Deeper Water (13 page)

When I limped up the crooked back steps I realised Sophie and the babies had come for a visit. Rory came running to meet me at the door.

‘Mema!’ He wrapped his arms around my legs, nearly knocking me over. ‘Where were you?’

‘Just up at Anja’s place,’ I said, putting a hand on his solid little back and pressing him in against me. ‘What’s been happening?’

‘We came to play,’ he gazed up at me, ‘but you weren’t here.’

I couldn’t move with him attached to me like that, so I squatted down and gave him a hug.

He pulled away and looked me in the eye, real close.

‘Daddy’s gone.’ He said it as though it was something he’d only just learned. As though I might not know it either. ‘And he’s not coming back.’

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t know what Sophie had already said. Pushing the wispy strands of his hair back off his forehead, I leaned forward and breathed in the smell of him, looking for comfort.

‘He’s gone.’ He said it again.

I nodded, but my foot was hurting, and I was still reeling from what had happened at the hut. I felt off balance, my bearings had slipped. I wanted to steal off to my room, but there was no way Rory would let me. Sophie came round the corner then, Lila on her hip. She had colour back in her, like she’d finally gotten some sleep.

‘Let Mema in, sweetheart,’ she said to Rory. ‘She might need a cup of tea.’

I stood up, but I was having trouble steadying myself. Sophie looked down at my foot. ‘Mema, you’re bleeding. What have you done?’

‘Stood on something, I think.’ I couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘Rory, help Mema inside so we can look at her foot.’

Rory lifted his arm and wrapped it around my waist, as though he was my crutch and the strength of his small body might hold me up. The tenderness of his touch made me want to cry.

‘Okay, sit her down on the couch so we can have a look.’

Rory led me into the lounge room and we sat down, huddled together. Beside me, he was wide-eyed and quiet.

‘You hold bubs while I get a washer,’ Sophie said, handing me down the baby. Lila wriggled in my lap, but then she seemed to settle. I rubbed my chin on the top of her head, slowly from side to side. Sophie came back in with a clean, wet washer. She looked at me and the babies, taking us in.

‘Something happen, Baby-girl?’

I shook my head, but she knew I was lying. She just raised her eyebrows, crouching down at my feet.

‘Mema, it’s really bleeding. You should have said you were hurt. Called out or something.’

‘It’s okay.’ I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Rory peered around at my foot, his eyebrows pushed together in a tight frown.

‘Hurts?’ he said, patting my arm. I don’t think he’d ever seen me cry. His bottom lip started to quiver. Sophie looked from me to him, putting a hand out to squeeze his foot.

‘It’s alright, little man,’ she said. ‘Mema’s okay.’ His lip kept trembling, but he was holding it all in. ‘Mummy’s going to clean it up and put a Band-Aid on, then it’ll be fine.’

Sophie picked up my foot gently, wiping away the blood. ‘You haven’t done this to yourself in a while.’ She peered at the skin. ‘You pushed it too hard.’

I nodded, my foot throbbing in her hand. ‘I think I’ve sprained it a bit too,’ I said. ‘It feels all wrong.’

She inspected it, testing my joint.

‘Yeah, it looks a little swollen.’

I glanced around the room. There was no sign of Mum. ‘Where is she?’ I asked.

‘Just ducked out to the shed. We’ve been here a while already.’

Rory jumped off the couch then, caught by a new idea. His bottom lip was still wobbling, but he was choosing to ignore it.

‘Nanny got some flowers!’ He ran to the kitchen table, pointing. I twisted my head around to look behind me. There was a bunch of red crucifix orchids in a jug on the table, stringy but vibrant. I looked back at Sophie.

‘Someone left them at the end of the driveway, under one of the big trees.’

For a second I thought they might have been for me and my heart jumped. Sophie must have seen it in my face ’cause she looked down at my foot, saying, ‘They were for Mum. There was a note. I think it was Frank Brown of all people.’

I felt a rush of disappointment. Never before had I thought one of my mother’s random gifts might be meant for me. The stirring of my hope made me feel ashamed. Frank Brown had left flowers for my mother. It seemed in line with him and his gentlemanly ways. I wondered how long he’d been pining after her.

Behind me I could hear Rory clambering up onto one of the chairs to get a better look at the flowers.

‘Careful, sweetpea,’ my sister called out to him. Those sorts of statements had slipped out of Sophie’s mouth for as long as I could remember, comforting in their familiarity. She got up to find a bandage, patting my head on the way past. Lila started fussing on my lap so I turned her around, bouncing her gently on my knee. Her face had changed a little since the last time I’d seen her. Eyes more focused, nose more pointed. She was taking shape. I thought maybe there were glimpses of Sophie that I hadn’t seen before. Usually I enjoyed holding the baby, having her stare with those big blue eyes right into mine, but after what had happened with Anja, Lila’s gaze seemed uncomfortably discerning.

My sister came back in carrying an assortment of bandages. ‘Soph, it’s not that bad,’ I said, but deep down I was grateful.

Sophie ignored me, picking up my foot and going to work. Sometimes the skin on the side of my bung foot gets stretched beyond its limits, and it ruptures, so she put some Band-Aids over that. Then she wrapped the whole foot up tight with a bandage, trying to relieve the sprain. We’d done all this in the past, from time to time.

‘Okay,’ Sophie said, reaching out to take Lila. ‘Now just put it up for a while. No more running around.’

‘I might go and lie on my bed for a bit.’

I needed to be alone and if I stayed out on the couch Rory would climb all over me. Sophie looked at me carefully, weighing me up. ‘You sure nothing happened, Mema?’ She reached out an arm towards me. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, so I just nodded, moving away from her outstretched hand.

Lying on my bed, all the things I had gathered, all my knickknacks and clothes, the nests and the stones, the books, they all seemed dull, like the sheen had gone off them. I gazed around looking for one thing that would give me comfort, but nothing did, and finally I turned over and stared at the wall. I tried not to think of Anja’s kiss, of the softness of her mouth against mine, but the feeling of it came rushing in. I could see us as we’d been, pressed up against each other in the abandoned hut. Anja caressing my face, gentle but firm, as though I was something precious she held between her palms. I covered my eyes with my hands, trying to block it out, but the image of us grew there behind my eyes, the colours even brighter in my head than they’d been in the hut. And the more I tried to force it from my mind the bigger it became, until all I could see was me and her, larger than life—her rough bush hands tender against my cheek, stray ants fleeing along her arms, and her ruby red lips reaching down for mine.

I must have fallen asleep ’cause I sat up with a start when the door opened. It was Mum. She hovered near the doorway and I could tell straight away that something was wrong.

‘Mema,’ she said quietly. ‘Old Dog’s on her way out.’

‘What?’ I was still disorientated by sleep.

‘She can’t get up.’ Mum stepped closer to the bed. ‘I noticed her food from this morning was still in the bowl and I just went to check on her.’

I scrambled off the side, landing hard on my foot. My ankle collapsed under me, and I went down on the wooden floor with a clunk. Mum leaned down and helped me up, her lips a grim line.

‘She’s still breathing,’ she said, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. Mum was usually so unflappable, but her face was pale and drawn. Old Dog had been old as long as my memory stretched, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock that she would die, but somehow it did.

‘She’ll be alright,’ I said, hobbling out to the veranda as fast as I could. Old Dog lay in the spot she always did, her brown body still, her eyes closed. If I concentrated hard I could see the faint rise and fall of her ribs, achingly slow and feeble. I crouched down beside her, stroking my hand along her back.

‘Old Dog,’ I whispered, but there was no movement to show she’d heard, not even the blink of an eye. I glanced back at Mum, but she was looking around at the walls in alarm.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, Mema.’ She shook her head. ‘The ants are coming. They’re coming for her.’

I stood up to see what she meant. There were lines of small black ants streaming across the house, heading towards us. They were coming from all over, inside the house and out. Anja’s hut and the piano flashed in my mind, her hands and arms and cheeks crawling with ants. I shook my head to clear it, but the image stuck. Now the ants were marching here too.

‘But she’s not dead yet, why are they coming if she’s not dead?’ I asked Mum, my voice straining.

‘I don’t know, Mema,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

Squatting beside Old Dog, I glared at the ants marching across the rough wooden floorboards. I couldn’t let them get her before she was ready.

‘We have to take her to the vet.’ Trying to bundle her into my arms, I looked around for Sophie but she must have gone home.

‘She’s dying, Mema. There’s nothing they can do.’

‘We don’t know that.’ My eyes were filling up and spilling over. ‘We can’t just let the ants have her.’

She was a big dog and it was a battle for me to pick her up. ‘Mum,’ I held her gaze through my tears, ‘you’ve got to drive me to the vet.’

She looked at me struggling with Old Dog, and I could see she was wavering.

‘We don’t have the money to pay a vet. You know that.’

‘I don’t care.’ I was hugging Old Dog’s body close, trying to keep her with me. ‘We’ll pay it off. I’ll pay it off.’

Mum shook her head. ‘She’s not going to make it, Mema. She probably won’t even make the drive.’

The ants were coming closer. They were nearly at my feet.

‘I can’t let them have her, Mum. Please. What if it takes days?’

I stood up, grappling with the dog until I had her in my arms. My bung foot was throbbing beneath the extra weight. I wouldn’t be able to lift her under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal.

‘Okay,’ Mum said finally, staring around at the ants. ‘We’ll go. Do you want me to carry her?’

I shook my head. My mum was strong as an ox, but Old Dog was mine and I wasn’t giving her over.

Sitting in the back of the car with Old Dog on my lap, tears streamed down my cheeks. Usually weeping was an effortful thing—there was a blustering, a snuffling, something audible and clogged. But these tears were different—they flowed like a tap left on, limitless and soft. Somewhere inside I knew I wasn’t just crying for Old Dog, but for all those others lost to me. For my brothers, and my dad, and all the dads I never knew. Sorrow had burst inside me, flowing out like a stream.

We drove in silence and I kept my palm against Old Dog’s heart, feeling for her life, trying to keep it within her. When we pulled up at the vet, she was still breathing. Mum opened the door and I shifted around, trying to get out. Old Dog was heavy and her body was already stiffer than it had been before, as though death was claiming her cell by cell. As though she was in the act of becoming other, the matter of her transforming even then, grasped tightly in my arms.

Mum held the door open and I limped inside, holding her high against me until my arms shook with the strain.

The girl behind the counter took one look at my face and said, ‘Go straight through,’ and I loved her in that moment, loved her kind, sorry face.

‘She’s dying,’ the vet said, when we walked in the door.

‘I know,’ I whispered, nodding through my tears.

‘No, I mean, she’s dying now. Right now.’

I slumped down on a chair in the corner, clutching her. The weight was too much, my arms had turned to jelly and I could barely hold her on my lap. My mum and the vet stood watching us—the dying dog and me—and under their gaze my face crumpled like a child’s.

I felt the moment her heart stopped, felt it beneath my palm. Something in the room shifted. The vet crouched down and searched for a pulse, looking up at me with sombre eyes.

‘She’s gone,’ she said. ‘It’s over.’

I nodded, but I didn’t move. The seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes. My tears slowly eased. The vet stood back up and fussed around in the corner of the room, trying to give us space. Finally she faced us, looking from my mother to me.

‘Would you like us to dispose of her or do you want to take her home?’ she asked, needing to move us on.

Dry-eyed, my mum stepped forward. ‘We’ll take her, thanks,’ she said, and lifted Old Dog’s floppy body from my lap.

‘Come on, Mema,’ she said, ‘come on home.’

Back out on the street, the sunlight stung my eyes. Mum put Old Dog in the back of the car, covering her with a hessian sack the vet gave us. I stood on the kerb watching her, sapped and strange. My lips felt cracked and dry, and I wet them with my tongue.

‘I’ve just got to grab some things from the shop, now that we’re here,’ Mum said, squeezing my arm. ‘You wait in the car. I’ll only be a minute.’

I pulled the passenger door open and settled down inside, feeling woozy. Sitting in there with Old Dog dead in the back made me think about what it was that rendered a thing alive—what made a heart start to beat? And what made it stop? I sat in the front concentrating on my breaths, marvelling that such a simple thing as breathing could mean the difference between living and dying.

There was a knock on the window and I looked up, startled. It was him, Hamish.

‘Wakey, wakey,’ he said, grinning. ‘What’re you doing in there?’

He was dressed in the clothes we’d bought, his face shaved, eyes bright. I stared at him for a few seconds, thrown. I guess I should have got out, but I just wound down the window.