by J. C. Burke
‘This is probably a dumb question seeing that you’re eating Chinese. But how’s the thrush?’
‘Not bad,’ Billy said through a mouthful. ‘My throat was feeling a bit scratchy but it’s settled.’
I listened to this half-adult, half-medical conversation that Billy and my aunt were locked in. There was no place for me, so I wandered out to find Mum.
At the nurses station, the ward clerk was rubbing the name ‘Maurice Goldsworthy’ off the patient board. She smiled and said hello to me as I passed.
There was a small crowd of people outside one of the single rooms. There, standing among them all, was my mother. She was deep in conversation with a woman in a bright red jacket. They were holding hands and nodding their heads. Whatever they were talking about, they agreed.
Mum saw me coming towards her. She broke away from the woman in the red jacket, greeting me with open arms like a long-lost friend. The whole thing was weirding me out. Who were these people that my mother knew so well, but I didn’t recognise?
‘Maurice just died,’ Mum told me gently. She pointed to the woman she’d been with. ‘That’s his mother, Eileen.’
What was this? Maurice had just died. His name had already been wiped off the patient board as though he never existed, and now it seemed like a party was starting around me. Everyone was hugging each other and saying the same thing over and over. ‘I haven’t seen you for so long!’ But someone had actually died. Someone called Maurice Goldsworthy. Someone who’d been alive five minutes ago.
‘I’m going to make myself a cup of tea,’ Mum said. ‘Do you want one?’
‘No.’
I broke out of my mother’s hold and walked away. The air around me suddenly seemed thin. I needed to find somewhere new, somewhere the air was thick and pumping. Someplace where the living breathed.
Zane and the TV room was as close as I could find to that.
He waved at me, so I went in and sat down on the couch next to him. Zane was watching the TV series Twin Peaks.
‘Has Maurice … ?’ He didn’t say the last word.
I nodded.
‘Poor old bugger.’ Then he said, ‘Fun up here, isn’t it?’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Nah, it’s not. It sucks.’
‘Yeah. It sucks.’
‘That’s why I hang around in here and watch TV all day.’
Zane stretched his legs out onto the coffee table. His feet were sun-tanned and he had perfect toes. Not like my brother’s, whose second toe was longer and wedged itself against the big one, as though it was too scared to be on its own.
‘Do you miss home?’ I asked him.
‘Parts of it.’
‘Like what?’
‘The sky. I miss the big sky. That’s the best thing about home.’
‘What about your family?’
He shrugged and I thought I saw his Adam’s apple bulge in his throat.
So quickly I changed the topic. ‘What’s the name of the girl in this show who’s been murdered?’
‘Laura Palmer.’
‘That’s right.’ I already knew that. But it was the first thing that popped into my head to change the conversation.
‘What’s that smell?’ Zane asked.
‘Probably the Chinese we brought in for Billy. He was craving it.’
‘I’ve been craving a cheeseburger something bad.’
‘I love cheeseburgers,’ I said. ‘Especially the gherkins.’
‘With extra gherkins,’ Zane grinned. ‘Don’t you reckon life’s better with extra gherkins?’
‘Totally. I don’t understand people who don’t like gherkins.’
‘It’s not a cheeseburger if it doesn’t have gherkins,’ Zane agreed. ‘And it has to be from Maccas. Back home I’d drive two hours just to eat one.’
‘That’s dedicated.’
‘That’s how much I love ’em.’
‘Have you had a cheeseburger while you’ve been in here?’
‘Only been feeling like one these past couple of days. Before, I couldn’t have stomached one.’
‘You should have one.’
‘Gemma, where am I going to find a Maccas cheeseburger in King George’s?’
‘Why don’t you get one of your friends to bring one in?’
‘I don’t reckon they’d drive 937 kilometres to bring me a cheeseburger,’ he chuckled. ‘They’re good mates but not that good.’
I vowed to myself that the next time I visited I would bring Zane a cheeseburger with extra gherkins.
The next morning the lime mobile didn’t appear from around a corner. It was parked outside my place and sitting in the driver’s seat, all alone, was Ralph.
My first thought was: Do I pretend I haven’t seen him? Do I just keep walking and see what he does? But Ralph was out of the car, the top half of him leaning over the roof and waving me down with both arms.
Don’t laugh, I ordered myself, because he looked pretty funny.
‘Do you want a lift?’ he called.
‘What are you doing here?’ I answered with a question because I was terrified that a simple yes or no would be the end of the conversation.
Ralph opened the passenger door. This morning his hair was damp and when I got up closer I could smell apple shampoo. His fingers raked the wet strands off his face and close up I could see how beautiful he was.
‘Please?’ he murmured. ‘Can you get in, Gemma? I’m starting to feel like a stalker.’
I didn’t answer.
‘And I’m not just being nice to you because Vanessa told me to.’
I climbed into the front seat and waited for him to close the door. If I closed the door, it’d feel like I was jumping at his offer and although I wasn’t altogether devastated that he was waiting outside my place, I didn’t want to seem overenthusiastic or desperate.
Ralph didn’t start the ignition. We didn’t drive away. Instead, we sat there like we were boyfriend and girlfriend about to break up. But the problem was we weren’t. We were Ralph and Gemma who’d had one proper conversation in our lives and even that hadn’t gone well.
But I would be lying through my teeth if I said that there wasn’t some feeling in the car that morning. I just wasn’t sure what the feeling was. I couldn’t name it. However, I could say that, for me, it was suddenly like I’d known Ralph all my life. Like we were that couple who’d just had a fight and were now sitting in the broody air.
How could something feel so comfortable yet so uncomfortable at the same time? Ralph must’ve felt something too because why else was he here? Why did he keep turning up in his car? Stop thinking, I told myself, terrified that I might have a Tourette’s outbreak and accidently say it all out loud.
‘I’m sorry about what happened last week,’ Ralph started. ‘I feel like what I said came out all wrong.’
‘It was pretty harsh,’ I answered.
‘Yeah. I get that it could’ve sounded like that.’
‘Could’ve?’
‘I mean, did sound like that,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Am I okay about what exactly?’
‘About your brother being …’ he hesitated, ‘being sick.’
‘Having AIDS, you mean?’ Now I was being harsh. ‘It feels like shit. It feels like everything’s different. Like my whole world’s changed in a month. It didn’t even feel like this when my dad left. When he left everything was better at home. There’s no bonus with this one. Just a whole lot of nasty surprises waiting behind the couch.’ I stopped because I was aware of the sensation of hot, stinging salt at the back of my eyes. I was also aware that this was the most I’d said to anybody about how I felt.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Ralph said.
‘It’s not your fault.’ I tried to smile but it came out lopsided. ‘We should probably get to school. Don’t you think?’
‘Probably.’ He started the engine. We drove away, and th
e awkward silence returned.
After school, Mr C drove me to the hospital. Mr C never actually came in to visit. ‘No parks’ is what he’d say, even though there was a huge car park. He was probably scared of walking into a ward filled with the ‘pooftas’.
It took a long time and a lot more patience to explain that we needed to stop at Maccas on the way because I had to buy a cheeseburger with extra gherkins.
‘Two old beef batty, special saucer, lattice, cheese on a same seed bun,’ Mr C recited the TV ad, finishing with a big, proud grin. ‘I know all the menu. You want to eat inside or taking away, Gemma?’
‘No, it’s not for me,’ I told him for the hundred-thousandth time. ‘It’s for another patient in Billy’s room.’
Mr C was nodding now. It was the next part that was going to really challenge us.
‘There’s a Maccas near the hospital with a drive-through.’ I saw Mr C frown and close one eye the way he did when something was totally lost in translation. ‘So let’s just order there. Save us from going in.’ I was speaking extra slow and clear. ‘That means we don’t need to stop and park.’
‘I see,’ he answered.
But he didn’t. Mr C completely missed my directions at the Maccas drive-through. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He drove straight past the speaker, then slammed on the brakes when I yelled, ‘Stop,’ giving me a slight case of whiplash. But then he couldn’t reverse because there was already a car behind us. So I had to lean all the way over Mr C in the driver’s seat, getting a full whiff of his BO, and shout the cheeseburger order through the window while trying to be heard over the radio from the car behind that was blasting out Men at Work.
By the time Mr C dropped me off outside the hospital with Zane’s cheeseburger in my bag, I was stressed out, had a stiff neck and my throat was hoarse from shouting.
I already knew what I was going to say to Zane. I turned the corner into the room, already starting to laugh at my own joke: ‘Extra, extra …’
But Zane’s bed was empty. Stripped bare, his name wiped, bleach still lingering in the air.
I gasped, dropping the cheeseburger onto the floor and bursting into tears.
Mum jumped up from the chair beside Billy’s bed and came running to me. ‘Gemma! What is it? What is it?’
I couldn’t get the words out. I was doubled over, my hands clutching the end of Zane’s bed, the extra gherkins staring up at me from the carpet.
Now Billy was up too. Mum and he each held an arm, steering me towards the closest chair. ‘Zane?’ I finally spluttered. ‘Where’s Zane?’
Zane had been discharged. He was better. He’d left the ward at 2.30 p.m., telling Billy and Mum to say goodbye to me.
16
18 weeks to formal
THE WEEK’S CRAZINESS DIDN’T STOP THERE. If anything it had found momentum and was ploughing headfirst through the freak show that had become our life.
After six years of barely mentioning his name, except to say something mean, we were suddenly talking about my father like he was a real person who we cared about.
It was Billy’s second weekend in hospital. Another one of me doing nothing except flicking through magazines and wandering up and down the corridor. We were seated in the positions we had adopted from day one in 9 South West. Mum in the big comfy chair closest to Billy, Aunty Penny perched on the end of the bed and me in the smaller chair down by Billy’s feet.
Mum had brought up the topic of Dad. It was obvious that she and Billy had already discussed the situation because they were speaking in their we’re so calm and grown-up about everything voices. It was probably their plan. I could imagine them conspiring. Mum saying, We’ll bring up contacting your father and you make out like it’s a good idea because that’ll stop your sister from going berserk.
Well, it didn’t.
‘He doesn’t deserve to be told,’ I growled. ‘Why would you be so stupid as to think he’d even care? What’s changed? Why would you even think about telling him, Mum? He stopped writing to Billy ages ago. He doesn’t even ask about him!’
‘He’s still your father,’ Aunty Penny said. Of course she was neck high in the conspiracy too. ‘I think that’s a good enough reason, Gem.’
‘But he’s never given a shit before, so why would he now?’
‘Please don’t swear, Gemma.’ Mum sighed. ‘Can’t we discuss this like adults?’
I looked at Billy because he’d suddenly turned annoyingly quiet.
‘What do you think?’ I asked him. Billy gave a lame shrug and began to pick at his nails.
‘Well, do you think Dad’d really care?’ I pushed. ‘I mean it’s not like he’d drop everything and come running to see you.’ Again there was no comment. No comment from anyone. So I dropped the ‘A’ bomb. ‘Do you reckon he’d really want to know that his son has AIDS?’
‘Gemma!’ Mum barked.
But my eyes were locked on Billy. Billy and I had never stopped talking about Dad. Yet our conversations were never about how we longed to see him or wondered what he was doing or if he thought of us.
‘It’s just an idea,’ Billy finally said to me. ‘We weren’t talking about calling him tomorrow.’
‘When then?’ I spat.
‘When we need to,’ Billy answered.
‘This sucks!’ I hissed and I took myself off to the TV room.
Billy was discharged the next week on Tuesday afternoon. I knew he was coming home but Andrea, Louise and I had already arranged to have a coffee after school to discuss the project we were doing on the American Civil War.
It’d been raining since lunchtime. Sheets of water poured from the sky, filling the gutters and sweeping the footpaths. Part of me wondered if I should cancel because maybe Mum and Billy would get caught in the rain and need my help. The other part of me didn’t want to think about them. Mr and Mrs C were home if they got desperate and I was sick of not having any time for me. With Andrea and Louise I could at least pretend that I was a normal girl with a normal life, just like they were.
‘I shouldn’t be eating this croissant,’ Louise said, loading up a knife with butter.
‘Who cares?’ I answered. We all had five dollars so each of us could afford a hot chocolate and a croissant. The flaky pastry melted on my tongue and my spoon had just found the marshmallow at the bottom of the mug. Even the cafe’s red-and-white checked tablecloths weren’t annoying me today.
‘The dressmaker who’s sewing my formal dress,’ Louise replied. ‘I met her on the weekend and she kept saying how you had to have a good figure to wear a dress like the one I want.’
‘That’s a bit rude,’ I said. ‘My mum would never say that to one of her brides.’
‘The formal isn’t for ages,’ Andrea told us. ‘Go on a diet the week before.’
‘You can talk, Andrea,’ I said. ‘You’ve been doing sit-ups since the start of the year!’
‘Oh, remember you said I could borrow your Jane Fonda aerobics videos?’ Louise said to Andrea. ‘The one we were doing last Saturday.’
‘Mum’s pinched it. I have another one though.’
‘Cool.’
I listened as Louise and Andrea went back and forth with, ‘I’ll bring your skirt back tomorrow,’ and, ‘Do you have my Revlon lippie?’ feeling like the third wheel, gatecrashing on a friendship that I no longer had a part in. So when Louise asked if we were still having a meeting with Billy I suddenly felt energised and excited, like I finally had a role in the play.
‘I can organise it anytime,’ I told the girls. ‘Billy’s feeling so well. He’s put on weight and he’s going to start swimming again. He’s even lined up some jobs for the next few weeks.’
‘How about this weekend?’ Louise suggested.
‘I don’t think I can this weekend,’ Andrea replied. ‘Maybe another time.’
‘The weekend after?’ Louise asked.
‘Hmm …’ When I heard Andrea make that noise I sat up to attention. ‘I don’t think I can
for the next few weekends.’
‘This weekend or next weekend is good, Louise,’ I suddenly announced. I wasn’t sure what I could hear inside that hmm, yet it made me want to slap Andrea all over again. ‘In fact they might be the only times Billy can do it for a while,’ I lied. ‘Like I said, he’s taken on some big jobs.’
I glanced at Andrea, but her face was buried in her mug of hot chocolate. So I made arrangements with Louise for the weekend after next.
At home things almost went back to normal, the three of us resuming where we’d left off before Billy went to hospital. Before Billy’s disease was called AIDS. Fighting over the bathroom, telling stories about our day at dinnertime, then lounging around on the couch as we watched TV and ate chocolate chip ice-cream.
Even being shut out of Mum’s room didn’t annoy me because that was the biggest sign that life was back to normal. Hearing Mum and my brother’s laughter bellowing out from under the door actually made me smile.
Billy started swimming every morning up at the local pool. Some days, he’d leave the same time as me. I’d turn left towards Nigel and he’d go straight ahead. Tuesday nights he had acupuncture and brought home takeaway. If it wasn’t for clinic day each Friday, you probably wouldn’t even know that my brother was sick.
The lime mobile had stopped stalking me and Ralph and I were back to avoiding each other in the corridor. Andrea, Louise and I had resumed navigating the big stuff in life. Such as, were three holes in the ear too many? Or simply way cooler than two? And was Justin ignoring us? Or had he really become a major swot who never came up for air?
Perhaps life with a brother with AIDS could be normal?
On Saturday morning, I put on my new black-and-white checked coat that Saul had sent me at the start of the year for no reason other than I was his ‘favourite gal’. That’s what the card had said. But now I knew there had been a lot more to it.
It had a silk lining the colour of mulberries and a wide collar that I could button up at the neck if it was freezing. The coat had been sitting in my cupboard waiting patiently for winter. The problem was that it hadn’t actually been that cold yet, even though it was the last weekend in June.
