A Way Home, page 13
‘The ambos are on their way,’ the man with the phone interrupts. ‘Two minutes, they reckon.’
The smell of urine and rot grows stronger as the nurse removes each of Mary’s layers. People walking past rubberneck, pinch their noses as they catch a whiff, before scurrying off.
All I can do is watch. The nurse checks Mary’s breathing every now and then while the woman makes a pile nearby of Mary’s filthy blankets. It reminds me of pass-the-parcel, the body inside growing smaller with each wrapping removed.
When they reach what must be the final layer, I step forward, then kneel anxiously beside the nurse. He looks at me. ‘You did the right thing.’
A heavy stone shifts in my chest. ‘Will she be okay?’
The woman folds a blanket and the nurse lays Mary’s head down gently on it. Her face is motionless except for the slight movement of her eyes beneath her lids.
‘I’m having trouble getting a pulse so I need to check her heart,’ the nurse says, about to pull the last blanket back.
‘Can I?’
He glances at me, puzzled.
‘Please.’ I want to be the one that peels away Mary’s final protective layer. I don’t want a strange man doing it, even if he is a professional. Mary wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t like any of this. She’d bawl and fight and protest if she could. I hope she knows I’m here, looking out for her, making sure she’s okay.
‘All right, quick though,’ the nurse sits back a little.
I pull the blanket down to just above Mary’s waist and catch the fragile form of her body, the withered arms, and the bony chest plate above the scooped neck of a stained cotton dress. The sight makes me desperately want to pile the blankets back on, to bulk Mary up to her former, fierce glory – Queen Mary of Flinders Street Station. A woman who demands to be seen and heard.
But this is Mary too. Mary who can’t read or write, who escaped a violent husband to live in a car, who grieves her black dog. I gasp with sorrow.
Then there’s a siren’s wailing, brakes screech and two pairs of hands lift Mary quickly from the ground onto a stretcher. She’s gone before I know it, before I know where they’re taking her. She’s gone before I have the chance to say goodbye.
The nurse remains behind. He takes me by the shoulders and leads me across Flinders Street to a café, where he buys me a strong cup of tea and a sausage roll. All I really want though is for him to tell me everything will be okay.
He rifles through his pockets while I pluck flakes of pastry from the sausage roll with my teeth, letting them dissolve on my tongue. The pastry is probably buttery but I hardly taste it. The flakes could be pebbles or cardboard, for all I know. The world has suddenly lost its texture. Seeing Mary carted away in an ambulance has dulled it for me.
‘I really am sorry,’ the nurse holds out a cupped hand full of silver coins. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the change without hesitation. ‘Will Mary be okay?’
‘That’s her name?’The nurse raises an eyebrow.
I nod, glad he knows it now.
He pauses, so I’m sure he’s working out how to break the bad news to me. And I decide I don’t want to know the answer.
‘I’ve gotta go.’ I wrap the rest of my sausage roll in a napkin and shove it in my pack before swinging the lot onto my back. ‘Thanks again.’Then I walk away, before the nurse has a chance to stop me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next morning, after Louie leaves to take Molly to school, I follow the path beside the river so I don’t have to pass the station and see the spot where Mary should be.
As I walk, I marvel at the way the river meanders as the weather improves and there’s less rain. It’s moody, this river, but today of all days, it’s serene. I wonder where it comes from as it laps its steep brick banks. Louie told me it starts as a trickle in the mountains, getting wider and faster the closer it gets to the sea. It’s not the river that runs near Nan and Pop’s house, but today I wish it was.
I stop at a phone booth further on to call Nan again with the change the nurse gave me. I don’t worry about Pop answering this time. All I want is to hear Nan’s voice filtering down the line.
‘Hello,’ she answers quickly.
There’s no pause or indecision this time. I launch straight into a one-way conversation. The words stream from my mouth, making their way to Nan in a torrid rush.
‘I’ve found Dad. He’s coming to Melbourne. I read it on the internet. Andrew Stanton, concert pianist. I saw the piano too, Nan. In Hamer Hall. I’m going to ask him to help us.’ I take a breath – let the wintery air soothe my throat. ‘Mum said you liked him...’
‘Gracie.’
Pause.
‘Yeah?’
‘Where are you?’
I stare at the river, at a plastic bag being dragged along its surface. It’s how I feel. Forever pulled and pushed, never really in command of where I’m headed. I don’t want Nan to talk me out of this. I don’t want her to lay down the pros and cons so I see the gaping holes in my plan. I don’t want to doubt anymore. Dad will help Mum and me, and that’s all there is to it. He has to. There’s no room for indecision. This is it.
‘In the city.’ I don’t say any more.
‘Darling,’ she continues, reining her voice in, ‘where is Liesel?’
I bite my lip, consider how much to tell her. She’s scared. I can tell by the way her tone sharpens as she talks. I sense Nan’s fear down the phone line and it makes my heart sick.
‘In a community care unit out north. They sent her there from the hospital.’
I hope this is enough to put Nan’s mind at ease.
But she persists. ‘Which one?’
I hesitate, picture Nan standing in her kitchen, gripping the receiver as if her life depends on it. Then click, the phone cuts out and I’m left alone to watch the river wind its course to the sea.
I drop into the library, hoping Kate’s got some work for me to do. Some shelves that need stacking or returns to sort, anything to distract me from the sinking feeling I can’t shake. But mostly, I’d like to chat to her about Mary and Mum and the phone call with Nan. Maybe even the alleyway. Talking is easy while we’re working side-by-side and Kate usually lets me speak without interrupting.
‘She’s on leave,’ Bruce says when I go to the counter to ask after her.
‘Yeah, right.’ I feel strangely abandoned, but answer as if it’s nothing to worry about.
‘The piano’s still here though.’ He smiles encouragingly, but I tell him I’m not in the mood for playing and head outside to wander the city instead.
When it begins to drizzle, I head back to the ledge.
‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Louie says as I pull myself up and over, out of the weather. The walk seemed like a good idea at the time, but it’s freezing now. Once the cold sets in, it becomes an effort to put one foot in front of the other.
My clothes are soaked too and all I can think about is food. I hope Louie brought a packet of biscuits back from Molly or checked out the skips on his way home. Anything to fill the hole in my stomach. We could go to the soup van for a feed later, but I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to walk back across the city in the rain or to strike up conversation in the line. All I want to do is eat and sleep and hope tomorrow’s a brighter day.
‘All right?’ Louie asks, pulling himself into a sitting position from where he’s lying on his bed.
I slip off my pack before face-planting onto my sleeping bag. It’s damp, as usual, and stinks like mildew, same as my pillow and my bag and my clothes; stinks of hunger and long endless days that run into each other. Of the endless freaking cold!
Louie crosses his legs as I get up, remembering the sausage roll in my bag. It’s wet and squashed beyond recognition from all the times I’ve stood or sat on my bag today. I offer Louie half anyway and devour the rest.
‘Good day then?’ Louie makes a face at the sausage roll in his hand but eats it anyway.
I peel off my wet jumper and replace it with a less damp one from a pile in the back corner. I’m not in the mood for chatting, not even about Mary. ‘Got anything to eat?’
He yanks his collar up to cover his bare neck. ‘Molly wasn’t waiting for me this morning or this afternoon,’ he says.
‘Food?’ I repeat, shivering. Once I get something in my stomach I’ll reassure Louie about Molly again. Toss out the possibility she’s unwell or was driven to school or found a friend to walk with. A good thing, right? That she’ll be waiting in their designated spot tomorrow, two doors down from her house, like she usually is. That she’s okay. That I’m sure nothing bad has happened.
But Louie doesn’t catch my desperation. He worries aloud instead about Molly being moved again, in with another foster family, to another suburb she doesn’t know. One he might not be able to reach so easily by public transport.
‘What if they place her out of town, away from the train line?’ He shakes his head. ‘What then?
I rummage through the growing pile of plastic bags and food containers at the back of the ledge, for a misplaced chocolate bar or a rogue apple – anything I can sink my teeth into. To ease the black mood that’s descending. A too deep trench I might not be able to escape.
‘Yeah. Mmmm. Nah.’ I mutter as Louie bangs on until I finally lose my cool. ‘DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO EAT?’ I spell it out for him.
Louie stops mid-sentence to shoot me a look of disbelief that makes me even madder. Can’t he see I’m wet and tired and starving? Worried, too, about Mum and now Mary. That I’m convinced the guy in the beanie is out there waiting for me. I’m worried about meeting my Dad in two nights time. Louie promised he’d be there for moral support and to stand guard at the back EXIT door in case I need him.
He knows my plan. We’ve been through every detail. I’ll sneak in the rear entrance to look for Dad at 6pm, an hour before the performance starts. It won’t be difficult to find him. The star of the show always has a gold name plaque on their dressing room door, according to Louie and all the Hollywood movies he’s ever seen.
I’ll knock on Dad’s door and when he opens it… It’s hard to visualise past this point. Difficult to figure out what I should say or how I should say it. I don’t know yet where I’ll start. I’m counting on the words coming to me when I need them to.
Louie shakes his head before answering, ‘NO, I DON’T HAVE ANY FOOD!’ in the same impatient tone I’d used. ‘But maybe you could go and find us some…’ He clambers to his feet.
I shake my head. Unbelievable. He’d eaten most of the pastries from Vienna Bakehouse after all, or taken them for Molly. I saw the last of the danishes disappear into his pack, and now he’s mad at me. Molly doesn’t need him to bring her food.
Louie walks a couple of metres then sits on the ground because it’s as far as he can go on the ledge.
We sit in silence, backs against the wall, the rain falling like bullets from the sky, so loud it drowns the traffic out on the road overhead. I want Louie to tell me that meeting Dad is the right thing to do. That I’ll find the words on the night to convince him to be the person I need him to be. I desperately want Louie to say, ‘Totally, Grace, he’ll save you!’
My stomach cramps and I nudge an empty plastic bag with my foot. ‘All set for Friday night?’ I extend an olive branch. I get Louie’s concern about Molly. I do. She is his little sister after all – flesh and blood. And even though I think he’s overreacting, I’ll recap the day with him like he needs me to. Maybe talking about Molly will distract me from how hungry I am.
‘Depends what time I get back.’ Louie sniffs.
My empathy dissolves as I stand to glare at him. ‘From where?’
‘From making sure Molly’s okay after school?’
He has to be kidding. He knows how important the meeting with Dad is. That it’s a turning point. I speak to Dad. He helps Mum and me. I get off the street. Away from all this. I release a slow stream of air that does nothing to calm my nerves.
‘But you promised you’d be there.’
Louie shrugs and it takes all my self-control not to lash out. I’m counting on him. I thought we were friends. The trench inside me expands and I realise it’s not hunger that’s bothering me. The past couple of days, weeks and months rush back. A silent film of all the losses rewinding in my head – Mum, Mrs Malloy, our house in Rese and Mary. Dad, too, if I can’t pull our meeting off.
I teeter on the edge of the trench. ‘Why don’t you go now, then!’ I yell at Louie who scowls back. ‘If you’re so worried about Molly, what are you sitting around here for?’
Louie shakes his head, then pulls his legs into his chest before I tread on them. ‘Chill out, Grace.’
But I won’t chill out. I’ve had enough of sitting back and saying nothing. Of letting life roll over me. Of people taking advantage. Of making sure everyone else is okay. Louie made a promise and I expect him to keep it. I put my hands on my hips and wait for him to concede.
But he pulls himself to standing and straightens his tartan jacket. Then, instead of saying I’ll be there, he grabs his pack from the end of his sleeping bag, slides down the slope, and disappears into the pouring rain.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Louie doesn’t come back to the ledge that night or the next morning. I huddle in my sleeping bag and try to read the final pages of Tracks but with Louie missing and Mary… gone, I can’t concentrate.
A thin strip of river is visible from where I sit, interrupted now and then by bike tyres or a pair of sneakers. In the middle of the ledge, water drips onto one of the plastic grocery bags I’d disrupted the night before. Drip, drip, drip. Soothing and irritating all at once.
I don’t have the energy to move it, though. Yesterday’s drama has left me shattered and an icy snap overnight has frozen my fingers and toes. Eventually, the cold weasels into my heart and head as well, until I’m numb inside and out. Even my stomach has lost the will to complain. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning and I’m no longer hungry. The thought of the bakehouse pastries doesn’t even raise a rumble.
Louie’ll come back, I tell myself. He has too. Where else can he go? But Louie can look after himself. He’s found places to stay in the past. A friend’s couch in Collingwood and a room with no door in a derelict house. The tent at Enterpize Park and the one in Fitzroy Gardens. He moves on when he needs to. What makes the ledge any different?
I slink further down into my sleeping bag, bunching my arms and legs up so tight they tingle. For the first time since Louie arrived, I feel terribly alone. I blink hard but salty tears come anyway. They pour down my cheeks, drip off my chin and wet my sleeping bag. I cry for so long I’m afraid I’ll dissolve into liquid too.
But the tears stop eventually, leaving me calm and light-headed. I gaze at the metal underbelly of the bridge while the river whooshes a tune below and suddenly, I’m desperate to see the piano.
Mary’s spot’s still empty when I pass the station and although the Maccas sign on Swanston glows brightly, promising food, I don’t have cash or the inclination to eat leftovers. I swallow and focus on getting to the library.
It’s surprisingly empty today and there’s a clear path to the staircase. No dodging prams or old folk, no Bruce, no Kate. I wonder where Kate is and if she’s back, but am glad not to have to explain Louie’s absence or the argument we had.
I take a seat at the piano, open the fallboard and play away my worries. I don’t think about it or stop to correct my mistakes. Instead I jump from ‘Do Re Mi’ to ‘Let It Be’ to ‘The Snow is Dancing’. Soon, Mum’s voice is reeling through my head. Slower here, faster there, lighter on the keys. But it’s hard to recall the score without also recalling the injuries she inflicted to make me play better and the threats I fired in return.
‘I’m going to stay with the Malloy’s,’ I yelled at Mum once when she pinched my arm hard. ‘They said I could.’ It wasn’t really true, but I was sick of Mum and was sure the Malloy’s would be happy to have me.
Mum’s face flushed.
‘Mrs Malloy’s more of a mother than you’ll ever be,’ I added, eyes narrowed for maximum impact.
I stop playing then wait for my heart to settle. My hunger’s returned and I decide to leave the library to scour café tables on Degraves Street for something to eat. I go downstairs.
‘Ahoy,’ Kate issues a pirate cry as I pass the counter.
I spin around with a surprised smile and small, ‘Hi.’
She’s serving a man who turns to follow her gaze and suddenly I can’t move. He’s not wearing a beanie or a black jacket, but it doesn’t matter. I’d recognise him anywhere. The dark eyes and stony stare. My soul shrivels in the presence of him. At the fact I’m within arm’s reach. This time, there’s not a doubt in my head... The man in front me is the man from the alleyway.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When the air finally rushes back into my body, I realise I’m not on my own this time. This time, it’s broad daylight and I’m surrounded by people. Kate’s here. This time, there’s nothing he can do.
He recognises me too. I see a shift in his eyes and heat rush into his cheeks. Hoping perhaps I won’t call him out. Readying himself, maybe, to deny it. Grappling with the fact the girl he assaulted is standing smack bang in front of him.
Still, my instinct is to run. As fast as I can. Out to the street like I did at the train station. Or to hide. To crouch beneath the piano upstairs, behind its dark heavy legs, the way I did when I was a kid. I want to liquefy – sink into the floor before he can lay a hand on me again.
But he doesn’t try. He grins instead, a pathetic thing that suggests, the attack’s water under the bridge. No harm meant.
Indignation blows through me like a strong wind. I think of Pop bullying Mum. Of the way she used to make herself small to avoid his criticism. And of the footy hooligan who yanked my hair. I think of Mary’s bully ex-husband too. Of all the stories I’ve listened to on the street. With the same tired thread of girls and women being hurt.
