Sick Bay Page 8

  The nurse’s security tag hangs low around his neck. Pat always puts hers on the desk, but maybe this guy wants me to know he’s important.

  ‘I’m Tony,’ he says, still smiling. His teeth are amazingly white.

  ‘Hi, Tony. I’m Paul and this is Riley.’

  ‘I was just looking at Riley’s levels. They’re a bit up and down,’ he explains to Dad.

  I cough loudly, reminding Tony that I’m in the room too. ‘Yeah, well, it can be hard at school and, apparently, the reason I’m here is because of my levels being a bit up and down,’ I say, imitating his words.

  Now he looks up at me. He nods, but his eyes give him away. ‘It looks like you have binge periods, Riley. Maybe you gobble, gobble, gobble whatever’s in front of you without thinking.’

  He tries for a laugh after this.

  I hold my breath, hoping my dad won’t join in. He doesn’t. Instead, he reaches forward and places his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘I think if Riley tells you it can be hard at school, then it can be hard at school,’ says Dad.

  Tony looks up and shrugs. ‘Of course. I wasn’t trying to upset anyone. We’re just aiming for consistency and it’s important she’s aware of what she eats.’

  ‘She’s aware of what she eats.’

  Normally I’d hate Dad speaking for me. But today it’s strangely reassuring to have him on my side. Pat never does this. She never lectures me about food or sugar or how I choose to do things. She might help me look at something that’s a problem and find a way through it together, but she never pulls this.

  ‘I thought we could look at your daily diet,’ Tony tells me.

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘I don’t have a daily diet. Except for soup. But at dinner and breakfast I eat food. Like everyone else.’

  ‘Yes, but around this age—’

  ‘Thanks, Tony,’ interrupts Dad. ‘I think we’ll come back and see Pat when she’s in. Riley has a special relationship with her and it might be easier to talk through all this then.’

  Tony starts to say something but Dad is already on his feet.

  ‘Let’s go, Riley.’

  I jump up, delighted to be bailing already.

  Tony mumbles something but by then Dad has already opened the door and I’ve hurried out behind him.

  We make it to the lift before Dad looks at me and grins goofily. ‘Feel like some lunch? I’d like to gobble something up. What about you?’

  I laugh. ‘Yep. Dumplings!’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  The lift doors open and Dad and I walk forward and stand in the middle.

  ‘Mum’s going to be cross,’ I tell him.

  He shrugs. ‘Probably. But that’s okay.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That guy was a fool. Your mum would have left too.’

  I lean against Dad’s arm, knowing he’s wrong. I can hear his phone pinging in his pocket, announcing an email. I wait for him to move me and slide his hand in, but instead he drapes his arm around my shoulder.

  There’s a dumpling restaurant near the hospital that Mum always hurries past and never lets me go to. Dad holds my hand as we walk in and find a table.

  ‘What are you having?’

  ‘Pork buns and chicken dumplings,’ I tell Dad.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ He goes to the counter to order.

  I’m playing with the bottle of soy sauce as he returns with two plates stacked high. I grab a pork bun before he even sits down. Then I put it on my plate and do a test before I start eating. I see Dad notice but I’m relieved that he doesn’t comment. I’m trying to show him how responsible I am.

  ‘How many grams do you reckon?’ I say, waving my hand across the food on the table. It can be hard trying to work out how many grams are in foods you don’t eat all the time. It’s not like there are any carbohydrate listings on the back of a plate of dumplings.

  ‘What do you think?’ Dad asks.

  I look up, surprised. I put in the number I think is right and then I peel the rice paper off from underneath and pick at the fluffy white dough.

  ‘I love these,’ Dad says, biting the end of the chicken dumpling. ‘I could eat a hundred!’ The soupy stuff on the inside spurts out and runs straight down his white shirt.

  ‘Dad … you dribbled!’

  He looks down and sees the stain. Then he shrugs like he doesn’t care.

  ‘I’ve got a spare shirt at work.’ He looks up and it’s like looking at Jenna. They have the same intense green eyes.

  ‘Can I have the last pork bun?’ I ask him.

  ‘If I can have the last chicken dumpling,’ he says.

  ‘Deal.’ And we shake hands to seal it.

  After Dad drops me off at school, I walk to my classroom and look through the window. I see Lina, Elle and Tessa hunched together at a table with a large sheet of A3 paper in front of them. Lina is writing with a Sharpie and the others are watching her. I wait for one of them to look up and see me standing outside, and to wave me in, but they don’t. Usually I don’t mind going back to school after my hospital appointments, but today, looking at my friends, I just feel so different and I don’t want to go in. They’re all wearing matching t-shirts with a large sequin heart on the front that changes colour if you run your hand up and flip the sequins over. I begged Mum for one, but she said I had enough clothes. I look down at the t-shirt I’m wearing. It’s an old white one of Jenna’s that says GRANGER in faded black letters from her Harry Potter phase, and for some reason it reminds me of Meg’s Gumby t-shirt. And suddenly I want to see her.

  I smile when I find Meg curled up on her chair in the corner. She has a small bag of chocolate biscuits on her lap and seems to be slowly working through the lot. Remembering what Meg told me about the germ bed, I look quickly across at the sheets to see if they’ve been washed. They look clean, but I’m also pretty sure they were white sheets last time too.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, letting the door shut behind me.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, waving. The ends of her fingers are covered in chocolate.

  I wait for her to look away but she doesn’t; she holds my gaze like she’s trying to work something out. Meg has one of those curious faces. Sort of striking because her features are all so perfect, but then also totally forgettable because she doesn’t accentuate them. If Lina had Meg’s features, they’d be covered in make-up and she wouldn’t have messy hair that hides part of her face.

  I’m careful as I sit down on the edge of the bed not to bump against Meg’s legs. It’s pretty cosy in here today. I notice that Meg isn’t wearing the Gumby t-shirt. This new t-shirt is a bit faded and the unicorn looks like it’s losing its horn, but it suits her somehow.

  ‘How you going?’ I ask.

  ‘Biscuit?’ She holds out the bag and doesn’t answer my question.

  ‘That’s funny. Most people never offer me sweet stuff. People are weird about offering me sugar. They don’t really understand how it all works.’

  I see Meg frown and I realise she has no idea what I’m talking about. How is that possible?

  Meg sits forward. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m diabetic,’ I tell her, leaning against the wall.

  ‘Oh, so that’s what’s wrong with you,’ she says, nibbling off tiny pieces of biscuit.

  ‘It’s not what’s wrong with me!’ I snap at her.

  She pulls a face, surprised at my tone. ‘My apologies.’

  I don’t know why, but I thought it would be different with her. I thought she’d understand. I go to leave, deciding that talking to her is just as bad as talking to Tony, the replacement nurse, or worse, my mum.

  ‘Is that why you carry lollies?’ she asks quietly when I reach the door.

  Sighing, I turn around. ‘Yeah. Did you think I just have a stash because I love sugar?’

 
Meg nods and her fringe bobs up and down. Something about how eager she looks makes me laugh. ‘What about you? Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m famished.’

  It’s not what I expected. I don’t know what to say. I wait for her to joke about it or make light of it or something, but she keeps nibbling the biscuits like she’s trying to make them last as long as possible. I scan her body trying to see if she’s super skinny, but she sort of looks like me.

  ‘Anorexia?’ I whisper the word that I don’t truly understand.

  It’s her turn to laugh so loud that biscuit crumbs snort from her nose and land in the space between us.

  ‘No. I’m hungry. Actually hungry. And I rather like the quiet in here,’ she says, watching me again.

  ‘Is that why you have that paper bag with you? The one I saw the other day. Does it have food in it?’

  Meg reaches into her pocket and pulls out a mushroom bag. It’s different to the plain one she had the other day. She looks at it, like she’s remembering it’s there. Then she shakes her head. ‘No.’

  I wait for her to explain but she returns to the biscuits.

  ‘It’s not that quiet in here. What about the hum of the fridge?’ I ask, wanting suddenly to draw her out.

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t mind that.’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’

  She shrugs again, so I lean back against the chair, making the vinyl squeak.

  Meg smirks. ‘That noise is fine too.’

  She holds out the biscuits again and this time I take one. Mum never lets me eat these.

  ‘What does diabetes feel like?’

  Plenty of people have asked me what it feels like to have a low or a high. They think it’s the same as when they eat too much sugar at a party and feel all buzzy. It’s not. It’s different every time and it’s not something I can explain or make sense of. Sometimes, diabetes makes me feel heavy and slow. Other times it’s not like that at all.

  ‘It’s kind of impossible to explain. It’s not any one thing. It changes.’

  Meg licks her finger, wiggles it into the bag and collects the tiniest of crumbs.

  ‘Have you written your graduation speech yet?’ I ask.

  She fidgets in her chair, tucking her legs further under her. ‘I don’t care about all that.’

  ‘What? Primary school? Graduation? High school?’

  ‘Any of it.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It doesn’t affect me,’ she says in a voice that’s edged and hard.

  ‘You planning on staying at primary school forever?’

  She smiles at me now and I’m not sure if she finds me funny or if she finds me ridiculous.

  ‘It’s not like anyone doesn’t graduate from primary school,’ she says.

  I laugh. I’d never thought of it like that before. ‘Jasper Mayne might not.’

  ‘True. The way he’s going he’ll be suspended.’

  ‘I wish. He’s so rude.’

  ‘We were friends once,’ says Meg in a quiet voice that makes me want to ask her questions.

  ‘Are you really not going to graduation?’

  Meg nods her head, making her fringe flop forward. I haven’t noticed the spray of freckles across her nose before. They’re really pale, like someone has scrubbed them clean.

  ‘Don’t your parents want you to go?’

  ‘Dad’s dead. Mum’s … busy,’ she says.

  ‘Oh. Sorry,’ I tell her, feeling awkward. I can’t help but wonder how it feels to have no father. Even my grandparents are still alive. Nobody I know has a parent that’s died. I don’t know what to say, so I use Mum’s counting trick. One. Two. Three … I want to offer her more than an apology but nothing comes.

  ‘I wear slippers because I’ve outgrown my shoes,’ says Meg quietly into the silence. Then she screws up the empty biscuit bag and tosses it towards the bin in the corner. It misses.

  ‘Your turn,’ she says.

  I want to ask her about the slipper thing, but she obviously doesn’t want to discuss it any further. Now I’m not sure if it’s my turn to tell her a secret or to throw the bag. I stand up and grab it.

  ‘My mum won’t let me do anything,’ I say, sitting down and tossing the bag at the bin. It falls short.

  Meg moves fast, snatching it up and returning to her seat, like a zippy little ringtail possum.

  ‘I like pretending that Sick Bay is my home,’ she says, hurling the bag towards the wall. This time it slams straight into the bin.

  ‘Nice shot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I have other questions, but without the game I can’t ask them. Instead, I watch Meg open the cupboard and dig around inside. She pulls out a pair of plastic cups. One has Meg written on it. The other says Dash.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, sort of expecting a stash of lemon- ade to come out too. I’m disappointed when she uses the Sick Bay tap to fill the cups and holds the Dash one out to me.

  ‘Thanks.’

  We sip in sync. She finishes her water and instead of binning the cup, she rinses it and returns it to the cupboard.

  ‘Who’s Dash?’

  ‘A kid in grade five.’

  ‘Elle’s brother?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  I smile liking the fact Meg uses old-fashioned words and sayings. She plucks the cup from my hand, washes it out and adds it to the cupboard with hers.

  ‘Bet nobody else cleans up in here,’ I say.

  ‘I’m sure Sarah rewashes everything anyway. She hates germs. The only reason the sheets are ever cleaned is because of her,’ says Meg, hanging up the handtowel and tidying the basket of books. ‘I just make it nice. I know it’s silly.’

  The door to Sick Bay opens and Dash sticks his head in. I’ve met Elle’s brother once after school but I don’t really know him. He looks like a smaller version of his sister, complete with dark hair and round eyes. He’s wearing a Darth Vader t-shirt that I think Lina said something rude about one time. She’s banned us from talking to younger kids. Even siblings.

  ‘You had a party and you didn’t invite me?’ he says. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Sarah has biscuits in the staffroom,’ says Meg, placing the last picture book on the pile.

  ‘I can’t stay. Just popped in for my emergency puffer,’ he says, opening the medical supplies cupboard. ‘Those plane trees with their little bombs of pollen are making my throat itch. You okay?’ he asks Meg.

  ‘I’m fine, Dash,’ says Meg.

  ‘She being nice?’ Dash nods in my direction.

  ‘Yes,’ I answer, wondering what he has against me.

  ‘You’d better be,’ he says. ‘I have a posse. And a puffer. I’m not afraid to use either!’

  I laugh and he looks surprised. Then his face changes and there’s the tiniest of smiles. He steps back and lets the door shut behind him.

  ‘Are you guys friends?’ I ask Meg.

  ‘The sort of friendship that exists only in Sick Bay,’ explains Meg, pulling on her slippers and getting ready to leave. ‘We don’t talk in the schoolyard. Not really. But in here, we manage not to annoy each other. Dash and I have history. He looks out for me.’

  Meg’s sort of skilled at mysterious conversations. She hints at more than she ever actually says. I wonder what sort of history she has with Dash.

  ‘I really only have one friend,’ she says, standing up and waving the brown paper bag in the air. ‘I tried people, but it didn’t go so well.’

  I watch Meg head towards the door and realise there are a hundred more things I want to ask her.

  She pauses in the doorway and looks around. ‘Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?’

  I have no idea what she’s talking about so I nod. ‘Ye
ah. Of course.’

  And with a curious smile she’s gone.

  Meg

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ I call.

  The house is silent. Before, at this time of the morning, Dad would play records endlessly and Mum would hum along. Sometimes they danced around the kitchen, dragging me into the centre until I could escape, embarrassed by how obvious they were. Now, the quiet has seeped into every room and my voice is too loud.

  Peggy sometimes plays records in the back room of the laundromat while she’s feeding me snacks. She often sings along out of tune, messing up the lyrics, but not caring. I wonder what she’ll have waiting for me to eat tomorrow night.

  Outside on the footpath, I hurry from my house. I dodge a silver station wagon pulling out of its driveway and walk quickly. The weekend was hard. Mum spent most of it in bed and I woke up this morning actually wanting to go to school. I haven’t felt that way since Eleanora was my friend.

  Amazingly, I arrive just as the bell goes, which is perfect timing. I’m in a clump of hurrying people and nobody really notices me. Just the way I like it.

  Walking across the mini oval towards Sick Bay, I spy Riley near the grade six portable. I decide to change direction and stay in her shadow, walking behind. But she turns and sees me, then pauses. There’s a surge in my chest when I realise she’s waiting for me and, without my permission, my mouth curls into a giant smile.

  I slide into position on her right, my head barely reaching her shoulder.

  She looks down at me. ‘Hey, Meg …’

  ‘Hi, Riley …’ I say, unexpectedly shy, my voice like a whisper in the wind.

  A soccer ball flies past my slippers and I jump back, looking around for the owner. I expect to see Lina and Matt Park laughing nearby, although nobody is watching.

  ‘Good weekend?’ she asks.

  I shrug, trying to find something to say. ‘Jacked another car …’

  Riley frowns and I realise she doesn’t remember. Then she smiles.

  ‘Hope it was a Mustang. A red one,’ she says.

  ‘It was a Kombi. Big enough to live in. Something to take me away from all this,’ I say, waving my arms in the air.

  ‘Why would you want to leave all this?’