Crashing Down by Kate McCaffrey Page A

baby,’ Lucy says suddenly. ‘I’ve been thinking of it as a pregnancy — but at the end there’s a baby.’ She feels foolish and naïve. Of course it’s a baby. She’d only got as far as nausea and getting fat and everyone knowing and judging her. She hadn’t considered nappies, sleepless nights, feeding, a baby seat in the back of her P-plate car. The birth. ‘Oh, God.’
    â€˜Don’t panic,’ her mum says firmly. ‘We can work this out. We need time. Dad will have some ideas.’
    â€˜No,’ Lucy says, putting her hand on her mum’s arm. ‘Please don’t tell him yet. I don’t want him to think of me differently. I don’t want not to be his Rabbit anymore.’
    â€˜You’ll always be his Rabbit, even when you’re grown up. That will never change.’
    â€˜Please, Mum.’ Lucy’s crying again. ‘Please don’t tell him yet.’
    â€˜Okay, we’ll wait a while. We’ve got plenty of time.’

16
    The phone rings at 6 a.m. It’s Mrs Kapuletti.
    â€˜Lucinda! Carlo — he is awaken!’
    â€˜What?’ she says, still wiping her face after her morning vomiting ritual. ‘Carl? Is awake?’
    â€˜Yes, two hour ago. He awaken. Just like that. He speak — he is okay. He is fine. Carlo is awaken.’
    â€˜Can I see him?’ she asks nervously.
    â€˜Yes, you come tonight. I call you later. I tell you where to come to.’
    At work Lucy sends a bag of elastic bands to the office instead of hundred-dollar notes. When the office calls her, she panics, then finds the missing money in the elastic band compartment.
    Al is coming to take her to see JD, and then later she’ll see Carl. The prospect of finally seeing them both after nearly a week — although it’s felt like a lifetime — terrifies her. She doesn’t know what to expect.
    Al pulls into her driveway at five to two, and she kisses her mum goodbye.
    â€˜See ya,’ she says, like she’s off to the beach, not to an intensive care unit.
    â€˜Okay, I’ll be at the shop, but call me if you need me. Everything’s done and Suzie can manage on her own. I have my phone on vibrate.’ Her mum pats her pocket, making Lucy laugh. Her mum, for years the technophobe, now connected to her mobile day and night.
    â€˜You’re not a teenager, Mum,’ she calls, leaving the house.
    It doesn’t take long to get to the hospital, and the grounds are beautiful. Sunlight dapples the tree-lined walkways, heavy-headed hydrangeas bounce in the light breeze. In the hallway she is surprised by the smell, a slightly musty odour — more like an old people’s home than a hospital.
    Ben smells it, too. ‘Lots of old people here,’ he says. ‘Rehabilitation unit, mostly for hips and stuff. JD’s this way, he’s still in the intensive care ward. They’ll move him into a rehab room any day now.’
    Outside a closed door sits Mr Tan. Lucy has never met him before, but he springs to his feet when he sees them approach.
    â€˜Alan, Ben, Lucy,’ he says. Like JD, despite his very Asian appearance, he has a strong Australian accent.
    â€˜JD wants to see you, Lucy. Alone.’ He gives her a small hug and she feels so tall next to him. ‘He’s asked not to wear his oxygen mask for the visit. He wants to talk.’
    â€˜Okay.’ She smiles but is petrified.
    She walks into another room, where a nurse sits in front of a computer, overlooking a glass window into the next room. Lucy glances at the window. Inside is a giant white-sheeted box. ‘Through there?’ she asks the nurse. The nurse nods and returns to her typing.
    â€˜Five minutes,’ she says, without looking up. That suits Lucy fine.
    Inside it’s all white tiles and humming machines;Lucy is reminded of that Monty Python skit, ‘This is the machine that goes PING.’ She rubs