by C. J. Lau
Chapter 18
My home, no longer a warm waypoint at the beginning and end of each daily adventure. The emptiness haunts me. Now it’s a place where I charge through the front door, because standing there too long reminds me of Solo walking away.
At least my bedroom is safe. Thank goodness he never made it this far.
Cold air from another freezing morning clenches my face tight. The loneliness in my heart, the fatigue of not getting home until after midnight, makes it a challenge to open my eyes.
I look across at the wall chart. Yesterday’s win in Bathurst, complete with horrific injury to Brooke, yet to be recorded. That can wait until my head stops pounding.
I roll over to my side and pull the blanket closer.
What the hell is that! The sound of my phone ringing sends a shudder through my spine. Reminds me what Solo did on Friday.
Eventually its persistence gets me out of bed. Wishing I had Caller-ID, my voice tentative. “Hello?”
It’s Francis. “Did you win?”
“Yes,” I answer, rubbing my eyes. Too early to be talking. “But we also had a serious injury.”
Too early to be patient with someone who chose to visit family over the match.
“What happened?”
“Brooke hurt her knee. She should be at the hospital now,” I tell him, standing in my tracksuit from yesterday, having not had the energy to do anything but remove my shoes and fall into bed.
I look around for the time, the cold making me shiver hard. 8:30. Not exactly early, but it feels so to me.
“Ouch! How cruel for her,” Francis says, “Ripley is going to want a report too. I know how much he hates being chased by insurance people when students get hurt on excursions.”
I know about the report. Know School Principal Ripley and what he needs from me. What I don’t know is why Francis is calling now. The morning after. “Yes. I’ll get that sorted. Our next match is at home,” I say, fast running out of patience. “But I’ll need you for the State Finals.”
His question makes me throw my head back in frustration. “Are you sure you’re going to make it?”
“Yes!” I snap. “Anyway, I need to check on Brooke. See you in two weeks.”
Francis has paid less and less attention to the team since returning from Wagga. His absence forcing my hand in appointing Carol, and soon Cat, as makeshift assistants. I feel no pangs about hanging up without finding what he called for. His sudden interest today annoying me more than it should.
“He has a point though,” I mutter to myself, concerned I’ve been doing that a lot lately. “Need to write down the details before they fade.”
I ring Brooke’s mum, at the same time beginning to recount events on paper. Surprised when she picks up. Mobile phones not permitted inside a hospital.
“Hello, Mrs Wilson? It’s Maggie Conrad.” I keep the shivering from my voice. “Just calling to see how things are going. Did Brooke make it to hospital okay?”
My head clears enough for me to start on my notes. Still so tired from yesterday.
“Yeah, she went in a few minutes ago,” Mrs Wilson answers. “There wasn’t much of a wait. I’m just getting coffee for us.”
I continue writing, grimacing at the memory of the incredibly destructive force of the blow. “How is she?”
“Still swollen. Got almost no sleep last night.”
“Sorry.” I drop the pen for a moment to rub my aching head. “We tried to ice it as best we could. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Could you come and see her? Poor thing, we almost called an ambulance last night. She went so white, can barely walk on it. Worried she was going into shock. But she hung on like the brave girl she is.” Mrs Wilson’s words bring more pain in. “She looks up to you, seeing you would cheer her up. They said she’ll be out at 10.”
I look at myself in the mirror. Carnage. On closer recollection, it was past 1am when I left the Keene’s. A debrief over wine with Carol and Cat.
But I’ve done this to myself. “Certainly,” I answer, looking in the mirror again, but my good intentions don’t improve my reflection. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Maggie. See you soon.”
“See you.”
I hang up and finish my notes. Needing the medical results before I can submit my report to Principal Ripley.
Clock’s ticking, Maggie. Shower time.
Discarding my jacket brings more cold before I pull off my shirt. Walking towards the shower until a knock at the door interrupts.
Dammit!
I pull my shirt down and head for the door. Grumpy, midriff showing, a scowl on my face.
It’s Cat, holding an envelope in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
“Ta-da!”
My scowl turns quickly, inviting her in. Her presence bringing some warmth back.
“How do you look so good?” I ask, rubbing my arms. “You were still there when I left at, like, one.”
“I crashed at Carol’s. We didn’t last much longer after you left. We did talk a little though,” Cat answers, holding up the envelope. “She convinced me to get the surgery.”
“That’s great,” I move away from her, talking over my shoulder. “I told Brooke’s mum I’d be at the hospital. I’ve got to take a shower.” Cat giggling as I throw off my shirt, walking back towards the bathroom in my sports bra. “You’ve seen worse!” I shout.
The hot water feels wonderful hitting my face, washing yesterday’s dried sweat away, bringing heat into my tired body. Firing my mind to life. Brooke’s mum is calm and reasonable, now. The yelling and blame will come later.
Things usually go sour at some point. Kathy warned me when this adventure started. Now I’ll be tested on how I adapt. How the team react, feeding off me. Six matches is all it had taken for Brooke to both look up to me, and be an important part of my team.
At least I have some time to plan.
A few minutes and a fresh set of clothes later, I emerge to the welcoming aroma of coffee.
I love you, Cat.
Cat sits, reading my incident report. Laying out a ham and egg roll and gesturing eat. The act making me smile even more. She remembers my favourite guilty pleasure breakfast. Even remembers how my percolator works.
“Poor thing,” Cat says, poring over the report as I take a bite into my roll. “Must have been going like a rocket when it got her. I suppose she’s lucky in one way. If it’d been lower she’d have broken her leg for sure. How is she?”
I pour us two cups, join her at the table.
“Don’t know. She’s at the hospital. I promised I’d be there at 10. Want to come?”
My words are muffled, crumbs spraying everywhere. But I take another bite, feel totally comfortable. Cat has lived with me once, seen me in my underwear, at my most glamorous and at my worst.
“Eat, then talk,” she scolds, although her grin gives her away. “We need to head out pretty soon if you meant 10.”
I finish my roll with one more bite, drink as much coffee as my burning tongue can handle. Then I follow Cat out to her car.
We just make it, Brooke and her mum leaving as we walk into the hospital. An instant frown forming at the first sight of my midfielder. Shoulders drooping, struggling on crutches, her knee bandaged tightly. Brooke’s mum with a large envelope, doing her best to cheer up the shattered teenager.
“Maggie! Cat! Wow!” Brooke exclaims, pain in each syllable.
“How are you, Champ?” I risk a hand on her shoulder.
“They say nothing’s broken.” She shrugs my hand off. “Ran some kind of stress test. Hurt like hell.”
I try looking at her, but she avoids my eye. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Another shrug, disappointment leaking into every word she speaks. “They’ve booked me in for an MRI on Tuesday, once the swelling goes down. Definitely tore my medial, but they can’t rule out damage to my ACL yet.”
Hope threatens to flee, my mind processin
g the preliminary diagnosis. No break, but any ACL damage still ends her year. Plus, months of physio.
I hug her. Nothing else I can do.
She struggles to get an arm around to hug me back. “Looks like I’ll need a new hobby for a while.”
I finally get to look into her eyes. “Hang in there, Brooke. Did they give you something for the swelling?”
A small nod. “Yeah, we’re going to the chemist now. Today just means I don’t have a broken leg.” Brooke starts, moving towards the exit.
“Trust me, it’s good news. You do not want a broken leg.” Cat pulls in close to form a strange little huddle just short of the hospital entrance.
“I suppose so.” A small, pained, smile. “Thanks for coming to see me.”
We all step outside.
“You’re going to miss the next match. But I haven’t given up hope on you playing in the Finals.” I keep encouraging as we move toward the car park. “Call me once you get the MRI results.”
“Sure, Maggie.”
Brooke won’t let us help her into the car, eventually making it inside. Brooke’s father saying nothing. His glare enough to make his displeasure known. Only leaving me time to meet his stare with an apologetic look before they drive off.
“Not an enemy you want to make,” Cat says, cold shivers washing over me again. The trail of white exhaust steam lingering.
“That was tough. There’s nothing I can tell her.” I let my own shoulders drop. Cat’s arm around me. “Seems her dad wants to kill me.”
I feel a little squeeze, Cat in my ear. “Her leg isn’t broken. That’s a start. What do you want to do now?”
Despite her efforts, disappointment floods me. “Go home I guess.”
Cat switches on the radio in her car. Turning us for home. “Know who you’re playing next?”
“We got a forfeit for Round 7. Won’t know our Round 8 opponents for another month.” I squint, head pounding again. “But I swear I will ram something down Darrell’s throat if we don’t get a home game.”
Cat laughs. She always has a way of laughing when I’m angry. Normally it calms me down, just like now.
“How are you going Cat?” I risk asking. “Still having the nightmares?”
“I’m fine,” Cat answers, moving a hand from the wheel, up to cover her face.
Has that become instinctive?
“My psychologist and I are working through; sorting out the true recollections from the reconstructed nightmares.” A small smile forms and then disappears. “I haven’t had them for a few nights now. Still shake like crazy at the sound of a helicopter, though.” Cat sighs. “Full blown phobia that’s turning out to be.”
“Keep it up, Cat. I know you’re stronger than that.”
Her radio blurts, “And in local sports news, Goulburn High won its most recent knockout hockey match 4-2 against Bathurst. Shaking off death threats to their first year Coach. Well done, girls.”
“Death threats?” Cat turns to me. Even though we’re still moving.
My eyes grow wide as hers. Yet another surprise to process this morning. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“Why would they do that?” My nerves spike at Cat questions, the car’s wobble. “Make that up?
“Well, there have been a few notes,” I start, “at home—”
“Maggie! You need to call the police!”
“I have. Well, not the most recent one,” I admit. “Nothing’s happened.”
“What do you mean the most recent one?” Cat’s panicking now. “When was that?”
“When I got home, Friday after work. It’s in the house somewhere.”
“Call the police. Soon as you get home.”
“I suppose, now it’s on the news,” I say, keeping calm despite my pounding head. “Wonder how they found out?”
Cat guns the car, swerving into my street, eyes furiously staring at the road. “I don’t care, I just need you to be safe.”
“I am safe, Cat! Don’t freak out.”
But I know it’s too late for that.
As soon as we get home, Cat shoves the phone at me. And I don’t like it when she’s like this.
I dial the police, try to remember the name of the detective investigating the school break-in.
Detective Ryan Garry arrives about an hour later.
“Have any more been delivered since you returned?” Detective Garry asks.
“No. But I haven’t checked the mail since I got back.”
“Can you please go check?”
I roll my eyes and go to my mailbox. Cat at my hip, as protective as a terrier. A small white envelope waiting once I peer inside.
MAGGIE. YOU’RE DEAD IF GOULBURN WIN AGAINST BATHURST.
A sharp, cold breath in is all it takes for Cat to snatch the note from me. A rushed, yelping noise from her before the note went to the detective.
“Okay, everyone inside,” Detective Garry orders, eyes scanning the neighbourhood, the only calm one left. “Now, please.”
Cat slams the door shut behind us, Detective Garry examining the note closely. Putting it alongside the one from Friday when he’s done. Both were computer printed on plain paper. Could have come from anywhere.
“How many people know you were playing Bathurst?” Detective Garry asks.
“Everyone.” My calmness surprises me. “The games are broadcast to the school and all the parents take an interest. Many of them attend.” Distracted by Cat pacing around like a guard dog. The sight rattling me more than I show. “The tournament organiser knows, and anyone who has a draw could figure it out.” I throw my hands up, the sight of Cat setting off my frustrations, and a touch of panic. “Heck, they might even get announced on the radio.”
“Okay. I’m going to increase security around you again,” Detective Garry says.
“Can you make it discrete so whoever it is comes at me this time?” My request stops Cat dead in her tracks, and I turn to the detective to avoid her eyes.
“We’re not in the business of using people as bait,” Detective Garry answers, frowning. “Not an option.”
His calmness settles me, and I exhale with a deep hiss. “Understood. Hopefully you get this guy.”
Cat’s still shooting daggers with her eyes as Detective Garry bids me farewell and lets himself out. She’s furious. “Don’t volunteer as bait, Maggie. The team needs you. I need you!”
And suddenly, I explode with frustration. “Well he needs to do something! Someone out there has a file with every aspect of my life in it!” I shout back. “The police will never get him if all they do is read his stupid notes!”
“Don’t be so selfish!”
A million rude things jump into my head to shout back. I don’t feel selfish. I feel tired. Tired of being the centre of attention and having greater expectations set every time I cross a hurdle. Tired of always needing to be an example in the classroom, on the field, and everywhere I go in this town. Plus, the lack of sleep pounds at my brain. The combination of everything steals my voice for a second.
“Sorry,” I look away, rubbing my temples, without energy to fight on. “I’m just really tired, it’s making me grumpy. You should get home.”
“Not a chance. You go lie down and I’ll have lunch by the time you wake up.” Cat wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until this security arrives.”
Too tired to fight her, I stumble back to the bedroom and to the tournament wall chart. After recording the victory against Bathurst, I add the result of Round 7 before curling into the foetal position under my blanket.
I’m lucky to have such loyal friends.
Round 7: Forfeit win.
My brain tries digesting all the events of the morning, but fatigue takes over and I drift off.
My eyes open to the dark, groggy and disoriented, head heavy as I try to check the clock. My head won’t move. So I stare at the ceiling for a minute before trying again.
7pm, I’ve slept the whole day.
Noises! Just outside my door. Is someone inside my house?
Fear has me leaping out of bed. The lights beyond my bedroom leading me to the sobbing I now hear. Nervously, I open the door to find Cat sitting with Carol on my couch, watching a movie.
“I forgot how sad this is,” Cat says reaching for a tissue. Sorrowful music filling the room where this morning there’d been shouting.
Completed application forms sit on the table, next to a second account of Brooke’s accident. My friends have been busy while I slept. A glance down catching the words Cosmetic Surgery.
They both turn.
“Evening, beautiful,” Cat greets. “I wrote up my account of Brooke’s accident in case you need a second statement for school.”
Cat’s greeting brings a smile. No one calls me beautiful anymore. “Have you been here all day?”
“Most of it,” Cat replies. “Carol called to check up on me. We wanted to take you to lunch. But since you were fast asleep we didn’t wake you.”
Cat points to an open pizza box in front of them. “When we got back you were still asleep, so we settled in for some movies and ordered pizza.” Steam still rising off it. “Want some?”
It looks tempting. Worth an extra lap on the track, running to burn it off. The last time I had pizza was England.
Carol pipes up before my daydream takes over. “Cat told me about the notes. We thought it best if we stayed around for a bit.” She adds, “Plus, booked her in for the initial appointment. She’s going to be the face of Goulburn again in no time.”
“I’ve also been thinking,” Cat going red as she asks, “have you considered the notes might be Solo?”
Could he? He toyed with me on the phone. But would he stoop so low?
The mention of Solo threatens pain again. He certainly won’t need my employee file to know every intimate aspect of my life.
I shake my head. “Without me he wouldn’t have any game updates.” My reasoning’s sound, thank goodness. “He won’t have any idea what’s going on. Those notes are pretty detailed with Nancy and Sarah, and then Bathurst.” Glad of my logic, not ready to paint Solo as that vindictive, a revengeful ex.
I’d never be ready.
“Unless he’s not in Wollongong,” Cat won’t give up on the idea. “Maybe we should make a few calls?”
I shake my head. He has no way of tracking me or my team.
“A lot has changed since you went away. I’ve no realistic way to track Solo without him knowing,” I argue.
“Yeah, true, but there still might be merit in making a few enquiries.” She never gives up. Cat’s stubborn persistence at the core of all she’s achieved, but it also annoys me at times.
“Okay! I’ll call Wollongong,” I concede, grabbing my mobile and searching through contacts for mutual friends, finding one. “I’ll ring Glenn, just to prove you wrong.”
“No, use this,” Carol tosses me her mobile. “Private number, and I’ll wear the heat if he traces it.” A sly wink from the Mayor’s eldest daughter.
I dial, recognising him as the same drunken secretary at the bar who picked up Solo’s mobile.
“He’s been out of town for a few days,” Glenn, Roachey, answers once I ask about Solo. “What’s up? Is this Maggie?”
“Nothing. Sorry to waste your time.” I say before hanging up quickly, but too late. I’m blown.
Carol and Cat watch, expectant.
“What?” Cat finally asks.
I hand Carol her anonymous phone back. Giving me time to weigh up what to say. “Solo’s not been in Wollongong for the past few days. The person who answered remembers my voice. He’ll let Solo know I asked about him.”
“Nothing you can do about that now,” Cat says. “Grab some pizza.”
“You don’t get it Cat. This is going to make Solo so mad.” I explain how I haven’t called him since the break-up, not even with news of her return. How it will look, tracking him behind his back.
Cat only gives me a curt nod, growling. “If he comes here I am going to break his head.”
And it’s enough for me to believe she understands. I take two slices of pizza from the box and sandwich Carol between us.
“I call choosing the next movie,” I say before taking a bite. “Then you two go home. I don’t need protecting.”
“Fine. Be stubborn,” Cat’s reply ignites the next argument.
“Don’t you go calling me stubborn, Cat. You are the walking, talking definition of the word.”
“Am not!”
“See?” I peer around Carol to glare at my best friend, grin giving me away. “You’re doing it right now!”
The movie’s teary scenes playing under the three of us arguing strikes us all at once, makes us burst out laughing. Still, we keep arguing who’s the most stubborn of them all. Carol threatening to do horrible things to both of us if we don’t stop.
Cat shoots back that she knows Carol’s secret fetish, and won’t hesitate to use it. Leading to more banter, and laughing so hard I almost lose my pizza. Eventually, with tears in my eyes, we all stop and regain control.
I do have security that night, of a sort; we crash at Carol’s, watch movie after movie until our eyelids are too heavy.
