving way to the tears. She understands the attack. Of course Mrs K would hate her, blame her. It is her fault.

‘Don't be sorry,' Mr K says. ‘I spoke to the priest. He told me this is God's way. No one can take from the Earth but Him. He has a greater purpose for Carl. Carl is now an angel. Morella will see. She is a loyal and faithful servant. When God tells her, she will understand. In time.'