by Garth Wade
They knew everybody. They were the happy family. They were the family who were good at everything. They were the family that everybody envied.
Heather and Lorraine held each other for an hour before Heather called the police.
Ocean
21:30 hrs – Bravo 989
‘You mean Ken right, not me?’ Syd sat in the passenger seat and buried his face in his hands. ‘What the hell was I thinking?’
‘Ah, don’t worry about it too much, son. It’s all learning, ain’t it?’
‘I suppose you could say learning. Or just complete humiliation!’
‘I’m serious. Remember it; yes. But don’t be too hard on yourself for it, right?’
‘Cam, that was a pretty sad job. I really feel sorry for the wife.’
‘Yes, lad, I agree,’ said Cam, ‘but maybe it was a good thing she was there for his final moments. Maybe not. Either way, it’s a shitty situation that is way outside our control. We helped as much as we could.’ Cam continued to drive through the mild evening traffic and realised he may have sounded heartless. ‘Have you ever lost someone close to you, son?’ he asked kindly.
Syd paused. ‘A mate. About six or seven years ago now. We jackarooed together on a sheep station in New South for two years. I suppose we were kind of close. After I’d left that job and moved to my family farm, he’d been promoted to head stockman.’ Syd spoke slowly, pausing now and then. ‘Horse-riding accident. No one saw it. And he was a good rider, too. After mustering all day, he and I used to race our horses back from the yards to the homestead. Whoever lost unsaddled the nags; whoever won got the beers ready,’ Syd recalled. ‘Bloody sad funeral.’
‘Young funerals … eh.’
‘Eh?’
‘They’re the worst. Unexpected. No one expects a kid to die.’
‘True. But I bet you that guy just then, Ken, didn’t wake up this morning expecting to die today.’
‘You’re right. But that’s work, isn’t it. We should care, but we have to care to the exact right degree,’ said Cam. ‘When everything’s new and exciting and memorable, it’s great, but I don’t want you to go crazy while it’s all being processed in your heart and mind, right?’
‘I won’t go crazy, Cam. I’m already there!’
‘Sorry mate, I shouldn’t have asked if you’d lost someone; none of my business.’
‘Actually, Cam, it is your business. You’re my mentor and I’m your student, so we have to know each other’s business to look after each other and be a good team.’
‘I know.’ Cam was smiling. ‘I know you’re a crazy Aussie who speaks another language sometimes—’
‘That’s rich coming from a Scot!’ Syd said.
‘And we’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns!’ Cam laid the accent on as thick as possible.
‘Yeah, now you’re doing it on purpose!’
‘Aye. I can’t always speak Australian ye know?’
‘So, what’s it mean?’
‘What’s what mean?’
‘The Jack Thompson thing?’
‘Ah, ha ha, it’s we’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns. Means we’re all the same in the end.’
‘Could’ve just said that,’ said Syd, grinning.
‘So what’s the jackarooin’ about?’ asked Cam.
‘Working on a sheep or cattle station, riding horses pretty much every day, mustering then working the stock, fixing fences, motorbikes … jack of all trades really, but the learner version. Country stuff, Cam.’
‘I know you’re a country boy.’ He looked over at Syd. ‘And a damn shame about your mate.’
‘Definitely sad. Man we had some fun though. We were pretty much at the same level on most things, you know? So we were kind of in competition with each other all the time. It was good. Like having a brother. Trying to outdo each other. We’d both had a year horse riding and were quite good at reading stock movements, and whip cracking, and shearing sheep when we had to. Oh god, now that is the most difficult work I have ever done, no doubt about it.’ Syd looked out at the city shops whirring past. ‘He was a better shot than I was, but I reckon I always outdid him on the horses.’
‘You got some good memories, mate.’
‘For sure.’
Darkness had enveloped the city and low trailing clouds were veiling the moon. The ambulance followed the speed limit exactly.
‘So how’s the woman?’ said Cam.
‘She seemed pretty bloody upset to me. Didn’t you notice?’
Cam looked over at Syd to see if he had actually misunderstood his question. He had. ‘I mean your woman, you donkey.’
‘Oh! My woman. Like I own her, yes,’ Syd replied mockingly. ‘Yep, she’s great. No, actually she’s okay. Actually, she was acting a bit strange earlier tonight on the phone. Not sure about that. But all in all, she’s great. I love her, man. Why’s that?’
‘Just askin’ mate. They’re all a bit strange you know. In a good way. Mostly.’
‘Hmm, way to commit to a statement Cam,’ Syd said sarcastically. ‘What’s strange about Claire?’
‘Ah nah, she’s all right. She’s a fine, fiery, traditional Scottish lass with good morals and an even better eye for a fine gentleman.’
‘So what’s she doing with you?’ Syd asked predictably.
Cam ignored him. ‘But the women these days, son, I don’t know how you keep up with them. I watched this TV series called—’
‘Not everybody is like the movies, Cam. And why are you talking like you’re ninety-five? Aren’t you only ten years older than me?’
‘Somethin’ like that. Aye … I’m thirty-eight you wee lad.’
‘Well stop talking like an old grump.’
‘So you don’t think there’s anything strange about how quickly everybody wants to show as much of themselves as they can these days? I just don’t get it.’
‘You mean the way people dress? Or how everybody bares their soul on the internet? What are you talking about, Ol’ Scotsman?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I sound like an old fart don’t I?’ Cam said, relinquishing his point. He drove on for a short time before breaking the silence. ‘It’s just as though everybody has got this out-bloody-rageous loud voice and everybody else has to hear it. That’s what I’m saying.’
‘Loud voice? As in, social media?’
‘Yep.’
‘You’re on Facebook. What are you talking about?’
‘That’s how I know, son. And Claire made me get it anyway. But there is so much rubbish on it. Sometimes I wonder why they need it all.’
‘Cam, I don’t get it either. Although I must admit I do like Facebook. It’s as though I can know what people are doing, and care or ‘like’ it from a distance, but I don’t have to care too much.’
Cam left a purposeful silence, hoping Syd would click to it. They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, and Cam hesitated.
‘And that’s how I should be with work, right?’ said Syd.
‘When it comes to your heart, at work, yes, son. It’s self-preservation.’
Back at the station, the two paramedics restocked the ambulance and the kits. They were not yet inside the ‘meal-break time window’, but Syd, for once, actually wanted to be left alone for some time and not called out. He felt tired; his mind needed a break.
They sat on an armchair each and clacked the recliner legs up at the same time.
As Cam turned on the television, Syd put his earphones in and fell asleep almost immediately listening to an acoustic guitar playing a song on the sea. He dreamed a strange but comforting dream, one that lingered after he woke, as if it had carried some special meaning.
Syd woke sharply, and smiled. He felt the vibration on his hip and realised the smile was wasted on this wake-up call.
‘Aaah!’ Cam boomed as he read his pager. ‘This’ll be a right load of shite then. It’s out at Greenslopes. You want me on this one, son?’
Syd shook his head to clear it. ‘Nah, thanks Cam
, I’ll do it. Have to get that systematic approach perfected, remember.’
Riley
21:55 hrs – 509 Upper Cedar Street, Greenslopes
‘Hello, ambulance,’ Syd said through the closed security door. He heard movement somewhere inside. ‘Just a sec, I think the paramedics are here.’ The voice was female. A thin, well-dressed, black-haired woman appeared at the door with a mobile phone in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.
She smiled. ‘Ah hello, that didn’t take long. You guys are so quick. It’s open.’ The two paramedics entered. ‘It’s my daughter, the youngest one. I don’t know what to do. She’s in her bedroom crying and she’s been there all afternoon and evening. One of her friends somehow got my number and texted me. Apparently she’d told him she was going to do something tonight that would end the pain.’
‘Okay then,’ said Syd, taking in the family photos on the walls and trophies lining the bookcase. ‘Well, my name’s Sydney and this is Cameron.’ Cam waved and smiled. ‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Hold on, darling, I have to speak with these paramedics, can I call you back?’ she asked the phone. Syd raised both eyebrows. ‘Okay darling, I’m very much looking forward to it. Chat soon, bye.’ She turned her attention to Syd. ‘I’m sorry Simon, what did you say?’
Syd faked a smile. ‘I asked what your daughter’s name is? And my name is Sydney.’
‘Oh please do excuse me Sydney. Her name is Riley.’ This time Syd detected a slight slur.
‘How old is Riley?’
‘Fourteen in July.’
‘What is Riley’s medical history?’
‘She suffers panic attacks and has had depression for the last year. She sees Doctor Rafter at the PA.’
‘I don’t know Doctor Rafter. Is Riley on any medications?’
‘She’s taking Prozac.’
‘Has she been on Prozac for the whole year? Has she made any threats to you about anything else tonight?’
‘Last year, she started off by taking my antidepressants because she said she was down. I thought that was dangerous so I took her to the shrink who got her on her own script. And no, I haven’t seen her for the last half hour. She’s in her room. She said she didn’t want dinner, so we ate without her.’
The mother then led Syd and Cam past the dinner table, with four places set. Three had half eaten servings of rib-eye steaks topped with pesto and a side of grilled asparagus. It looked cold. There were two glass bowls of delicate salads in the middle of the table. It appeared that the three people who had begun eating had disappeared halfway through the meal.
‘Continue on guys, this shouldn’t take too long,’ said the mother as she passed the table.
‘I beg your pardon ma’am?’ said Syd as he followed her. ‘Were you talking to me?’
‘No no no, just organising things in my head for tomorrow, that’s all,’ she replied in a chirpy tone.
They walked to the back of the house past four closed doors until the mother knocked on a door with a neatly decorated ‘R’.
‘Riley? Riley?’ the mother said softly. ‘The paramedics are here to see you honey. Can I open the door?’ There was no answer. ‘We took the locks off a few months ago. You know, just in case,’ the mother whispered to Syd. ‘Okay Riley, we’re coming in.’
She turned the door handle slowly and pressed her hand and face against the door, as if attempting to dramatise the act even further; she’d clearly seen way too many horror films. As the door opened, as if in slow motion, Syd saw a young, pretty, pale-faced girl sitting on her zebra print bedspread looking up at the three adults before her. She was breathing abnormally quickly.
‘I know you don’t want to talk, honey, but I thought these guys could chat with you, and help with what has happened to your fingers, because you said they were sore didn’t you darling? Or tingling? Riley?’ The girl ignored her mother and immediately turned her back. The room was pink, black and white, and looked as perfect as the photos in a renovation magazine – not a thing out of place. On one black wall, letters spelt out ‘RILEY’ in the same style as the R on the door. White bookshelves flanked the double bed and there was a big black and white photo of Riley with her mother and another girl smiling at the beach. Nearby was a similar photo of Riley on her own. On the shelves were small, colour-coordinated boxes, each perfectly placed, and the dimmed lighting of the bedside lamp added to the orderly and impressive effect.
‘Hi Riley. I’m Sydney, and this is Cameron. Your mum’s a bit worried about you and we’re going to do our best to help, but we’ll talk about that in a tick. For now, I need you to control your breathing, yes? Rumour has it you’ve got tingling in your fingers? Have you still got that?’ Syd stepped closer to Riley, held her hand and took her pulse.
The mother made a point of leaving the room, making sure everybody watched her go.
‘Rumour has it?’ Riley puffed.
‘Sorry Riley, I was trying to be funny. So, the reason your fingers and hands are tingling is because of your breathing. You need to slow it down. Only you can fix this, but, I’ll give you a hand and talk you through it, okay?’
Riley looked interested and turned to face Syd. ‘So, you just have to breathe in threes, okay? In for three,’ Syd took a deep breath in, ‘hold it for three,’ he said while holding it in, ‘then out for three,’ he said as he released, ‘then start all over again. I’m going to stay with you until you get this breathing under control, yeah?’ Syd then repeated the breathing exercises as Riley breathed.
Cam had no need to help Syd with the assessment. They both knew this was a problem that overanxious or panicked people commonly experienced, and one that often frustrated paramedics as it could be simply resolved without any medical intervention.
Within four minutes, Riley’s hands and fingers felt normal again. ‘Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s, like, better just from changing my breathing,’ she said. ‘That’s pretty cool.’
‘Yep it’s crazy town, isn’t it?’ said Syd, trying to sound young.
Riley sat with her legs crossed and shoulders hunched, playing with her duvet cover, her head down, so Syd switched to Dad mode. ‘The body is a perfect container, and it’s just what we put into our container that changes it for better or worse.’ Cam pretended to cover a giggle.
‘Is there anything else we can help you with Riley?’
Syd knew better than to ask this question of people who he had judged to be desperate. The proverb give them an inch and they’ll take a mile pretty much summed up the hazard of asking open-ended questions and offering help before you understood the issues. Much of the emergency medical profession shared his views, and for good reason. Although Syd had been a paramedic for a short time, he had quickly discovered that there were plenty of people who fell into the inch-mile category. He knew it was frowned upon to judge people, to talk about ‘categories’ of people, but had also identified that people in front-line jobs sometimes needed to think that way. He had to judge. He had to categorise. He had to work out if a patient was emergently sick, or simply needed assistance, or was a threat to himself or his partner; then present an immediate judgement, and act accordingly. He thought of this more as a likable challenge than something to be ashamed of. He knew the platitudes about not judging people didn’t fit with the human survival instincts that had evolved over thousands of years, which was why he, and most of his colleagues, would continue to use judgement calls that had proven useful.
Syd was amused by how many people were quick to say ‘You can’t judge me!’ and yet were interested in – almost obsessed by – ‘reality’ television shows based on people being judged by a panel of ‘experts’, and usually humiliated before a massive audience.
Syd judged Riley to be one of those inch–mile people, but he knew she was young and had a history of depression, and that she also had what seemed to be a drama-queen of a mother. Her home life too, seemed quite strange. Perhaps a chat would tell him what was actually going on,
and then he might be able to help. Predictably, Riley jumped at the chance.
‘Well, my last school report sucked, and … like, my parents put a lot of pressure on me to do well – actually it’s just my dad, he’s, like, the genius of the family, even though he’s never here, yeah. He expects big things from me.’
‘Where’s your dad tonight?’
‘Amsterdam, I think. Maybe staying in Dubai, or maybe Singapore. Not sure. Why?’
‘Just wondering. Tell me why you were panicking earlier today.’
‘My mum was, like, stressing about the most random things at me.’ Riley fiddled with a loose thread from her bedding. ‘And family dinners are so important apparently, ‘cause, like, we have to sit around every night and, like, say what amazing things we achieved today.’
‘When you speak with your counsellor, Riley, do you speak with them about how you feel about these kinds of things?’
‘I dunno … my mum made me start talking with Marc – he’s the counsellor – because of what happened with my sister … she died … that’s her up there,’ she pointed to the black and white print. ‘Always looking down on me aren’t you sis? Yeah I suppose she is … anyway, I dunno … I’m just sick of Dad’s pressure … Maybe I need to, like, kill myself. That’ll shut him up!’ She looked down at the loose thread, slowly unpicking it.
Syd saw Cam roll his eyes. ‘That’s probably not the outcome anybody wants Riley.’ Syd knew full well she would have to be transported to hospital now for a mental health assessment. ‘Would you like to chat to anybody else about this? It’s a big thing to say you’re going to kill yourself. Particularly to shut your dad up.’
‘Nah. Marc is, like, good to talk to. I don’t wanna talk to anyone else.’
‘Do you think he’s helping you though? Maybe a new set of ears might be what you need?’
Riley was unmoved. ‘Maybe …’ She looked up into Syd’s green eyes, ‘but it has to be a man. I, like, can’t talk to women.’ Her small hands began to tremble.
