at university, she opened their front door to me one morning and gave me another hug-of-death, so I knew I was fucked even before Liam and Alix walked out of his bedroom.
I hooked my backpack over my shoulder and exited the car.
‘Night, Hols,’ said Liam quietly. ‘See you at the station tomoz.’
‘Night.’
‘Bye, Holly.’ Ingrid put her fist over her heart in salute. The salute of empathy you give to people who are . . . just rooted. I pulled the mail out of the mailbox and walked up the driveway. By the time I got to the door, my general sense of foreboding had been converted to adrenaline.
Our house was creaking and old and in need of, among other things, a new coat of paint. We were down to core Cdow0em"business. The yard was overgrown, the front verandah cluttered and unswept.
I shoved my key in the lock in a hurry, knowing that Ingrid would not drive off until I was safely inside the front door. Death hung everywhere in my peripheral vision. You couldn’t look straight at it. Mum stood in the kitchen stirring a boiler on the stove.
‘Hi,’ she said, tapping the wooden spoon on the boiler rim.
‘Hi, Ma.’ I put my bag down. ‘Where’s Paddy?’
‘Upstairs, supposed to be having a shower. Can you go and make sure he is?’
‘Yeah.’ I turned towards the stairs, and then turned back. ‘Anything for dinner?’
‘This is just a plain chicken broth for Dad . . . ’ ‘Can I ring for pizza?’
‘Yes! Yes, do that. And Hol . . . uh . . . ’
‘Mmm?’
‘Trisha came today.’
Trisha was the Community Nurse that visited my dad.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. And Dr Sue as well. And just to let you know before you go in to see Dad . . . they gave him an IV.’
‘An IV?’
‘Yes. It was just too difficult with all those tablets . . . He can’t swallow them, so I was trying to crush them up and put them in custard . . . and they just said it was time to lose the tablets.’
‘Time to lose the tablets,’ I repeated.
‘So now he gets the morphine intravenously at set times through the day and night. Trisha will come every morning to refill it.’
‘Right.’
I could see her eyes glistening as she strained the broth.
I climbed the stairs and found my ten-year-old brother, Paddy, fiddling with some Warhammer figures in his room.
‘Hi, Padster.’
‘Hi.’
‘You’re supposed to be in the shower...’
No answer.
‘ . . . not playing Ultimate Nerd. Come on, I’m going to ring for pizza.’
He looked at me. ‘Factory Special?’ he asked hopefully.
‘If you get in the shower now.’
He got up and went into the bathroom. I walked down the hallway and knocked gently at my parents’ bedroom.
‘Dad?’ I called in a low voice. Nothing. I pushed open the door and saw my dad in the bed, propped up on many pillows, his eyes three-quarters closed and his mouth slightly ajar. I pulled the stool over from Mum’s dressing table and sat down next to him.
‘Dad.’ I touched his hand that lay on the covers.
‘Mm!’ he startled, and opened his eyes, glassy and pink from his last dose of morphine.
‘Oh . . . It’s my darling girl.’ He smiled. ‘How was . . . ah . . . how was . . . ’ I knew what he was trying to say but I also knew he didn’t like it when I put words in for him. He’d get there eventually.
‘. . . rehearsal.Yes, how did it go?’
‘Fine, fine, we’re getting there. How was your day?’
‘Oh, well, Mummy and me, er. I had to have my blood test and um, we watched . . . Sunday Arts . . .’ He trailed off and stared down at the covers.
It wasn’t Sunday. They couldn’t have watched Sunday Arts . And lately he’d been referring to Mum as Mummy, as if I was a little girl again.
His eyes were three-quarters closed again. He’d kind of dozed off. I sat next to him, conscious of the terrible ache in my chest that comes from not crying. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and continued. ‘Uh . . . something about Watergate and, um, make sure you
I hooked my backpack over my shoulder and exited the car.
‘Night, Hols,’ said Liam quietly. ‘See you at the station tomoz.’
‘Night.’
‘Bye, Holly.’ Ingrid put her fist over her heart in salute. The salute of empathy you give to people who are . . . just rooted. I pulled the mail out of the mailbox and walked up the driveway. By the time I got to the door, my general sense of foreboding had been converted to adrenaline.
Our house was creaking and old and in need of, among other things, a new coat of paint. We were down to core Cdow0em"business. The yard was overgrown, the front verandah cluttered and unswept.
I shoved my key in the lock in a hurry, knowing that Ingrid would not drive off until I was safely inside the front door. Death hung everywhere in my peripheral vision. You couldn’t look straight at it. Mum stood in the kitchen stirring a boiler on the stove.
‘Hi,’ she said, tapping the wooden spoon on the boiler rim.
‘Hi, Ma.’ I put my bag down. ‘Where’s Paddy?’
‘Upstairs, supposed to be having a shower. Can you go and make sure he is?’
‘Yeah.’ I turned towards the stairs, and then turned back. ‘Anything for dinner?’
‘This is just a plain chicken broth for Dad . . . ’ ‘Can I ring for pizza?’
‘Yes! Yes, do that. And Hol . . . uh . . . ’
‘Mmm?’
‘Trisha came today.’
Trisha was the Community Nurse that visited my dad.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. And Dr Sue as well. And just to let you know before you go in to see Dad . . . they gave him an IV.’
‘An IV?’
‘Yes. It was just too difficult with all those tablets . . . He can’t swallow them, so I was trying to crush them up and put them in custard . . . and they just said it was time to lose the tablets.’
‘Time to lose the tablets,’ I repeated.
‘So now he gets the morphine intravenously at set times through the day and night. Trisha will come every morning to refill it.’
‘Right.’
I could see her eyes glistening as she strained the broth.
I climbed the stairs and found my ten-year-old brother, Paddy, fiddling with some Warhammer figures in his room.
‘Hi, Padster.’
‘Hi.’
‘You’re supposed to be in the shower...’
No answer.
‘ . . . not playing Ultimate Nerd. Come on, I’m going to ring for pizza.’
He looked at me. ‘Factory Special?’ he asked hopefully.
‘If you get in the shower now.’
He got up and went into the bathroom. I walked down the hallway and knocked gently at my parents’ bedroom.
‘Dad?’ I called in a low voice. Nothing. I pushed open the door and saw my dad in the bed, propped up on many pillows, his eyes three-quarters closed and his mouth slightly ajar. I pulled the stool over from Mum’s dressing table and sat down next to him.
‘Dad.’ I touched his hand that lay on the covers.
‘Mm!’ he startled, and opened his eyes, glassy and pink from his last dose of morphine.
‘Oh . . . It’s my darling girl.’ He smiled. ‘How was . . . ah . . . how was . . . ’ I knew what he was trying to say but I also knew he didn’t like it when I put words in for him. He’d get there eventually.
‘. . . rehearsal.Yes, how did it go?’
‘Fine, fine, we’re getting there. How was your day?’
‘Oh, well, Mummy and me, er. I had to have my blood test and um, we watched . . . Sunday Arts . . .’ He trailed off and stared down at the covers.
It wasn’t Sunday. They couldn’t have watched Sunday Arts . And lately he’d been referring to Mum as Mummy, as if I was a little girl again.
His eyes were three-quarters closed again. He’d kind of dozed off. I sat next to him, conscious of the terrible ache in my chest that comes from not crying. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and continued. ‘Uh . . . something about Watergate and, um, make sure you
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