A Little Spark, page 7
I got to see Dad a couple of days later. A nurse stuck me in a wheelchair and took me to his room. I’d been warned that he was in an induced coma, so that his body could spend as much energy as possible repairing itself, but even so, the sight took my breath away. He’d lost so much weight and there were tubes up his nose and various things attached to every part of his body, or so it seemed. But it was the slackness of his face that shocked me. Almost like there was no one inside, that he’d slipped out of the room at some point and just left the furniture. The nurse assured me that was not so, that they expected Dad to recover. For all that, I wondered what would be left of him when that happened. I wanted to ask, but I was scared of the answer I might get, so I kept quiet. I held his hand and thought about praying. But I couldn’t.
The conversation with Mum came the following day. I knew it was coming and I also knew that I could postpone it. Too tired. Too upset. There were a number of ways I could put it all off. But it was never going to disappear. I decided to deal with it early.
‘Cate, I have a few questions I want to ask you.’ She sat on a chair, Sam on another. I sat in a chair too, a blanket over my knees. Mum and I faced each other, like opposing counsel in some television courtroom drama.
‘Go ahead,’ I said.
‘You were in the back of that car. A rental car, though no one’s explained that to me. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt when the crash happened, according to the police. Instead you were wearing a blonde wig.’ Mum pinched the bridge of her nose, as if the words coming out of her mouth were so absurd that she was pained by their appearance. ‘I would very much like an explanation, Cate. I mean, very much.’
‘We were playing a game, Mum.’ I didn’t know how else to explain it. Game wasn’t the right word, but it would have to do for now.
‘A game?’ Mum said the word like its meaning was a mystery. ‘You were playing a game?’
‘We play every weekend I’m with Dad.’
Mum rubbed at her forehead, pushing her hair back. Her eyes were screwed up.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What kind of a game involves you being in the back of a rental car without a seatbelt and wearing a wig?’
Sam leaned over and put a hand on Mum’s knee.
‘Maybe we should leave this conversation for a while, Lois,’ he said. ‘Until Caitlyn’s feeling …’
‘What kind of a game?’ she said.
I wished Mum had listened to Sam. Like I said, I wasn’t in the mood for this; I was never going to be in the mood for this. But Mum needed answers. She’s insistent and doesn’t take kindly to being ignored.
How to explain? That Dad tried every time I was staying with him to bring some magic into my life, to arrange events to feed my imagination, to bring wonder and playfulness into what is an otherwise predictable existence? This was something between Dad and me. It was our secret, one I hadn’t even shared with Elise. Yeah, I’d told her about the adventures, but not the explanation behind them. Hell, even Dad and I hadn’t ever talked about it. We both knew the other knew, but we lived the lives and experiences he created and we believed. That was the key. Fiction isn’t fiction if you believe in it enough. It becomes real. That’s the key to this type of magic.
I couldn’t explain this to Mum.
‘We role-play,’ I said. ‘I think Dad had some kind of spy game in mind. He was just about to pull over so I could get in the front seat when the accident happened.’ ‘Spy game?’ Mum’s face was filling with anger. I was making a mess of my explanation. It sounded stupid, even to me.
‘People were following us …’ I thought about what Dad had said when I got in the well of the car. He’d booked motel rooms in different names, was going to pay by cash, take me to a fast-food place where he would stare at the door while he told me some story about … I don’t know. Maybe he’d stumbled across a crime scene and now the killers were trying to silence him. Maybe he’d unearthed a terror plot and a hit man was coming for him. Maybe … It didn’t matter. Dad would have a story and it would be fun. Perhaps, after we’d finished eating, Dad would suddenly say that we had to leave, that someone had spotted us from outside and our only chance now was to run. And we’d sprint through the streets until we got back to the motel and …
I realised I’d lapsed into silence.
‘We make worlds,’ I said. ‘And then we live in them for the weekend. Or part of it, at least.’
‘A spy game,’ said Mum. She stood up and I realised that I had never seen her so angry. ‘When you go to your dad’s house you play games. Well, how fabulous, Caitlyn. How absolutely fabulous. While Sam and I bring you up, being boring caregivers … you know, cooking and cleaning and nagging you about school and cleaning your bedroom …’
‘Lois …’ But Sam might as well have asked the wind to stop blowing. Mum was beyond anyone’s control.
‘… your father is playing games. Being the fun dad. No wonder you prefer him to me …’
‘Mum …’ This was not true. Was it? I couldn’t think about it because Mum’s army of words was attacking without mercy and I felt surrounded and helpless.
‘… and maybe that would be okay. Maybe it would. While we deal with the real world and all the shitty things that go on in it, you can escape into your stories … your games. Fine. Happy for you. But not this, Caitlyn. Not this. Your father put you into the back of a car and you were not wearing a seatbelt. I mean …’ Mum laughed, but it was a strange thing, more like a squeal. ‘I mean, parents are supposed to be doing that. Making sure you put on your seatbelt. You know why? Because they are there to protect you. But your father. He put you at risk.’ The words were getting mangled now because her tears and her rage were building. ‘For a game. He gambled with your life for a game. It’s not right, Caitlyn. It’s not right and I will never forgive him for it. I will never forgive him for it …’
And then she was gone, but I could hear her cries as she ran down the hospital corridor. She sounded like something trapped and howling in pain. I looked at Sam. Then I was aware of a tear dropping from my chin and onto my gown. I couldn’t remember when I’d started crying.
‘She’ll get over it,’ said Sam. He patted my hand but then withdrew like he had no right to touch me. Or maybe it was fear that, like a cornered animal, I might strike out. ‘She’s angry now, but she loves you.’
‘I know.’
He gestured towards the door.
‘I’d better …’
‘Yes,’ I said.
He smiled, but it was crooked and unrealistic. A small step towards me, a shuffle back. And then he was gone too, and I was left alone in the white room.
For a few absurd moments I wondered if Dad would appear at the door, tell me he was particularly proud of this little fiction but it was done now, the weekend was over and he’d drive me back to the real world.
That would’ve been wonderful.
CHAPTER
NINE
Elise brought me my school laptop the next day and I checked my emails. Dozens and dozens of them, all boring.
Except one.
janebr@blakemcdonaldpublishers.com.au
Dear Caitlyn Carson,
Thank you for your submission of Unicorn Girl
through our Book Pitch Program. I would much
appreciate it if you would send through the complete
manuscript for our consideration. Please understand
that it takes on average about three months for
an appraisal, so do not become discouraged when
you do not hear from us immediately. Please also
understand that this request for the entire manuscript
does not mean an offer of publication.
We look forward to reading your work and will be in contact in due course.
Best wishes,
Jane Brown
Commissioning Editor
Blake McDonald Publishing House
‘Oh my God,’ said Elise. ‘You’re gonna be the next JK Rowling. Will you still love me when you’re famous?’
‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said. ‘I don’t love you now.’
‘Yeah, you do.’
She said other things but, to be honest, I was too excited to pay much attention. They wanted the complete manuscript! Yes, okay. That didn’t mean they were going to publish it. They made that point very clear in the email. But they also didn’t say they weren’t going to publish it. I was entitled to some excitement.
‘This email is dated nearly two weeks ago, Elise,’ I said. ‘You don’t think they’ll have just given up? I mean, if I can’t be bothered to send it, why should they bother …’
‘Oh, now you shut up, CC. Just send it to them. Explain you’ve been knocking on death’s door and that kept you kinda busy because you were waiting for death to answer.’
Luckily I kept a copy of the book on my school laptop, so I attached it to my reply.
caitlyncarson@brineleessc.vic.edu.au
Dear Jane,
Please find attached the complete manuscript of Unicorn Girl. I apologise for the delay in replying to your email, but I have recently been in hospital following an accident. I hope you enjoy my story and look forward to hearing from you in due course.
Best wishes,
Caitlyn Carson
PS: You might be interested to know that I recently came second in the Victorian Premier’s Short Story Competition. I got this news recently, so wasn’t able to put it into my original BPP application.
‘You don’t think I sound too up myself with that PS, do you, El?’
‘It’s a business, CC,’ said Elise. ‘You’d be a bozo not to mention it.’
I read the email over about ten times, thought about changing some phrases, did so, then changed them back again. Eventually, Elise leaned over and clicked SEND.
‘This Jane Brown’ll be dead by the time you finish pissing about with that email,’ she pointed out.
I let out a huge sigh. She was right. I worry too much about stuff like that.
I got a reply almost immediately.
janebr@blakemcdonaldpublishers.com.au
Dear Caitlyn,
Sorry to hear about your hospitalisation. I hope you are fully recovered. Thank you for the ms and congratulations on your success in the Premier’s Short Story Competition.
Best,
Jane
‘She called you Caitlyn and not Caitlyn Carson and she signed it with “Best”, not “Best wishes”,’ said Elise. ‘You’re like close friends already. Hey, can I tag along with you on your international book-signing tour?’
‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s watch Beethoven’s 2nd on your laptop. Then I’ll shut up.’
‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said.
I was able to visit Dad every day, but they told me I couldn’t stay for more than ten minutes.
‘He knows you’re here, love,’ said one of the nurses when I asked why. Dad was still in an induced coma and he’d never once shown signs of waking up. I didn’t understand why my being there could hurt him. ‘We’ve got him on all kinds of drugs, but he’s aware of some things. I don’t know. It’s a bit of a mystery, but I’ve seen it loads of times. See the way his eyes are flickering slightly under his lids? He senses your presence and he wants to wake up. That’s why you can’t stay long. He really needs his rest.’
So I stayed for ten minutes and held his hand and watched for when his eyes started twitching under his lids. As soon as that happened I kissed his cheek and went back to my room. Mum visited me (and Dad) all the time. Sometimes she had Sam with her, sometimes she came alone. We didn’t talk about our argument, but I could tell by her eyes that she hadn’t forgotten and probably hadn’t forgiven. We would be talking about it again. But not now.
I was learning to read both my parents’ eyes.
Finally, they let me leave. I’d been in hospital for four weeks and I was getting seriously claustrophobic. Sure, for the last week I was able to walk around the place, even visit the cafeteria for a while, though all of that tended to wear me out and I was often glad to get back to my bed, nursing a small pain in the leg that had been broken. But I was so relieved when the doctor finally gave me permission to be discharged. She told me I would have to come back twice a week for the physiotherapist to check on my progress and make sure I was still doing my exercises. That seemed a small price to pay.
My ribs sometimes hurt like hell. Apparently, they’d healed well. Normally it’s six to eight weeks or even longer before they’re back to normal, but youth was on my side. The doctor warned me I would still be uncomfortable for a while yet. My broken leg was coming along fine, though it would be at least another four months before it completely healed. Nonetheless, I could’ve walked down to the car park, but that apparently wasn’t allowed, so a nurse pushed me in a wheelchair to the front doors and wished me luck.
I had the window open for the entire drive home as I listened to Mum chattering on about work and how understanding the school had been while I was in hospital. I put my head slightly out of the window and let the cool air blow hair from my face. At least I did until Mum told me to stop. I think she had visions of my head colliding with a pole or something. I suspect having your daughter nearly die makes you slightly over-protective. So I just watched as the roads and buildings slid by and felt happy. Happy for that air on my face, the clouds scudding overhead, the words in my ears and the faint steady beating of my heart. A few moments of madness had nearly taken all that away. Yes, my father was in an induced coma, but I felt grateful for the simple fact he was still alive.
I wasn’t allowed to stay over at Elise’s. When I asked, Mum nearly had a panic attack. But my friend was allowed to stay over at my house, which was cool. We watched movies and she filled me in on all the gossip at school, of which there was plenty. She also confided that while I had been in the hospital, she’d got herself a boyfriend.
‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Who is it?’
‘Liam,’ she said. ‘Liam Cooper.’
I knew Liam Cooper. He was in the year above us and obviously fancied himself as really good looking. In a few years he’d doubtless sport a man bun and long sideburns and be the founder member of his own fan club. He was kind of revolting in an attractive way.
‘How did you manage to get Liam Cooper as your boyfriend?’
‘Oh, he doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend,’ said Elise. ‘Yet.’ She scrolled through her phone for a while. ‘I might tell him in a day or so. I think he probably needs to know.’
‘But …’
‘If you’re going to piss off to the other side of the world, then I reckon I deserve a boyfriend. I’ve decided on Liam.’
‘I can’t see me going,’ I said. ‘And I can’t even think about it with Dad the way he is.’
‘Good,’ said Elise. ‘Music to my ears. If you stay I’ll probably dump Liam as my boyfriend so I can focus on you.’
‘That is weird.’
‘It’ll break his heart, but what can you do?’
‘You’re a mess,’ I said.
‘Takes one to know one, CC,’ said El.
Mum and I went in the day they brought Dad out of his induced coma. I hadn’t even known they were going to do it, but found out later that they kept the information from me in case he wasn’t … okay when he regained consciousness. According to his doctor, the intracranial pressure had come down to almost normal levels, so they had withdrawn the cocktail of barbiturates and brought him back slowly into the world. He had been confused at first, the specialist told us in his office, but was improving with every minute that passed. He had some memories of the accident, but they were incomplete. At the moment there was no sign of brain damage, but that could only be properly assessed over time. We were to spend no more than fifteen minutes with him today – less if he became agitated or overly emotional.
We tried not to cry when we went into his room, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever attempted. Now that he was out of the bandages he looked … wrecked. It was like someone had jumped him in a dark alley and beaten the living daylights out of him. His eyes were sunken, with huge bags under them, and there were lines on his face I swear weren’t there before. He had aged fifteen years in a few weeks. He gave a small smile when he saw us, but even that appeared to exhaust him.
‘Hi,’ he said in a voice barely more than a whisper.
‘Dad,’ I said.
‘There’s not a lot that gets past …’ but he coughed before he could finish and that exhausted him even more.
We spent just five minutes with him that first day and we didn’t say very much. Dad just stared at me with those sunken eyes and I held his hand. When his eyes closed and his breathing settled into a rhythm, Mum and I left.
It was only when we were in the corridor that we cried. That was messy as well. All my recent crying had been messy.
Sam made spaghetti bolognese with his home-made garlic bread. He did a vego version for Mum. It was delicious, but even as we were eating I knew that something momentous had appeared on our mental horizons. The realisation made me scared. At least I didn’t have to wait long.
‘Sam is flying to England in a week’s time,’ said Mum. ‘The company were putting pressure on and … well, he’s made his decision. It’s too good an opportunity to miss.’
‘Oh,’ I said. There were other questions, of course, other factors, but we’d get around to those. ‘Congratulations,’ I added.
‘I’m staying here, of course,’ Mum continued. ‘You are in no fit state to travel that kind of distance, so that’s a no-brainer. Plus, we couldn’t possibly leave until both you and your father have made further progress with your recoveries.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘But you should know, Caitlyn, that I intend to join Sam in England as soon as humanly possible and that you will be coming with me.’
