The door rattled again; Beth pulled back the snib. It was a security guard: young, Mediterranean-looking, with a broad chest straining the buttons on his shirt. He was freshly shaven and smelled strongly of Lynx. In one hand was Beth’s breakfast on a tray and in the other a clear zip-lock bag: the breakfast was a bowl of fruit with yoghurt and a cup of coffee, in the little bag was a mini toothbrush and toothpaste, a mini moisturiser and a travel pack of baby wipes. Come down to reception when you’re finished, said the young man, and they’ll tell you what to do. I’m Vince, he said, I look after things here overnight; I hope you slept well, they’re good people, you’re in good hands. His deodorant and aftershave were overpowering; Beth had to take a step back. Thank you, she said. You should open the curtains, said Vince, it’s a beautiful day.
He was right. In the yard of the factory next door a forklift was loading shrink-wrapped pallets onto a flatbed truck; she could see a patch of blue sky and a shaft of bright morning sun. The new day had begun—industriously, she thought. The girls would be in before-care, David would be just starting work. She sat on the edge of the bed and ate her breakfast, then went to the basin and brushed her teeth. She went to the toilet—it was quiet out there—and refreshed herself with a couple of baby wipes. Back in the room she rubbed some moisturiser on her hands, then popped the toiletries and spare smalls in her bag. She stepped out into the hall again. Vince was waiting, hands clasped; he half-bowed and gestured towards the front.
At reception the day was well and truly underway. There were a dozen patients already in there, spread out on chairs around the walls. A young woman stood behind the counter, smiling. Good morning, she said, brightly, I’m Tamara, take a seat. She had silver braces and bright pink lipstick. Take a seat, she said, pointing, take a seat. An old woman in the corner near the window rocked from one buttock to the other. Beth sat beside her. Through the rusty security screens she could see the concrete car park, the street, and above that a cloudless sky. A semitrailer crawled past, for a moment filling the window and blocking out the light. Beth heard its brakes hiss and sigh.
She put her bag on the floor. She still hadn’t woken up; her skin felt tight and her eyes itchy and tired. She opened her mouth wide. Yes, I have to be alert, she thought, and ready to take in all they tell me. She looked at the box on the counter with the slot in the top and the words Donations Please, then heard the putt-putt of a motor scooter outside. It sounded very different from Bradley’s motorbike the night before. The screen door unclicked, the main door opened and a courier entered, dressed in a green fluoro jacket. He was wearing his helmet with the visor up; everyone turned to look. His boots were loud on the floorboards and he brought in with him the smell of petrol and steel. He greeted Tamara familiarly and handed over a package; it was one of those big envelopes for X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, MRIs. Tamara slipped it down behind the counter. When the courier turned to go he smiled at everyone in the room but with his helmet on it was hard to get the full effect. Beth listened to his scooter stand getting kicked back up, the putt-putt of the motor, the soft clunk of the gears and the sound of it going away.
Mary, Dr Kolm’s wife, came in. She went behind the counter and spoke quietly to Tamara. Beth was trying not to look—so was everyone—but even out of the corner of her eye she could follow most of what was happening. Tamara gave the courier’s envelope to Mary, then put a sheet of paper from the printer into a separate, smaller envelope. This she gave to Mary too. Mary wrote something on the front, then brought it and the big envelope over. She crouched in front of Beth and looked up. Good morning, Beth, she said.
It all became clear quickly: too quickly, too clear. Your pictures have come back, said Mary—here they are—and Dr Kolm has referred you on. Beth felt her shoulders slump. Mrs Kolm held up the other, smaller envelope. It may be serious, she said, although it’s still a bit hard to tell. Dr Kolm would like Dr Forster to have a look, see what she thinks, give us a second opinion. She’s good. You’ll need to take these to her; she may want to do some more tests. She will discuss this with you. This is her address. Don’t worry, said Mary, putting a warm hand on Beth’s knee, it’s early days and these things often resolve themselves without any intervention at all. I’ve drawn a little map on the front. Here. I’ll get Thomas to go with you. Are you okay for money? (Mary had lowered her voice, and was looking up at Beth with her head strangely cocked.) Yes, said Beth, I’m okay. Mary was reading her thoughts. Don’t worry, she said, you’ll get your rebates and John has worked out the least expensive pathway for you—you won’t see another bill like Twoomey’s and there have been no costs incurred here. She squeezed the hand on Beth’s knee for extra reassurance. We’ll make it as smooth as we can, she said. She looked warmly up into Beth’s face, placed the big envelope in her lap and put the small envelope on top. Beth could see the name Dr Forster on the front and below that an address in Meadow Heights.
Mary had some difficulty getting back to her feet and had to push hard against Beth’s knee. She stood, steadied herself, stretched out a hand and pointed to Vince in the doorway. He was holding a big black plastic garbage bag. Vince has your clothes, she said; Thomas is outside. Good luck. She walked over to one of the other patients, a middle-aged woman in a shapeless dress with shoes too small for her feet, sank down on her haunches again and started talking softly to her. Beth gathered up her tote bag and the envelopes and followed Vince into the hall. Tamara the receptionist smiled as she passed, although it looked more a wince than a smile. Out in the hall Vince handed over the garbage bag with all the clothes, new and old, from the room. Beth slung it over her other shoulder while he held open the door.
Waiting outside was a young man; thin, angular, with a wide head and big ears. He was dressed in grey trackpants, white running shoes, a pink T-shirt and grey hoodie, and was bouncing from one foot to the other. He might have been in his thirties, but it was hard to tell. Are you Thomas? asked Beth. Yes, he’s Thomas, said Vince. Take the bag, Thomas—and Thomas pounced on the bag of clothes. He’ll show you the way, said Vince, don’t worry. She heard the front door close. Thomas turned and started walking towards the road.
What else could she do? She’d been given an examination, a bed, two meals, a change of clothes, an appointed guide; she needed to get her pictures looked at, get a second opinion, maybe have a few more tests—it would be churlish to ask why the figure walking wonkily in front of her should be the one to follow. No. They’re kind people, the Kolms, and he (she assumed from the brief glimpse she had of his face that he was their son) was simply an extension of that kindness.
At the bus stop in the plaza car park where she’d arrived from Greensborough the day before a dozen people were waiting. Thomas stood to one side, clutching the bag of clothes. There was a fleck of egg yolk in the corner of his mouth and Beth had an irresistible urge to lick her thumb and wipe it off. You’ve got a bit of egg, she said. Thomas cleaned it with the back of his hand. You’re John and Mary’s son, aren’t you? she said, and he nodded. And you’ve done this trip before? With other patients? He nodded again. I’m looking forward to meeting Dr Forster, said Beth—but this time Thomas played a cautious hand.
The bus appeared in the distance; there was a familiar car following behind. It was David, not Emily, driving. The bus pulled into the stop and the car into the parking bay opposite. David got out and looked across—Beth could see Letitia and Gemma in the back seat too, dressed for school. He does look like an accountant, she thought: neat-cut hair, bald patch, dark pants, casual shoes. And no, the green shirt didn’t suit him. He walked with his feet splayed and seemed to rock slightly as he went. His head looked bigger too. He was already halfway across the road.
At the front of the bus the door opened and the queue started to move. Good morning, Thomas, said a voice. Then: Are you Beth Own? It was the driver—a short, pale-skinned man with a blue shirt and company logo. He’d sneaked up from behind. Do you mind if I see your referral? he asked. (Beth thought he’
d said deferral: yes, exactly, she thought.) I need to check it’s Forster, he said. She gave it to him. Ah, yes, said the driver, smiling, and he handed it back.
The sun was in Beth’s eyes and for a moment she lost David in it. Someone in the queue spoke: it sounded like her father, telling her to get back to work. She got all confused. Then again someone was calling—but this time it was him. (The whispered call, the girls in their beds, the palpable smell of them, the moonlight on the window, the dog barking three doors down, the television on low, the purr of the fridge, the dishwasher’s hum, a distant train going over the bridge.) David, she said, you have no idea. He was already clutching her elbow. How did he get across so quick? Does this mean I’m going home? But Beth’s shoes had weights in them, they didn’t want her to go. I am still too curious, she thought.
Come on, said David, tugging her arm, I’ve rung your doctor, I told her it was urgent, she said she’ll fit you in, we’ve got an appointment for twelve. But I need to have another test, said Beth. Her voice sounded far away. I’m seeing Dr Forster, Thomas is taking me there now. David tightened his grip. Come on, Beth, he said, and he led her across the road: the blue family wagon, the sticker in the back, the ribbon wand, the girls. Gemma was still wearing pigtails—didn’t he get them to wash their hair? I’ve got an appointment for you, he was saying. Beth felt her knees weaken and put a hand on the car. Gemma had wound the near-side window down and Letitia leaned over and looked out. Mummy? she said. Beth felt a needle in her neck. Will you be home tomorrow? Beth couldn’t answer that. Chloe wants to come over after school and her mum said she could. Yes, she can come over, said Beth: tell her I said yes, tell Chloe to tell her mum I said yes. And are you all right, Gemmy? said Beth. Yes, thank you, said Gem.
Why aren’t they at school? she said. It came out suddenly, like a gob. And where’s Emily? At work, said David. She’s a nice girl, said Beth, I want you to know that. She looked down at her elbow, her wrist, her hand. I’m not wearing my ring. (It was still in the jacket pocket, wrapped in the napkin.) She stepped back.
The bus driver had walked right out into the middle of the road and now he called out to her. Mrs Own? She looked back. I’m going, she said, to David, and all the weight and weariness left her. Kiss the girls—I can’t. There may be something really wrong with me, David, she said, and these people are here to help. Did you get Gemma’s book? He looked confused. It’s in the calico bag on the hook; she needs to read every night. Tell Lettie to get it. Lettie? she called—Can you make sure Gem gets her book? And the excursion form on the bench? (She had a flash of the bench: the phone charger, the excursion form, a stray two-dollar coin, a cup with pens and pencils, a safety pin, a Lego block, a peg.)
Please, said David, a little quaver in his voice; I’m your husband, Beth, we need you. Did you give them breakfast? she asked. Hotcakes, he said, I bought them hotcakes. Beth nodded, but she didn’t approve. Take them now, she said. She was starting to lose patience. You should be at work, I thought you were busy. Emily said you were busy.
Beth watched the bewilderment moving across his face. Anyway, she said, the driver’s waiting. She looked over her shoulder—yes, he was still standing out there in the middle of the road. His shirt was buttoned to the neck and his grey slacks were impeccably pressed. All yesterday I worried about not being there to pick them up, said Beth, and now today you’ve not even taken them. But I just told you, said David. She could see the anger stirring in him. I’ve come to take you to the doctor, he said, we’re dropping the girls on the way. You don’t understand, do you? said Beth. (It was true, he didn’t, and everything in his face screamed I don’t.) I’m going to have some more tests, she said. I don’t know what’s wrong, I need to find out.
The driver helped her up the front steps of the bus. It was nearly full—aside from the dozen passengers who’d boarded at the plaza there were already twenty more inside. Some she recognised: the man with the magazine from Dr Yi’s, a few people from the Heidelberg bus, the grumpy smoker in Twoomey’s backyard, the indignant woman from Twoomey’s waiting room, the man called Mr Padoni. Most were holding envelopes. Beth looked out through the bus windows towards the car. David was in the driver’s seat with the window down—a man was talking to him, his hands flat on the roof: spine straight, bum out. Beth followed Thomas to a seat at the back; he slid across and bundled the bag into his lap. The bus doors closed, the gears clunked. Dr Forster, Dr Forster, said Thomas, and some of the passengers turned.
The bus moved; Beth looked back. The man at the car stepped away. We’re on our own now, love, said a voice. Husky, low—it was coming from the seat in front. Loren, said Beth. Loren turned around: she had no makeup and her skin was leached and drab.
Was that your husband? she asked. He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he? And the girls? Letitia and Gemma, said Beth. Lovely, said Loren. (My god, was that just yesterday?) Mine saw me earlier this morning, said Loren. She unclipped her handbag—fake leather, gold studs, gold clasp, gold chain—and took out a greeting card with a posy of flowers on the front. Rob bawled when he saw it, she said. Men! She read the message and put the card away again.
So how did you go at Twoomey’s? she asked. Good, said Beth, remembering: not bad. They drove past the hospital Kolm had mentioned—an ambulance was just pulling out. And you, with Durnley? asked Beth. Well, he helped me figure out my presentiment, said Loren, and that was good. It’s when you first notice something: for me it was that day at the surgery a fortnight ago when a family came in with a gorgeous old setter to be put down. Couldn’t walk, couldn’t see, had lost control of her bowels. The father was holding her; his family were lined up either side. Poor sweet, I said, you don’t want to watch her suffer. Dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, guinea pigs, mice. You don’t want to watch her suffer. But then, this time, afterwards—I never told anyone this except Durnley—I got all upset. Fuck it, I thought, no, if I ever see that sort of thing coming I’m not going to wait around till it’s too late. I’ll take up smoking again, drink myself silly, have an affair with the plumber. I wouldn’t stop loving my family, Beth, but I wouldn’t jump every time they said boo, either.
They were driving out through Epping West now; the houses had thinned and a vista of empty paddocks had opened up. It was quiet in the bus. They crossed a main road and drove on past some showrooms, a wholesale outlet, a shopping centre. Are you going to Dr Forster’s? asked Beth. No, love, said Loren. They went over a bridge, through a creek reserve, and strained up a hill. Thomas started pushing up against Beth until she almost fell out of her seat. And the others? she asked. Loren shook her head. Thomas squeezed past Beth towards the back steps while Loren turned again to the front. Beth stood in the aisle. The bus stopped, the back door opened, the driver glanced in the mirror. Beth hesitated, then followed Thomas out the door and hurried after him down the hill.
DR FORSTER’S
It was a desolate-looking place, with quiet, hunkered-down housing estates pushing right up to the road. In the distance, to the north, Beth could see a single, cradle-shaped cloud. Thomas had already reached a corner halfway down the hill and now stood waiting for her. Cars and trucks whizzed past, a plane flew overhead. When she finally caught up with him Thomas resumed his jerky walk. He looked confident now, purposeful, and next led her down a side street to a roundabout in the distance.
They were still on high ground here and Beth could see the houses spreading down the hill and up the other side, all brick veneer with bordered lawns, concrete drives, wide carports or garages. The trees were stunted, the sky open. Once in a while a car sped past, riding up over the speed humps with one wheel on the gutter, the brake lights barely blinking. At the roundabout Thomas turned left and, still from a few metres behind, Beth followed. He stopped eventually outside a cream-brick house with a mostly bare front yard and a sign screwed to the low brick fence: J. S. Jones, Glazier. He led Beth up the drive.
Thomas being Thomas, she assumed he’d led her to the wrong house—possibly, s
he thought, even to the wrong suburb. It certainly didn’t feel right. But he seemed full of bluster. He pulled open the flywire door and turned the handle of the main door behind it; again he didn’t hesitate. Dr Forster, Dr Forster, he said, and he gestured for Beth to go in. She did, and he moved quickly past her to the first doorway on their left. Now she really did feel awkward. He was pointing in at a lounge room—there was no high counter with a receptionist behind, no chairs along the walls, no fish tank or low table with magazines, no corner table with children’s toys. There was, like any average suburban lounge room, a slightly faded lounge suite, a coffee table, a remote control and a TV, a shelf of family photos and some cheap prints on the walls. This is no clinic or surgery, thought Beth, but an ordinary home belonging, presumably, to the glazier J. S. Jones. Thomas gestured to the armchair; he sat on the couch. He seemed greatly relieved to have put down the bag of clothes. The room smelled of rose air-freshener and something like paint or putty. Thomas turned the TV on. He glanced at Beth, pointed again at the armchair then at the screen, and sank back into the cushions.
Beth sat—but she couldn’t relax. If those on the bus with envelopes weren’t coming here, she thought, where were they going? To the real Dr Forster’s? While I sit here in the lounge room of some random glazier’s house? What next? Will we raid the fridge and see what jewellery we can find in the drawers? She fidgeted, then heard someone coming down the hall. Thomas didn’t react. The front door opened and Beth heard the sound of high heels going down the drive. She wanted to hurry to the window to look. She heard a car start up and listened to it going away. On the TV a man and a woman were speaking up close, their noses almost touching; the man burst out laughing and put his hands to his face. Thomas watched with his wet mouth open; Beth could see the fleshy inside of his bottom lip.
Some Tests Page 8
