by Leah Swann
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘No. My eyes always look like this.’
‘Go away.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
She covered her own eyes with her hands. ‘Please help me. Please.’
‘You mustn’t move yet. Let the drugs wear off a bit overnight. Then, I promise, I will help you leave.’
‘First thing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we get in the car and look for the boys?’
‘Yes.’
Simon moved a little closer and she caught a hint of aniseed. ‘We can do whatever you like, Ava.’
‘Don’t do that. Don’t patronise me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You don’t really think we’ll get up at dawn and just get in the car and go looking for them. I mean, where would we start? You think I’m insane. You’re thinking, she’ll go to sleep soon. Just say anything until she goes to sleep.’
‘You don’t know what I’m thinking.’
‘I sound insane.’
‘No, you don’t.’
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists to feel them. Her arms were so heavy they were almost numb, while her midsection felt like a half-set jelly.
‘What have they given me?’
‘Diazepam, probably. It’ll wear off in a few hours. Do you want me to find out?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks. For staying. You and Caleb and Grace. Good people.’
‘You don’t have to be polite right now, Ava.’
Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away.
‘I think Caleb prayed over me last night when he thought I was asleep. But maybe I dreamed it. Whatever it was, it felt like kindness.’
Ava saw a gentle glitter in Simon’s eyes. It’s calm for a moment, she thought. Stay in the calm. She let her hands relax on the sheet. Simon laid his forefinger on her open palm and Ava’s hand tightened instinctively – a brief squeeze – and she let go with a surprised intake of breath, recognising the gesture.
She withdrew her hands and stared up at the mute television screen playing a nature documentary. What was this? She didn’t know. She didn’t know who to trust. She’d never known, and that was her problem. On the screen, a spider’s web was catching rain like clouds of diamond crumbs shaken from the sky. Water kept forming a single pendant drop at the bottom of the web and then falling.
‘Do you believe in God?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think I should pray?’
‘I just don’t know.’
Ava looked into Simon’s eyes and saw he shared her exhaustion. She understood that unless she insisted that he leave he would stay through everything, because despite his own troubles there was something in him that was steadfast and true.
Simon’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, looked at it. ‘Sorry. Got to take this,’ he said.
Ava lay back on the pillow and listened to the rise and fall of Simon’s voice. She closed her eyes to recall her earlier dream.
An unmade road. A stone well. Inside the well a ripe moon blazed up from the deep. Ava stood on the lip of the well, bent her knees and swept her arms in a low pendulum behind her and sprang forward, legs straight, toes taut, fingertips forming a clean scythe that cut into water that was warm and so full of moonlight that she was soaked with it and glimmering as pure as the moon itself. She moved through the water towards the wreckage of a plane with orange flames pouring out of the cockpit and opened the door to save the pilot, but inside there was nothing but a pile of gold-painted gumnuts that crumbled and tasted of dirt when she ate them, and made a strange yellow light shine through her skin – she was a light for her boys, they would see her as she looked for them under a road sign handwritten in coloured pencil, two separate words: SHEER WATER. And then rushing water was filling her ears with its thunder and her mouth with its salt and all clarity was gone as the water grew dark, boiling up from the deep.
MAX
1
Max knew by the odour and the damp that Teddy had wet himself. They were lying in a single bed that had – before the wee – smelled of cat hair.
During the night Max’s sneezing kept waking him up. Maybe he was allergic. Grandma Bainsie was allergic to cats, wasn’t she? She was kind to everyone except cats. She even had The Official I Hate Cats Book with cartoon pictures on her coffee table. Maybe Max took after her.
Each time a sneeze woke him he’d remember that Mum was not in the next room and he’d put his hand on his own heart to feel it beat. The heartbeat kept going no matter what. And he clung to Teddy, who was breathing through his mouth. In the light coming in from the street he could see Teddy’s eyelids moving. That meant he was dreaming, Mum said. Teddy couldn’t say what he was dreaming about when Max asked him, except once when he said he’d dreamt he lived in a sandcastle.
Was it made of wet sand? Did it have many rooms? Did it have a driveway?
Teddy couldn’t answer these questions.
Max decided that while it was still dark he’d get up and check the front and back doors. He’d be very quiet. Maybe there was some way that he and Teddy could leave. Or was it better to stay and wait for Mum? He didn’t know.
Both the doors were locked. He crept to the kitchen, which was dimly lit by a globe above the stove, and hunted for the key he’d seen Kirsty find under the flowerpot. A dull blue key. The house’s repellent smell was stronger in here – an unwashed fruitiness, somewhere between kitty litter and overripe bananas. The floor was sticky.
Max looked in the places he thought Kirsty might leave a key. It wasn’t on the kitchen table or next to the kettle. He wondered if she had a handbag. He hadn’t seen one.
He opened the pantry: a pile of green supermarket bags, empty jars, a dusty packet of rice. No handy hook for a key.
On his way back along the hallway he stopped outside Kirsty’s bedroom. He heard snoring through the closed door. Tiny piggy snorts. He tried the handle and the door squeaked; the snoring stopped.
Max was too frightened to close the door in case it squeaked again. He stood frozen, his scalp prickling. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He licked his lips. He mustn’t wake Kirsty! He didn’t want to set her off screaming again. Before bed Teddy had ‘cracked it’ as his mother would say: he’d bawled for what seemed like hours, and more than once Kirsty had run up the hallway, opened the bedroom door and shouted: ‘Will you shut that kid up? I CAN’T STAND IT.’
Eventually, Teddy had fallen asleep, tear-stained and crusty and exhausted. Max had lain awake a long time, hungry and worried. Never had Mum failed to turn up to take him home if he needed her, when he’d stayed at a friend’s house or, once or twice, at his grandmother’s. Never had he been with someone who so obviously didn’t have the first clue about children. That screaming mouth opening like a great wet ham, those cheeks turning nearly purple!
Now, Kirsty made a sticky muttering sound and the snoring started again. Max looked through the crack in the door. In the faint light from the kitchen he made out Kirsty’s shape on the bed and saw on the bedside table her purse and another shape: a set of keys. Was that her car keys? What about the little blue key? He didn’t dare go closer to take a look. He couldn’t risk it. He went back to bed.
Anyway, what if his mother was coming? If she did come and they were gone it might all get confusing. He and Teddy would be lost.
She was coming, he was fairly sure. She must be. She would come for him and Teddy and cuddle them and take them with her, away from Kirsty with her wet, red mouth, away from these lumpy pillows that smelled of fur, and this house that smelled of rotten fruit, and everything would be normal and nice again.
When dawn came, Max saw sunlight edging Ted’s curving golden cheek and, curving in the opposite direction, the long velvet curl of his eyelashes, and his freckles – so many freckles that Mum called them fairy dust. Up close like this Max saw they were laid out i
n groups of small ones and bigger ones like a tiny universe sprinkled over his cheeks. He felt deep gladness that he and Teddy were together. This feeling stopped him from waking Teddy and scolding him for wetting the bed as he would have done at home.
Home.
Max thought of his old bed, which had been stripped of its fleecy sheets down to the mattress which had the dip left from his own body, carted off in a station wagon for someone else to sleep in. Maybe that other child was sleeping in his bed now. Max had watched the bed being taken apart, the wooden bedhead and footboard, the wheels, the slats, all tucked into the back of the station wagon. For a moment his little mattress had lain on the grass. It looked lonely. It was too small for him. But he wanted it!
At their new house by the sea there would be new beds. But Max wouldn’t like the new bed, not for a while, because it wasn’t his bed.
He moved a piece of hair away from Teddy’s eye. He barely remembered anything before Teddy. It was as though when Teddy was born Max’s real life began. Talking to Teddy. Showing him how the little grey slaters curled up into balls when you tickled them with a blade of grass. Riding on their bikes to The Forest. Protecting Teddy from mean kids in playgrounds. Carrying him on his back.
Only he wasn’t very good at protecting Teddy from Dad. Teddy wasn’t quiet and sensible around Dad. Though Max tried to teach him, his little brother was as loud and silly with Dad as he was with Mum and Max.
And he couldn’t stop Dad from pushing Teddy over that day.
Max had been behind Dad. He was running to catch up and get in between Dad and Teddy; he thought maybe he could do this, though he was scared to.
Teddy was running so fast! It seemed like he was the fastest of everyone, even though he was the littlest. Max hurried after them, watching the rippling in his father’s thick calves as he lurched towards Teddy with his arm held up and ready to strike.
Max ran faster. He didn’t get there in time. Dad pushed Teddy’s head and he fell forward onto his face.
Max gave a shout.
Dad strode on into the house and did not look back. Teddy rolled over and sat up. Max felt all sick and shaky and waited for Teddy to cry. His brother’s round cheeks had bits of pebble and dirt and green grass stuck to them and he put up his hands to scratch them off.
‘Ow.’ That was all Teddy said.
Max had squatted beside him and picked off the bits of grass and dirt. Teddy’s skin was damp and his pupils were so big that his eyes had seemed all black. Max had never forgotten it.
He got up again and opened the door and listened. All the time his stomach was rumbling madly like a little spiky animal that wanted food.
There were noises in the kitchen. Kirsty was up. He didn’t want to see Kirsty but there was the problem of his crazy hungry tummy.
He stepped into the hallway in his bare feet. All the floors were concrete with seagrass matting over the top except for the plastic floor in the kitchen. He followed the muffled sound of a television set towards the living room and pushed the door.
Kirsty was sitting in an armchair watching the news. The television went dead and she swung around suddenly, saying: ‘Don’t creep around. You scared me!’
‘Sorry,’ said Max.
‘What is it?’
‘Well – my brother’s still asleep. But he’s wet the bed. I’m very sorry about that.’
Kirsty’s pale face turned a dark red. Her hand closed over the television remote.
‘Usually Mum takes off all the sheets and puts clean clothes on him. I can take off all the sheets. I know how.’
Kirsty paused before answering. ‘Your parents haven’t given me any extra clothes for you.’
‘Okay.’ Max stood there uncomfortably for a moment. He’d been very polite to Kirsty, remembering what his mum said once, that having good manners made people treat you better. But Kirsty still seemed angry, and he wanted to ask a question. He took a step backwards, uncertain.
‘There’s Coco Pops on the table,’ she barked, although he hadn’t said anything about food. ‘You can get your own, can’t you?’ Her red face was fading to pink.
‘When is Mum coming?’
‘She had to go to the hospital. I told you already.’
‘Did she ring you?’
‘Yes. Late last night.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘Fine, she’s fine.’
‘Why’s she in hospital?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. They had to check her lungs for smoke damage or something.’
Lungs were to do with breathing. His mother had taught him to blow out under the water when he swam, and to turn his head to the side to take a gulp of air. Breath was precious, she’d told him. Breath was life.
‘Can she still breathe okay?’ Why was Mum in the hospital? She must be very sick not to come for him and Teddy. What if Mum wasn’t breathing? Was she still alive? Was Kirsty someone who lied? She was staring at him, with eyes small and grey-green like tiny unripe berries.
‘Of course she can breathe, Max. She couldn’t have rung me if she couldn’t breathe, could she?’
Max felt a longing for his mother so powerful it felt like handfuls of pebbles hammering his chest from the inside. ‘Could I please talk to her on the phone?’
Kirsty’s cheeks flushed again and the dark redness of her skin looked horrid against the orange hair. He couldn’t believe that yesterday he’d thought she was pretty.
A cry came from down the hall. Max ran back to the bedroom and grabbed Teddy and hugged him hard. ‘Shhh. Mum’s not here yet. She’s getting here soon,’ he said. ‘You have to be quiet or you can’t have any Coco Pops.’
Coco Pops was another birthday treat they never otherwise ate, as sugary as Teddy’s beloved ‘lemade’ and just as delicious. Today he didn’t seem to care.
‘I want Mummy. Where’s Mummy?’
‘I don’t know.’
Teddy’s face crumpled and he started up his noisy sobbing again. Kirsty’s voice shouted down the corridor: ‘Shut up!’
‘Please be quiet, Teds, I don’t want Kirsty to get cross,’ Max said, wrapping his brother in his arms as he’d seen his mother do, pushing Teddy’s bushy head into his chest to muffle his sobs. He rocked backwards and forwards, holding his brother desperately.
‘I know what, Teddy,’ he whispered. ‘Want a story?’
Teddy shook his head against Max’s embrace, still sobbing.
‘What about the big yellow truck?’
Teddy snuffled and pulled his tear-smeared face out of the hug to look at Max. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘You can’t say that story like Mummy.’
‘Once upon a time, there was a big yellow truck. And two little boys were playing with the truck in the sandpit. They made a big road. They made it smooth with water from the bucket.’
Teddy gave a little sigh and lay down on the pillow to suck his thumb. Max went on, hearing his mother’s voice in his head, right down to the exact words she always used: ‘And then their mummy called them for dinner, so they went and had dinner, and when they peeked at the truck through the back window they were very surprised to see it driving around all by itself. Round and round the garden. How could it do that? What they didn’t know was that a little slater had come along, and the cheeky slater was taking it for a drive—’
‘Not that one.’
‘What one?’
‘Tell about the rescue. Mummy’s rescue.’
‘I don’t know that one.’
‘Tell, tell! The one with the hellydoctor.’
‘Helicopter.’
‘Yes.’
Max sighed. ‘One day, when Mummy was working with the rescue people, they had to help a pilot who crashed her plane. In a quarry. Only it’s not a quarry anymore. They filled it up with water. It was muddy. All sticky. And Mummy had to hang down from a helicopter . . .’ Max paused, his grip of the details failing.
‘On a rope,’ said Teddy.
‘Yes, on a rope. A
special rope with a belt to keep her safe. And she had to put the belt around that lady too. And when she was . . . joined on, they were both hanging down from the helicopter, and the helicopter lifted her up, and the pilot’s legs made a sound from all the mud, and then they were swinging in the air—’
‘What was the mud sound?’
Their mother always described the noise the mud made when the woman was pulled up and out. It was one of their favourite bits of the story.
‘A glopping sound. Glop, glop, went the mud.’
When the story was finished and Teddy was calm they went into the room where Kirsty was watching television. She’d changed into a nice dress and brushed her hair and her skin wasn’t red anymore. It was as pale as vanilla ice cream. She ignored them. Max saw the yellow packet of Coco Pops and two bowls and two spoons resting on the kitchen table. No milk.
In the fridge he found a bottle with a pink label on it. NO FAT, the label said. It wasn’t the kind of milk his mother bought. He unscrewed the top and sniffed. The milk smelled okay. He poured himself and Teddy a bowl each and they ate and put their ears to the milk to hear the pops.
When they’d finished and put down their spoons, their eyes turned first to Kirsty’s head on the couch and then to the light coming in under the back door.
‘Could we play outside?’ Max asked.
Kirsty didn’t turn around. ‘No.’
‘Is Mum coming soon?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her, or your father. Go back to your room and play.’
Max took Teddy back down to the room. He didn’t like the room. He didn’t like any of this.
He could sort of work out the game of Snakes and Ladders. He rolled the dice and he got five and Teddy got two. So he went first, counting out five squares. The golden ladder was another few squares further on. Teddy wouldn’t move his counter along the board. He threw it across the room and it bounced off the wall and snapped in half. Max hid the halves of the plastic counter under the mattress.
He tried to encourage Teddy. ‘It’s a good game. Have the blue counter instead.’
Teddy wouldn’t even try. He was too little. So they built things out of the dice and counters. They piled them into tiny stacks and knocked them down. It seemed like they were doing that for a very long time. Max wished they could go outside. Through the window he could see the front lawn, the fence, the road. The glass was clouded with some salty, dusty stuff that made the world outside look like it was in a mist.
