Kate shakes her head. She is pale, drawn, her grey hair tangled and dirty. ‘I want to go for a walk,’ she says. But once they are out in the hall she has to sit down almost immediately. Leaning back against the wall, she closes her eyes.
‘You need to go back to bed,’ Eve says.
Kate nods slowly without opening her eyes.
The next week passes in a blur. For the first two days they are told the neurosurgeon will arrive to see them soon: first that afternoon, then the next morning, then again on the second afternoon, but it is not until the morning of the third day that he finally appears, apologising for his absence. His manner is careful, precise, although the whole time he is with them he keeps glancing across at Eve. Apparently the tumour is too deeply rooted for surgery or radiotherapy. Kate says nothing at this news, just nods and asks about chemo, at which point he becomes evasive, telling them there are problems with supply, but they will do what they can.
Once he leaves Kate begins to get dressed, her movements quick, almost ferocious.
‘What are you doing?’ Eve asks.
‘You heard him. There’s nothing they can do here.’
Eve stares at Kate. ‘What if it happens again?’
‘We’ll deal with that if it happens.’
Eve does not reply. Kate looks away. ‘Let’s go find a car,’ she says.
Back home, Eve helps Kate to her room, acutely aware as she settles her in her bed of how much weight Kate has lost in the past week, the speed with which her muscles have begun to waste. As always the room smells sweet with Kate’s perfume, the smell of her body. When she was a child Eve would often crawl into Kate’s bed, pull the quilt over her head and fall asleep, cradled in it. Yet now the scent is undercut by other odours: the cloying sweetness of hospital soap, the chemical tang of the drugs, and beneath it all something else, a thin odour like rotting grass that Eve knows without being told is the tumour.
Kate falls asleep almost immediately, only waking for long enough to drink a cup of tea before slipping back into sleep. But the next morning when Eve rises Kate is already up, dressed and seated at the table.
‘I thought we might finish the weeding,’ she says.
Eve nods, not sure what to say.
Over the next few weeks a strange sort of normality reasserts itself. Although she is weak, and tires easily, Kate seems well enough.
Yet Eve knows she is not. As the days bleed by Eve wonders over and over whether there was some sign in the weeks leading up to Kate’s fit, whether she should have noticed. Kate had been tired, but Eve now suspects there were other signs as well, signs she missed. Several times Kate had lost things in the house: her screen, her keys, a book she had been reading, and twice she had set off to buy groceries and forgotten to pick up things she had meant to buy.
But as she stares at her mother lying in the bed, she cannot help but wonder whether the ghost of it was there in her speech as well, whether her tiredness had been about a need to concentrate harder than she otherwise might have. Eve has always been aware of her sensitivity to the non-verbal cues of others, to the unspoken shadings of affect and sublimated feeling others seem unaware of; how could she not have realised something was wrong?
But that is not all. Whenever she is least expecting it she catches the smell of it, the foul waft of the sickness, its scent clinging to her, rubbing off on her sheets and the furniture, clinging to the air. At first Eve finds it difficult to ignore, its putrid undertone making her feel ill. But one night while Kate is watching something on the television with a blanket over her legs Eve lies down beside her and, closing her eyes, presses her face to Kate’s chest. For a few seconds all she can hear is the beat of Kate’s heart, the pulse of her blood, but then she smells the sickness leaking in. This time, though, it is not foul, it is just there, part of Kate, part of them. Without speaking Kate lifts a hand and strokes Eve’s head, and for a few seconds Eve feels herself slip away, the isolation that surrounds her disappearing into the shared space of the two of them.
Still, as they move through the weeks, it is as if the world has divided, and two different realities inhabit every moment. In one version there is Eve and Kate, together in the house, their lives entwined yet untroubled. In this reality it sometimes seems Kate’s time in the hospital was nothing more than a bad dream, already half-forgotten. Yet this reality is haunted by another in which Kate’s extinction hovers just out of sight, unable to be approached or imagined yet eclipsing everything. Which of them Eve inhabits changes, hour by hour, minute by minute.
What Kate feels is not clear to Eve. Some days she wants to talk, to tell Eve things about her past, or to plan for Eve’s future. Jay calls most days, either to talk to Eve or to Kate. The last time anybody heard from Davis he had relocated to a safehouse in New Zealand; in his absence Jay and the others in senior positions at the Foundation are doing what they can, but as disasters proliferate they too are being overwhelmed.
‘I’ve arranged for you to be accommodated at the facility,’ Jay tells her one night, his voice in her ear almost too close to hear. ‘So if anything happens you just call them, they’ll look after you.’
Eve stares at the dark shadows of the trees outside. ‘Why can’t I stay here?’
‘Because you’ll be safer with them.’
‘I’m safe here.’
‘Please, Eve. I know this is difficult, but you have to start thinking about the future.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she says.
Yet as the days lengthen, the past and future seem to fall away, until there is only the two of them, the endless present. One afternoon Eve returns from a walk to find Kate burning papers on the concrete in the yard.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
Kate stuffs another bundle of papers into the flames. ‘Just getting rid of a few things.’
‘What things?’ Eve asks, and Kate looks at her.
‘Just stuff,’ she says, and as she speaks Eve realises she is erasing her past, hiding those parts Eve might find upsetting or inconvenient. That night she wonders what Kate gave up for her, why she never had another relationship, suddenly aware of how little she really knows about the woman she calls her mother.
Their shared existence is so consuming it is almost possible to shut out the news, which grows worse every day. Everywhere the water is rising, a centimetre or sometimes more a day, inundating roads and flooding subways, crawling across beaches to swallow wetlands and parks. Offshore huge currents have developed as the meltwater disperses itself. On the east coast of America a string of hurricanes have forced the rising sea higher again, poisoning the land and sweeping away communities. Miami, New Orleans, Long Beach, all gone. To Eve these are just words, names of places she has only glimpsed second- or third-hand on her screen, yet still, the sight of the exhausted figures huddled on rooftops or trudging along roadsides fills her with foreboding.
In October the heat returns, a string of days in the high thirties and low forties, and with it fire, followed by wild winds and storms. Kate and Eve watch them rumble across the hills, relieved by the hot spatter of rain when it arrives.
And then, on the day after the weather breaks, Kate has another seizure. Eve is in the yard when she hears her call her name, her voice high and panicky. Racing in, she finds Kate standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at her hand, which is jerking uncontrollably. Kate looks up, her mouth opening to form words that do not come, then falls sideways like a tree, her head narrowly missing the edge of the kitchen counter. Eve dives forward to catch her, but she is not quick enough. Dropping to her knees beside Kate she cradles her head and shoulders. Kate stares sightlessly at the ceiling, her face and body twitching.
‘Mum!’ Eve cries. ‘Mum!’ Her voice sounds awkward, overloud.
The seizure passes quicker this time; in fifteen minutes Kate is able to speak again, although her words are slurred and halting.
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ Eve says, but Kate presses a h
and to Eve’s and shakes her head.
‘No point,’ she says.
Eve does not know what to say. ‘Are you sure?’
Kate nods.
‘What, then?’
‘Bed. Help me.’
Eve lifts Kate, shocked by how light she has become, and bears her down the hall to her bed. Laying her on the side, she tells her not to move.
Seated beside her on the bed Eve rings the doctor. But by the time he arrives two hours later Kate is coherent again.
‘I had a seizure,’ she says. ‘I’m fine now.’
Eve sees at once that the doctor thinks there is little he can do. He tells Kate to rest, asks about painkillers and care. When Kate tells him she has Eve, he glances at her, his scepticism obvious.
‘Nobody else?’
Kate shakes her head. ‘Nobody else.’
He leaves Kate with a prescription and tells her to call him again if she needs help. As he leaves he catches Eve in the hall.
‘I don’t know what she’s told you,’ he says, ‘but she doesn’t have long. And you’re going to need help. Are there people you can call?’
Eve leans away from him, her back pressed against the wall. Aware of how uncomfortable she looks she nods, the movement jerky, almost violent. For a few seconds she thinks the doctor will not accept her assurance, that he will press her further, but after a moment’s hesitation he seems to decide to believe her.
‘Call me if you need me.’
Kate is already asleep when Eve gets back to her room. A triangle of sun across her chest, her face in shadow. For a minute or two Eve stands, watching the rise and fall of her breath, drinking in the familiar scent of her.
Late in the night Eve is woken by the sound of Kate moaning. She stumbles through the darkened house to find Kate curled on her side in bed, whimpering in a low voice, her breath coming fast. Eve leans in, her face close to Kate’s.
‘Tell me,’ she says. ‘What is it?’
Kate doesn’t reply, just shakes her head. The bed is wet with sweat.
‘Does it hurt?’
Kate nods.
‘Shall I get the doctor again?’
Kate shakes her head. ‘In the morning. The prescription.’
Eve squeezes Kate’s hand. She does not know what to do.
By morning Kate’s pain has subsided enough for her to ask for a cup of tea. When Eve places it beside her Kate touches her arm.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘It’s okay,’ Eve says.
‘It was wrong of me to ask you to do this alone. We have to get help. Jay said he can arrange for the Foundation to send somebody.’
‘No! I don’t want anybody else here. I can do it myself.’
Kate strokes Eve’s arm. ‘I don’t think you realise what it’s going to be like.’
‘Please,’ Eve says, her words coming with sudden ferocity. ‘Let me do this.’
Kate looks at her for a long moment. Finally she gives a small nod. ‘Okay,’ she says.
‘The medicine. How do I get it?’
Kate picks up the prescription the doctor left.
‘You need to take this to a chemist. Ask them to fill it.’
Eve nods, uncertain.
‘Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ she says.
Kate takes Eve’s hand. ‘Be careful,’ she says.
Eve climbs onto her bike and heads towards the city. These past weeks she has been so busy with Kate she has not taken her usual trips through the streets, and she is shocked by the change. The parks and streets are ringed by cars and vans, their boots and backs packed with bags, children and hollow-eyed men and women inside them, as the first wave of those displaced by flooding and rising water begin to move inland, towards higher ground. Finally she stops outside a chemist on the outskirts of the city. Now she is here she is nervous, unsure she can go through with it, but finally she takes a breath, leans her bike against the wall and goes in.
It is quiet and cool inside, the only sound the echo of music, the soft hum of the air-conditioning. Unsure where to go she walks down one aisle and the next, sweat prickling on the back of her neck, then stops in a corner and stares around in confusion.
‘Can I help you?’ says a woman’s voice, and she jumps. A woman in a white uniform standing beside her.
She swallows. ‘I need to fill a prescription,’ she says, painfully aware of the awkwardness of her speech.
The woman smiles and points. ‘Up the back.’
Eve mumbles a thank you and hurries up between the racks to the counter at the back. Spotting a young woman she goes towards her and places the prescription on the counter, careful to keep her eyes down.
‘It’s for my mother,’ she says.
The woman picks up the prescription. She is young, dark-skinned, with glasses and a delicate fuzz of black hair on the sides of her cheeks.
‘These are controlled substances,’ she says. ‘I can’t give them to you without ID.’
Eve looks up in a panic. ‘I don’t have ID,’ she says.
The woman looks away in surprise. Placing the prescription back on the counter she slides it towards Eve. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s the law.’ Her voice slow, careful, as if she thinks Eve will have trouble understanding her.
Eve’s cheeks burn.
‘It’s fine,’ she says, snatching back the prescription.
Outside she slumps against the wall, fighting back tears. She wants to look after Kate but she has failed at the first hurdle. She has no ID, does not exist in any official sense. A car door opens in front of her and somebody climbs out, gives a startled gasp. Eve looks up and sees a middle-aged woman standing there, caught in the act of opening the back door of her car for her children, who slump in booster seats inside. As Eve meets her gaze the woman takes a step back and pushes the door slowly closed. Scrambling to her feet, Eve runs towards her bike and speeds away.
A few blocks away she skids to a halt by a small patch of bush, dropping her bike across a fallen log. She knows she should call Jay or the facility but she cannot bear the thought of giving up so easily. With a cry of frustration she kicks the log once and then again, then she picks up a fallen limb, hefts it over her head and hurls it into the trees. Finally she picks up her bike and pedals off down the road, desperate to lose herself in motion. Only when she is within sight of the city does she turn around, but as she begins to head back up the hill she passes two men loading boxes into a van. She stares at them, but when one of them catches her watching them she looks away and rides on, only to have him call out her name.
Confused, she stops and looks back. She cannot place the thin face and tousled hair. Then the intensity of his gaze triggers a flash of recognition.
‘Lukas?’
He smiles and steps forward. ‘Eve! What are you doing here?’
She hesitates. ‘My mother is sick. I’m supposed to be getting medicine.’
Lukas pauses. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Is it serious?’
Eve looks away and nods, tears filling her eyes.
When Lukas speaks again his voice is gentler. ‘Is she at home?’
Eve nods again.
‘That’s probably good.’
Eve hesitates. ‘Why?’
‘A lot of the hospitals are having problems with staffing and stocks of drugs.’
Eve doesn’t reply. Lukas takes another step towards her. His face wears an expression Eve does not recognise: guardedness, but also sympathy. Eve remembers what Sami said that night in the forest about his parents dying, his refusal to be taken into care.
‘Is there some kind of problem? Can I help?’
Eve shakes her head. ‘I can’t get the medicine because I don’t have ID.’
If Lukas is surprised by this news he doesn’t show it. ‘Would you like me to help?’
Eve blinks. Gives a short, hard nod.
Lukas loads her bike into the back of the
van and drives back towards the shopping centre. His friend doesn’t speak as Eve climbs in next to him, but she can feel him watching her. Once they are there he and Lukas climb out and have a short, hurried conversation while Eve sits in the van. Once or twice they glance at her. Finally Lukas comes back and leans in the window.
‘Tomas is going to head back into town. If you give me the prescription I can fill it and then I’ll drive you home.’
Remembering her mother’s many warnings about bringing strangers to the house, Eve is about to resist, but she doesn’t. Instead she just nods.
He returns a few minutes later. Eve cannot help but notice the way he glances from side to side as he emerges through the sliding doors, as if wary of being observed. As he climbs in he hands her a small package, the paper rustling stiffly as her powerful hand closes around it.
‘I filled the repeat as well,’ he says. ‘They didn’t really want to do it, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll have stock. You need to get the doctor to write more prescriptions. I can help you fill them.’
Eve doesn’t answer. She cannot think that far ahead.
When they arrive back at the house Kate is standing in the kitchen in a dressing gown. She opens the door as Eve and Lukas climb out of the van.
‘Who’s this?’ she asks.
Lukas extends a hand. ‘Lukas,’ he says.
‘He’s a friend of Sami’s,’ Eve says. ‘He helped me get the medicine.’
Kate regards him warily as she shakes his hand. ‘I suppose I should thank you, then,’ she says.
Lukas shakes his head. ‘I’m just sorry you need it,’ he says.
‘Would you like to come in?’
Lukas looks at Eve. She smiles.
‘Only if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course,’ Kate says.
In the kitchen Kate sits down while Eve makes tea. Out of the corner of her eye Eve watches the way she closes her eyes, the wash of pain as she arranges herself on the chair. Her hair looks dirty, the threads of grey through it more noticeable.
‘I couldn’t get the prescription filled on my own,’ Eve says. ‘They wanted ID.’
Ghost Species Page 19
