by Garth Wade
‘Don’t worry about the money, mate, we’ll fix you up after. What it costs, it costs. And we trust you anyway. I don’t even have contact with our contact, it’s just too risky – you know that. And the lads are bringing their wives this time. Plus, someone special.’ The Honourable Neville Nelson’s inflection didn’t sound honourable at all.
‘Are you having another party this weekend?’
‘Sure am, mate. And you’re invited!’
Ken turned around. ‘Thank you Mr Nelson, but I cannot attend this time. My wife and I have plans.’
‘You can bring her too if you like.’
‘Thank you, again, but I just don’t think she’s into that sort of thing.’
Bold tenacity
20:25 hrs – Lorraine
Lorraine sat at a small table in the middle of her kitchen. Although modest, her house was furnished graciously, with a style that reflected her own tranquil nature. She stared at the wall, wondering more about herself than Bradley, whose life she had decided to end.
She wondered why she had been given this addiction. To being thrilled. To being excited, to the surge of adrenaline. The controlled anxiety. The focus. The flutter of the heart. The prickle of sweat.
When she switched Bradley’s drugs, she knew she had, essentially, killed a man. It was only a matter of time. She felt calm, for now.
On the table sat a bulky, thick book: Organic Chemistry of Drug Degradation. She knew the topic well and had recently learnt even more. She read over three key paragraphs without touching the table or the book. She grinned. ‘And that’s what you’ll get, shithead.’
Lorraine reached for her mobile phone and tapped her mother’s contact photo. She needed to tell her the recent development in her plan. She had to vent, and her mother was the only person she would tell the details to. They had crossed many metaphorical boundaries and borders together – walking away from Heather’s second abusive husband; helping Lorraine learn to manage her addictive personality – and were far more enmeshed than most mothers and daughters. They had similar personalities, and similar hobbies.
This time, though, the phone rang out and went to voice mail. Lorraine turned her phone off and continued to sit and stare.
Lorraine’s mother stood outside her own house, crying.
Cherished companion
20:35 hrs – 43 Ferguson Skyline Drive, Seven Hills
‘That was just delicious. Thank you, my love,’ Ted said as he quietly laid his knife and fork across his empty plate. He touched his wife’s arm, causing her to drop the forkful of carefully balanced peas.
‘Well, it was a team effort, love. Now let me get through mine,’ she said.
‘Sorry about that, love. Great dinner though. Chops ’n’ vegies, what a classic. Does us good.’
Audrey mumbled agreement as she set about capturing the evasive peas once more.
The couple sat at the dining table that only just fitted the room. They loved the table. It was a family heirloom and, despite its impracticality in such a small space, they had learned to work with it. A television sat on a nearby kitchen bench and a ceiling-high cabinet of glassware had been moved to the adjoining living room beside the couch. Framed family photos sat on the lower shelves.
‘I’ll wash these up,’ said Ted once Audrey had finished.
‘Okay. Thank you, love. Actually, no, just use the dishwasher, it’s almost full now,’ Audrey said.
‘I think it’s better for my back if I wash up, dear. Bending down to fill up that machine gives me grief to no end.’
‘Oh. Well, I’ll do it then, love.’
‘No, love, we can both do it. I could pass the dishes down to you after I give them a rinse.’
‘That sounds just grand. Another team effort,’ she said.
After the dishwasher was packed and switched on, Ted waddled over and read yesterday’s newspaper for five minutes. Audrey switched on the television, flicked through the channels and, as usual, was disappointed with the programs she found. She switched it off.
Each of them did what they wanted, but they were always together. They didn’t always speak to each other, but when they did, it was with respect and politeness.
They both completed the necessary bathroom duties, before retiring to the bedroom and changing into their nightwear.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ Ted asked.
‘Feeling good, no problems,’ said Audrey.
Ted walked around to Audrey’s side of the bed and gave her a courteous kiss. ‘Thanks for tonight Auds.’
Audrey chuckled. ‘Oh, what for you big slobbery dog?’ she said sweetly.
‘Just for being you. And for loving me.’
‘You too, love,’ Audrey replied, ‘and don’t forget – sixty years next Tuesday. We’re going to have everybody here for the weekend too.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Ted as he walked back around the bed, ‘I can’t believe it’s been sixty years already.’
The two of them inched into bed and lay on their backs.
‘It’s going to be a good weekend,’ said Ted, looking at the ceiling before switching off the light. ‘Good night, my love.’
‘Good night, precious heart.’
Melted father figure
Twenty years earlier – Sydney
Sydney sat on the back doorstep in the shade attempting to eat, rather than drink, a rapidly melting ice block. He had a face full of freckles and a head of shaggy hair, and he passionately disliked having it cut. He still wore his private boys’ school uniform on this Friday afternoon, but had removed his shoes. Hair was a constant source of dispute between himself, the school, and his mother, who always followed the school rules. Sydney, predictably, lost the argument every time and detested having to conform, even at such a young age.
Michael, Sydney’s father, walked out of the house and sat next to his young son. ‘Blimey, it’s hot in there. Much nicer out here,’ he said. ‘So, what should we get up to this weekend?’
Sydney knew he could ask for pretty much whatever he wanted, and, within reason, he’d get it. He spent every second weekend with his father, who spoiled him rotten. Michael felt this made up for the mistakes he had made with Sydney’s mother.
‘I wanna kick the footy.’ He looked up to his dad. ‘Oh, and the Masters of the Universe show at the exhibition centre is on tomorrow and Sunday … that would be great! Can we go? Can we?’
Michael smiled and said, ‘Well, we can kick the footy later when it cools down a bit, but only if you pronounce your words correctly.’
Syd drank the remaining gaudy green slush. ‘I don’t remember what I said.’
‘I wanna.’
‘Oh, then I meant I want to, actually, no, I would like to, very much please,’ Syd said cheekily.
‘Well in that case, dear sir, we may be able to do so, but only because you spoke so finely.’ Michael said in an aristocratic English accent. ‘And I think, by the power of Grayskull, we could probably go and visit He-Man tomorrow morning, after you’re well rested from a big sleep tonight.’
Sydney wriggled with excitement then proceeded to rattle off the names and personalities of each of the Masters of the Universe figurines he owned. He dropped the hint at least five times that he didn’t yet own Skeletor and couldn’t wait to slot the Leader of the Evil Warriors into his scenario.
‘We’ll see what we can do,’ Michael said. They grinned at each other.
‘I’m gonna get the footy and practise my passes,’ said Syd as he raced inside.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I mean, I’m going to get the footy and practise,’ Syd said from his room.
Two minutes passed before Syd returned to the back step, his eyes wide. Before he could speak, Michael said kindly, ‘Where’s the footy, you goose?’
‘Dad, there’s some police at the front door. I said I’d come and get you.’
Michael sighed deeply, got to his feet and walked past Sydney. ‘Stay here please,’ he said.<
br />
Syd did as he was told, for about five seconds, then he raced outside and around the back corner of the house, spying out to the police car, which was parked on the other side of the street.
Stacey, Michael’s current wife of around five years, sat in the back of the police car. Syd could see she was clearly upset and crying into her hands. He toyed with the idea of sneaking over and checking on her, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to be known as ‘the eight-year-old who tried to outsmart the police’.
Soon Michael returned to the back step. Syd perched on the railing, waiting for a report. ‘What’s happened Dad?’ he said.
Michael looked meek and defeated. ‘Well, I have to go with your stepmother and speak with the police.’ His shoulders dropped. ‘I have to call your mum to come and get you. I’m sorry buddy.’
‘Why is Stacey crying?’ Syd asked.
Michael left what seemed an endless pause. ‘Because she doesn’t love me anymore.’
Fifteen minutes later, Syd’s mum arrived, completely ignored Michael as well as the police, took Syd’s hand and led him gently to her car before driving off slowly.
Syd didn’t understand what happened that day, but the memory of it had buried deep.
Over the next few months, on the rare and inconsistent occasions when he did see his father, Syd pestered him to explain what had happened that day. His father only ever replied with vague comments such as, ‘She fell out of love with me’, and despite Syd’s constant questioning, he was never answered with a better reply.
Over the next few years, Syd began to bother his mother for the details of what had led to their divorce when Syd was just 3 years old. In due course, she told him the full story. Which, of course, was an understated account of domestic violence.
You mean Ken right?
21:15 hrs – 47 Summer Street, Coorparoo
For the next forty-five minutes, the three paramedics sat at the living-room table, quietly discussing the events that had just taken place. Ken’s body lay nearby, opened across the chest like a carcass, its shape clearly defined under the hospital linen the paramedics had draped over it.
Sonia asked Syd if he felt okay doing the paperwork there while a corpse changed colour under the starched sheet.
‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘Thanks. It’ll be fine.’ He appreciated the care shown by his senior colleagues.
Syd and Cam crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s on the paperwork while Sonia packed up what little gear she had used. Megan soon returned, strolling casually past the body and signalling to Sonia with a hammy wink and head tilt to follow her.
‘I’ve been speaking with the police and the wife. Looks like a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ type incident. The wife doesn’t know anything. The cops say the patient’s untouched wallet is in the car, which is unlocked, and the car key was still in his tracksuit pocket. So it’s all a bit of a mystery really.’ Megan pressed both fists down on the table, apparently more interested in taking on the role of detective than pondering the fact that she had just cut a man open like Braveheart. She continued piecing the puzzle together. ‘Maybe it’s political. He is an assistant to a member of parliament.’
She noticed Syd. ‘Are you okay Sydney?’ she asked.
‘Yeah I’m okay,’ Syd spoke firmly, ‘but I’m just wondering what else we, or you, could have done for him.’
The doctor pushed up from the table and stood straight. ‘There are so many variables with stab wounds to the chest, and it’s very difficult to say what could be done. In this gentleman’s case, aside from what we did, there isn’t much else that could’ve been done for him. A finger into the wound blocking the hole in the heart might work sometimes, but usually only in the movies. Out of hospital, and with the angle of penetration of this patient’s stab wound, there’s really nothing else that could be done. What we attempted here is often successful in theatre, but not so much in the field.’
Syd gave her a searching look. Megan continued. ‘So, the answer to your question, Sydney, is not much else. You did what you could, what you were supposed to do, and you did it in a very calm and controlled manner. Even though it’s not such a good evening for our patient, you did well.’
Syd stirred in his seat, uncomfortable with the praise.
‘Have you got family and friends to speak with if this affects you in a way that you don’t expect?’ she asked.
‘Thanks, I think I’ll be okay. I can talk with my girlfriend; she’s been a nurse for a few years and has seen a fair bit. And Cam of course.’
He looked to Cam, who nodded and replied with a booming ‘Aye’.
‘And if it stresses me out I’ll give the work councillors a call. No problems.’
Syd was glad he had managed to deliver his statements with confidence, despite Ken’s wailing wife who could be heard through the door crying and sobbing.
Soon the paramedics had finished their paperwork and had signatures from the senior members, which was always made out to be a big deal in cases like this one. Megan led the way outside, followed in order of seniority by Sonia, Cameron, and Sydney. They walked slowly, respectfully, through the yellow police cordon tape, each of the paramedics giving the wife a sincere sombre look as they passed: Sonia sad, Cameron cast down, Syd stressed. The wife touched his arm then suddenly forced him into a tight hug. The iPad fell from his hands and the screen cracked as it bounced on the footpath. The fresh clean scent of expensive shampoo drifted about as the blonde bob pushed against his chest.
Sonia and Cameron spun around. Syd looked at them both, wide-eyed, then instinctively wrapped both his arms around her and said, ‘I wish I had the words.’ His eyes began to sting as she sobbed into his shirt and he squeezed them shut as he leant his head down to her luxuriously soft hair. Whether or not Ken’s wife knew why Ken had been stabbed made no difference to Syd. He pulled her in close. Life is too short.
He looked at Sonia, who stood staring with dropped jaw. Cameron started to move back towards Syd; he knew the potential effect of trauma being unintentionally passed on by a patient’s family. He reached out and held the wife’s elbow, which was wrapped tightly round Syd’s flank.
‘Ma’am, my deepest condolences,’ he said with Scottish sincerity, ‘but we have to go now.’
They probably didn’t have to go, but Cam used it as a classic excuse to pry them out of sticky situations.
‘My name is Heather. I just want to give him one last hug,’ she said. Syd let go of her, but she had not fully released him from her grip.
‘You mean Ken, right? Not me.’
As soon as the tactless sentence left his lips, Syd shuddered. She took a small step back from him, still keeping him close, and looked up into his wet eyes, then let out a loud hysterical cackling laugh.
Sonia quickly stepped in front of Cameron, grabbed Syd by the elbow and signalled for him to follow her immediately. They walked back to the vehicles, leaving Cam with Ken’s crying wife, a couple of coppers, and a broken iPad.
Circle of life
Fifteen years earlier – Heather and Lorraine
Heather tapped down her front path as Lorraine skipped along behind. They had spent the night at the house of Heather’s best friend and her daughter, after the four of them had attended a musical in the city.
The chill bit at them, and clouds made the day look closer to dusk than noon. Mild smog and the dampness of an approaching storm filled their nostrils.
‘Hakuna matata … what a wonderful phrase … hakuna matata …. da da daa da da da,’ Lorraine sang over the distant rumble of thunder. A train clanked along behind the townhouse where they lived in North Sydney, leaving not a sense idle.
Heather pushed in the key and Lorraine ran up and hugged her leg.
‘That show last night was so fantastic, Mum, I want to go again. Can we go again please?’
‘It was good wasn’t it?’ Heather said. ‘But you may have to save up some pocket money before we can go again, honey.’
&nbs
p; Lorraine let go and looked up at her mother. ‘And Dad can come next time, too. Oh I can’t wait to tell Dad about it. I think he’ll love it!’
Heather pushed open the door and Lorraine sprinted inside towards the kitchen. ‘Dad, Dad! Where are you Dad?’ Lorraine’s sneakers squeaked on the parquet as she sped around searching for her father. ‘Daaa-a-d? Hello?’
Heather strolled to the kitchen and turned on the kettle while Lorraine bounded up the stairs without losing a beat as she continued to sing. Heather stood and leant both hands on the counter and closed her eyes. She felt a strange sense of dread, and leant on the bench, feeling suddenly dizzy. She was gathering herself when a horrible thought occurred to her.
At the same moment the thought entered her mind, she heard an ear-splitting scream from Lorraine upstairs. Instantly she turned and ran, leaping four stairs at a time, into the main bedroom where her daughter stood, shocked and sobbing. In front of Lorraine, her father sat on the carpet, leaning against the bedside table in his usual jeans and shirt. His eyes were closed, his mouth was slightly open and dry, his head rested against the bed. In his left forearm, a hypodermic syringe was embedded in a vein, with the plunger fully depressed.
His skin was pale and cold. Both Heather and Lorraine recoiled when they first knelt down and held him through their sobs and tears. It didn’t feel like the man they had known and loved.
His big laugh and the giggles he had provoked with his ‘dad jokes’ seemed to echo in the room as they clung to the memories of the man they had loved: his proposal to Heather eleven years earlier while they sailed amongst a thousand Indonesian islands; teaching Lorraine science and maths well beyond the ability of her peers; their shared love of learning; the memory techniques he had taught her, so that she had memorised the periodic table, completely, by the age of seven. The three of them, together, had run on the beaches of Manly, knowing all the lifeguards after Lorraine and her team had won the Nippers championships for the last two years.
