Tonight?
‘The five-dollar entry fee includes one soft drink and one sausage in bread. All welcome. Awesome. You keen?’
Yes! Of course.
I grin at Kieran, hoping he’ll understand. I’d love to go and see Aimee and find out what sassy new comebacks she’s got.
But Mum hasn’t even mentioned the disco; she’s been so busy worrying about Dad. After all the excitement of having him home, it’s like a stranger is living with us. Dad’s quiet, and his eyelids only half-open when he stares vacantly at the wall. He’s still a long way from being better.
‘Why don’t I take you?’ says Kieran. ‘I’m sure your mum wouldn’t mind.’
Really?
I give him my very best smile, and luckily Kieran decides it’s a yes. ‘Sweet!’ he declares. ‘We’re going!’
Dad’s face is pale when he arrives home from therapy and Mum helps him straight to their room for a nap.
‘Poor bloke,’ she says when she gets back. ‘They worked him hard today.’ She reaches to fill the kettle when Kieran tells her about the disco.
Mum hesitates, the kettle still in her hand. ‘Sorry, Kieran. I don’t think Ava would like it. Loud music, bright lights? It just isn’t Ava’s thing.’
But I will like it. I’ll like it a lot.
‘She doesn’t seem to mind when I turn up the music,’ says Kieran. ‘What do you reckon, Ava?’ He gives me a giant wink. ‘Want to go to a disco?’
Yes, yes, yes!
It takes Kieran a while to persuade Mum that the disco’s a good idea, and even longer to reassure her that she doesn’t need to come. Luckily, Nic’s on our side. ‘Come on, Mum, Ava would love to go to a disco,’ she says. ‘But she can’t go dressed like that.’
I’m still wearing my red school shirt, with mooshed Tiny Teddy biscuit dribble on the collar.
‘And I can’t go like this!’ says Kieran, before heading off to get changed.
For my outfit, Mum suggests Nic lends me one of her old dresses. Nic sighs, but brings out a selection. She and Mum debate which dress I should wear – one’s too warm, another too cool; one’s too revealing and shows I’m wearing a nappy.
The clock’s ticking, but eventually they narrow it down to two. Nic holds up a pink dress and Mum holds up a purple. I want the pink one so badly my hands start squishing.
Pink, pink, pink!
Mum says purple; Nic says pink. Neither of them wants to give in, and I wonder if it’s really the dresses they’re fighting about.
Meanwhile, I’m staring at the pink.
Mum’s saying the purple won’t show my dribble as much.
Pink. Pink! PINK!
‘Ava wants the pink one,’ says Nic.
She holds the dress up under my chin. I smile.
‘See.’
Mum finally nods and the pink one it is. I want to hug Nic, but she’ll hate my dribble, so I cluck my tongue, trying to let her know I’m happy, while she tells Mum I should wear lip gloss and maybe some clips in my hair.
This is going to be the best night ever.
It gets even better when, at 5.30 p.m., Kieran comes in to collect me. His hair is gelled back and he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a lime-green buttoned-up shirt.
Nic does a double take. Even Mum looks surprised.
Wait till Aimee sees him!
‘Hey, Mrs Mills,’ Kieran says, doing a fake disco swagger.
Nic shakes her head at his outfit, but then slides her eyes to me. The dress is a little big for me, but it looks great with her old sparkly pink sneakers.
‘Wow!’ Kieran says when he sees me. ‘Awesome!’
My chest puffs with pride.
‘I’ve packed a bag with wipes,’ says Mum, ‘a bib, some biscuits, in case she doesn’t like the sausage, and a popper. Don’t forget the wheelchair! I’ll be here if you need me. Call me anytime.’
‘All good, Mrs Mills,’ says Kieran as he takes the bag and helps me to the door. ‘Ava and I have got this, haven’t we, Ava?’
You bet!
Everyone stares as we enter the PCYC disco. A few of the older girls smile shyly at Kieran, like he’s a rockstar, which makes his ears turn pink. But the music is loud and the dance floor is busy, so no-one else really notices.
I’m soon smiling as Kieran jiggles my chair in time to the rhythm, and we join in a line dance with everybody. They flap their arms and stamp their feet. The noise should rattle me, but it doesn’t. I laugh as Kieran spins me around.
After five songs, one of the older girls asks Kieran to dance. He looks unsure, but when she says, ‘Pleeaase’ so nicely, he laughs and parks my chair at the side of the dance floor. I look for Aimee. I thought she said she’d be here?
It’s only when Kieran and I queue for sausages that I see her. She’s wheeling herself back from the barbecue, followed by her carer who’s carrying a sausage in bread. Even though Aimee’s head is tilted back, she sees me and says in her robotic voice, ‘Hey, Ava! Is that your boyfriend?’
‘No!’ I say with my eyes. I feel my face flush with embarrassment.
‘Cute as! Mind if I dance with him later?’ She laughs and wheels off.
Kieran leans down towards me. ‘Did that girl just operate that speaking machine by moving her head?’
Of course I can’t answer, so instead I smile as Kieran looks back after Aimee. We eat our sausages while the others dance, and then, when the music slows, Aimee comes over and asks Kieran to dance.
‘You bet!’ he says, and follows her to the dance floor while her carer and I wait by the side.
Brandon, from my school, is near us. He has his eyes closed and is swaying to the music, even though his sound-cancelling headphones are covering his ears. He looks happy, and I’m glad no-one’s waving cards at him tonight.
When the fast music comes back on, Kieran pushes my chair so I can dance with Aimee, and then, last of all, we dance with Brandon. He doesn’t look at me, but he tips his head slowly from side to side to the music and has an enormous grin on his face.
I’m grinning too. This disco is the best night of my life.
I’m still in a spin when we get home.
‘Well, you look happy,’ Mum says. There are three huge piles of folded washing on the kitchen table behind her, and Norah Jones is playing in the lounge. ‘Everything went well?’
Awesome! I wish I could tell Mum about the shiny disco ball, the music and how I danced with Brandon, but it’s Kieran who explains how it went.
Before I know it, Mum’s saying goodnight to him. ‘Thank you so much for taking her,’ she says.
‘Oh, um, sorry,’ says Kieran, before she shuts the door. ‘I just wanted to ask – has Ava been seeing any speech therapists lately?’
Mum shakes her head.
‘No-one? Nothing to help her talk?’
Mum sighs. ‘We’ve tried everything, Kieran. At one point, we had her going to three or four appointments a week.’ She fiddles with the door handle. ‘But Ava hated it. All those “experts” poking and hassling and asking difficult questions. So we’ve sort of let it slide.’
Kieran tells her about Aimee. ‘She used a speech device by bumping a controller with her cheek, making it talk without using her hands,’ he explains.
‘Oh, I think I’ve met Aimee,’ Mum says. ‘She was at the respite house with Ava, wasn’t she? I saw her speech machine, but didn’t know how she used it. She operates it with her cheek? No hands?’
Hell yeah! No hands!
‘Yup! So cool. Anyway, I was just thinking … maybe we could get Ava something like that?’
Kieran explains how he’s been trying to adapt his iPad, but I’ve been having trouble pressing the screen.
Mum nods. ‘Yes, we had a Dynavox for a while and Ava had the same problem.’
Mum and Kieran
chat a little longer, wondering if there might be a new way for me to speak. Kieran suggests that we give speech therapy one more try and promises to find out more.
I’m practically glowing with excitement when Mum dresses me for bed. I’m going to talk. Really talk. We just have to work out how.
The day after the disco, my arms and legs are extra shaky, and my tummy feels like I’ve swallowed a brick. Dad’s not having a good day either, and wants to stay in his recliner chair, watching golf on TV.
I sit with him too, but the golf is boring and I start to fidget and clap.
Mum and Kieran are going to find a way for me to talk, Dad. Just imagine. How good will it be when I can tell you what I want to say?
I’ll tell you everything, Dad.
Everything I’ve never said.
Dad glances over. His mouth looks extra saggy today and he’s dribbling, just like me. He swallows and opens his mouth, but can’t seem to form any words. I know how he feels, having his voice trapped inside.
No wonder you look so sad, Dad.
After a while, Dad fumbles for the remote, trying to change the channel. But instead of clicking down the menu, he accidentally turns off the picture. The sound’s still on, so we know who’s about to tee off, but we can’t see what they’re doing.
You know I’d help if I could, Dad.
I wish I could call for Mum, but she’s outside, determined to mow the lawn. Kieran’s taken Banjo to the dog park, and Nic … Nic’s supposed to be sitting with us.
Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream.
Eventually Dad falls asleep, his mouth open, his head tipped back. I watch his chest rise and fall, while listening to the golf, remembering all the other times I’ve sat watching golf with Dad, and how he used to explain every hole.
I miss you, Dad.
The mower is coughing and spluttering outside when Nic reappears. She takes one look at Dad, his eyelids closed, his face pale, and gently leads me outside.
‘Come on, Ava. We’ll go watch Mum for a while.’
We sit on the bench in the garden, not far from where Mum’s bent over the mower, struggling to start it. I take a deep breath. It’s a cool morning, and there are magpies and lorikeets and other birds flitting around the trees. I wish I were a bird. Birds don’t have dads with droopy lips and funny words. Or dads who can’t work a knife and fork anymore. They only have to worry about the next worm they’ll eat or finding berries on the trees.
‘Hey, Ava,’ Nic says. ‘Where’s the magpie?’
I’ve been so busy looking at the birds I haven’t noticed Nic watching me. The magpie’s near the fence, pecking for a worm.
‘And those lorikeets?’
There are three lorikeets fighting on a grevillea blossom over to our left.
Nic sits forwards on the bench. ‘What about the crow?’ Her voice tingles with excitement.
I slide my eyes to the right. The crow’s been cawing all morning. He’s standing near our bin, like he’s hoping someone will toss him some soggy sandwiches.
‘That’s awesome, Ava. You picked out every single bird.’
I can look at more than birds, Nic.
Ask me to show you the lattice you helped Dad paint above the gate.
Or the crooked cross you planted when your hamster died.
Ask me anything, Nic. I understand you.
But Nic’s run out of bird ideas and sinks back against the bench.
Over by the garage, the lawn mower finally roars to life. The smell of freshly cut grass floods the garden. It reminds me of Saturday mornings before Dad was sick. I smile and turn to Nic.
But she must be remembering the old Dad too. She’s sitting very still, occasionally swiping a palm across her eyes. Mum’s mowing lines aren’t as straight as Dad’s and sometimes she cuts the grass too short, but at least now we’ll be able to walk across the lawn without cobbler’s pegs getting stuck in our socks.
Mum’s nearly done when Nic sniffs away a dribble of snot. I wish I could be like Mel and cheer Nic up. I try to make her smile by looking at all the different birds again, but she’s too busy crying to notice.
I’m here if you need me, Nic.
The next few days drag. Nic steps carefully around Dad, like she’s afraid he might break; Kieran tries, but fails to train me on his iPad; and Mum fusses around us all, doing her best to keep everything running smoothly.
‘Nic, can you bring the rubbish bins in, love?’
‘Nic, have you seen my handbag? I can’t find it.’
‘Nic, um … Oh, sorry, I can’t remember what I was going to say.’
Dad’s home-care nurse comes to help Mum shower and dress him, but sometimes it takes so long there’s no time for Mum to shower me.
‘Sorry, love. Just a quick once-over today,’ puffs Mum. She washes me with baby wipes before quickly dressing me, pulling and tugging my arms and legs into my clothes. She rushes me through my breakfast and pulls my hair into a lumpy ponytail.
‘Mum! You can’t send Ava to school like that,’ scolds Nic one day.
But Sam’s taxi is already pulling up in the drive.
‘How was that toast this morning, Ava?’ Sam teases as he wipes the crumbs off my cheeks. ‘Everything alright back there?’
Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream.
I take a deep breath. My thoughts tumble and jumble. My hands clench and clasp.
Will Dad ever get better?
Will Kieran find a way for me to talk?
When will Mum finally calm down?
Wendy’s waiting at the school gates, but before she can take my wheelchair, Sam murmurs something in her ear. And Wendy doesn’t shout, ‘Good morning.’ She doesn’t tell me I’m in one of my moods. Instead, she lets me sit quietly at my table while Derek, Freya and Brandon work on the usual card-swapping routine.
My head lolls, and my palms sweat.
‘Not painting today?’ asks Dan when my chair is wheeled to art. ‘Not even a butterfly picture for Dan?’
Not even a butterfly picture, Dan.
Every sound, every light, is hurting. Everything that touches my skin irritates, like it’s made of scratchy steel wire. I want to rip out the tag on my shirt.
I just want to talk. Why can’t you help me talk?
‘Dear Deb,’ writes Wendy in my communication book a few days later. ‘Unfortunately Clare, our swimming volunteer, is away this week, so with no-one available to assist Ava with swimming, she will be unable to attend. She will be supervised in another classroom while the rest of her class is away. Regards, Wendy.’
My tired hands begin clenching. No swimming? Just when I need it most?
I need to feel the soothing mass of water around me. To take the weight off my shoulders and to block out all the sounds. I need my session at the pool to make me feel calm, to help me relax and to take away the things that make life hard. The pool is my only way to escape.
Please let me come, Wendy.
Mum frowns when she reads the message. ‘Didn’t I pay for ten hydrotherapy sessions this term? Hayley says you love your swimming. What’s this all about?’
Without Clare, it’ll be just Wendy and a teacher aide. Freya, Brandon and Derek can all swim unassisted, but I need help – one-on-one. No Clare means no swimming. Full stop.
But there’s a PS at the bottom of the message saying I can go if a family member is available to help. Wendy knows Mum’s busy with Dad, so she’s banking on an Ava-free day.
Mum stares at the note. ‘Nic?’ she calls down the hall. ‘Do you have that first-aid thing this Wednesday?’
‘Yes. Why?’ comes the answer.
‘Oh, nothing. Just, Ava needs someone to help her with swimming. Shame … I wonder if Kieran would go?’ She looks at me as if she’s forgotten I can’t actually answer, but I
try to say yes with my eyes. I’d love Kieran to help me swim. Yes, yes, yes!
Kieran turns up at my school on Wednesday, fifteen minutes before we leave for the pool.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m here for the swimming?’
Wendy’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. ‘Oh. So you’re Kieran!’
Kieran explains that yes, he’s my carer and that he’s studying occupational therapy, so he’s more than happy to help out. Wendy looks him up and down, her eyes narrow, like she’s deciding whether to believe him, which makes him fiddle awkwardly with his keys.
‘Great. Very good,’ says Wendy. ‘Lovely to have you along.’
I’m already in my bathers and swimming nappy, with my school uniform over the top, so all Kieran has to do is help Wendy load me and the others onto the bus. Wendy is full of smiles now Kieran is here, but I wait for her true colours to come through.
The aqua aerobics class is finished when we arrive at the aquatic centre, and instead of ladies jigging and jogging to 80s music, the students from Nic’s school are sitting on the benches at the far end of the pool. Their first-aid instructor is arranging plastic resuscitation dummies on a mat.
I won’t embarrass you, Nic.
But I don’t have time to worry about Nic. Kieran has me out of my wheelchair and down the ramp faster than you can say ‘bomb dive’. He’s swishing me around in the water and throwing me up and down so that I twist and splish and splash. We’re laughing so hard Kieran doesn’t notice the looks we’re getting from the other swimmers. For once, they’re not staring. They’re looking at me with envy! Kieran’s chest and arms are strong, and his smile is warm and wide. Everyone in the pool wants to be me today.
Kieran finds a pool noodle, and while I tiptoe my feet on the bottom, he slides it behind my back and under my arms so that I can lean back against the foam, like I’m reclining in an armchair. When he’s checked I’m comfy, he holds the two ends and uses it to pull me along after him. He tows me up and down the pool. The water whooshes past my legs, like I’m really swimming. I feel like an Olympic champion, racing up and down the lanes.
Everything I've Never Said Page 11
