The rodeo was certainly an astounding spectacle. Lucy was amazed that there were so many people in the world crazy enough to put themselves, by choice, onto the back of a raging bull. As she sat transfixed beside the ring, she could hear her mother’s voice inside her head, ranting about the insanity of deriving entertainment from such violently dangerous activities.
Watching each muscle-bound bull burst from the chute, with a man thrown around on its back like a ragdoll, and then the clowns hurling themselves recklessly into the bull’s path, was nearly too much for Lucy’s already strained nerves. As each rider hit the sand, she winced and clasped her hands together tighter. At first she tried to cheer and applaud along with Cooper, Billie and the twins, with whom she was sitting, but somehow she couldn’t do it convincingly, and they quickly saw through her.
‘You’re hating this, aren’t you?’ Cooper asked, looking hard at her face. ‘You don’t even know that fella, so don’t get so worked up. Jeez, how’re you gonna cope watching me in the poddy riding?’
Every now and then Lucy caught a glimpse of Ted, busy behind the chutes, harnessing up the fresh bulls ready for the riders. Next was the poddy riding, which Lucy endured only long enough to see Cooper perform unharmed, then feeling slightly ill, she returned to the graveyard to pack up the ute and wait for Ted.
At last it came to an end, and as the rodeo crowd milled around, waiting for the band to start up, Ted came to find Lucy, as keen to hit the road as she was. As they crossed the bridge over the Copperfield and raced away from the town of Einasleigh, just after two o’clock in the afternoon, Lucy sighed with relief. She glanced across at the ringer behind the wheel. ‘What a weekend,’ she said. ‘It’s been an education.’
‘Hope that means you enjoyed yourself,’ muttered Ted.
‘Of course,’ Lucy said quickly. Then, without planning to, she found herself blurting out, ‘Ted, why did you bring me?’ It was only as she asked the question that she realised it had been nagging at her for the last few days.
Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road, Ted raised his eyebrows. After a while he said, ‘Funny sort of a question, that.’
Lucy stared hard at his profile. There was no backing down now. ‘Well?’
He shrugged. ‘I just thought you’d like to be there, you know, see a real bush turnout.’
‘Well, that was thoughtful of you,’ Lucy said, ‘but why do you even care about what I’d like?’
‘Because I like you, I suppose,’ said Ted, still frowning.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Lucy pressed on relentlessly, ‘because I thought after what happened that night at Prussia, you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. In fact, I thought you must hate me.’
‘Hate you? Struth!’ Ted replied, with unusual vehemence. ‘I don’t hate any bugger, least of all you.’
‘That’s good then,’ Lucy said, and laughed. Then amazed at her own boldness, she probed further, ‘So exactly how much do you like me?’
Ted chuckled suddenly. ‘Well enough to fight for you. Never thought I’d be flogging poor old Hoodlum.’
‘Oh . . .’ Lucy supposed she’d have to be satisfied with that for now. ‘I guess that’s a compliment then.’ But she shifted in her seat, feeling suddenly exasperated with the taciturn ringer. He glanced sideways at her, then back at the road, biting his lip so that his cheek dimpled deeply.
After a few minutes of tense silence, while Lucy stewed inwardly, he unexpectedly broke the silence again, his voice low and a frown of concentration on his face. ‘Lucy, if I had any right to, I’d like you a lot.’
Lucy felt her heartbeat speed up. He’d spoken her name again. Ted looked a little desperate, and Lucy could see he was scrabbling around for more words.
‘I like you well enough to know I’d better keep my distance,’ he added at last.
Lucy gazed out the window, smiling, and suddenly the arid world rushing by looked much more beautiful than it had moments before. And something sweet was in the wind.
Chapter 37
‘Lucia.’ The way her father uttered her name over the phone was enough to strike fear into Lucy’s heart. Something was dreadfully wrong.
‘What is it, Dad?’ she asked, breathing quickly.
‘Lucy, it’s your mother. She’s had an aneurysm.’ Graham’s voice cracked and Lucy heard him stifle a deep sob.
Lucy was terrified. She’d never known her father to cry before. ‘Mum? A brain bleed? A stroke?’
‘Not exactly,’ Graham said, attempting to compose himself. ‘A rupture in an artery at the base of the brain. It amounts to the same.’
‘But she’s not—’
‘No.’ He gulped down another sob. ‘She’s unconscious. The best neurosurgeons in the country have operated on her this afternoon. They’ve performed a procedure to fill the aneurysm.’
‘But what does it mean? Is her brain damaged?’ Lucy’s mind was reeling, and she was having difficulty following his words.
‘The procedure went as well as it could have. But now we have the risk of vasospasm, the spasm of blood vessels. They’ll keep her in an induced coma until that risk subsides. When she wakes . . . she won’t be herself, Lucy.’ He paused and his voice was shaky when he went on. ‘Not for a long time . . . maybe never.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Lucy’s heart was racing, and she felt her blood pounding in her ears. ‘I’ll come home. Straight away.’
Graham cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he sounded more like his usual decisive self. ‘There’s no rush, Lucy. They’ll keep her in a coma for at least a fortnight. Gemma’s close by if I need her. I’ll want you here when Mum comes around; until then there’s not a lot we can do for her. No need to drop everything. Just finish up there properly and do the right thing by the Wests.’
‘Okay . . .’ Lucy faltered. ‘If you really think that’s best.’
‘I do. That’s what Mum would want too.’
Lucy listened, then, to her own voice as it asked questions, insignificant details about the time of day when the aneurysm had occurred, what her mother had been doing at the time, and whether she had enough decent pyjamas for the hospital.
Then Graham interrupted. ‘Lucia.’
‘Yes, Dad?’
‘Find someone to be with when you get off the phone.’
Her father knew her too well. Knew that the realisation would flood in on her once the initial numbness wore off. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about now.’
There was a pause, and then he spoke in a voice so choked with grief that it was nearly unrecognisable. ‘Lucia, my little girl, I don’t know what to do. For the first time, I don’t know how to be.’ He took a deep breath and sighed it out again. ‘I can’t fix this.’
Lucy surprised herself with her conviction as she replied, ‘We’ll be all right, Dad. We’ll look after Mum—help her get better. She’s strong and her body is healthy. Can you see Mum being an invalid for long? If anyone can recover, she will.’
‘I hope you’re right, Lucy,’ he said, his voice still trembling.
Her father was afraid. Realising this made Lucy, a grown woman, feel like a little girl lost. For the first time her father needed her to be strong. He needed to be able to lean on her. She hoped she was worthy. Gemma would have trouble coping, of that she was certain. Lucy resolved then and there that she would be worthy, even if it killed her.
After carefully checking with her father, Lucy decided to stay on for another ten days before embarking on the long drive south, to complete the following school week and leave on the Sunday. The time seemed to pass in a haze, and all at once the final school day drew to a close. She spent most of Friday tidying up loose ends, making sure all the children’s work was up to date. When at last they’d finished for the day, instead of giving the kids the motivational talk she’d planned out in bed the night before, Lucy played Pictionary with them. But, their faces sullen, no one enjoyed the game and large, silent tears slid down Molly’s cheeks and dripped
onto her paper.
When they headed off to do their chores, Lucy spent the remainder of the afternoon arranging the schoolroom as best she could for whoever was to take over as teacher. She tucked little yellow explanatory notes into all the books and spare resources that she’d decided to leave behind for the West children. She’d almost finished when she spotted Shep and Snoz heading over to the shed, where Ted could be seen loading up his ute to go home for the weekend.
Lucy left the schoolroom and hurried over to him. He stopped what he was doing and half turned to face her.
‘I just thought I’d . . . I’m leaving on Sunday, you know,’ she stammered.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Ted’s voice was toneless and his face was hard.
‘Weren’t you going to say goodbye to me?’ Lucy asked awkwardly.
Ted looked at his boots. ‘I’m not much good at that sort of thing.’
Lucy stood by helplessly while he finished tying down his load.
‘I’ll take the dogs home with me then, I suppose.’ Grabbing Snoz by the scruff of the neck, Ted hoisted him into the ute, then he looked at Shep. ‘Jump in, old mate.’
Before obeying, the old dog eyed Lucy, looking uneasy. All at once, Lucy felt very fragile, the worry of the past ten days threatening to overwhelm her. Her voice quavered when she spoke again.
‘I want to thank you for everything you’ve taught me, Ted.’
He turned back to face her. ‘It’s nothing much.’ His expression softened when he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I wanna thank you, too,’ he said, ‘for what you taught me.’
Through her tears, Lucy laughed in surprise. ‘What could I have possibly taught you?’
He answered immediately. ‘That there are some women worth knowing.’
Lucy swallowed, and her tears spilled over. She took a tissue from her pocket and began to wipe her eyes. Suddenly Ted’s arms were firmly around her.
‘And when you’re gone it’ll be good for a fella to know that there’s a girl like you somewhere out in the world,’ he said. Then he released her, stepped into the ute, and drove quickly away.
Lucy watched until the ute was out of sight. She threw her sodden tissue into the rubbish drum, wiped her face on her shirt and steadied herself against the shed post before returning to the schoolroom to complete her work.
Marie was still unconscious when Lucy arrived at her bedside in the hospital ward. Lucy had stopped at home just long enough to drop off her bag and have a shower, and her sleeping mother was the first of her family she encountered.
Apart from the bandaging on Marie’s head, and all of the tubes and wiring, Lucy was surprised at how lovely she looked. Her long lashes resting peacefully on her round rosy cheeks were reminiscent of a sleeping infant. Lucy bent and kissed her, then settled down numbly beside her.
A nurse bustled in. ‘You can talk to her, you know,’ she said, smiling at Lucy. ‘Even in a coma the brain can detect a familiar voice. It all helps, perhaps more than we realise.’
Lucy nodded and tried to smile back. Once the nurse had gone, she leaned in close and tried to think of something to say, but a nauseating horror was creeping over her. Back at Charlotte’s Creek, she’d known her mother was unconscious and lying in a hospital bed, but somehow she hadn’t really believed it was true. Until now.
‘Oh, Mum!’ she gasped, and began to cry bitterly.
Graham, who’d just finished with his own patients for the day, opened the door quietly and let himself in. At the sight of him, Lucy tried to pull herself together, but when she went to speak she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Graham came silently to her side, put his arms around her, and they wept together.
At last Lucy’s tears subsided and they sat looking despondently at the little woman in the bed.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Lucy said. ‘I thought I was prepared for this.’
Graham laughed quietly. Lucy looked at him in surprise.
‘I thought I knew all there was to know about illness and dying,’ he explained. ‘I’m always so matter-of-fact about it. Every day I deal with death, talk to the bereaved, give them my words of wisdom.’ He laughed again, but the mirthless sound made Lucy shiver. ‘This is all so familiar to me, Lucy, but that is precisely why I’d become so complacent. Can you believe that all my experience with deathbeds has failed to rid me of that simple human delusion, the belief that it would never happen to me or mine?’
‘Dad, this is not a deathbed!’ Lucy objected fiercely, looking hard into his face. He looked back, his expression calmly grave, as though he wished he could believe her.
At that moment the door burst open and Gemma whirled into the room. ‘Lucy!’ she squealed, flinging her handbag and jacket to the ground and running to hug her sister. ‘Oh, it’s so good, good, good to see you!’ She kissed Lucy’s cheeks and beamed into her face.
Lucy felt an inexplicable rush of strength from her sister’s embrace. ‘Gem, you’re looking wonderful.’ And she did look stunning, although Lucy noticed she was a little thinner.
‘I lost the baby, Luce, but that’s irrelevant at the moment—thank God you’re back!’ Gemma cried.
Lucy, reeling from this new shock, gripped her sister’s wrists in dismay, but Gemma went on brightly, ‘You can help me talk Mum into waking up. Dad said two weeks, didn’t you, Dad? And it’s two weeks tomorrow.’
Gemma released Lucy and retrieved her bag from the floor, then bustled over to Marie. ‘You hear that, Mother? Enough of this lying around.’ Gemma perched on the side of the bed and rummaged in her bag. She pulled out a comb and tidied the curls that were protruding from under the bandage around Marie’s head. Next she produced a nail file and started working on her mother’s limp hands. ‘I’ve been filling her in on all the gossip,’ Gemma explained, ‘doing my best to scandalise her into coming around, but it hasn’t worked so far.’
‘Gem,’ Lucy said, ‘she might not even recognise us when she wakes up.’
‘Yes, Dad’s given me all the doom and gloom,’ Gemma said dismissively. ‘I’m sure she’ll be dopey for a while, but other people recover from these aneurysms, and so will Mum.’
Gemma dug deeper into her bag, and drew out a set of rosary beads. ‘She’ll want these when she wakes up.’ She looped the beads around Marie’s wrist and tucked the tail between her fingers, then looked up at Graham. He nodded and smiled, some of the creases in his forehead relaxing.
Lucy regarded her sister’s strong, calm face, and shame washed over her. How she’d underestimated Gemma. She told herself to remember this moment, no matter what was to follow, and be truly humbled by it.
‘Hey, Mum,’ Gemma was saying. ‘You’ve gone thirteen whole days without saying the rosary. Shameful. Get your act together. Who’s going to pray on my behalf while you’re laid up? You know I’m much too lazy to do it.’ Now Lucy felt herself smiling, too. Gemma’s strength seemed to fill the room; all at once, hope was stirring.
Marie did wake at last. As they’d feared, she was initially unable to speak, sit up or walk. For some reason, though, it wasn’t as terrible as Lucy had imagined, as there was a definite light of recognition in Marie’s blue-green eyes at the sight of her daughters and husband. And her condition began to improve almost straight away, even if the advances were small. Once she’d learned to eat again, they spent the next few weeks working on sitting up, rolling over and moving, none of which she could do without assistance. Then it was off to the rehabilitation hospital, and so began the long, arduous journey through the mazes of occupational therapy, speech therapy and neuropsychological training. Lucy, being most available, was by her mother’s side every step of the way. Eventually Marie began to speak a little; she clearly had no comprehension of what had happened to her and, to Lucy’s relief, didn’t appear to be overly distressed by her condition. She smiled when she was placed for the first time on a passive cycling machine, and after a few weeks she was able to sit in a wheelchair. Next she learned to stand in a pool, and gradually progressed
to being able to walk on a treadmill with a harness supporting her weight.
But the physical retraining was only the beginning. Marie could now speak, but the aneurysm had wiped out much of her vocabulary and seemed to have left her mind frequently blank, so she had very little to say. They looked at hundreds of pictures, each labelled with its beginning sound, to help trigger Marie’s dormant memories. Once again, Marie’s progress was rapid, and the therapists were extremely pleased.
They were soon able to discuss current events, the weather and general trivia, but Marie showed most enthusiasm when the topic of cooking arose. For Lucy, these conversations were at times disconcerting, as Marie’s confused mind had acquired some wild notions, of which she was convinced. For more than a fortnight, the ill woman was happy under the impression that Lucy was married to Cameron Irvine, and kept reminding her not to neglect her fine husband. For a while she was also firmly fixed in the belief that Gemma was her own dead mother, and drew great comfort from her presence. She insisted that she be tucked in and kissed goodnight whenever it was time for Gemma to leave. Gemma played the part with characteristic enthusiasm, putting on an exaggerated Maltese accent that made Lucy frown.
While she thought of Charlotte’s Creek every day, Lucy resisted the temptation to phone the station, hoping that with time her guilt over her desertion of the Wests would ease, and that she would cease to feel so inextricably connected with the fortunes of the family. She told herself to let go, that the children were no longer her responsibility, and that if they thought of her at all it would be as a thing of the past, just like all the other ‘guvvies’. But it was no good. As the weeks passed, Lucy’s longing to make contact with the Charlotte’s Creek folk only increased.
Then one wintery Sunday evening in August, Billie phoned. Lucy was delighted to hear from her, and listened hungrily to all the news she could decipher amid the din being made by the twins, who were clamouring in the background to talk to Lucy. She spoke to all the children in turn, and then briefly to Mel, but on hanging up the phone she discovered that the conversation had only left her sadder than before. Putting together snippets imparted by each of the Wests, Lucy gathered that the children had once again badly regressed in their schooling, that they were being less than cooperative with a frazzled Mel, and that in the first few weeks after Lucy’s departure, baby Henry had cried disconsolately and crawled around, searching everywhere for her. The twins had asked repeatedly when she would be coming back, and even Cooper had swallowed his pride enough to admit that things were ‘pretty ordinary’ since she’d gone. Cynthia Tyrrell had sent Cliff to rescue Lucy’s bantams, insisting that they weren’t getting the necessary care now that they’d been lumped in with the larger and coarser fowl at Charlotte’s Creek. Of this information Lucy was secretly glad, as she was of the news that Snoz went everywhere with Ted. But Shep was moping around Lotte’s Hut, spending most of his waking hours asleep under the little building and allowing his rheumatism to get the better of him; as Wade kindly informed Lucy, Dennis was of the opinion that ‘the old mutt wanted shooting’.
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