You Don't Even Know (23 page)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

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.”