Feeling Sorry for Celia (26 page)

Christina,

It’s not your fault. Stop it.

That’s what you’re supposed to do when a kid feels sick.

Are your family there? What are you doing, just waiting? Is she conscious?

(Should I stop writing? Does your brother mind running the messages? He says he doesn’t, but does he?)

Elizabeth

Please don’t stop writing. It’s keeping me alive.

Everybody’s here except my grandfather, he’s staying at home with Robbo and the baby. But aunts and cousins and Mum and Dad and everyone. We’re in a waiting room. She’s in intensive care, she’s unconscious.

Oh Jesus, I can’t write.

Everyone’s here and nobody’s crying. We’re too scared to cry. Nobody’s talking. My pen on this paper is the noisiest thing around.

My mother looks like her cheeks are dragging her mouth half-open. She’s completely white.

Christina,

Your poor family.

I wish I could say something to make it all right.

My mum just told me that her cousin’s little boy had a burst appendix a couple of years ago and he was fine.

My dad just told me that this is one of the finest hospitals in the country, and they’ll be doing absolutely everything they can for your little sister.

Tell me if there’s anything I can do for you. And my mum and dad say the same.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth

Sorry for taking so long.

I hope I didn’t frighten you.

Doctors came and talked to us.

Then we all cried, every one of us.

I think it’s going to be okay. The doctors said that as she’s made it this far, she’s pretty sure to make it. It looks like
she’s not going to get peritonitis (which is basically what can kill you if your appendix bursts).

She’s sleeping now.

I think it’s going to be okay.

God, it’s hard to write when you’re crying your eyes out, isn’t it.

Most of my family are going home now, except my mum and dad and me. I couldn’t stand to go home. I want to stay here all night and make sure.

Nick will take our last few messages, then he’s going home too. So we have to say goodbye.

I’m really sorry about Celia. I can’t get my head around that yet. But it must be horrible for you. I hope she’s okay.

Thanks for being here.

Christina

Christina,

Fantastic. I’m so glad.

Do you want me to come see you and sit with you for a while? I know it’s a weird time for us to actually meet each other, but maybe it’s a good time too?

If you prefer to just be with family, I understand.

Elizabeth

But I guess you have to be sitting with Celia?

Christina

No. Not really. I want to be here when she wakes up, but she won’t until morning probably. She’s okay. And she’s got her mum and brother here, and my mum and dad, and Saxon’s here too.

We could meet in the rec room that’s on this floor. Just beside the lift. It’s got a coffee machine and magazines and stuff.

I’ll be the one in a grey t-shirt and jeans.

Would you like to?

Okay.

Yes please.

I would.

Dear Elizabeth,

It seemed incredibly weird to talk to you in person. And now it seems bizarre to write to you too. But we should keep doing it, shouldn’t we? I’d really miss your letters otherwise.

WELL.

Now I’ve got stage fright. Weird.

Jesus, though, it was so good meeting you. I felt really nervous at first. I was worried we wouldn’t have anything to say, and I was terrified you’d take one look at me and go: ‘Uh, big mistake. Forget about getting another letter from me until the sky starts raining rhinoceroses.’ You’d think my head would have been filled up with worrying about my little sister, but it generously made space for me to be terrified about meeting you.

But then you were SO nice and friendly and funny. I mean, you should be a social worker or a diplomat or something – the way you kept the conversation going, and asked all the right questions, and got me talking about Renee and then about the rest of my family and Mum’s florist shop and everything. It was amazing. You even had me laughing, which earlier that night I thought I’d never do again.

The best thing of all is that you’re exactly like your letters. That’s such a relief.

And you’re not like a nice private school girl at all.

AND you stayed up all night talking with me. You must be a real party girl.

I’m putting a packet of marigold seeds in this letter, which you should plant somewhere sunny in your backyard. This is a good time to plant them. You don’t have to worry
about them, just kind of scatter them around in some dirt, and they’ll figure a way to grow.

They’re to say thank you. Seriously, you got me through that night. If you hadn’t been there, well, I don’t know what.

Renee’s practically completely recovered now. She’s still in hospital and she’s kind of pale, and her eyes look spookily huge. But they say she’ll be fine. And she’s already starting to be her angelic self again, worrying that Mum looks tired, and making all the nurses adore her. They keep bringing out secret supplies of maple syrup to pour on her ice-cream.

Talking about maple syrup, did I ever mention that my cousin Maddie’s new boyfriend is Canadian? Maple syrup’s like Canadian, isn’t it? And so’s your dad. Or does he just live in Canada? Wow, I should have figured that out by now. Sorry. Anyway, I’ve now met the Love-of-Maddie’s-Life because my entire extended family have moved into our house to help us cope with the Renee Crisis.

It’s nice of them all to be so supportive, but what it actually means is that Mum and I spend our lives doing washing up, laundry, cooking and cleaning. Plus the family bring their own mini-crises with them, like bonus crises – everyone wanting to floss their teeth and pump up their air mattress at the same time each night, and everyone wanting brekky at a different time each morning.

Mum and I went to the supermarket and bought one of those giant packs filled with lots of little breakfast cereal packages – you know, Fruit Loops and Special K and Coco Pops – so everyone could have their favourite. It turned out that everyone’s favourite is Coco Pops.

Maddie’s parents are staying too, which is why I got to meet Maddie’s boyfriend. She came over on the weekend,
and brought him along. (Maddie doesn’t seem capable of spending more than 24 hours without him.) That complicated sleeping arrangements on Saturday night even more, because we had to make sure Maddie and the boyfriend were the greatest possible distance away from each other within the confines of our house. Otherwise some mysterious magnetic force might have sent them crawling over sleeping grandparents and aunties to get it on together underneath the piano stool.

The Boyfriend seemed okay. He liked hanging out with the kids more than the grown-ups, and the kids all adored him. So the grown-ups ended up adoring him too, because he kept the kids occupied playing soccer or going on make believe jungle expeditions. I’m reserving judgment on whether I adore him or not. He seems kind of jittery to me, kind of unreliable – like at any moment he’s going to take off, and Maddie’s going to follow, and there’ll be a whole new Maddie-running-away-with-her-boyfriend scandal.

School’s like this inconvenience at the moment, taking up too much of the time that I should be spending taking care of family crises. Still, it’s also a relief to be away from all the chaos; like a holiday. And if it wasn’t for History classes I wouldn’t be able to write to you, would I?

Derek and I had a really nice conversation at lunch time today. He was upset about Renee – he told me he misses my whole family, then he said, ‘all of you, I mean, I miss all of you’.

So, but I’ve been talking about myself too much. How are you going now? I should have asked this earlier, but I wasn’t sure whether you want to talk about it. Don’t worry if you don’t. But how are Celia and Saxon? I mean, emotionally.
And how are you about that? I can’t imagine how you must feel, it must be just overwhelming.

Are you still training? Your half marathon must be coming up really soon. I liked the way you talked about it at the hospital – I think I ALMOST started to understand why you do it. Not that you’ll ever see me within 15k of a pair of running shoes.

Anyway, you’ve got my number now, so call me any time you want to. And maybe we should see a movie some time?

Love,

Christina

ELIZABETH!!!

OVER HERE! ON THE TABLE! BY THE HYDRANGEA? IT’S A NOTE FROM YOUR MOTHER!!!

YOUR FATHER CALLED ABOUT NEXT WEEKEND. B UT DON’T FORGET YOU AND I ALREADY TALKED ABOUT A WEEKEND ON THE COAST, JUST YOU AND I.

I’VE DISCOVERED A CAMP CALLED ‘SHORT RETREATS FROM THE RIOTS OF YOUR LIFE’ AND I’M TAKING THE BROCHURES OVER TO CELIA’S MUM. I THINK SHE NEEDS SOME PROFESSIONAL HELP, O R AT LEAST A SHORT RETREAT FROM THE RIOTS OF HER LIFE.

CELIA’S HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL AND WANTS TO SEE YOU COME ON OVER AND JOIN US WHEN YOU GET IN.

LOVE,

MUM

PS JUST BEFORE YOU COME, HOW ABOUT WATERING THIS HYDRANGEA AND THE FIG TREE IN T HE SUNROOM?

Dear Elizabeth,

Having trouble sorting out what matters most? Having trouble scheduling quality time with an emotionally dependent mother, bearable time with an eager-to-make-up-for-fifteen-years-of-absence father, training for the Forest Hill Half Marathon, replying to the letter of a new friend, visiting an old friend who has just attempted suicide, and watering house plants?

Not to mention, of course, the inconsequential matter of homework?

Perhaps we could interest you in an Introductory Package Deal: two weeks at our exclusive mountain retreat undertaking our rigorous, vigorous training course! Each day you will learn a new strategy for managing your time! Learn to select your favourite family member! Learn to TRICK people into thinking that you’re spending time with them, when in fact you’re home doing your Maths assignment! Do they really need YOU in the same room as them? Perhaps a hologram of you would do fine!

Fill in the application form below and send it back to us quick smart!

Keep smiling!

Priorities Come First! Pty Limited

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Dear Ms Elizabeth Clarry,

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Dear Christina,

Are you crazy? Of course we should keep writing. What would be the point in going to school if I couldn’t check the cardboard box outside the upper staff room for your letters?

There’d be no point. I’d have to stop going.

But I’d also like to go out or something again, because I really liked meeting you in person. Although I can’t BELIEVE you were nervous about meeting me. I just can’t believe it. I think you’re making it up. Or you’re getting yourself confused with me – think back, Christina – remember?
You
were the perfectly calm and graceful one,
I
was the one tripping over coffee tables and gabbling like a lunatic. You remember now?

Hey, and how come you never told me how pretty you are? Not that I assumed you were grotesquely hideous or anything, but I had no idea you looked like a supermodel. That was such a shock. No wonder I tripped over the coffee table.

I REALISE you couldn’t have said in a letter: ‘Oh yeah, another thing about me. I’m a goddess. I should actually be making millions on the catwalk but I just have to study for my history exam first.’ But STILL, you could have given me some kind of a hint, the tiniest warning.

I had actually started writing a letter to you at the hospital, before I realised you were also there. But I won’t bother to finish it or send it to you. I was just ranting about Celia really; and I already did that that night.

And you were such a great listener. Especially since you had your own things to worry about. You shouldn’t have sent me the marigold seeds ‘cause it should be ME thanking you. But thank you very much for them. I’ve never grown anything before. I’m excited about becoming a gardener.

I’m so happy that Renee’s getting better now. Celia seems okay too, although still a bit weird. Then again, Celia’s always weird so it’s hard to tell if this is a new weird or not.

She was actually okay physically the morning after I saw you, and she could have gone home, only they kept her and Saxon there for counselling. It’s compulsory if you attempt suicide. It was awful really – Celia was saying things like, ’I didn’t actually mean to go
through
with it, you know, so can’t I go home now?’ (Saxon’s head kind of leapt backwards when she said that, as if he was in a car that suddenly braked.) But the hospital people just said, Sorry, no choice.
They HAD to stay there, and get examined to make sure they didn’t have any mental illnesses, like schizophrenia or manic depression or something.

In the end, the psychiatrists decided there were no preexisting conditions, and that they were just highly-strung kids who had a slight case of inability-to-see-the-consequences-of-their-behaviour. Something like that. And they still have to go to counselling twice a week.

They’re both taking some time off school, and lolling around at Celia’s place together, which doesn’t seem very emotionally invigorating to me. Saxon’s always at Celia’s even though his mother has FORBIDDEN him from seeing her anymore – which has brought Celia’s mother and my mother together in a united bond of hatred for Saxon’s mother.