The Scent of Apples (8 page)

Mum has rung the school and a few of her friends and told them that I have glandular fever. ‘That will buy us at least a month.'

I get a
get well soon
card in the mail from Lucy.

‘Isn't that lovely,' Mum says, as she sticks it up on the mantelpiece.

I wonder again which of us is really mad.

Dad avoids me. I push open the heavy doors to his office. He's having a heated conversation on the telephone. He acknowledges me with his eyes but holds up his hand like a stop sign. I freeze, like we're playing statues, and wait for him to finish.

‘Sorry about that, Libby. An order didn't get to where it was supposed to. Are you OK?'

‘No, Dad. I'm not. I want to stop taking the pills.'

‘You can't do that, Libby.   Your mum said that it takes a while for them to work.'

‘What would she know? She just wants me to be quiet and you don't care.'

‘That's not true. We love you.'

‘If you loved me, you'd let me stop taking the pills. They make me feel like I'm half dead.'

‘Half dead is quite a statement. Your mum tells me that you've stopped, you know, pulling. That's got to be a good thing, right?'

‘Yeah, I've stopped pulling but I'm the sacrifice.'

He frowns and I can see that he has no idea what to do either.

‘I think I'm getting sicker. Maybe I could stop taking the tranquilisers during the day and see how I go? You could convince Mum to at least let me try?'

He releases a huge sigh, but nods his head.

‘OK, Libby. I tell you what. I have to go to Wellington for three days. How about you stick with the pills until I get back and then all of us can sit down and talk about it.' He pats me three times on the arm.

‘Sure Dad. Why don't I just stay in hell for a while longer?'

‘That's not fair, Libby.'

I turn and walk out of his office.

They're right about me not pulling, but every day another part of me feels like it slips away. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and hardly recognise the face that stares back.

I have a thudding headache. Something cold touches my wrist and my eyelids flick open.

A face I don't recognise stares down at me. Confused, I turn my head from side to side. A harsh light overhead distorts my vision. I go to sit up but the face tells me to keep my head back.

‘Hi, love. I'm Judy. One of the nurses here.'

Again I try and sit up. This time she helps me by propping a pillow up behind me. She pumps a lever on the side of the bed. It makes the back of it tilt up.

I try and ask how I got here, but when I go to speak the back of my throat feels like someone has had their hands down it and ripped out my vocal chords. She must see me struggling, because she hands me a glass of water.

‘Just take little sips. The tubes have just come out, so your throat will be a bit sore for a few days.'

I nod my head and try and clear the fog in my brain.

The last thing I remember was climbing the stairs to my bedroom after talking to Dad in his office. I force myself to trace my steps back.

A vision of me throwing myself down on the bed and landing on a pill bottle is the best I can do. I remember seeing that they were the sleeping pills but nothing much else, other than a feeling of wanting the confusion in my brain to
stop.

The nurse interrupts my thoughts as she fusses around my bed.

‘Your parents just slipped downstairs to get a coffee while you were sleeping. They'll be back in a moment. I'm sorry, love, but I just need to check a few things.'

She pops a thermometer under my tongue and shines a small torch in my eyes. When she's finished I close my eyes and lean back on the pillows.

I hear Mum's brisk footsteps marching along the lino hallway. I'm surprised that the flimsy white curtain doesn't shred as she whips it back. Dad stands behind her. Relief floods his face when he sees that I'm awake. He comes around to the side of my bed and kisses my forehead.

‘You don't know how pleased I am to see those blue eyes of yours open.'

I manage a weak smile.

‘My God, Elizabeth. What were you thinking?' Mum looks tired as she slumps down into a chair. ‘You're a very lucky girl. If you hadn't wandered out into the orchard, you might not have been found in time.' She pushes herself up in the chair.

‘I thought Toby had done something to you when I saw him walking across our front lawn with you in his arms. The doctor said that the outcome might have been quite different if we hadn't got you here when we did.'

Exhaustion creeps up on me. I rub my eyes to keep it away.

I'd forgotten that the nurse was still here. She moves in and tucks a sheet around me. ‘You need to rest and be gentle with yourself for the next few days. I suggest you keep as quiet as you can until your throat recovers.' She leaves me with a smile and a promise to check on me later.

‘She's right, Libby. Just take it easy.' Dad says this to me, but is looking directly at Mum.

‘You don't need to be a nurse to see that Elizabeth needs a rest,' Mum says, scowling at Dad. ‘You get a good night's sleep and we'll pick you up in the morning.' She leans down and pecks me on the cheek.

Dad looks reluctant to leave. He gives me another kiss and a hug, while Mum stands and holds back the curtain for him.

*

A young Indian doctor spent an hour talking to me this morning before Mum and Dad arrived. He pulled the brown hospital chair right up beside my bed and started chatting like we'd been BFFs for years.

I kept getting a waft of a spice, as he talked. Like when a song keeps repeating itself in my head, I couldn't concentrate until I knew the name of it. ‘Paprika,' I thought, about the same time he said ‘Depression and a mild antidepressant'.

I nodded as if I agreed with him.

*

Follow-up appointments at the outpatients' clinic are made. It takes less than twenty-four hours for the hospital to discharge me. Mum squints to read the discharge papers before scribbling her name on the bottom of the form.

Just last month, I'd waited patiently by her side at the optometrist for nearly an hour while she agonised over which pair of reading glasses looked the best on her. ‘Red or green frames? Red or green?' I don't know why she bothered – she's too vain to wear them in public.

My brain slows down and my eyelids grow heavy as I doze off in the back seat on the way home. The leather upholstery is cold and the smell reminds me of another time. A time when all was well.

I wake as we drive up our driveway. The poplars on each side arch over to meet in the middle. The tunnel of leaves is dense and blocks out the sun.

Toby waves out to me as I step from the car. I wave back. He puts down the bucket he's carrying. Mum puts her hand on my back and pushes me inside. The door slams closed behind me.

‘I think it's best if you stay up in your room.'

Dad follows me up the stairs and pulls back my bedcovers for me. Once I'm in bed he arranges the blankets around me like I'm the centrepiece of a flower posy.

‘Can I get you anything, Libby?' The floorboards creak as he shuffles from one foot to the other at the side of my bed.

‘No, I'll be fine.' I hesitate but then add, ‘I'm sorry, Dad.'

‘Shush. Get some rest, we can talk later.' He kisses my forehead.

*

I'm surprised to find I sleep until morning. I get up early and slip quietly outside into the orchard. The sun is just rising above a row of trees. I follow the path leading to the river, hearing the sound of moving water before I see it.

The sound of the water calms my jumbled thoughts. I head for the big boulder with Patrick's name carved into it. As I come around the bend, I see Toby leaning over from the big rock that juts out into the river. He cups his hands and splashes water on his face. I wonder if he ever sleeps.

A twig snaps beneath my foot.

His head whips around to my direction. He doesn't look at all surprised to see me here.

‘Hi, Libby.' He stands up and wipes his wet hands on his jeans. ‘Just having my morning bath. You must be feeling better, huh?' His concern adds another wrinkle to his already furrowed brow.

‘Yeah, I am,' I lie.

Unspoken words zoom around in the space between us. I take a big breath in.

‘Thank you, Toby, for …'

He shakes his head. ‘Don't thank me, Libby. I should be the one asking you to forgive me.' He shakes his head. ‘That day you hid by the macrocarpa tree, I knew something was wrong but I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.'

‘It's not your fault. I think I'm just put together a little bit wrong.'

I look down at the ground. Toby takes hold of my chin and tilts it back up.

‘Listen here, Libby. There is nothing wrong with you. Everyone has moments when things don't seem so good, but you'll find your way. Just don't give up. I'm always here if you need someone to talk to.'

‘Thanks.'

A silence hangs between us for a moment.

‘I nearly forgot: Tallulah had her kittens,' Toby says.

‘How many?'

‘Seven.'

‘Seven?'

‘Come on, I'll show you.'

I hesitate for a moment and then follow Toby back towards the barn. I'm relieved when we head around the back of the building to the wood pile. Nestled in among the logs is a mass of little tabby bodies, all piled on top of each other. I reach in and pick one up. It meows, setting the others off, but then nuzzles into my neck.

Toby picks one up too. ‘I don't think Tallulah can be bothered this time. She's off any chance she gets.'

‘It's better than smothering them.'

‘Maybe,' Toby says, placing the kitten back down with the others. ‘Smothering does mean she loves them though.' He has a sad look in his eyes.

I remember his runaway mother. ‘I suppose.' I rearrange the kittens with my free hand. One of them looks like it's in danger of being squashed. I put my one back in. The high-pitched squealing coming from them is deafening, and I move away.

Crates of apples are stacked up against the barn, waiting for their turn in the processing line. I take one from the top and bite into it. The juice dribbles down my chin. ‘Did we get many apples this year?' I ask, with my mouth full.

‘No, we're down a bit.' Toby slides back the barn doors. I know he wants me to come in, but I won't. I cross my arms over my chest and dig the front of my foot into the dirt.

It seems so strange to be asking questions about the harvest. All the other years, it's been me out there counting the crates. Delivering my predictions for how many crates for the day, the week, the season. Riding backwards on the tractor as Toby drives among the rows to pick up the full crates.

Toby disappears into the barn. I know he expects me to follow.

‘I better go. I'll see you later.'

His head appears from around the barn door. ‘Are you sure you don't want to sniff this year's brew? I could do with your expertise.'

‘I'm sure.' I pretend I don't see the hurt look on his face, and run back to the house. The trees on the way are the early fruiters and have been stripped of their produce. The windfall apples lying beneath them have started to rot. The scent in the air is both sweet and sour.

I see Mum's silhouette standing at the kitchen sink. I sneak below the window and trample some impatiens on my way to the front door. I crash straight into Dad on the porch. My head bumps into his chest, releasing a waft of his expensive aftershave.

‘You're not going anywhere, are you Dad?'

‘No, Libby.' He holds out the bottom of his woollen farm jersey, like proof. ‘I'm just going to give Toby a hand in the barn. It's nice to see you up so early. That's got to be a good sign, right?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Great. Your mum's in the kitchen. She made your favourite buckwheat pancakes.'

Mum's buckwheat pancakes look like she's mixed up wallpaper glue, and taste not much better.

‘Great.'

‘What's great?' Mum asks, coming out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Pancakes.'

She attempts a smile. A huge effort from Mum.

‘Must be nice out in the orchard at this time of the morning?' she says.

‘Yeah it is. I saw Toby. I thanked him for saving me.'

‘That's nice, but I think most people coming across an unconscious person would do the same. It's really the doctor that saved you.'

‘Toby helped me, Mum. Would it kill you to say that? You can't stand anyone saying nice things about Toby.'

‘That's nonsense talk. I'm grateful he found you. I just think it's unusual for a boy of his age to have such an interest in a girl of your age.'

Dad and Mum's eyes meet for a second. Dad opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then shuts it again.

I glare at Dad.

‘God, Mum. He's like my brother.'

Mum's eyebrows nearly cross in the middle, she's so mad, but she just says, ‘Well, he isn't your brother. Anyway, come and eat your pancakes.'

‘I've lost my appetite.'

I bump into the door frame in my hurry to escape. I avoid the stairs that lead to my room. It used to be my sanctuary, but now it feels like my prison. I try and stay out of it during the day. I walk towards the front room, but they both follow me. All the air gets poofed out of an armchair as I sink down into it.

I use the remote to flick on the TV, but Mum strides over and switches it off at the wall.

‘Elizabeth, I am not going to stand by and watch the life drain out of you. I don't want to upset you, but you need to start making plans for the future. This grieving and hair-pulling has got to stop.'

‘Great Mum. I'll give myself a good talking to, so you can feel better.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Elizabeth.'

Mum sits down on the arm of a couch and Dad surprises me by going and standing next to her.

‘We're worried for you, Libby.' Dad says. ‘I thought all you needed was time, but …' He trails off and won't look at me.

‘Your father and I have been doing some talking.'

‘Not now, Anne.' Dad shakes his head at my mother, but she ignores him.

‘We think it might be a good idea for you to start a new school. There's only a week left of this term and then it's the holidays. The new year could be a new beginning for you.'

‘I thought you said the local school only trained monkeys.'

‘I don't remember saying that, but anyway, that's not where you would go.'

‘I hear there are some good schools in Siberia.'

Mum snorts and Dad searches the air around him, like there might be an escape tunnel he can jump down.

‘Libby, this isn't about sending you away,' Dad says quietly. ‘It's about seeing you happy again.'

Well, I'd like to see you get a life
, I think, but don't say it. ‘Whatever, Dad.'

Mum leaves the room and comes back in with a glossy brochure. She passes it to me.

‘We thought you could board during the week and come home on the weekends. It's only on the other side of Hamilton, but we both thought you might benefit from having the other girls around you. Being stuck way out here on the orchard is obviously no good for you.'

‘If you don't like the boarding, Libby, we can drive you,' Dad says.

‘We've checked it out and it has excellent sporting facilities as well as a good academic record,' Mum chips in.

I look down at the brochure. A row of girls, all dressed identically in grey blazers and pleated skirts, stand outside a huge auditorium. The other photos show girls jumping over hurdles and playing water polo in an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

‘I hate sport.'

‘No you don't, you just haven't found the right one. You love being outdoors.'

Dad places his hand gently on my arm. ‘Libby, maybe you could just give it a try?'