“Everything okay in here?” A nurse with jet-black hair and an Irish brogue put her head around the door. She said it with a well-practiced airy lilt; the skill of someone who can make a command sound like a question. I imagined her wrestling with a recalcitrant male patient and an even more recalcitrant suppository: “Now let’s just get you in there shall we!”
“Just waiting for the doctor,” said Vicki.
“Would you like me to wait with you?”
“We’ll be fine thanks.”
“Of course you will,” she said, making it clear that we would be.
Doctor Stafford came in, looking even younger than usual. He was wearing a new pair of frameless glasses, and one of those cropped, brushed forward haircuts you see on hunky blokes in Maurice Meade posters, only with less chin. “Sorry I’m late,” he said distractedly, writing something down in a manila folder he was carrying. Mum stood up like she always did when a doctor came in. She remained seated for nurses, and ignored orderlies. If the head of the health department had walked in just then I’m sure she’d have curtseyed. There was silence as he continued writing. What was he waiting for, a drum roll?
“We’re all here,” said Vicki, trying to kick-start him.
“Yes, good,” he said, still writing. His neutral tone had taken the bristle out the room. Vicki rolled her eyes, but gave up as well. He was like a teacher waiting for the classroom buzz to stop before saying anything. He went over to the bed.
“Hi Bevan. How are you feeling today mate?”
“Pretty crap.”
“How are your pain levels?”
“About eight. Hands and feet most of all.”
“That, we can do something about,” he said, emphasising the “that.” He wrote something down on Bevan’s chart. I wondered what it was they couldn’t do something about. By now all the sting had gone out of the room. A few seconds later an older man walked in. Red-faced, heavy-set, tweed jacket, corduroy pants, and a Lord Kitchener salt and pepper moustache. We’d been softened up by the foot-soldiers and now the cavalry had arrived to do the real work. Either that or a walrus had been let loose in the hospital.
“Hi people,” he hurrumphed wheezily, “Thanks for coming in, I’m Dr Andrews, the hospital’s consultant oncologist.” Mum had nowhere to go: She’d prematurely fired off her twenty-one gun salute for Dr Stafford. She had nothing left for real medical royalty except for a few apologetic wisps of smoke and the smell of cordite.
“I’ll get straight to it,” he puffed. Vicki gave her “about time too” look. My blood surged, vigorous, alert, and healthy. “Bevan’s not responding to the treatment. These types of leukaemia are very aggressive. They move quickly. His body is still producing too many immature white blood cells despite us hitting it with three rounds of chemotherapy. He’s got one round to go, but really we’ve got to plan for beyond that now.” He gave one side of his moustache an emphatic twirl.
Vicki gave a whimper. Chris muttered something beside me that I didn’t pick up. Mum hadn’t moved.
“I’ve talked this through with Bevan, and a bone marrow transplant is our only option. We have one round of chemotherapy to go. We’ll go ahead with that and then wait until his immunities have recovered a little, if they do recover, before proceeding.” Twirl, twirl, twirl.
“What does it involve?” I tried to make it sound casual, like I was listening, assessing, and considering, but my adrenalin surge betrayed me. My voice shook.
“We need to find a suitable donor first up. Siblings are the best place to start.”
“We’ll need to get Stewart back,” said Mum, “He’s got a brother in England.”
“A blood test will do for the moment. If it’s a match we’ll take it further.”
“I’m in for it,” said Chris.
“Me too.”
“What if none of them match?” asked Bevan.
“There’s a one in three chance one of the brothers is compatible. But if not, there’s an international donor registry, we’ll check that.”
“What about me?” demanded Vicki.
“And me?” Mum said it like she didn’t want to be the last one picked for the team.
“Very unlikely,” said Dr Andrews, twirling vehemently to make his point. I imagined his wife kissing him with that brush. “Incompatibility would mean rejection.”
“Let’s think positive,” said Vicki, “What if one of them is compatible?”
“Then we’ll need to take bone marrow out of him, from his hip or chest bone.”
“How?” asked Chris.
“With a needle.”
“Bloody hell!” Chris looked at me and widened his eyes. “Bags it being you!”
“That’s the hard part. Getting it into Bevan is as simple as hooking up an IV.”
“Slacker,” said Chris, attempting a grin at Bevan.
Dr Andrews was twirling harder now, as if it was a crankshaft. I imagined him letting go and flying around the room knocking stuff over. His pager beeped, making us all jump. He foraged for it under his stomach, took it out and examined it.
“Sorry people I have to go for five minutes. I’ll be back soon. Adrian, can you come with me?” The three of them filed out; moustache, Dr Andrews, and Dr Stafford.
“What’s funny?” asked Vicki suddenly looking at me, “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last five minutes.”
“Have I? Sorry”
“Did you see that soup-strainer?” said Chris, “Imagine his wife kissing that.”
“That’s what I was grinning about. Wonder how much food gets trapped in there.”
“Boys,” said Mum, “Don’t be rude.”
“It’s always the same with you pair, you just can’t take anything seriously can you?” sighed Vicki. She went over to Bevan and sat down on the edge of the bed. Bevan looked past her.
“Listen Vick, we’re the one’s who’re gonna get to save his life,” said Chris, “Not you.”
“You might not be compatible to Bevan.”
“Funny that Vick, because if anyone’s not compatible to Bevan, it’s probably you.”
“At least my blood test won’t come back above point-oh-eight.”
It was on again. Bevan groaned and turned towards the wall. Mum was wide-eyed.
“What are you saying Vicki, what are you saying?” There was a dangerous undertone in Chris’s voice.
“Just leave!”
“Fine. If you need me - and you probably will - you know where to find me.”
“Yeah, the pub.”
“You are a piece of work!”
“Leave!” She squealed it this time, and Mum rushed to her, trying to pat her down. Bevan was still facing the wall. I could see his chest moving up and down.
I followed Chris out in his slip-stream. I could hear Vicki crying and Mum there-there-ing over and over again. Chris had reached the lift. He stabbed at the down arrow and stood folding his arms.
“You’re a bit hard on her, mate.”
“Someone has to be.”
“It’s not the time though is it?”
“Why are you defending her? What’s she ever done for you?”
“Bevan is her partner.”
“And he’s my fucking brother! Do you think I want to see him like this?” He punched at the down arrow again. “Where is this fucking lift? An Asian-looking orderly walked past wheeling a squeaky bucket with a mop. Chris turned at the noise, but the woman turned away. The doors stood passively closed with the green level light stalled at “G”. “She’ll get someone else to live with her, buy her stuff, and screw her. I won’t get another brother.”
The door open with a ding, and Charis bumped into us coming out.
“We’re going down Charis,” I said.
“I just came up to see how things were going.”
“The same way as the lift sweetheart,” said Chris.
Charis looked confused.
“He means ‘going down’,” I guide her back inside. The doo
rs dinged again and Chris stood looking at the ceiling as the lift whirred.
“What did they say?” Charis asked hesitantly.
Chris blew out air. “He’s got to get a bone marrow transplant or he’s going to fucking die.”
“They didn’t say it like that.”
“No, they didn’t say “fucking” and they didn’t say ‘die”, but that’s what they meant.”
The lift stopped on level one and two more orderlies with hair-nets stood there holding onto a big metal meals cabinet. They started to push it in.
“Shit,” said Chris, “Let’s take the stairs.” He pushed past and we followed him. We clattered down the echoey last flight, trying to keep up. The ground floor buzz met us as we walked out of the stairwell and suddenly Chris was himself again. He looked a bit dazed, as if he’d just come out of a fit and didn’t know where he was.
“Right I’m off,” he said awkwardly, “Gotta catch up with some paperwork.” He kissed Charis and hugged me. “I hope it works,” he whispered, “And I hope it’s me.”
“What happened up there?” asked Charis, as he walked off.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I answered the frantic knock at the door. A blast of February oven-air blew in, whipping Gracie with it. Something was wrong. I summed it up in a split-second hesitation. Anger. Whatever it was, Gracie was here to pay out on someone. She pushed on past me and further into the hall. I could hear the car still running. She turned to face me. Sparking eyes.
“Tell that girlfriend of yours to stay away from my family.” She said it through gritted teeth. She had no makeup on and her hair was pulled back severely and tied up with one of those pencil-type things geishas wear. She smelt of onions, but whether it was sweat or she’d been cutting them, I couldn’t tell.
My face must have looked surprised.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Robert, you sent her round didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Charis. She was round at our place this morning.”
“I didn’t send her.”
“Well somebody did.”
“Gracie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s happened?”
“Charis came round and said that Lauren and Jesse should get tested to see if your other brother, what’s his name....”
“Bevan.” I suddenly knew where this was going.
“To see if Bevan was compatible with them for a bone marrow transplant.”
My stomach knotted up. Wait for it!
“This is not our problem Robert, it’s your problem. Your mother and your brothers are going to have to sort this out. It’s not for us to get involved.”
“I didn’t know...”
“She’s got a right cheek.”
Oh Charis, what have you done?
“If your father ever wants to go and visit Bevan, I’m sure we’ll be fine with that. But we’re not all going to be dragged into this. Ok?
So, he hadn’t told her. Charis had been right about that.
“The kids are real upset.”
“You mean you told them?”
“That’s the point, I wasn’t there!” She spat it out. “She asked your father in front of them.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he’ll think about it.” She paused. “Look never mind what he said, the fact is we’re not doing it, and whoever needs to know that needs to be told.”
“Okay, okay.”
“We’ve got no problem with you Robert, we’re just not getting involved that’s all.”
“Fine, fine.”
“Look I’ve got to go, the car’s running, and Lauren’s late for ballet.”
I looked out past her. I could just see the small figure in the backseat.
Gracie clattered down the steps in her mules. “Tell whoever needs to know,” she said, slamming the door shut. She backed out and drove off, a pool of air-conditioner water trickling down the road after her. I walked inside and sat down on the couch. My mind was pulp. I heard Benny’s car pull up a few minutes later.
“Ghost?” he asked, walking in and looking at me.
“Worse.”
“Jude?”
“Better.”
“Ghost of Jude?”
“Charis has just done something she shouldn’t have done.” I didn’t expect Benny to offer tea and sympathy. He duly obliged, throwing me The Australian and walking off.
“Bugger of a day at work,” he called in from the kitchen. I heard the fridge door then the phsstt of a beer can. “Natalie had to go home early, her kid was crook. He walked back in and threw me a beer. I missed and it hit my thumb before landing on the lounge suite. “Careful, that’s suede. There’s a day’s work on tomorrow if you want it.”
“What day is it tomorrow?”
“Wednesday.”
“Can’t, I’ve got some stuff to sort out.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging and downing the rest of the stubbie in one swig. “First one never hits the side,” he said, spraying beery foam from the side of his mouth onto the carpet.
* * *
I drove to Hector and Doris’s the next day after a bad night. I hadn’t spoken to Charis yet. I needed a dress rehearsal before the main performance. I went to bed with the goal of figuring out why she would do something like that. Eight or nine hours of no sleep later I was still none the wiser, and still didn’t know what I’d say to her. Benny’s beer-induced snoring and the ducted-air cutting in and out hadn’t helped my concentration. Neither did the fear that there was something I hadn’t picked about Charis that was going to sour our relationship. I got up around two for a drink, but the mind-drama was no better after the interval. I dozed off around four and woke up feeling crap at seven-thirty, Benny was gone already. A lazy blowie buzzed around his half-finished bowl of Nutri-grain. A used teabag had bled out on the draining board and now lay listless and lifeless. I could hear the clock ticking in the heat.
I’d been half inclined to phone Dad the minute Gracie pulled out the drive, but the moment passed and I lost my nerve. Besides I didn’t know what to say. Dad had said he’d think about it. He’d think about it. That’s what he would do too. He think and think and think. But he’d never do anything about it. Gracie probably went home and tore strips off him for even saying to Charis that he’d think about it. When it came to women Dad was weak. He couldn’t say no. Not that he couldn’t say no to them sexually or anything like that. I’d never even thought of my Dad as a sexual being, yet there he was with six children. I just mean he couldn’t stand up for himself in front of women. Mum, Gracie, and now Charis. If they said yes, he’d never say no, he’d say he’d think about it.
But what about me? Shouldn’t I have been on the phone to Charis when Gracie left and demanded what the hell she thought she was doing? How was I any better than Dad? I pulled into Doris and Hector’s with no more idea of what to say than when Gracie confronted me.
Doris opened the dusty door, its faded brown stain streaked with summer grime.
“Hi Rob,” she said, in a voice just as dusty and faded as the door, “Just in time for the first round.”
I pictured Charis and me in a boxing ring, slugging it out.
“You look tired.”
“Yeh, didn’t sleep much, too hot.”
Hector and Doris’s was unbearable in the heat. Even the dust seemed hot, a blanket of insulation keeping the stifle in. Hector and Doris never noticed extremes. They wore the same clothes summer or winter, and I mean the same clothes. I walked down the hall, past the two geriatric pugs lying on the tiles panting, trying in vain to find a cool spot. They glanced up when I came in - a real pissed off look in their bally eyes.
“Tea?” asked Doris.
“Cool drink if you’ve got one.”
“Go through, I’ll bring it in.”
“Roberto!”
“Hi Hector.”
“”Loverboy
!” There she was, looking and sounding her usual self. She got up and gave me a hug. I hardly gave it back. She noticed. Her eyebrow ring raised like an “Oh?” I felt like a small and mean-spirited Rumplestilskin, self-righteous and legalistic, waiting for her to say the right thing before loosing her from my bond.
“Trouble at home?” she asked warily, sitting back down.
“Just the whole Bevan thing.”
“Charis was just saying he needs a transplant,” said Hector, “When’s that likely?”
“Soon,” I said, sitting down and counting out seven tiles. I could feel Charis’s smooth leg against me. I tried not to flinch.
“Rob’s going to be tested to see if he’s compatible.”
“There’s a one in three chance one of us is.”
“Bugger of a thing,” grunted Hector. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Bevan’s leukaemia or the thing in his ear that he was trying to pick out with a Bic pen lid.
“Your drink, love.” Doris handed me a bottle of Coke; one of the old style curvy glass ones you never see anymore. They had wooden crates of them stacked everywhere. I was never game enough to ask how old they were, but the Coke was always a bit too flat and sweet.
I lost the first game badly. Charis started with a seven letter word, while Hector and Doris cleaned up the triple-word scores that hadn’t been blocked out. To make matters worse they challenged H-O-K-E when I put it down.
“That’s never a word,” laughed Charis.
“It is. We used to use it all the time.”
“Put it in a sentence.”
“Okay,” I scowled, feeling persecuted, “Hector used a pen lid to hoke around in his ear.”
“I did?” queried Hector, feeling the offending flap.
“You mean poke,” said Charis.
“Hoke!. We used it at home all the time.”
Doris came back with the dictionary. “No hoke here,” she said after a while.
Warm Honey Page 10
