Heller's Regret

by JD Nixon

  Time escaped us, and we ended up spending much longer in the pool than I’d intended. We showered back in the suite, dressing in the same clothes we’d worn earlier. I took her down to the hotel cafe for afternoon tea, letting her choose a creamy little cake to eat.

  Fuelled by exercise and that hit of sugar, Agatha applied herself twice as hard to her playing, managing to fit in another two hours of practice. And that’s how her mother found us, studiously at work, me trying to make myself useful by turning the pages of the sheet music. I wasn’t sure exactly how helpful I was, considering I could barely read a bar of music. Agatha had to keep prompting me when to turn. After a bit of trial and error, we finally finessed it down to a nod of her head to let me know when to flip the page.

  All the musical notes, on top of each other and thick on the page, made my head spin. How anyone could turn all those symbols into beautiful music was a talent with which I’d never be blessed.

  Mrs Namoy burst into the bar, perhaps hoping to catch us slacking off. Delighted with the quality of Agatha’s playing, she promised her a treat tonight as a reward.

  “There’s a documentary on African animals on television tonight,” she announced. “You may watch that.”

  Big, frigging deal, I thought to myself. A kid should be able to watch a show like that when they wanted, not have it doled out as a ‘special treat’. Did this mother really believe that everything her daughter did had to be educational in some way?

  “Thank you, Mother,” Agatha said quietly, reverting to the mousy, little girl I’d met earlier.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Agatha. I’m sure we’ll have a great day practicing again,” I said, giving her a secret wink, almost breaking her demeanour. She managed to compose her face back to its usual serious expression before her mother noticed.

  “See you tomorrow, Tilly,” she almost whispered as her mother led her away, not even thanking me for my half-day’s service.

  I went directly from the hotel to the hospital, visiting Dad for a couple of hours. I knew it wasn’t my imagination this time that Dad’s breathing was more laboured, more shallow. I hadn’t counted them, but he also seemed to be connected to another IV.

  A doctor came in as I prepared to leave. “And you are?” she enquired.

  “I’m his daughter.”

  “Do you know if your father would want to be resuscitated if that became necessary?”

  The question upset me, my first instinct to say of course he’d want to be resuscitated. But it wasn’t my decision to make.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that. I’m just one of the family. You’d need to ask his next of kin, my mother, or my oldest brother, Brian, who is looking after all the arrangements. They’re usually up here every day.”

  It was a gloomy drive back to the Warehouse and an even gloomier night’s sleep spent worrying over why the doctor would even ask me that in the first place.

  Once or twice in the night, I reached out to touch Heller, finding nothing more comforting than his pillow beneath my fingers.

  Heller, where are you and when are you coming back to me?

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, Mrs Namoy departed in a flurry of instructions, most of which I didn’t catch. Agatha diligently applied herself to the piano for about another two hours. After that, she stopped and stretched, looking at me expectantly.

  “I thought today we might be very adventurous and leave the hotel. The Botanical Gardens aren’t very far from here and they’re full of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen or smelt. And if we’re lucky, we might spot some cute little finches hiding in the bushes. But you have to be sharp-eyed to see them, because they’re very quick little birds.” I looked at her, donning my most innocent face. “Do you know once in the Gardens, I saw a trio of wombats busking.” Her eyes grew round and her mouth formed an o-shape of surprise. I nodded solemnly. “True story. I stopped to listen to them for a while, but I only gave them a dollar each, and that was because I felt sorry for them. To be honest, they weren’t very good.”

  She giggled. “Wombats don’t busk.”

  “No,” I corrected. “Wombats shouldn’t busk and most of them are sensible enough to realise that, which is why you rarely see them doing it. I can tell you that it’s not a pleasant experience hearing a wombat trying to play a piano accordion. They’re not built for it.”

  She giggled more, her hand over her mouth. “You’re just making all that up.”

  “Oh, okay, I was exaggerating. It actually was a trio of kangaroos I saw, but they were just as bad on the piano accordion. And they insisted on me putting the dollar in each of their pouches. Talk about pushy.”

  She couldn’t stop laughing then. Still smiling, we changed into some shorts, t-shirts and sandals (I’d come more prepared this time). We both donned sensible hats and set out for the short walk down the block to the Gardens.

  It was a beautiful day and we strolled around the labyrinthine paths, Agatha rushing from one gorgeous flower to the next. Glimpsing a couple of finches, darting around the bushes, sometimes nothing more than flashes of beautiful colours, made her day. She discussed them breathlessly for ten solid minutes.

  “Agatha, is your father coming to watch your audition?”

  She looked at the ground, suddenly serious again. I wished I’d never brought it up. “No, he’s travelling. He’s always travelling. He’s a businessman. He’s very rich and always brings me back lovely presents from overseas. But he never has time to watch me play. He tells me that’s Mother’s job.” She didn’t say anything for a while, stooping to inhale the scent from a glorious rose. “He’s forgotten my birthday a few times. Mother told me not to be silly about it because he’s an important businessman and can’t be expected to remember everything.”

  “My father’s in hospital at the moment. He’s very sick.”

  “I’d be sad if my father became really sick,” she said.

  “That’s enough sad talk for one day,” I said with determination, noticing her downcast features. “How about an ice-cream?”

  “I’m not allowed to have ice-cream.”

  I looked around me ostentatiously. “I don’t see your mother anywhere, so I guess that means I’m the grown up in charge today. And I say let’s have ice-cream. There’s a little shop here in the Gardens that sells ice-creams and lollies. I only know that because the kangaroos made me buy them an ice-cream after they tortured my ears with their busking. They ordered grass-flavoured ice-cream, which sounds disgusting to me. I told you they were pushy.” Satisfied with her smile at my silliness, I asked, “What’s your favourite flavor?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried ice-cream before.”

  “No way! Well, that’s the most exciting thing I’ve heard all year.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll have to try every flavour so you can work out which one you like best.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said shyly.

  As it was a weekday, and not in school holidays, the ice-cream shop wasn’t very busy. Agatha carefully studied each flavour, giving each an equal amount of time and consideration.

  “May I try the vanilla, please?”

  “Vanilla? Sure. What other flavour do you want?”

  She returned to the brightly coloured tubs to think again. “Um, may I have chocolate chip too?”

  “Of course, one of my favourites. What other flavour do you want?”

  “Three flavours?” she asked in awe.

  “If you’re going to have ice-cream, you have to do it properly. But I think we might get yours in a tub instead of a cone. It’s difficult to balance three scoops in a cone. I say that from tragic experience from when I was a kid and landed up with a scoop on each of my sneakers and only one left in the cone. I would have eaten the ice-cream off my shoes, but my mother wouldn’t let me.”

  That made her giggle again and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself for entertaining her so well.

&nb
sp; “May I also try the tutti-frutti?”

  “Oh, good choice. You have excellent taste in ice-cream.” I ordered her ice-cream extravaganza, handing it to her before ordering one green tea scoop in a cone for myself. We sat on the grass, near the duck pond, relishing our icy treats.

  I didn’t think Agatha would be able to finish her three scoops, not used to sugary treats two days in a row, but she did me proud, licking out the tub when every scrap of ice-cream had been consumed.

  I checked my watch and hustled her back to the hotel for the afternoon session. Agatha tackled her music with such enormous passion, seemingly too big for her body. I couldn’t imagine how a young child could express such depth of emotion without having lived a life full of great happiness and searing pain. Just from my short time with her, I’d seen that while she played some pieces mechanically, others transported her. Those were usually the ones she’d memorised, not needing the sheet music. If I was smarter, perhaps I might have been able to discern some pattern to the pieces she loved.

  Mrs Namoy had nothing to complain about when she hunted us down later that afternoon. Watching Agatha play, I somehow felt that by providing her with a little fun downtime during the day, I’d contributed in a small way to her enthusiasm. She obviously loved playing the piano, exalting in her own natural skill, but I suspected her mother’s almost rabid obsession with this academy had drained Agatha of some of her passion.

  Later, at the hospital, Brian kept vigil for Dad, holding his hand and gazing into his face, lost in deep thought.

  “Brian,” I said, startling him. “Why is there now a DNR on Dad’s information board? Did you tell the doctors not to resuscitate him? Because I don’t agree with that.”

  “Tilly, it was Mum’s decision, and she made it very reluctantly, trust me. They’d discussed their last wishes with each other several times and it was Dad’s desire that if he ever reached a certain medical stage, he didn’t want to be resuscitated.” Had he been crying or were his eyes red from tiredness? I couldn’t tell. “You better have a seat.”

  I sank into the chair on the other side of Dad’s bed, taking his hand. It felt smaller, as though he was shrinking in front of us.

  Brian sighed shakily. “The doctor told Mum and me that Dad has permanent damage to his heart after this heart attack. His previous one also contributed to the damage.”

  “But what does that mean?”

  “If he has another heart attack while in his current condition, then the chances of him surviving are extremely low.”

  “No,” I denied, fighting back tears. “Not Dad. He’s supposed to live forever. He’s Dad!”

  “Tilly, you’re still looking at him with a child’s eyes. You need to look at him lying here in this hospital bed with adult eyes. He’s no longer a young man. It’s harder for his body to fight things like this.”

  I brought Dad’s non-responsive hand up to my wet cheek. “He’s always been there for us. I don’t want him to not be there. I can’t even imagine him not being there.”

  In an unusual gesture of sibling kindness, he reached over to grasp my other hand. His eyes misted up, sending tremors of fear deep inside me. My brother, the hardarsed homicide cop who rarely showed any emotion, was crying.

  “Nobody can live forever,” he said, his voice breaking. “None of us.”

  I hung my head, watching fat tears plop onto my cargo pants. “How’s Mum? She hasn’t been here the last couple of nights.”

  “No. She’s exhausted herself and she’s not eating properly. Gayle is making her come home to our place earlier each day. Mum pitches in to help her make dinner for the girls and do some other chores for Gayle, which is helping both of them cope. Gayle’s finding this pregnancy difficult. The baby won’t settle down at night, so she’s not getting much sleep.”

  “My job will be over in a couple of days, so I’ll ask my supervisor not to give me any more for a while. I can look after Mum until Dad comes home.”

  “Tilly –” Brian started saying, pity in his eyes.

  Not wanting to see it, I stood abruptly, scraping the chair on the floor and fishing out my car keys from my pocket. “It’s nearly eight and I haven’t eaten yet. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll come straight from work again.”

  “Not sure if I’ll be here. It all depends on work.” He stood too, bending down to kiss Dad’s grey forehead. I did the same.

  He accompanied me out to the carpark, where our cars were parked in close proximity to each other. “What’s your current assignment?”

  “I’m looking after a lovely little girl during the day. She’s here for an audition for a spot in an overseas music academy. She’s a genius on the piano. Really, really good. Unbelievable, in fact.”

  “Sounds like an easy job.”

  “Her mother’s very pushy. I suspect she’s one of those kinds of mothers who fulfil their ambitions through their children.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “I know. I feel sorry for her. She doesn’t have much fun in her life.”

  “Sounds familiar,” he said drily, beeping his car open.

  I beeped mine and waved him goodbye. I ate a light dinner and gladly climbed into bed, lying awake only long enough to think about Heller. Was what Daniel and Niq thought going to happen? What would I do if Heller ever decided to leave us? Would I be able to dust myself off, forget about him and continue through life, a wiser woman but with a heart more bruised than it had been? Or would I carry a pain with me forever that niggled sometimes, like an old injury?

  Waking early and because I had a couple of hours to get ready, I did a light workout, not straining my healing arms too much, concentrating more on my lying-in-bed-too-long legs. I had a lazy breakfast, thinking about Heller again. I wondered, as I had on many occasions, whether Clive was in contact with him. I believed he was and that he knew, even if he was the only person in the Warehouse who did, exactly where Heller was at any given time.

  Though depressing myself even more with those thoughts, I drove off to the hotel, thinking about where I could take Agatha on our last day alone together. Tomorrow was the big audition and I imagined that Mrs Namoy would stick close to her daughter all day. I’d been hired to cover that day as well, which pleased me, giving me the opportunity to find out if Agatha was successful, assuming the academy made its decisions on the day of the auditions.

  I was barely in the suite for a minute before Mrs Namoy rushed off. She’d never volunteered any information about what she did all day, but it must have been important to her, judging by the speed in which she departed every time I turned up.

  I’ll admit I wasn’t as attentive to Agatha’s practising that morning as I should have been, my mind continually wandering back to Dad. It was nearly impossible to maintain a cheery facade when it felt as though the earth was moving beneath me, changing my world and my life forever. But being on a job, I didn’t have the luxury of thinking time. Agatha finished her work, eagerly waiting to discover what adventure I’d planned for her today.

  I needed somewhere that would entertain her without too much input from me. Our destination took a bit longer to reach, located a couple of long blocks away. But Agatha’s thrilled, “Oh!” when she saw the Natural History Museum made me happy I’d made the choice, even though I hadn’t been sure it was a place she’d be interested in.

  She dashed from exhibit to exhibit, playing on every interactive activity set up for children, goggling at the dinosaur bones, loving all the dioramas. The museum’s science centre, with its array of hands-on experiments, kept her engaged for ages.

  I managed to drag her away so we could have a late lunch at the museum cafe. I bought her a little packet of plastic dinosaurs from the gift shop, a memento of this day forever.

  At the hospital that night, Sean and Elise were visiting when I turned up. I took my place on the other side of Dad and held his hand. He looked a little more ill, a little more shrunken. He remained completely unresponsive, and a sudden need to he
ar him speak, see him smile again or even have him pat my hand a little ripped through me. I’d have even been happy to hear The Lecture again. Would I ever be able to share these simple things with him once more?

  “Did Brian tell you what the doctors said?” Sean asked me hesitantly after we greeted each other.

  “Yes.”

  He lapsed into silence. None of us spoke until it was time to leave, though it wasn’t an uncomfortable quietude.

  I walked down to the carpark with them, but I’d parked on a higher level so we parted ways at the stairs. I didn’t immediately drive away. I sat in my car, doors locked for safety, bowing my head until it touched the steering wheel, drawing in deep ragged breaths. To experience such worry and fear about a parent was new territory for me, and I wasn’t really sure how to cope with it. I felt so useless, wanting to help Dad, but not able to do anything practical, my presence the only thing I could offer him. It hurt to see nurses and doctors discuss him in incomprehensible detached medical terms, as if he were just another patient, not someone so terribly important to my family and me.

  People died every day. I knew that, saw it on the news frequently, had even personally witnessed it. But the tenuous fragility of life had never been so much to the forefront of my mind before. I thought about nothing else on the drive home.

  Freshly showered and with my growling stomach appeased by some food I couldn’t later recall, I checked my emails before going to bed. I’d received little that couldn’t wait for the next day, except for one – an email from Farrell containing an attachment.

  As far as I remembered, he’d never emailed me before. He’d sent it from his Heller’s email account, so it must be work related and therefore perfectly safe. I couldn’t rationalise exactly why I hesitated to open it, apart from a general wariness about anything involving him that might set off Heller. Heller’s not here, I reminded myself, as if I needed reminding. And it wasn’t as if Farrell was crazy enough to send me anything that would get his arse busted again by Heller, or that I’d ever encourage him to.