Читать книгу Living Voice - Karen West - Страница 10

Chapter Four

I MADE FOR the kapok mattress beneath the window in the attic and dialled Libby up on FaceTime.

Libby’s face came up on the screen. ‘Steph, I’ve been worried sick. What happened? Where have you been?’ She moved in closer. ‘Have you been crying?’

‘It’s been a shitty day.’ I started to go on, but my voice cracked.

‘Oh, Steph –’

‘Can … can you come over?’

‘Sure.’

I threw the iPad on the mattress, covered my face with the pillow and sobbed into it, crying myself to sleep.

The current was strong as it pulled Mum away from the shore. I attempted to swim across to her, but I couldn’t close the distance between us. Transparent jellyfish floated to the surface; their hoods sat like giant domes on the water. I stopped swimming and splashed my hands against the water, creating waves to push them away. A venomous tentacle wrapped around my wrist, sending a shooting pain up my arm. ‘Steph, go back,’ Mum called, and then she was gone.

I sat up startled. The stairs creaked, the door flung open, and Libby rushed over and knelt beside me. I hugged her so tight she made a noise. My nose started to run. ‘I’ll put gunk on your top,’ I told her, pulling away, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

‘Steph, what happened?’

‘Mum’s in the hospital. We were snorkelling and – ’ I broke into tears. ‘Please stay, I can’t be alone tonight.’

I woke in a sweat. The time on my phone read 2 am. I stepped over Libby and made my way downstairs for a glass of water. Dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of tea and his laptop. I glanced over his shoulder at the screen. He was on a heart website. The words heart disease stood out. I made a conscious effort to stay calm.

I took a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap. ‘What does Google tell us?’

‘Google says that you should go back to bed.’

‘Libby’s staying over. She snores worse than you. I can’t sleep … I want to stay here with you.’ Dad pulled out a chair, and I sat beside him. ‘Do you think Mum’s got heart disease?’

Dad took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Steph, it could be anything. It might be something minor.’

‘Or big.’

Libby shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Steph’s going back to bed,’ said Dad, and Libby did a U-turn and shuffled back to bed.

‘Off you go,’ said Dad, shooing me away with his hand.

Libby pulled back the covers and rolled over. I slipped in beside her, my front to her back, and put my arm over her arm. ‘My brain won’t stop thinking,’ I told her.

‘Trauma can do that to people. I’ve seen it heaps of times on CSI.’

‘This isn’t a dumb television show.’

‘I’m just saying that stress does weird stuff to people,’ she sighed.

Most friends my age had new glitzy houses, with fancy stainless steel appliances. Our house was old, but the house wrapped around our family like a warm blanket. Dad made hot chocolate on the potbelly stove.

Libby sat at the table eating scrambled eggs with my baby teaspoon that had bunnies engraved on the handle. Egg rolled off the spoon into her lap. She used her long red manicured nails like chopsticks to pick it up and eat it. ‘We can drop you home on the way,’ I told her.

‘I’m coming to the hospital,’ she told me.

I stared at Dad with a questioning look, not that I minded Libby coming, but it was weird that he would choose to include her in something like this. ‘How come?’

‘Because, I’m your friend,’ she said.

Dad glanced back at me through his rear view mirror. I dropped my head and pretended to be interested in the iPad on Libby’s lap. She had her Facebook page open on a photograph of three boys standing with their tongues hanging out like the giraffes during feeding time at the zoo. Sometimes, I think that the zoo should have a cage for teenage boys.

Blue, green, yellow, orange, and once again we were on the lowest level of the car park. I took a deep breath in preparation for the lift ride.

We stepped out of the lift into the corridor of the ICU. Dad left us and went off in search of Dr Wong. I half expected that we might bump into the boy with the blond hair and the undone laces who was here yesterday.

When Dad returned, he said, ‘Steph, stay here with Aunt Cass and Libby. I won’t be long.’ I reached out and grabbed his arm.

‘No way, I want to see Mum’s doctor with you.’

‘Steph, please.’

‘Dad, you’re always telling me to grow up and take responsibility, but when it suits you, you treat me like a kid. I don’t want second-hand information; I want to hear what the doctor has to say. I’m coming with you.’

Aunt Cass reached out and touched Dad’s arm. ‘She’s right, Glenn.’

Dad’s face relaxed, making me think that he was giving in, but I was wrong. ‘No,’ he decided, and my body jolted. Usually, I’d stand and fight, but I chose to quietly back away. So not fair, I screamed at him in my head, and took off outside, with Libby following.

I sat on a brick wall, watching the traffic with Libby beside me. She was dangling her legs, tapping the back of her shoes on the wall. ‘Sometimes parents just don’t get it,’ she explained.

‘Yeah, like most of the time. I can’t believe he didn’t let me go in with him. He’s always dragging me into the vet’s clinic, sharing stuff with me, stuff that most kids would never see. I was six when he showed me the guts of a Tasmanian Devil – there were worms in it. I still have nightmares.’

Libby screwed up her face. ‘That’s sick.’

‘And when I should be included, I’m not.’

A truck sped past, expelling a black cloud of pollution. ‘Maybe that’s your dad’s way of protecting you?’ she said, pulling the neck of her top over her nose.

‘That doesn’t make it fair.’

After forty minutes of breathing in the fumes of the traffic, I had a full-blown headache. ‘We’d better go back,’ I said, pushing off the wall.

Libby pointed to a man striding along the footpath towards us. ‘Hey, isn’t that your Dad?’

‘Yeah, it is.’ I stopped, and Libby kept walking.

‘I’ll meet you upstairs,’ she told me, leaving me with Dad.

Dad scanned the surrounding buildings. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘The café is over there,’ I said, pointing, and we started walking across the road.

The café was too noisy inside, so I chose a small table out of the sun, shaded by a tree. Dad came out and handed me a bottle of water. He placed his coffee on the table and proceeded to pour sugar into his mug. ‘Stop, Dad,’ I told him. ‘That’s enough.’ I leaned forward. ‘What did the doctor say?’

Dad placed his elbow on the table, swept his hand over his face, and shook his head. ‘Dr Wong said that your mother has cardiomyopathy, but with the correct medication they should be able to keep it under control.’

‘Is Mum going to die?’

‘No,’ he said, and his eyes told me that he was telling the truth.

‘How do you get cardiomyopathy?’

‘Genetics, which they’ve ruled out because there’s no family history, or infections caused by bacteria, viruses or parasites. Some people make unhealthy lifestyle choices.’

‘But Mum’s a health freak,’ I said a bit too loudly, and noticed a woman turn around.

Dad put his hand on mine, leaned forward and whispered, ‘Sometimes it’s just bad luck. Healthy people get sick. Sometimes a pre-existing condition, like your mother’s asthma, can mask the signs of something more serious, doing something out of the ordinary …’

‘Like snorkelling?’

Dad nodded. ‘Yes, like snorkelling.’

I bit my bottom lip. ‘Don’t do that,’ said Dad, frowning, and I stopped.

‘Have you spoken with Mum?’

‘No, not yet, but Dr Wong has. He stated that she took it well, she was calm, and went on to ask a lot of questions, which he answered in depth.’

I sat up straight to take the weight off my heart. ‘That’s good,’ I said, nodding, knowing that the scientist in Mum would have kicked in. ‘So, we just have to wait to see if the medication works?’ Dad smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

‘Dad, I know you, you’re holding something back.’

‘I am not.’

‘I’ll call Dr Wong and ask him myself. If the medication doesn’t work … the doctors might consider …’

I frowned. ‘Consider what?’

‘A heart transplant.’

‘Transplant?’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

The hospital was suffocating. I stopped short of the lift. ‘I’m not ready to see Mum,’ I told Dad.

Dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder. ‘I’ll send Libby down.’

Libby came out of the lift and threw her arms around me, and I cried. ‘Here,’ she said letting go, taking my hand, guiding me to a chair. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘Yep, it is.’

‘But she’ll recover, right?’

‘Dad explained that they can give Mum medication, and if it doesn’t work she might need a heart transplant.’

‘That’s horrible.’

‘How can this be happening to my mum?’

Libby reached out and hugged me. ‘I read that if you have positive thoughts, it can help create a positive outcome.’ I grinned. Libby stared back at me. ‘What?’

‘Teen magazine?’ I asked, screwing up my face.

Libby pouted.