Dear Banjo

by Sasha Wasley

  Willow drew herself up and took a couple more breaths. ‘Yep. Okay.’

  They got the coffees and returned to the waiting room where Beth stayed with them for another hour. She tried to talk Willow into leaving with her, pointing out how exhausted she looked. Willow refused, adamant that she would remain with Tom’s parents. Cathy’s sister was flying up from Perth the next day, but they had no other family in town so they might need her to deliver messages or run errands.

  However, nothing like that was required. After Beth left, Willow waited with Cathy and Bob in fearful silence, watching the clock while nurses chatted in soft voices. If a door opened, they all looked up hopefully, longing for more information on Tom’s condition. But whenever a staff member did stop by to talk to them, they were simply told there was no change. After ten p.m., the hospital halls grew hushed and still, the quiet broken only by the occasional squeaking of rubber-soled shoes on the polished floor. At long last a nurse came to tell them they could see Tom. Willow jumped up, but then remembered she was just a neighbour. She sat back down awkwardly.

  ‘I’ll mind your things,’ she said to the Forrests.

  ‘Are you Mr Forrest’s girlfriend?’ asked the nurse. ‘Immediate family and significant others are allowed into ICU.’

  Willow started to deny it but Cathy put a hasty hand on her shoulder. ‘Yes, this is Willow, Tom’s significant other.’

  The nurse nodded. ‘Come on through, then.’

  Willow mouthed a thank you at Cathy and they followed the nurse. Inside the mostly empty intensive care room, Willow caught a glimpse of Tom’s dark blond head against white sheets, his body encased in a spotty hospital gown. Cathy hurried straight over to his side and stroked the hair back from her son’s face, kissing his forehead. She had been a nurse once and seemed comfortable in this environment. When Willow reached the bed, she stared down at him, trying to conceal her horror. Tom was pale under his tan, his face scratched and bruised, a ventilator tube protruding from his mouth. There were patches of dark sunburn on his neck and one side of his face. It seemed there was a monitor or tube attached to every part of him, and his bandaged leg rested in an immobilising contraption. Like Willow, Bob was speechless. He simply looked at his son while Cathy wiped away her tears, still stroking Tom’s hair back from his forehead.

  At last Bob’s breath escaped as a whoosh. ‘Tom. You poor bugger,’ he said, his voice catching on the words.

  They stood like that for several minutes, none of them speaking. Willow was almost frightened to breathe lest the sobs she was holding in should burst forth. Dr Finch appeared.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Forrest,’ he said. ‘Young Tom’s certainly done some himself damage.’ He looked at Cathy. ‘I believe you used to work here, Mrs Forrest?’

  ‘It’s been a good few years since then.’

  ‘You volunteer with Silver Chain nowadays, is that right?’

  ‘When I can.’

  He smiled. ‘Then Tom will be in good hands when he gets home and starts the convalescence process.’

  Willow looked at him sharply. That was something – but did he mean it or was he just trying to buoy their spirits?

  Cathy cut to the chase. ‘How is he now?’

  ‘Not much has changed since he came in, I’m afraid. As you know, we reset the bone and stopped the bleeding, but he’ll need surgery on his leg. There’s an RFDS plane on standby, and I’m hoping we can transfer him to the city within a few hours.’ He indicated a screen. ‘We’ve inserted a probe to monitor the pressure on his brain . . .’ He went on and Cathy crossed to look more closely, Bob following.

  Willow couldn’t see anything that made sense on the screen so she stayed where she was and sank into a chair, carefully taking Tom’s left hand. It seemed to be the only part of him not hooked up to a machine.

  ‘Tom,’ she whispered, watching his face. Not a flicker. His hand was motionless in hers. ‘Tom. You need to be okay. I have something really important to tell you, and I can only say it when you’re awake and conscious because it’s that important. So please, please can you be okay?’

  Cathy and Bob came back, found themselves chairs, and set up alongside Tom’s bed as well. Willow didn’t release his hand. She forgot her scientific nature and willed all her energy into Tom through her hand, praying to some formless universal provider that this would somehow contribute to his healing. They sat for an hour before a nurse came to speak to them about sleeping arrangements. The hospital could offer them beds, even Willow – pegged as she was as the girlfriend. She couldn’t entertain the thought of sleeping but thanked them. Cathy suggested she go back to Beth’s place and Willow humbly asked if she could stay. To leave him alone while he was in such danger was unthinkable. Cathy nodded.

  The Forrests lay down to rest on the spare beds at various times through the night but Willow stayed beside Tom, keeping hold of his hand. Tom was the only patient in the dim ICU, which was quiet but for beeping machines and nurses doing regular checks. Willow shifted to get out of their way while they did their work and then resumed her spot to take his hand again. When she finally got tired, she rested her head on the bed beside Tom’s arm and dozed.

  Cathy and Bob woke her at five a.m.

  ‘Willow, love,’ came Cathy’s soft voice. ‘They want to take him for more scans.’

  Willow lifted her head, her neck screaming in protest, and relinquished Tom’s hand. She stumbled to her feet.

  ‘I really think you ought to go back to Beth’s,’ Cathy said in a voice that meant business. ‘You need some sleep.’

  ‘I want to wait for the result of the scans.’

  ‘That could take a while,’ a nurse remarked, unclipping monitors from Tom.

  Cathy took her by the arms, her face earnest. ‘I promise you, I’ll call if there’s any change at all.’

  Willow knew she was defeated. She collected her bag and drove to Beth’s in a zombie-like state, trying not to think about the fact that she was driving away from Tom. When she let herself into the house, Beth was already up.

  ‘God, look at you.’ She caught Willow’s face between her hands and peered into her eyes. ‘You look like crap. I’m sorry, but you need to eat before you sleep.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Sit,’ Beth ordered.

  Willow sat at the kitchen bench and minutes later a plate of scrambled eggs was in front of her. She ate mechanically and thanked her sister.

  ‘Bed,’ was all Beth said, and Willow was glad to obey.

  She woke with a start just before midday. Tom. Willow checked her phone and discovered the battery had run flat, so she hunted out a cable in Beth’s study and plugged it into her sister’s computer, firing up the phone. There was a missed call from Cathy Forrest. Willow went cold. Cathy had promised she would call if there was a change – but she hadn’t left a message. Wouldn’t she have left a message if it was a good change?

  Swearing, she dialled Cathy’s number. It went to voicemail. Shit, shit, shit. She grabbed her keys and raced for the door, driving the two minutes to the hospital. She ran all the way to the ICU, not stopping at the nurse’s station to ask permission. She burst through the door and stared at Tom’s bed. Tom’s empty, neatly made-up bed.

  ‘Excuse me,’ came a sharp voice behind her. One of the nurses had followed her into the room. ‘This is a no admittance area.’

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ she managed.

  The woman frowned. ‘Tom Forrest? He’s gone.’

  Willow’s heart seemed to stop beating and for a second she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Gone?’ she choked.

  ‘They transferred him this morning.’

  Her brain tried to catch up. ‘He’s alive?’

  The nurse’s face clouded. ‘Oh, my gosh, I didn’t mean that kind of gone. They’ve flown him to the city.’ She drew closer. ‘His parents went with him.’

  ‘He’s improving?’

  ‘He stabilised enough to move him.’

  ‘Is he
brain-damaged?’

  ‘Too early to say, I’m afraid. When they bring him out of the coma, they’ll know more. Are you family?’

  ‘I’m Tom’s neighbour. Dr Beth Paterson’s my sister.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Come on.’ She ushered Willow out of the room.‘I suggest you go and see your sister. She can probably give you more information.’

  Willow drove to Beth’s surgery on autopilot, feeling weirder and weirder. Something inside her had come unknotted and was unravelling rapidly as she drove. She parked at the clinic and went in, trying to collect her wits. The waiting room held several people. Bugger. Beth was busy.

  ‘Hi, Willow!’ the receptionist exclaimed.

  ‘Hi, Dani. Is Beth going to be free any time soon?’

  ‘She’s booked up all afternoon.’ Dani inspected her computer screen. ‘She has a break at three.’

  ‘Oh.’ She could try texting Beth. Willow looked at her phone, blinking with a low battery because she’d unplugged it so quickly after the brief recharge. She looked back at Dani. ‘It’s pretty important.’

  ‘I’ll send her a message,’ Dani said, dropping her voice so the other patients wouldn’t hear. She tapped something out on the computer and gave Willow a warm smile. ‘Take a seat. Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll just use the bathroom.’

  She was shocked by her own appearance when she glanced in the mirror. She had a bed-hair tangle, hollow cheeks and shadowed eyes. She groaned and put some water on her hands to smooth her hair, and almost ran into her sister as she left the bathroom.

  ‘There you are. I skipped out on Mr Craddock’s shingles to talk to you.’

  ‘They’ve moved Tom to the city.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Beth hugged her and pulled back to study her face. ‘That’s good, Willow. It’s a good sign.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. He’s stable enough to move.’

  ‘He’s out of danger?’

  Beth became cautious. ‘Well, he’s better than when he first came in.’

  ‘Can you talk to Dr Finch, try to find out the truth?’

  Beth nodded. ‘I’ll head over to the hospital as soon as my appointments are done for the day and have a good chat with him.’

  For a moment Willow wanted to shout at Beth that it wasn’t good enough; she had to know now. Then she remembered that Beth’s proposal was entirely reasonable, and it was she who was exhausted and stressed.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘Are you all right to drive?’

  ‘Yes. I need to sort out the pays.’

  ‘Okay.’ Beth paused. ‘I wonder who’ll do the Quintilla pays this week.’

  ‘I will!’ Willow grasped onto the idea; it was something concrete she could do to help. ‘They use the same system as us. I’ll call Bob and see if I can sort out their pays for them.’

  ‘Good one.’ Beth gave Willow a long look. ‘I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to Finch, okay? Try not to freak out too much. Don’t play the what-if game. No point. He’s alive. Focus on that.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  It was while driving along Herne River Road at the start of the long trek home that Willow’s tears broke from her at last. She had to pull over, crying too hard to drive. Her shoulders heaved with huge, painful sobs and soon her hands and lips tingled for lack of air. She couldn’t stop, though. Willow couldn’t slow her sobbing no matter what she did. She fought her own body, knowing she had to slow her breathing down – knowing she had to re-oxygenate her blood – but was utterly unable to do so.

  Finally her head swam and her vision went dark, and she flopped back against the car seat, lapsing into a half-faint. Her body took over from her brain, slowing the breathing, bringing everything back to normal.

  Willow returned to full consciousness, blinking her burning eyes up at the car ceiling. Last time she’d felt this way had been on the day of her mother’s funeral. Tom had been there beside her, crying with her, holding her tight no matter how hard she fought him. That was what he did. He held on, he loved unconditionally, no matter what she did to hurt him. The last twenty-four hours living in fear of losing him had almost destroyed her. She had learned he was far too dear to her to lose. Willow cared about Tom more than she’d ever acknowledged. She couldn’t bear the thought of his not being there.

  And now it was possible he might not be there for her – with her – any more. She’d been too scared to bring him closer, afraid of suffering that yawning, empty sense of loss she associated with her mother’s death. But the suffering was waiting for her anyway – and not just because of the accident. She’d felt the loss of him before that. As soon as he tried to stop loving her, she fell apart. Seeing him with another girl had hurt more than she could have dreamed.

  He was Tom, she was Willow – they belonged together, and that was all there was to it. It was simply right.

  She got back on the road. Although her heart still raced and there was an exhausted, sick feeling inside her, her mind worked with peculiar clarity. Things had changed – completely, irreversibly. She would be there for Tom, like he’d always been there for her. She made a plan. For the next twenty-four hours, she would work as hard and fast as she could to ensure Patersons and Quintilla were running smoothly and the staff got paid. Then she would fly to Darwin to be with Tom until he got better. And if he did get better – and still wanted her – she would never, ever push him away again.

  When she got home, Willow shut herself in the office for several hours to catch up on work. When she emerged, head pounding, it was nearly eight in the evening. She went to the back patio to escape the blaring television and call the Forrests. There was a text message from Beth.

  Finch doesn’t know much. Says it could be anything from permanent brain damage to full recovery. Just got to keep our fingers crossed.

  She slumped into a patio chair. Fine. She would just follow Tom to Darwin and wait there until they did know something. She dialled Cathy Forrest’s number.

  ‘Is that you, Willow?’

  ‘Hi, Cathy. How are you? How’s Tom?’

  ‘He’s still sedated. The doctors are saying he’s serious but stable. They want to operate on his leg but might hold off another day or so.’ Cathy gave her the details, but nothing that Willow didn’t already know from speaking to Beth. She swallowed her disappointment.

  ‘I was thinking about Quintilla and the pay run. Your payday’s the same as ours, right? Want me to sort it out?’

  ‘Oh, gosh, that would be such a help. Let me put you on to Bob.’

  Bob’s booming voice came onto the line. He sounded much better than the last time she’d seen him. ‘That you, Willow, love?’

  ‘Hi, Bob. I was just saying to Cathy I can do your payroll tomorrow if you want.’

  He sounded relieved when he replied. ‘I was going to call Mandy, our bookkeeper, and try to talk her through it tomorrow morning but honestly, Tom’s been doing the payroll for years and I’m a bit rusty. I don’t know the new system he uses and it’ll be the blind leading the blind if I try to explain it to Mandy. You use the same system, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we do. Want me to go round and help Mandy?’

  ‘That’d be bloody fantastic. Tom’s got it all running like clockwork. He’s got a couple of tablets set up in the station kitchen and the staff enter their own times on an hours-tracker every day when they finish up. If they don’t enter their hours, they don’t get their money until the following pay run, so they’re all pretty good at keeping it up to date. The tracker feeds into the pay system and Tom runs the reports before we do the banking trip. If you could help run the reports tomorrow, Mandy can sort out the banking and bring the pays back the next day.’

  ‘No problem at all. I’ll do it first thing.’

  ‘You’re a ripper. I’ll send you through the passwords.’

  In the morning, it wasn’t just the pay she had to manage for
Quintilla. The staff were worried and bewildered. Rumours were circulating that Tom Forrest wouldn’t be back to manage Quintilla, even if he got better, because of the ‘brain damage’ he’d suffered. She called a meeting and set them straight with the facts. They assumed Willow was the temporary boss and questions about Tom evolved into questions about the station operations. She answered them as best she could, making a couple of decisions on the Forrests’ behalf, trying not to think about what would happen if she got it wrong. Her consolation was that the Forrests probably didn’t much care what decisions she made while Tom was in danger of his life. Not much of a consolation, she thought miserably.

  She raced back to Patersons in the afternoon, having spent many hours longer at Quintilla than she’d intended. She rushed through their own pays and just managed to get her order through to the bank before it closed for the day. Then she joined Barry and Free where they worked on a jigsaw puzzle together at the kitchen table.

  ‘Dad, can you keep things ticking over here for a few days?’

  He snapped his head up in surprise. ‘What’s that, sweetheart?’

  ‘I want to fly to Darwin so I can be there for Tom and the Forrests.’

  He frowned. ‘How long for?’

  ‘As long as it takes.’

  Free looked as shocked as her father. ‘Will, he’s still unconscious. Didn’t Beth tell you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Unconscious,’ Free repeated. ‘He might be like that for weeks.’ Her eyes filled with tears at the thought.

  ‘Why don’t you at least wait until he’s come to?’ Dad’s voice was gentle. ‘Not much good going all that way if he’s just going to be lying there. What are you going to do, sit by his deathbed?’ He seemed to realise how insensitive the expression was as it came out of his mouth, and gave her an apologetic glance.

  Willow hid her horror. ‘I can help Cathy and Bob.’

  A strange expression passed over his face, something between sadness and pride. ‘Just like your mum. She was always thinking of ways she could help people, too. Sweetheart, I reckon the best thing you could do for the Forrests, and for Tom, is stay home. You can go round to Quintilla every couple of days to help manage things. That’s what Tom really needs at the moment.’