Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  Ginny and Sarah had no idea what was going on. One minute Thel and Tom were watching the parade and the next Thel was waving wildly and they were disappearing into the crowd. Ginny was quick to react, ever alert to Tom. She had seen the look on his face and, without thinking, followed straight after him, catching him just as the crowd swallowed him.

  Sarah was bewildered. ‘What is going on? What are you doing?’ she shouted after them. Ginny, the only one who could have heard her, ignored her. Ginny grabbed Tom’s belt loop so she wouldn’t lose him. It was the last sight Sarah had of Tom. Without a backward glance in her direction, Tom merged into the crowd, his back rigid with Ginny hooked onto him. The crowd closed behind Ginny and Sarah stared after them, bewildered and indignant. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she thought.

  Sarah felt discarded. It was an increasingly familiar and unpleasant feeling. She pushed her way after them into the crowd, feeling suddenly anxious and a little scared.

  Thel pushed on, following the float. She was like a small dynamo, slipping easily between people, carrying Tom and Ginny in her wake. Hal could see them following behind, disappearing behind heads, then popping up again.

  Sarah also caught glimpses of them, popping up then disappearing. It made no sense. Why are they running away from me? She fought her way through the crowd. Where Thel’s emotional energy propelled her forward, oblivious of any discomfort, Sarah struggled. People pressed against her. Everywhere she turned there were sharp elbows, handbags, feet treading on hers. Smelly, sweaty bodies. She stumbled on the uneven footpath.

  As the floats reached the final intersection, they unloaded their occupants who milled around in a state of high excitement. Many streamed into the Showground, eager to start the all-night party. Others stood around congratulating each other, rejoicing in the atmosphere, not wanting the parade to end.

  Hal leapt off his float, looking for Thel and Tom.

  *

  Sarah was determined, her anger spurring her on. She lost all composure in her battle to get to Tom. She saw him and called out his name. He couldn’t hear her above the din. Using all her energy she launched herself through the crowd, beating them out of her way, and grabbed his arm. He turned to her, his face a rigid mask.

  ‘How could you run off like that?’ she screamed at him.

  He looked at her blankly.

  More floats banked up, spilling their occupants into the tight crowd. It was chaos. The mob surged forward, pressing harder against each other. Sarah felt herself drowning. She was fighting for air, for space. Her survival instincts took over, unleashing adrenalin into her bloodstream, her body poised for fight or flight. She had to get out of there. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Something far more primal took charge.

  ‘I can’t breathe,’ she screamed at Tom. Then she was turned away, pushing away from him, back through the horde.

  Tom recognised the panic on her face. He snapped out of his daze. ‘Sarah,’ he called after her. But she was gone.

  Sarah knew these streets well, but it was all alien to her now. She pushed blindly through the mass of bodies. It seemed to her that there were mad people everywhere, laughing maniacally, leering at her. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her blood roared in her ears. She stumbled over the rubbish in the gutter and onto the footpath. The mob pushed her against a wall, bruising her shoulder. She was momentarily winded. Her throat ached. She inched her way along the wall, tears of pain obscuring her vision.

  Her hands found the end of the wall. It was an alley. She stumbled into it, gasping for air. Here the crowd was thinner and she pushed her way through, hoping to reach a less crowded street. Tom followed, calling to her, but she couldn’t hear above the music and the roar in her own head.

  Her foot registered the end of the alley before her brain did and her whole body hit the corrugated-iron fence. A sliver of tin entered her right eye. She jerked her head away. The blood filled the socket and dripped down her face, a warm trickle that seeped into her mouth. She recognised the taste.

  Around her people continued to party. A ghettoblaster on the ground pumped out a pulsating, mindless drumbeat that reverberated inside her head. She couldn’t see out of her right eye because of the blood and with only one eye working she lost her sense of distance. Her mind had trouble processing what her left eye saw. The images were overbright, surreal. Anger and frustration spilled out as she jumped about, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, poised like a boxer, ready for the next punch.

  Tom was horrified when he reached her. With a glance he took in the blood coursing down her face and her deranged state.

  ‘Sarah,’ he called, leaning out to take her arm.

  Sarah recoiled. She couldn’t hear him and she couldn’t make sense of his features. Tom moved forward. It wasn’t an aggressive action. He wanted to help.

  Sarah was aware of the corrugated iron, cold and hard against her back. She felt trapped. A beer bottle was lying by her foot. She had been dimly aware of it rolling against her shoe as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She grabbed at it and lunged towards her attacker. Her aim was wild and her arms flailed in the air. She should have missed. And had it been anybody other than Tom she probably would have. But he was completely unsuspecting and his natural defences were down. He stood firmly in front of her, his face a mixture of concern and disbelief, as Sarah smashed the bottle hard into his jaw, breaking his skin.

  A woman screamed and around them the crowd pushed back. Tom felt the ground rise to meet him and he was aware of the feel of gravel against his cheek.

  There was no pain. Not yet. Sarah continued to wave the bottle, now dripping with Tom’s blood, as she inched her way along the back wall. The mood of the people in the alley changed as they quickly realised what was happening.

  ‘Get away from me,’ she hissed at them.

  Two policemen appeared. They saw Sarah, back against the wall, hissing wildly, blood covering half her face and waving a broken bottle at the panicked crowd. They carefully approached Sarah, one policeman distracting her while the other quickly and expertly disarmed her. The last thing Tom saw before he slipped out of consciousness was Sarah struggling against the handcuffs, her face contorted in rage as she spat and swore at the policemen.

  CHAPTER 17

  They are talking about somebody else. Don’t they realise that? That’s not me. I scream it. Why don’t they listen? Whenever I try to tell them they cart me off again. They tell me not to get upset. They say it like I did something dirty. You got upset. Bzzzz. You lose. Of course I’m upset. I’m stuck in here, aren’t I? If that didn’t upset you, you should be carted off.

  Gotta be careful. The fog is clearing. They wouldn’t like that.

  *

  Tom was blinded by white when he opened his eyes. White walls. White sheets. Sunlight through the window. He was disoriented. Muffled, intermittent clanging noises came from somewhere nearby. It was when Tom registered the smells – astringent, bitter, antiseptic smells – that he knew where he was. In a hospital. He had no recollection of how he got there.

  ‘Hi, honey.’

  Tom turned to the voice and felt sharp hot needles shoot up the side of his neck. Thel was standing by his bed, looking down at him, her face soft and smiling. Beside her was Hal, towering over her, frowning with concern.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ asked Thel softly.

  Tom wasn’t sure. If he kept his head still he didn’t think there was any pain. But there was something else. He felt like he had forgotten something, something vital. He was late for an appointment. He was supposed to pick something up. What was it? He looked at Thel for help. There was something very wrong and he didn’t seem to be able to bring up in his mind what it was.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ asked Hal gently.

  Tom looked at him and something clicked inside the deepest recesses of his brain. The neurons moved back into alignment, and the messages moved along the chemical pathways as Tom’s memory returned to full
function. It happened almost in an instant. A series of seemingly unrelated images flashed across his mind. Hal on a float … A man in a frock on stilts … Thel grabbing his hand … Sarah’s bleeding face … Sarah wielding a beer bottle … His blood … Gravel … Sarah fighting the policemen. The anxious feeling that had been nagging at Tom exploded into full-blown panic.

  ‘Sarah?’ he said, rising off the bed. The word came out garbled, something like ‘shair’. The pain hit him like a machete through his jaw, throwing him back against the pillows. His eyes filled with tears.

  ‘You can’t, mate,’ said Hal, holding him firmly against the bed. When he was sure Tom was staying put, he released his hold.

  Tom tried to speak.

  ‘Wosh app?’ he asked. Tom was surprised that the words in his head weren’t matching what came out of his mouth. But Hal and Thel understood enough.

  ‘She’s being taken care of,’ said Thel.

  Tom looked at her blankly.

  Hal came straight to the point. ‘Sarah attacked you with a beer bottle. She got your jaw. It’s not broken but it’s badly bruised. You’ve had six stitches in your cheek. You won’t be able to eat for a few days but you will be fine.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, his eyes never leaving Tom’s. ‘Sarah has been put into hospital where doctors will keep an eye on her. It appears she has had some sort of breakdown.’

  Thel wasn’t sure he needed to know all this. ‘But we will worry about that later. Right now you have to get better,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

  Tom tried to touch his jaw. It was covered in bandages and felt as if it were a few feet out from his face. Another dressing covered his cheek. His whole face felt on fire. But it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He looked at his parents, his eyes expressing his bewilderment.

  ‘Eeze Shair okay?’

  Thel and Hal hesitated. They didn’t know what to tell him.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see about that,’ said Hal.

  Tom noticed Hal’s use of the word ‘we’. He saw that Thel and Hal were standing side by side at his bed. He looked from one to the other. Seeing them together, united in their love and concern for him, touched an emotion deep within him. For a moment he was that eight-year-old boy again, safe and secure within the circle of his family.

  He saw himself holding tightly onto Hal’s and Thel’s hands as they walked along the beach at night dodging the bluebottle jellyfish that had washed ashore. He remembered being wedged comfortably between them on a motorbike. He remembered the feel of the prickly blue blanket on their bed.

  Hal was still dressed in leather. He had taken off the leather cap but still wore the leather jeans and vest he wore in the parade.

  Tom pointed at Hal and tried to speak. After two attempts finally Hal thought he understood. Whatever Tom was saying included the words ‘Hal’ and ‘float’. Thel held her breath.

  ‘You saw me in the Mardi Gras parade last night,’ Hal said.

  Tom considered this. It was no longer a shock. It had been when he first recognised Hal, dancing along with the leather men and, while he had not had much of a chance to think about it, somewhere his mind had processed the information.

  Tom felt many things had clicked into place but there was still so much to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. But the effort of trying to speak was too great. He put his hand out to Hal as if to shake it. When Tom didn’t have the strength Hal just took his hand and held it. There really wasn’t any need for words. The tears rolled down Thel’s face. A nurse came into the room, all bustle and efficiency, interrupting the poignant family moment. She stopped when she felt the atmosphere in the room.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wondered if Mr Wilson was in pain. He’s due for more pain-killers if he requires them.’

  Tom nodded feebly. He wanted to sleep. For a long time. Thel and Hal said their goodbyes.

  ‘We’ll come and see you later today. Hopefully they’ll let me take you home. Get some sleep,’ said Thel.

  They walked out of Tom’s hospital room and down the long corridor. Outside it was dark, just a few hours till dawn. As they walked slowly towards the double glass doors of the entrance Thel caught sight of their reflection. They didn’t look much like the young couple she remembered. She saw her voluminous skirt and black hair in messy braids. She looked like an overgrown hippie. The thought almost made her smile. She thought Hal looked like a middle-aged gay man, common enough in inner Sydney. She used to think they looked so good together but now they made an incongruous pair.

  She realised they both had become who they really were. It gave her a feeling of life coming full circle. Everything was as it should be. For years she had believed she was somehow to blame. She had taken Hal’s rejection personally and her sexual confidence had taken a battering. She recognised the last vestiges of that pain dissolving inside her. She felt lighter and freer. He owed her nothing and she owed him nothing. And yet they shared this beautiful boy. She had paced hospital floors because of Tom on a few occasions. She was glad that tonight Hal was there to pace with her.

  ‘He’s going to be okay,’ said Hal.

  It was a meaningless comment and they both knew it. Tom’s bruises would heal but his heart was another matter. Sarah could have killed him. The police made that quite clear. Thel couldn’t make sense of it. She thought she knew Sarah nearly as well as she knew her own son.

  ‘I just don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand Sarah suddenly going berserk. It’s out of character.’

  Hal looked pensive. ‘It happens. It could be a chemical imbalance. She may be short of something or have too much of something in her system and it has caused something like a short circuit in her brain. If that’s what it is they can treat it.’

  Thel seesawed between empathy for Sarah and anger that she had attacked her beloved son. She didn’t want to see Sarah right now. All her emotions were jumbled. She hated Sarah, she was worried for Sarah, she hoped Sarah stayed locked away from her son forever, she hoped it all had been a ghastly mistake and Sarah and Tom could return to normal. It all went around in her head, revolving feelings that she couldn’t control. The only one that stood out was worry for her son. That overrode everything else.

  *

  Ginny came to see Tom at 8 o’clock that morning. She was horrified at the sight of him. He was almost unrecognisable behind the huge bandage covering his cheek. The icepack on his jaw had been removed but his jaw was still swollen to twice its normal size. Tom couldn’t speak so she just sat by the bed. He hardly seemed to be aware that she was there. Ginny didn’t mind. She was happy just to sit with him.

  She brought the Sunday newspapers and read aloud the stories that she thought would interest him. The newspapers were full of reports on the Mardi Gras. Ginny carefully avoided those. There was no mention of Sarah or her arrest. Ginny was a bit disappointed by that. She wondered if the press didn’t know about it. Perhaps someone should tell them, she thought. Something to consider a bit later.

  She was reading the stories of the previous day’s sporting matches when the head of the department came to check on Tom. It seemed to be such an intimate scene, Ginny sitting by his bed, reading to him, that the doctor assumed she was his girlfriend.

  ‘Would you mind waiting outside while I check on your boyfriend?’ Dr Hindson asked politely.

  Tom was in no position to correct her and Ginny took it as her due.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, smiling sweetly. She leaned over and caressed Tom’s forehead. ‘I’ll be outside,’ she told him, behaving for all the world like the loving girlfriend.

  Tom accepted it without thought. The world had gone suddenly, inexplicably mad. So what if Ginny was acting a bit strangely.

  Dr Hindson was an imposing presence. She was tall, attractive and robust. In her mid-thirties, she was young to be running the casualty unit but she wore her authority easily. She never raised her voice. She didn’t have to. She had a calm, efficient manner. When Dr
Hindson asked for something to be done, it was done. Tom found himself being appraised by a pair of cool green eyes. They ranged over his face.

  ‘Did you get into a fight last night?’ asked Dr Hindson.

  Tom didn’t know how to answer.

  Dr Hindson continued cheerily on. ‘Well, I’d hate to see the other guy,’ she said, looking at her clipboard.

  Dr Hindson was determinedly cheerful. It was probably the most exhausting part of her job. No matter what new disaster confronted her in the hospital rooms each morning, the battered bodies, the human despair, it was her job to be cheerful.

  ‘You can go. Your jaw will be stiff for a few days and I suggest you keep your talking to a minimum. Try and eat soup. Maybe some mashed vegetables if you feel you are able. You can come back to see us in a few days if you have any concerns or go to your own doctor. The stitches in your cheek will have to come out in a week. We have put a dressing on your cheek and given you antibiotics in case of infection. We also gave you a tetanus shot. That would explain why you are a little tender on your bottom. We’ll give you pain-killers to take with you. Do you have any questions?’

  Tom had lots. And he felt reasonably sure this woman wouldn’t be able to answer any of them. None of them had anything to do with his health. Why had the world gone mad? He’d like someone to answer that for him.

  ‘Right then. I’ll tell your girlfriend you’re ready to go.’

  Ginny reappeared immediately. Dr Hindson was used to that. Relatives always wanted to know exactly what was going on. The nurses used to joke about how you could tell if a consulting doctor was in the room by the relatives listening at the door.

  ‘He’s all yours,’ said Dr Hindson cheerfully, then she was gone, off to spread more robust optimism among others who found themselves waking up on Sunday morning in the city hospital.

  Tom let Ginny take charge. She assumed the role and he didn’t have enough presence of mind to question it. He was beyond caring. She was going to bring the car around to the casualty entrance while he sorted out his paperwork. He guessed he had arrived through these same doors but he didn’t remember it. His head thumped and he walked gingerly, placing each foot oh so carefully, to minimise the jarring through his body. He looked like a drunk, unsure of his footing. The two nurses behind the reception counter ignored him as he walked past. They saw more outrageous sights than him every day of their working lives.