by John Kelly
It was one hour later, on that warm morning in March, when the phone rang. Warwick Steedman was in his office at Steedman and Associates, Public Relations consultants, on busy St. Kilda Road, conducting a staff meeting. All his line managers were present. Alexander Smith, Media manager, Julie Quirk, Accounts and Administration, Michael Anderson, Sales. They were discussing a request from Doncaster Power and Gas, to provide damage control, following a disastrous computer malfunction which left a 96 year old lady in a retirement village incorrectly served with a summons following non-payment of an electricity account. It was a minor matter in the overall scheme of things, but the Gas company were sensitive to any adverse publicity, and wanted the matter dealt with expeditiously and asked Steedman and Associates to wrap it up quickly.
Warwick's secretary Jill Toogoods excused herself from the meeting and answered the call. Then, with a resigned expression, gestured through the glass window that separated her from those gathered at the meeting, miming four words that caused Warwick Steedman's stomach to lurch forward? 'it's your mother.'
Warwick Steedman's relationship with his mother was not one that favoured making social calls during office hours, so he knew instantly that something had happened. He excused himself from the meeting and took the call at Jill Toogoods desk.
"What's the matter mother, what's happened?" Warwick asked.
"It's Andrea," Elsie Steedman said in a faltering voice, "Dr. Hickey says she's slipping away. Can you go there now? Susan is with me, we are leaving now."
"I'm on my way," he answered sympathetically and replaced the receiver. He looked up at Jill. "It's Andrea, I have to go. Can you tell the others," he said, as he turned his eyes toward the people in the office. Jill Toogoods nodded. He smiled gratefully and headed for the lift. Minutes later, Warwick Steedman was on St. Kilda Road, driving to the hospital where his sister, Andrea Steedman, lay dying.
As he made his way through the city, there were other things on his mind. His daughter Joanne, had recently given birth to his first grandchild, a girl, and both he and his wife Susan were pre-occupied with the new addition to the family. The pressure to get Doncaster Power and Gas, out of their unfortunate mess was persistent and although he had little personal sympathy for their plight, the fee for his firm's efforts was very generous, and there was the promise of more challenging work to come. So, as he continued driving, his mind replete with work matters, his sister Andrea's condition, did not fully resonate with him.
It was eighteen months earlier, while showering one morning that Andrea discovered a small lump, in her left breast. Maintaining an open mind, she nevertheless hastily rearranged her schedule for the day, and visited her doctor. When her doctor first mentioned the word 'cancer', she went numb, and then strangely detached herself momentarily, as if the doctor was speaking to someone else. "I'm going to refer you to a specialist," he said. "It's quite possible that it's a cyst and harmless, but I would prefer that you be in the hands of someone who deals with this on a daily basis," he said. Andrea's reaction passed from detached, to disbelief, to scared, anxious and then angry. 'How dare such an unwelcome intrusion come into my life at this time,' she thought. It was a time when she was the most productive she had ever been.
"The oncologist's name is Maureen Hickey, and she's very good," the doctor said. "She will conduct a biopsy. In any event, you should not be overly concerned at this stage. Early breast cancers can be treated successfully. Whatever it is, Doctor Hickey will discuss the various options for treatment." Andrea nodded, and tried to look calm. "When was the last time you had a mammogram?" he asked. "About two years ago," Andrea replied. "I was meaning to have another soon. I've just been so busy, I haven't got around to it," she answered. "Is their any history of breast cancer in your family?" he asked. Andrea stumbled. "No, er..I don't know actually, I was adopted. I have since been reunited with my sister, but neither of us knows anything about our biological parents," she answered. And your sister has had no problems?" the doctor asked. "No, nothing," Andrea answered. "Okay, well, try not to worry. As I said, it may be a cyst. I'll make an appointment for you now," he said, picking up the phone, and handing Andrea a referral letter.
When Doctor Hickey examined Andrea, she took a biopsy for analysis. Two days later, she advised that the biopsy was inconclusive, and asked her to return for a second biopsy. The results of the second biopsy indicated calcification and a large amount of ductal carcinoma in-situ. Because it was pre-invasive, no treatment was prescribed, just regular checks. Andrea returned to her local doctor to discuss the results and was told not to worry. Her frantic workload however, predictably saw her forget about the lump until twelve months later, when another biopsy was scheduled. This time the lump was removed and found to be benign. It was three months after that, following constant prompting by Terri Carney, that Andrea had another biopsy. This fourth biopsy revealed an invasive cancer, that had subsequently spread outside the breast to the lungs. It was a secondary cancer and it was too advanced to operate.
Arriving at the hospital, Warwick made his way to the reception desk. He knew where Andrea was. He had made several visits both to her home and to the hospital, over the past weeks, as he watched her progressively deteriorate. Checking at the desk though, gave him time to collect himself after the drive from the office. He even felt he had seen the Ward Duty Nurse sufficient times lately, to be on first names with her.
"Is the doctor with her?" he asked, as Nurse Veronica Paul raised her eyes above her desk and noticed him walking toward her.
"She's just stepped out for a moment. You can go straight in Mr. Steedman. Miss Steedman was asking for you," she told him. He smiled and thanked her and made his way down the corridor to room 22. When he entered the room, he cast his eyes upon the lonely, emaciated figure in the bed by the window; the figure of a woman about to die, a woman he had known her whole life, a woman he admired, respected and in his own way, loved. Andrea turned her head and watched as Warwick Steedman entered the room. She raised her forearm as a sign of relief, and beckoned him closer knowing that brother and sister were together again for the last time.
For all of the twenty-two years since Andrea left her home in Melbourne and travelled to Brisbane to have her baby, she had continued to harbour two dark secrets. One, she confided only with Terri Carney. No member of her family was ever aware of the existence of Mary Therese. The other, she kept to herself. As disciplined as she was however, she knew that ultimately she could not keep this information hidden. The greater family, she concluded, had a right to know. They would know anyway, once the contents of her will were revealed. Thus, she had waited until what was virtually her dying breath, to reveal the whole story to the one man she believed would handle the matter in the proper way.
In the quiet, peaceful setting of a private room at the Royal Women's Hospital, Warwick Steedman pulled up a chair and sat down alongside his dying sister. Over the space of the next hour, Andrea would explain to Warwick, the long and complicated chronology of events, dating back twenty-three years, revealing to him events that would, in the weeks to follow, threaten to tear the family apart.
One hour later, the meeting between brother and sister concluded, Andrea's mother Elsie Steedman, elderly, grey-haired, arrived at the hospital with Warwick's wife Susan. Warwick immediately made way for her to sit by her dying daughter. "Can I get anything for you Andrea," Elsie asked, as Andrea's eyes opened and closed intermittently. There was no answer forthcoming, just a slight shake of the head. The end was now very near.
As Elsie sat by her daughter's bedside, Andrea's sister Margaret Sanders arrived. She was a middle aged, slightly overweight, dark haired bullish woman with a short temper, a lack of sensitivity to anything, who for most of her life had shown no patience for anything other than her own pet causes.
"How long is this likely to take?" Margaret Sanders said to Warwick Steedman, as the two of them stood back from the bed, one calm and resigned, the other anxious, unsettled, longing for closure.
> "You don't have to stay," Elsie replied sharply overhearing the insensitive remark.
"Of course I do," she protested. "How would it look if I just walked out now? What would people think?" Margaret rolled her eyes from left to right indignant at the very suggestion.
"When have you ever cared for Andrea or for that matter what people think?" her mother replied slowly and patiently, hurt but devoid of recrimination.
"That's not true. I have always loved Andrea," she said, and added without any embarrassment, "even if she isn't a blood relative."
The question of legitimacy was a sensitive matter in the life of Andrea Steedman. It was out of devotion to her mother that all these years, she maintained a disciplined silence about the birth of Mary Therese. It was a silence that demonstrated an inner strength, not experienced by any other member of the Steedman household. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, a voice said, 'no, don't tell her. It's not fair on her. She gave me a life. I won't disappoint her. I won't burden her with this.' Through all of it though, she gave Margaret no reason for her indifference. But then, biologically, as Margaret had so coldly pointed out, she wasn't one of the Steedman clan anyway.
"She's my daughter," Elsie answered slowly, not bothering to take her eyes off Andrea. While the serenity of the moment was now clearly disturbed by Margaret's insensitivity, Elsie's attention to Andrea was not. She took her daughter's hand and stroked it gently, her heart consumed with memories of her full and rewarding life.
Elsie did tell Margaret the circumstances of Andrea's arrival into the family, but not until she was twenty-one. Until that time, Margaret didn't remember the day Andrea was brought home from the 'hospital'. Margaret was a self-centred, self-absorbed sibling of little compassion or understanding of her mother and sister, and Elsie knew that an earlier revelation of this family secret would probably result in an acute sibling rivalry based on biological preference. Better that she didn't know, Elsie thought.
"Bloody hell, will you two shut up. A woman is dying here." The whispered voice was that of Andrea's younger, dim-witted brother Robert, who had joined the gathering shortly before Margaret, and was standing at the back of the room. Robert, dark and moody, and five years Andrea's junior, was at least the match of Margaret's insensitivity, but he was quite a different piece of work when it came to his own good fortune. He was greedy and self indulgent in a way Margaret was yet to understand.
"Who cares if she wasn't a blood relative," he said, "what will happen to the money now?" he muttered.
Robert's abrupt intervention in the mother-daughter spate, was a true reflection of his ambivalence to Andrea's imminent departure from the living and no surprise to Warwick Steedman, and his wife Susan, who were standing by the window. Robert's constant ribbing of Margaret was, however, a smoke screen to hide his own serious shortcomings. He had three problems that he struggled to deal with, fast women, slow horses, and slow paying poker machines. His concern for the impending distribution of Andrea's estate, related more to an outstanding debt he owed to a loan shark, rather than any genuine concern for a fair and equitable disbursement. Robert had recently extended his credit card limit of five thousand dollars, and to clear the debt had sourced the money through a friend of a former girlfriend. The source had called in the debt, leaving Robert with the unequivocal impression that should it not be paid within a fortnight, his present good health could not be guaranteed. Collection of the debt had been handed over to taxi operator and part time debt collector, Alberto Antonini. Robert was feeling the heat.
"That's just like you isn't it," Margaret said as she turned her head and confronted her younger brother, her eyes on fire with fury. "That's all you are interested in, you self-centred little prat."
"Please can we have some civility here," Warwick Steedman pleaded with his siblings. "Can't you two put your differences aside for the moment and show some respect?"
Robert ignored Warwick's plea. "Oh, shut up you fat ugly bitch." he continued, intent on testing Margaret to her very limits. Robert was used to trading such outbursts with his older sister. He provoked her often enough with his snide remarks about her excessive weight problem, and her failing marriage.
While this sibling bickering continued unabated, Andrea Steedman, forty-five, lying comfortably in her private room, safely removed from the frenetic activity of the street activity three floors below, her frail body riddled with cancer, lifted her right arm to gesture a final wave goodbye, and with that, closed her eyes and stopped breathing.
The gesture went unnoticed, as Margaret and Robert continued trading insults and Elsie continued stroking Andrea's hand. Moments later, Oncologist, Dr. Maureen Hickey, entered the room and without any formal acknowledgment of their presence, tended immediately to Andrea. Her brief observation completed, she turned to Elsie, and placed her hand on her shoulder. "She's gone I'm afraid, my sympathy to you all."
The street noises below, offered little comfort to the solemnity and the serenity of the passing of a life. The screeching of car brakes, and horns blasting, both filtered upwards as a gentle afternoon breeze carried into the private room through a partially opened window. Andrea Steedman, adopted sister to Richard, Warwick, Margaret and Robert, who lived a full and rewarding life, was gone. Her mother Elsie, herself now eighty one, a generally healthy figure, looked up to the ceiling searching for answers, unable to explain why it is that some mother's do bury their children, when the cosmic order of things would suggest the reverse. She looked around the room at each one of her brood, and then slowly rested her head on Andrea's bed, weeping as she did so.
As Andrea lay peacefully, her life over, the pain gone, the struggle now passed, the man to whom she had entrusted her story, stood tall and aloof behind Elsie. Looking down on this still, now lifeless form, Warwick Steedman pondered the information she had earlier revealed to him. 'Why had she not mentioned some of this before? Why now?'
Why indeed! But, like it or not, Warwick Steedman had unwittingly taken up the baton. As he stood there at Andrea's bedside, taking in this bizarre repertoire of insults being transmitted from one family member to another, his thoughts cemented themselves in the depths of disquiet that surrounded him. The shock of all that he had learnt one hour earlier had overtaken what should have been his moment of first bereavement. Silently he begrudgingly congratulated Andrea for keeping it to herself all these years, and then cursed her for the awesome burden she had placed upon him.
Then, a moment of reconciliation, as his sister Margaret Sanders, solemn and pensive, put the spate of words just spoken behind her, and took her mother in her arms. Robert retreated to the chair adjacent to the door, grim faced and silent. Of the gathering, only Warwick's wife Susan, broke down weeping uncontrollably as she reached out for her husband's support, burying her head in his arms.
10.
