Room 46 & Short Story Collection

by Helen McKenna

  ‘We can’t rewrite it without all the stats! You can’t just talk in general terms about the incidence of bipolar disorder in the community. Besides it’s got all the references to other authors, I can’t just regurgitate all that at will!’

  ‘Well we can get someone to go to your office …’

  ‘No we can’t! I’m the only one with weekend access – the fob is in my handbag.’

  Matt had never seen Clare look that angry. Her normally friendly, open face was a dangerous shade of red and her green eyes looked like they were ready to shoot sparks. Desperately he tried to console her. ‘There must be something we can try …’ he ventured, willing his brain to come up with a magical solution.

  Clare shook her head vehemently. ‘No, there isn’t. You have totally screwed up one of the most important moments of my career. I don’t even want to look at you right now.’

  With that she stalked off in the direction of the lift.

  Matt watched her go. He wanted to follow her, calm her down and try and come up with some crazy way out of the dilemma. Clare was always saying that problems were lessons in disguise. Yet he was struck with the most intense inertia he had ever experienced. His legs actually felt heavy and the roped off area seemed to have developed into some kind of weird force field that was holding him captive.

  Leaning forward on his hands he peered out the window again. Was it just him or had the sky clouded over? Far below, the water looked choppy now and there was some kind of traffic snarl down on the street. How the hell had he botched yet another proposal?

  This wasn’t just some silly hurdle, Matt realised. It was a clear sign, a divine tap on the shoulder. He and Clare were obviously not meant to get married.

  End of story.

  * * * * *

  Matt paused, acutely aware of the silence in the room. Nobody was fidgeting or shuffling in their chairs. They were all focused on him.

  It was hard to read the different expressions. Some seemed genuinely sympathetic and were silently telling him, “I’m feeling your pain buddy.” Others looked relieved, perhaps interpreting that they were right in not having taken the proposal leap. And the final group were fighting to hold back their laughter, reassuring themselves at least they weren’t that inept.

  Clare cut back in then, skilfully presenting him with yet another question, ‘So Matt after three strikes you must have definitely felt like you were out, right?’

  Matt didn’t look her in the eye. He couldn’t. He had already embarrassed himself enough for one night. ‘Yes, absolutely,’ he agreed.

  ‘Yet at the same time, these experiences must have taught you something, surely?’

  Matt cleared his throat. ‘Um, they taught me that I was either the unluckiest guy in the world or that I really sucked at proposing.’

  ‘Anything a bit more insightful perhaps?’

  ‘Um, well, I was going on what other people considered the ideal proposal to be, instead of doing my own thing.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, you should always follow your own instincts. But how else do you think you were subconsciously sabotaging yourself?’

  Matt ran his hands through his hair and exhaled sharply. Wow, she was really making him pay for turning up uninvited. ‘I was trying too hard to conjure up “perfection”,’ he replied, holding up his fingers in air quotes.

  ‘Ah, perfection. Why did you think you needed perfection?’ Clare asked. ‘Didn’t you know that your girlfriend loved you unconditionally?’

  Matt shrugged. ‘I guess I didn’t.’

  ‘How so?’

  Matt sighed. ‘Deep down I was always scared that I wasn’t good enough for her.’

  Clare turned her attention back to the audience. ‘And this, gentlemen is the problem. You get so wrapped up in what you think is the perfect proposal, that you forget about the marriage – which is what you should be focused on. Matt here should have resolved the issue he had of not feeling worthy by talking to his partner, or a counsellor, instead of challenging himself to an elaborate proposal to try and bolster his worthiness within their relationship.’

  ‘Hang on,’ a twenty-something man in the front interrupted. ‘We are only reacting to the pressure our girlfriends are exerting on us. They’ve all got really fancy ideas these days.’

  ‘That’s a valid point,’ Clare agreed. ‘But, again, it is covering a deeper problem. If your partner is more hung up on how fancy your proposal is than you as a person, I would see that as a red flag in your relationship.’

  ‘Sounds like the idea of marriage is just too hard these days,’ the same man said.

  ‘No it’s not,’ Clare assured him. ‘It’s definitely not,’ she emphasised. ‘You just need to go in better prepared and stop focusing on the wrong things.’

  ‘Hey Matt,’ asked a young man in the middle section. ‘You’ve gotta finish your story man. Where are you at now? Are you gonna try again?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘So why are you here then?’ asked another man from the second row.

  Clare looked over at him and raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, that’s a good question gentlemen. But Phil up the front asked a question first – one I’m sure you’d all like the answer to. So what do you say Matt, are you going to bring the audience up to speed?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘No I think I’ve said my piece. But you seem to have all the answers, so why don’t you finish it off for me?’

  ‘All right, I will.’

  * * * * *

  As always, Clare’s handbag was so full she couldn’t close the zip. So even though her phone was on silent, she could see the screen light up when it rang. Determined not to be one of those people who couldn’t get through a movie without looking at their mobile, she did her best to ignore the mini disco that was happening at her feet. But when it kept lighting up every minute or so, she had to give in and check.

  Lifting her bag onto her knee she slid her phone out and did a double take when she looked at the screen. Thirteen missed calls from Matt! Remembering she was in a crowded movie theatre she held back from cursing out loud. This was getting ridiculous. She had been resolute in her need to create some distance between them. She needed Matt to realise just how seriously he had stuffed up this time and if she gave in to some drunken, wheedling, sweet talking he would never have any kind of growth experience.

  Checking the time on her phone screen she shook her head in annoyance. Nine forty on a Friday night – typical pub time. He was probably absolutely hammered and full of remorse, yet again. Already thoroughly annoyed, she almost exploded when the screen lit up again in her hand.

  Right! she thought, he’s going to get a piece of my mind!

  Lifting her thumb to swipe and reject the call she glanced closer at the screen. It was a different number. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of her seat fast enough to answer it, Clare had to let it ring out. But she had an uneasy feeling about it that quickly grew when a follow up text message from the same number appeared on her screen seconds later.

  “Clare please call Melanie at the Emergency Department, Royal Brisbane Hospital on this number.”

  This time Clare’s gasp was audible. Jumping to her feet, she jostled her way along the row, ignoring the dirty looks and sighs of annoyance and ran for the exit.

  * * * * *

  Clare had to pause then as the audience interrupted with a barrage of questions.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Phil said, ‘are you saying you’re the girlfriend?’

  Clare nodded, just as Matt said, ‘She’s actually not my girlfriend anymore.’

  ‘Okay, former girlfriend,’ Phil conceded. ‘Is this some kind of double act or something?’

  ‘Yeah,’ a hefty older man with a buzz cut interjected. ‘Why are you giving lectures about the perfect proposal if your bloke crashed and burned so badly?’

  Clare held her hand up for order. ‘Please gentlemen, let me finish speaking. I can assure you that Matt was not invited here
tonight, however, the fact he is here has given us an opportunity to learn from a real life case study. If you’ll just hear me out you may find out some pertinent information that may help you avoid what Matt and I experienced.’

  ‘All right,’ Phil agreed, ‘but if you don’t talk sense I want a refund.’

  ‘Yeah,’ a few others agreed.

  Clare glared over at Matt as if to say, happy now?

  He shrugged in return and pulled a face, hoping to get a smile in return.

  He didn’t.

  * * * * *

  The Emergency Department waiting room was packed and very noisy. Closest to the front, several people were coughing ferociously, apparently victims of the latest virulent flu strain. A teenage girl vomited miserably into a five litre ice-cream container and a young man still dressed in his high visibility work gear cradled a bandaged wrist, apparently in a fair amount of pain. Dozens of other people of all descriptions perched uncomfortably on the remaining hard plastic chairs obviously determined to stay put, despite the sign which announced the approximate waiting time to be three hours.

  Feeling a little guilty for jumping the queue, Clare made her way to the triage window and was immediately buzzed through when she explained who she was. Ignoring the howls of protest that erupted in her wake, she followed Melanie, the nurse who greeted her, in wide-eyed wonder. She had heard about the bedlam in hospital emergency departments on Friday and Saturday nights, but had no idea if it was run of the mill chaos or if there was some kind of major emergency in progress on this particular night. Every cubicle was occupied and the noise level was astounding, with the sounds of crying children mingling with groans of pain, the sounds of vomiting and drunken shouting. On top of all that were the sounds of the staff as they ministered to their patients and communicated instructions between themselves.

  ‘Can I get some more normal saline in cubicle three?’

  ‘Multi vehicle MVA on the way, we need to clear some beds!’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘Great! Just what we need on a Friday night.’

  Unsure how to respond, Clare just smiled sympathetically and continued to trail her until they reached a cubicle in the farthest corner. Pausing a moment before opening the curtain Melanie grabbed a clipboard from the wall and handed it to Clare. ‘I’ll just get you to fill in his admission papers. We’re so glad to get hold of you – we tried his mum but she didn’t answer and when we asked him he kept saying your name.’

  Clare nodded and accepted the forms.

  ‘Sorry we haven’t really had the chance to clean him up yet,’ Melanie apologised as she flung the curtain open.

  Clare’s hand flew to her mouth at the sight that greeted her. Matt was huddled on his side with his knees drawn up, apparently in pain, even though he was sleeping. Vomit stained the front of his navy blue t-shirt, his khaki cargo shorts were splashed with mud and the soles of his bare feet were filthy. But worse than that was his pallor. His face was a shade of grey that Clare had never seen and it frightened her. ‘Is he drunk?’ she asked.

  Melanie shook her head. ‘No, we thought so at first but it’s actually severe food poisoning.’

  ‘Okay, so why is he so dishevelled and shoeless? Where did you find him?’

  ‘He was volunteering at the kids festival at the Ekka grounds this arvo. Apparently he was at the mud pie stand.’

  Clare couldn’t help but shake her head fondly at her very own Peter Pan. ‘Do you know what he ate to cause it?’ she asked.

  ‘He said he had leftover Thai takeaway for breakfast, we’re assuming it’s that.’

  Clare rolled her eyes. ‘It’s probably leftover from a week ago – he’s got a theory that as long as there’s no mould it’s okay to eat.’

  ‘That would probably do it then. Rice in particular can be nasty after a couple of days.’

  ‘Will he be okay?’

  He’s been pretty sick, but now we’ve got the drip in and given him some medication he should start to settle down soon. We’ll need to keep him in for at least twelve hours and the drugs we’ve had to give him will make him pretty disorientated. Do you want to stay with him?’

  ‘Sure, of course. I can see you guys are totally run off your feet.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much the norm in Emergency. I’ll get him cleaned up and into a gown and I can get you a chair, but I’m afraid you may not get too much sleep in here.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘All right, here’s the vomit bowl and there’s a unisex toilet just down the hallway. He’s over the worst of it now, but he’ll probably still need to make a trip or two and he’s not real steady on his feet.’

  Clare took a deep breath. ‘All right, no worries.’

  Melanie grinned. ‘Wow, you’re definitely a keeper! I always reckon the true test of a relationship is whether or not a couple will look after each other when they’re sick.’

  Clare shrugged and smiled wryly. ‘Well you’ve got to take the good with the bad.’

  ‘He’s a lucky guy,’ Melanie replied, smiling again before heading off to find a chair and a gown.

  * * * * *

  ‘It’s amazing how seeing somebody you love in such a vulnerable position can make everything else seem so unimportant,’ Clare said. ‘All the anger I’d felt just kind of evaporated and all that mattered was that Matt was going to be okay.’

  ‘So, you’re saying you just forgave him for screwing up your career?’ Phil asked. Extending his hands to take in their surroundings he said, ‘I’m guessing this is a bit of a demotion from the other speaking work you’d been doing.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘Actually it’s not. Sure it’s not as glamorous and it doesn’t pay as much but it is exactly where I want to be.’ Looking up at the audience and seeing the evident scepticism she nodded. ‘I’m not kidding. You see this situation also forced me to face up to some of my own issues.’

  ‘Psychologists have issues?’ a man in an Armani suit asked.

  ‘Of course we do, we’re human too. I already knew deep down that corporate speaking wasn’t my thing. I mean I was good enough at it and it really raised my profile, but it was keeping me away from what I love doing, which is helping people at a grassroots level.’

  ‘So why did you keep doing it?’ asked Phil.

  Clare shrugged. ‘Peer pressure I suppose. All my colleagues seemed to think it was the right path for me to follow and the money was pretty amazing.’

  ‘Then missing your big speech was kind of a blessing in disguise?’ asked Armani man.

  ‘Well yeah. You see the truth was if I’d really wanted to I could have still done that speech. I could have tracked the security company down and got them to let somebody into my office and email or fax it to me. I could have even flown back myself and picked it up. It was just more convenient to have the decision taken out of my hands and blame Matt.’

  ‘I did stuff up though,’ Matt interjected.

  ‘Yeah, but we all do that sometimes. When you love someone you need to accept them for who they are. I love the way you take life as it comes. And I should have checked you had the memory stick, in fact knowing the way you lose things I should have put it in my pocket the moment I got in the car.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Phil said, looking first at Clare and then at Matt, ‘you said you’re not together anymore.’

  ‘No, I said she’s not my girlfriend,’ Matt corrected.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Okay, enough of the cryptic clues,’ Clare said, ‘there’s a little bit more to the story.’

  * * * * *

  It was one of the worst nights Clare had ever experienced. Willing herself to be comfortable in the plastic chair but failing miserably she only managed to nod off for five or ten minutes at a time before being awoken by drunken shouting, Matt’s need to vomit (twice) and visit the bathroom (once), several emergency alarms and the general noise of the ED. Still out to it on medication, Matt barely registered her presence beyond giving a woozy smile of r
ecognition (although he did wake once and tell her she was beautiful).

  The arrival of dawn seemed to bring with it a small sense of calm, although Clare was still amazed at the constant level of activity around her. It seemed that people were still violently ill, in pain or suffering heart attacks no matter what the hour. At least Matt was sleeping peacefully now, the combination of fluids and medication obviously having done their job. Although still drawn and pale, his face had lost the awful grey hue.

  Just after six, a heavyset older woman poked her head around the curtain. ‘Oh, hello love I’m just here to mop the floor,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘Would you mind stepping out for a second?’

  Clare stretched and rolled her neck. ‘No, that’s fine,’ she answered wearily as she stood up and opened the curtain. ‘I think I need to go and find some coffee anyway.’

  ‘Good idea I’d say love, you been here all night have you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ah, poor thing. He’s much better now though, he was throwing up a storm when he first came in!’

  ‘He would have hated that, he’s hardly ever sick.’

  ‘Ah don’t worry, he was pretty out of it, I don’t think he realised what he was saying. Kept carrying on about his girlfriend and how he …’ her voice trailed off and she eyed Clare up and down before saying, ‘Are you Clare by any chance?’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  An expert in body language, Clare immediately noticed the change in the woman’s demeanour. Those two words conveyed contempt and were a major turnaround from the cheery greeting she had bestowed earlier.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked politely.

  ‘No, no problem,’ the cleaner replied briskly as she mopped around the bed.