Sick Bay Page 15

  ‘It’s okay. Just a panic attack,’ says Ms Barber. ‘I’ve had a few of these in my time too. You’ll be okay.’

  I nod and start to slow my breathing. I wonder if this relief is what Riley feels at the end of a low. ‘It’s just Lina.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘Thank you. If you could.’

  ‘You feel up to coming back in?’

  I shake my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay then. Straight to Sick Bay, just until you feel better,’ she says quietly. ‘In high school, you won’t have Lina around to annoy you, thank goodness,’ she adds, and I wonder if she’s just broken some sort of schoolteacher conduct, and then decide that I like her even more than I did yesterday.

  Riley

  It’s been five days since I visited emergency and it’s like I’m under house arrest. Mum wouldn’t let me go to school until I saw Eda, who was also pretty unimpressed by my recent behaviour. She actually lectured me about the dangers of eating and not testing and sided with The Brain about my friendship group.

  I felt like saying what friendship group? I don’t think I have one anymore. And even if I do, I’m not sure I want to. I messaged them to say I was sick and the only one who responded was Elle, but even she stopped texting after the first day. The whole Slurpee incident, as Jenna’s calling it, made me realise that Lina doesn’t care about me. And if I’m ever going to have a chance at convincing Mum I can be responsible, then I need to look after myself properly. Which means testing at school and not drinking Slurpees without putting in grams first.

  Mum hasn’t really been talking to me since the Slurpee incident. It feels like the thick humid Sydney air before a summer storm when the pressure builds and you know what’s coming but there’s nothing you can do to avoid the downpour.

  She places a plate of carrot sticks, rice crackers and hummus down in front of me. ‘Put in fifteen,’ she says. ‘But do a test first, please.’

  Instead of eating the carrot sticks, I arrange them as upright poles, using the hummus as cement. It’s an impressive-looking vegetable sculpture by the time I finish.

  ‘Don’t play with your food, Riley,’ Mum says, wandering into the dining room and placing a vase of roses from the garden in the middle of the table.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Only my mum can make sighing into a conversational skill. I know exactly what she’s thinking. She pulls the chair out next to me and I groan.

  ‘Mum, I know you think this is all on me, but you made me leave Lina’s party early and now I have no friends.’

  She scoffs and I wish the carrots were spears so I could stab them into her skin.

  ‘I let you go to the party … and of course you have friends.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Mum. You make me different. Every day. I’m different. You tell me that diabetes shouldn’t hold me back, but you make me stand out from everyone else!’

  My heart is racing like I’m having a high, but I’m not high, I’m just angry. It feels good to understand my body, to know that the itch under my skin and tightness across my neck is from emotion, and not because of blood sugar levels.

  ‘You are different,’ she says quietly. ‘You have diabetes. It’s not a part-time condition. It’s serious, Riley.’

  I pick up the plate and slam it down on the table, hard enough to knock over all the carrot sticks. I wish I’d done it hard to enough to smash the plate.

  ‘I know that! It’s my body.’

  ‘And you’re my child. I have to look after your body until you’re old enough to look after it yourself.’

  Mum never raises her voice. She uses this clipped, firm tone like I’m a patient of hers, like I’m someone who is paying her to tell me what’s wrong. And I hate it.

  ‘I’ll never be old enough, Mum. You control everything I do. All the time! You don’t control Jenna. She’s out doing whatever she wants.’

  I see her look of interest and I know I’ve gone too far.

  ‘What do you mean, Jenna’s out doing whatever she wants?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘You sure, Riley?’

  ‘Yep.’

  She reaches for my arm and I pull away so quickly that I almost whack her by mistake.

  Dad comes into the dining room and hovers in the doorway like he’s not sure if he wants in or out. Usually he’d still be at work now, but for some reason he’s here, like I need double monitoring. He rarely gets involved in the diabetes stuff so I’m not expecting he’s about to start now. But he walks over to where Mum is sitting, rests his hand on the top of her back and starts rubbing her shoulders.

  ‘I think we need to talk about why you left aftercare,’ he says quietly.

  ‘I said sorry!’

  He shakes his head. ‘That’s not enough, Riley.’

  ‘Dad, it wasn’t my fault.’

  Mum laughs and the sound is cold and hard. ‘Lina made you leave? She’s that powerful?’

  ‘No. It just happened. I was trying to make it up to her that I’d left her party early.’ But it sounds so stupid when I say it.

  ‘I know you think we’re trying to stop you from living, but we’re not,’ says Dad.

  ‘No, we’re just trying to give you a life,’ says Mum.

  ‘What does that even mean?’ I spit the words at them both.

  Mum starts nodding her head strangely and Dad reaches over for her hand and I realise that she’s crying and I really don’t want to see that because she never cries.

  ‘Riley … when you were diagnosed you’d been sick for weeks. Months …’ says Dad.

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’

  ‘And I didn’t take you to the doctor. I didn’t take it seriously,’ adds Mum.

  ‘So? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘You could have died!’ she shouts, banging her hand so hard onto the table that I can almost feel the sting. ‘Do you understand?’

  Now she looks up at me and I see the lines in her face and the softness that’s sometimes there and I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Riley? Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘I think so. You feel guilty and so you won’t let me do anything,’ I tell her.

  Dad leaps on my words like I’ve tossed a grenade and cowered behind a wall to watch it explode. ‘Riley, that’s enough.’

  But Mum starts to laugh and it’s not cold or hard or anything. It’s just a laugh. ‘That’s probably about right. Pretty accurate really. Maybe you can come into the family business when you leave school. You might make a fine head doctor,’ she says, watching me.

  ‘Really? You feel guilty?’

  She shrugs and her shoulders start to shake and Dad wraps himself around her as if to protect her from unravelling any further and I wish Jenna would come home from double choir and save me.

  ‘Don’t, Mum. It’s not your fault what happened. And it’s not your fault I have diabetes. It just is.’

  She’s shaking her head and nodding her head and I have no idea if she’s agreeing with me or not, but at least we’re talking about things in a different way.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have skipped out of aftercare and I won’t ever do that again. I know I shouldn’t have drunk a Slurpee without testing and I won’t do that again either. But I do want to go to parties and go shopping with friends and learn to do a line change. I’m going to be thirteen soon …’

  ‘In seven months!’

  ‘Yep, Mum, that’s soon. And I want some freedom. Okay?’

  ‘Let’s just take it slowly, Riley.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve been taking it slowly for twelve years and five months. Any slower and I’ll be a hundred before my first sleepover.’

  Mum smiles and it reaches all the way to her eyes. ‘You probably won’t be
wanting sleepovers when you’re one hundred,’ she jokes.

  One. Two. Three …

  ‘Are you counting before you speak?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. Five!’

  ‘Riley, you know that I’m over-protective because I love you. But I’m coming to understand that it’s not what you need anymore.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And … I’ll teach you to manage your diabetes yourself,’ she says, reaching for my hand.

  ‘Really? All of it?’

  She holds up her fingers measuring a tiny amount, maybe less than a centimetre. And I laugh. It’s a start.

  Meg

  My hand shakes only a little when I put the key in the front door. I’m not sure what to expect. Will Mum be in bed? Will the curtains be closed? Will the house smell musty like the air is trapped and sad?

  I head inside, pausing. Something’s different. The air smells spicy. I walk further down the hall.

  ‘Meg? Is that you? I’m in here.’

  I stop at the door to the kitchen. Mum’s at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand. She’s stirring a pot.

  ‘Mum?’

  I step across the threshold onto the black-and-white tiles. The benches are clean and wiped down. Something is bubbling in the frypan. There are chunks of meat and potatoes and a rich brown sauce.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Not sure …’

  I smile. ‘What’s it supposed to be?’

  ‘Stew.’

  ‘It looks stew … ish …’ I say, taking the wooden spoon from her hand and dipping it in for a taste test. ‘Mmm. Better than tins of tuna,’ I say.

  ‘I thought you liked tins of tuna,’ says Mum.

  I shake my head. ‘No. I hate tuna.’

  ‘Me too.’

  I hand back the spoon wondering how I can ask about her day without setting something off.

  ‘Peggy and I ate an entire Boston bun today,’ says Mum, stirring the meat around.

  ‘Yum.’

  ‘And she dropped this off!’

  ‘Oh … I thought you cooked it,’ I say.

  Mum shakes her head. ‘I think I’ve forgotten how to cook. But I can reheat.’

  She flicks the switch on the stove, turning off the gas. ‘So, I have a doctor now. Her name’s Margaret,’ she says.

  ‘Another Margaret?’

  ‘I took it as a good sign. But this one calls herself her full name. I like her. We talked for two hours.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And she told me what was wrong with me.’

  I fidget with my hands. I don’t know where to put them and I can’t be still.

  ‘She thinks that losing your dad made me depressed and the panic attacks are all part of it. But she thinks she can help.’

  I reach into my pocket and touch the corner of The Bag.

  Mum shuffles closer. ‘And so can Peggy. She’s going to lend us some money until I can go back to work. We can buy you shoes and your school uniform. No more tuna. I should have let her help before.’

  She reaches me, her hands snaking around until they take mine. Then I make myself look at her. Really look at her. And I see that she’s crying. Streams of tears silently make their way down over her cheekbones and drip off the edge like a waterfall.

  If she’s crying, I will. And I don’t want to. Not yet. Not here.

  I pull free. ‘I’ve got homework, Mum.’

  She tries to hold on to me but I’m moving out of reach.

  ‘Meg …’

  ‘Mum …’ I don’t know what to do with this.

  ‘Meg …’

  She circles me this time and I can’t back out. I feel her head burrowing into my neck, her tears wet on my skin.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ve been missing so much. I just hurt. I loved your dad and … and …’

  There’s an avalanche, no, a tidal wave, no, a volcano of feeling flowing inside my head. The pressure is building. The eruption is going to take out our entire street.

  We don’t do apologies.

  ‘I’m really sorry … about how … how missing I’ve been since your dad died …’

  When this starts, I won’t be able to stop the flow. I should leave before I blow up right in front of her, although she’s wrapped me so tight that when it comes she smothers the full brunt of it into her chest. There’s a boom.

  And I sob and sob and sob.

  It’s late and the house is quiet. I should be asleep but I’m having trouble tonight. It’s The Bag’s fault. It’s keeping me awake. I head down the hallway to Mum’s room.

  I shuffle around at the open door, my feet marking tracks in the carpet. I’m not sure if I should go in or not.

  Mum’s room is dark, but I can hear her breathing.

  ‘Mum?’ I whisper, squeezing The Bag tight in my hand and moving forward. Now I’m here I can’t turn back.

  She snuffles as I edge closer to the bed, although I think she’s asleep. I walk around to Dad’s side and a slice of cool air blows over me from the open window. I slide into the crisp sheets and lie down, The Bag getting in the way. I reach back towards Dad’s side table, open his drawer, place The Bag inside and close it quietly. Then I roll back towards Mum and curl up close to her warm body.

  Riley

  It’s Tuesday and I’m finally back at school. After a visit to the principal’s office, I’m now heading down the corridor to Sick Bay.

  Dash is sitting in the corner chair when I come in. He’s reading a graphic novel and grinning to himself.

  ‘Hey, Dash.’ I sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for him to look up.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Good book?’

  He raises an eyebrow like he’s amused at my lack of conversational ability.

  ‘She’s not here,’ he says, closing the book but keeping his hand inside to mark his place as if he’s only prepared to give me a second of his time.

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘No offence, but I’m really glad you guys will be gone soon. All this will be mine!’ He looks around and smiles like it’s all one big joke. ‘I’ll just need to find some friends to hang out in here with me.’

  ‘You’ve got heaps of friends, haven’t you?’

  ‘None that understand the power of Sick Bay.’

  I smile. He’s right. This place is something else.

  ‘If you see her …’ I tell him, standing up.

  ‘Don’t you already have enough friends?’

  ‘I’m not really hanging out with your sister anymore,’ I tell him, realising how strange it is that I haven’t given much thought to Lina and the others. I just want to find Meg.

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Okay, see ya.’

  ‘Hey Riley, those quotes Meg’s always saying? In case you were wondering, they’re from Anne of Green Gables.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I head back to the grade six portable, bored already by the endless graduation chatter. It’s on Thursday night this week and it’s all anyone is talking about. Meg’s right. It’s stupid. As if anyone doesn’t graduate from primary school.

  ‘Hey … feel like jacking a car later?’

  I spin around. ‘Meg!

  She’s standing on the landing near the grade six common space, reading a book. I walk over, and immediately notice her feet. Her slippers have gone. She’s wearing brand new blue sneakers.

  ‘Mum bought me new shoes,’ she says, noticing me staring.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘I don’t know. I miss my slippers,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, I bet they were pretty comfortable.’

  ‘I had to give Ms Barber my speech,’ she says, holding up a sheet of paper.

  ‘Mrs Myer just read mine because I was away last week. Made
notes in red. To be honest, I had to change a sentence and make it about positive experiences because she thought it was a bit negative.’

  Meg smiles and it’s mysterious and playful. ‘She won’t like mine then!’

  ‘Can I’ve a read?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Nope.’

  The bell goes and I see Meg become aware of where she is. She clocks the others moving towards us like a giant wave. I wait for her to scurry, to run, to flee to Sick Bay where she’s safe and protected.

  But she doesn’t.

  She steps closer.

  We’re like a little island in the middle of a tsunami.

  ‘New shoes, Slipper Girl,’ I hear someone say.

  Meg’s eyes find mine. Her jaw looks set. Her shoulders drop. She’s ready.

  ‘Why you talking to her, R?’ says Lina, strolling to where we stand.

  ‘Her name’s Meg,’ I say, staring straight at Lina. Elle and Tessa are tucked in behind her. The three of them are all in their usual uniform of denim jackets and tiny shorts.

  ‘Didn’t realise you two were such good friends,’ says Lina.

  There’s a crowd gathering around us now. Meg and I are in the middle. Lina too. It’s like all of grade six is hovering to see what will happen next. I’m really hoping that Meg’s body doesn’t decide it would be a good time for a panic attack.

  ‘Yeah … well, we are …’ I say.

  Lina steps up into my space. I swallow hard. This is not what I wanted.

  ‘I thought we were friends,’ Lina says, just to me.

  ‘We are. I mean, we were.’ I feel a tug of something in my chest. ‘Not anymore,’ I tell her, my heart speeding up like it does when I’m having a high.

  She shakes her head, her mouth mean and hard. ‘Obviously you can’t have normal friends. Only sick ones.’

  Lina points at Meg and Meg shuffles around, looking down at the ground. This must be making her pretty uncomfortable. Having an audience is not really her thing.

  Next to me, Meg starts coughing and clutches at her throat. I put my hand behind her back and start rubbing up and down, hoping she’ll be okay.

  ‘Leave her alone, Lina. The bell’s gone. Let’s just get to class,’ I say, trying to move us away. But Lina isn’t done with us. With me.