Hello from the Gillespies (26 page)

By the third day, Angela still hadn’t woken up. The family were called together for another meeting. The doctors were concerned she hadn’t regained consciousness. They had called in a neurologist, and wanted the family’s permission to do more tests. The hospital’s neuropsychologist, a woman called Ruth Morgan, would explain it to them all.

In her late thirties, with long curly hair, Ruth had a calm and gentle manner. ‘Your mother – your wife,’ with a nod to Nick, ‘should have been awake and communicating with us by now. We’re concerned the lack of oxygen caused by the sudden loss of blood after her spleen was ruptured may have caused some damage to her brain. She’s not brain dead, let me stress that. She’s started breathing on her own. We’ve already done brain-stem tests, reflex tests, and they’re all fine. But we’ve been reducing her levels of sedation for the past three days and she should have begun to regain consciousness by now.’

Their questions came in a torrent. She answered each of them in turn. No, it didn’t necessarily mean she had permanent brain damage. The fact she was starting to breathe independently was a good sign. But in cases like hers, where there had been a period of hypoxia, a lack of oxygen to the brain, there could be temporary issues relating to the frontal lobes, the hippocampus, the parts of the brain that affected the memory. That’s why they wanted to do some more tests, including an MRI, to determine the extent of any effects.

‘She might have amnesia, do you mean? But that’s common enough, isn’t it? People get over that, don’t they?’ Genevieve asked.

‘We’ll know more once we’ve done the tests,’ Ruth said.

Nick gave permission to do whatever needed to be done.

It was Victoria’s idea that they have dinner in a nearby restaurant that night, rather than eat more vending-machine food or try to cook in Celia’s house. There was an Italian restaurant a block away, near Rundle Street. It was early. They glanced at the menu, ordering quickly.

‘We have to stay hopeful,’ Lindy said. ‘Maybe the sedation just had a stronger effect on her than on other people. She’ll wake up on her own soon and be perfectly fine.’

‘The tests Ruth mentioned are just routine, anyway, aren’t they, Dad?’ Victoria said. ‘They’re not looking for anything really serious, are they?’

It was hard to make conversation. Their mobile phones kept beeping. Word was still spreading about Angela’s accident. Joan had obviously decided Genevieve was the spokeswoman and had given people her American phone number. She was getting text after text on that. She needed to get an Australian mobile phone, she realised. Such an ordinary, mundane thing to do while her mother was being tested for brain damage three streets away.

It was late-night shopping. She and Victoria decided to get her new phone now. They weren’t hungry anyway. The phone was organised within fifteen minutes. On the way back to the restaurant, Victoria said what they were both thinking.

‘What if she does have permanent brain damage?’

‘We have to stay hopeful. What if she doesn’t?’

‘We have to prepare ourselves. She was clinically dead twice, Genevieve. No matter how quickly they got her heart started again, there had to have been some damage.’

‘Or maybe no damage at all.’

‘Then why won’t she wake up?’

‘She’s catching up on all the sleep she missed out on when we were kids.’

They stopped on the street before they got back to the restaurant.

‘We need to do the pregnancy tests, don’t we?’ Victoria said.

Genevieve nodded. ‘But I can’t face it at the moment.’

‘Neither can I.’

‘Can we wait until Mum wakes up? Do them then? A few days won’t matter, will they?’

They agreed that they wouldn’t.

For the next two days, all any of them could do was try to fill the time. Angela was transferred from ICU into the high-dependency unit. They moved between Celia’s house and the hospital. Genevieve and Victoria went shopping for clothes and toiletries for everyone. They played games. Read magazines. Tried to read books, but returned to magazines, their concentration spans too jittery. Ig kept drawing. He now had more than sixty bird drawings ready for his mother. He also had the use of both hands again. It was Victoria who’d realised it was time the finger splint and sling came off. They were able to get him looked at in the same hospital their mother was in. Ig’s finger was declared to be in good shape. It was welcome news in an otherwise worrying time.

They’d been told they’d have the test results the morning of the fifth day. The night before, Genevieve couldn’t bear to sit around at Celia’s watching TV any longer. She also needed to talk to her father, tell him about Angela’s non-existent tests. There hadn’t been the opportunity yet.

‘Dad, want to come for a walk with me?’

He looked up, wary.

‘I won’t fight with you, I promise.’

They walked down the tree-lined street, the hiss of garden hoses the soundtrack to their steps. It had been another hot day. It was after eight p.m. and still in the twenties.

‘Sorry about the other day, Dad. For shouting at you. And for what I said about you and Mum.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s your business, not mine. Your marriage. And you’re right, I’ve been away. What right do I have to march on in and make judgements on your lives?’

‘It’s never stopped you before.’

‘No. I guess not.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad, there’s something I need to tell you about Mum. Something a bit odd.’ She explained about the tests.

‘Maybe she just wanted a break from us all for a few days,’ Nick said.

‘Do you think so?’ Genevieve said. ‘But what about where she was found? Up in the hills? Why would she have gone up there?’

‘I’ve been asking myself the same question,’ he said.

‘And?’

Nick hesitated. That morning he had remembered something. A memory that belonged to him and Angela, not to the whole family. A memory of a trip to the hills, a night or two before their wedding. Had Angela remembered that night too? Was that why she had gone up there?

‘I don’t know,’ he said. He wanted to keep that thought to himself for now.

Two hours later, Lindy was at Adelaide airport. Just after Genevieve and her father had gone out for a walk, she’d had a call from Richard. He and Jane were flying back to Melbourne that night. Mr Lawson was driving them down. Was there any chance she could meet him there?

They met at the cafe nearest to their departure gate. The conversation was all about Angela initially. Lindy could tell Jane didn’t like her being there at all.

‘We’re all thinking of your mum,’ Mr Lawson said. He told her he’d also had their car windscreen fixed. He’d even returned the car to Errigal. ‘Tell your dad to let me know if he needs anything done on the station.’

Lindy thanked him. She knew her dad had already had lots of offers of help. That was one good thing about the station not running sheep any more. There wasn’t anything urgent to be done.

‘Celia’s doing okay up there on her own?’ Mr Lawson asked. ‘Want us to drop in to her at all?’

She was fine, Lindy told him. Joan was phoning her each day, and visiting every second day with fresh milk, prepared meals. Joan had even offered a bed at her house but Celia had insisted on staying at Errigal.

Jane and Richard’s flight was called. Lindy cast a glance at Richard. They’d hardly said a word to each other. Jane and Mr Lawson had done all the talking. It was minutes now before he boarded.

She surprised herself. ‘Richard, will you come with me to that souvenir shop over there? There’s some great South Australian chocolate; you really shouldn’t leave without any.’

He sprang out of his seat. Lindy hoped Jane would stay where she was. To her surprise, she did.

‘I’m really sorry about your mother,’ Richard said, as they walked to the shop.

‘And I’m sorry for leaving you alone that night.’

‘I just kept wishing I hadn’t seen
Wolf Creek
. Or any of the
Mad Max
films.’ He smiled at her. ‘Sorry. I promise I did find the beauty in all that open space. Especially once I was safely inside the Lawsons’ house.’

She bought him some chocolates, insisting they were a farewell gift. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jane gathering her bags, sending glares in their direction.

‘You were so great out there,’ Richard said. ‘Your tour-guiding. Your driving. Your tyre-changing. Your kissing.’

She felt a flame of colour burn her cheeks. ‘You were pretty good too. Not the tyre stuff. Or the driving. But the, you know —’

‘Lindy, can we keep in touch?’

‘Yes, please,’ she said. That sounded so lame. ‘But since Mum’s accident —’ She tried again. ‘I don’t know what’ll happen yet. If I’ll be back in Melbourne any time soon. We just don’t know.’

‘Maybe I could come and visit one weekend. Once you know how things are with your mum.’

‘I’d really like that.’

He moved to hug her. It went awkwardly. Their noses bumped.They skipped the hug. They kissed instead. They would have kept kissing if they hadn’t suddenly felt someone else standing beside them. Jane.

‘Come on, Richard, or we’ll miss our flight.’

Lindy stayed at the gate with Mr Lawson, watching until they were both out of sight. It had been one of the worst weeks of her life. But in a funny way, it had also turned into one of the best.

Back at Celia’s, Genevieve and Victoria were in the living room. Victoria was watching TV. Genevieve was cursing at her father’s old mobile phone as she tried to send some texts on his behalf.

‘Which century did he buy this in? I’m starting to wish he didn’t have so many concerned friends. What did people do at times like this before mobile phones, anyway?’

‘They didn’t know as much, I guess. Or they waited to find out in other ways.’

Genevieve swore again as she accidentally pressed delete instead of send and lost another message. ‘Forget it. There has to be a better way to do this. Could I just email everyone? I’m quicker on email. All I’d have to do is text them all first and get their email addresses.’

‘We already have everyone’s email addresses. On Mum’s letter.’

‘Dear clever sister. You’re right, we do.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out the printout she’d kept of Angela’s Christmas letter. There were one hundred email addresses on it, including those of all the friends who had been in touch over the past days.

She checked with her father first. He was reading Ig a story. Ig had become very clingy the past few days; they were all keeping a close eye on him. Nick thought the email was a good idea. He was also happy to let Genevieve write the message.

Five minutes later, she and Victoria were in Celia’s neat office, in front of her pristine computer. Genevieve opened up a new email, and keyed in all the addresses as Victoria read them out.

‘What do I put in the subject line?’ she said, once the addresses were ready. ‘“About Mum”? “The latest about Mum”? “How Mum is”?’

‘Do what Mum would do,’ Victoria said.

Genevieve started to type.

She was reading it back to Victoria when there was a voice at the door.

‘What are you doing?’ It was Ig, half-asleep, his dark-red hair tousled, his pyjama top buttoned wrong. He looked even younger than ten.

Genevieve explained. Ig came over and read it too.

‘What about Robbie?’ he said. ‘You left him off.’

‘Ig, people won’t know who he is.’

‘Please,’ he said.

Go on,
Victoria mouthed. Genevieve added Robbie’s name.

‘Can I send it with you?’ Ig said. ‘Mum always lets me help her.’

‘Of course you can,’ Genevieve said.

He came close, leaning up against her. She put her arm around him.

‘Ready?’ she said.

‘Ready,’ he answered.

They pressed send together.

They knew as soon as Ruth called them together at the hospital the next day that the news wasn’t good. The MRI scan had showed up what she called ‘changes’ on the brain. She did her best to keep the terms simple, but they were soon lost with the terminology: hypoxic ischaemic injury, white and grey matter junction, a diffusion-weighted scan, a T2 scan showing the pattern of damage. Medial temporal lobes. Changes to the hippocampus caused by lack of oxygen to these areas.

‘But what does it mean?’ Genevieve asked. ‘That she definitely has some kind of brain damage?’

‘It’s still too early to say,’ Ruth answered. ‘We won’t know what the effect is until she wakes up.’

‘Will she wake up soon?’ Lindy asked.

‘We expect her to, yes. The changes to her brain can manifest in all sorts of ways. Her memory might be affected; there could be a period of confusion. Disorientation. We won’t know for sure until she’s conscious again. We just have to be —’

‘Patient,’ Genevieve said.

Everyone was starting to hate that word.

They continued to take turns sitting by her bed, holding her hands, talking to her. There were three other women in the ward. They were conscious of crowding the limited space.

Ig stuck up his favourite bird drawings on the side of her locker. He’d cut out each bird, to fit more on, he said. It was like a little paper aviary: three robins, a magpie, a kookaburra and an emu. That would stop her feeling homesick, he said.

That night, Genevieve sent out another email.

She signed all their names, as before. Robbie too.

Genevieve, Victoria and Lindy were in the waiting room the next day when they had a surprise visitor: Joan.

‘I had to come. I felt useless up there, waiting for those daily email reports. As if they would help me stop worrying. What’s going on? What can I do?’

They spoke at once, explaining that Nick and Ig were in by her bed now, that all they could do was wait, that it was a matter of her waking up.

‘Nonsense. I’ll go in and give her a good talking-to,’ Joan said. ‘She’ll listen to me.’

They let her go in on her own, watching from the doorway. Nick looked up, his exhausted expression changing to a smile. Ig threw himself into Joan’s arms. Still holding him, Joan moved closer to Angela. She looked down at her for a long moment, and then gently touched her face.

It was too much for Genevieve. She turned away, back into the waiting room, her eyes filled with tears. Victoria followed her.

‘She’s not going to get better, is she? Joan touched her then, like she was —’ Genevieve couldn’t say the words. ‘Like she was dying.’

Victoria pulled her into a hug. ‘Don’t think like that. We have to stay positive. For Mum.’

‘I’m too scared. What if this is it? What if she never wakes up?’

‘She will. We just have to be —’

‘Don’t say it. If I hear that word one more time, I will —’

A shout stopped her mid-sentence. It was Ig.

‘She opened her eyes! She opened her eyes!’

By the time they reached the bed, Angela’s eyes were shut again. But the others were adamant. She’d woken up and looked around for a few moments before closing her eyes again.

‘I told you I should have got here earlier,’ Joan said. ‘She’s just been waiting to hear my voice.’

The nurse was now with her. They’d all been asked to leave for the moment. In the waiting room, it was as if they’d been given a shot of adrenalin. Their quiet mood changed to chatter, even laughter. Their patience had been rewarded! This was the start of her recovery! She must have heard Joan, or maybe it was coincidence – ‘Of course it wasn’t!’ Joan said – but the days ahead suddenly didn’t seem so bleak.

That night, Angela opened her eyes again. None of her family was there. But a young nurse was, checking her drip. Angela didn’t just open her eyes. She spoke a few words.

Ruth filled them in the next morning. As usual, Genevieve had phoned at seven a.m. When they heard the news, they came in earlier than usual.

‘The nurse said she sounded okay? She wasn’t slurred or anything?’ Genevieve asked.

‘Not according to her notes, no. Angela was conscious for nearly a minute. She said a few words and then she closed her eyes again.’

Yes, Ruth assured them, these were all very good signs. ‘I know you are sick of me saying this, but you just have to stay —’

‘Patient!’ Ig shouted. Genevieve shushed him.

‘Actually, I was going to say positive,’ Ruth said, smiling.

At nine o’clock that night, Genevieve and Victoria were in the bathroom at Celia’s house. They were whispering.

‘She hasn’t completely woken up,’ Genevieve said. ‘And we weren’t there. Does that count?’

‘We said we’d do the test when she woke up. And she’s woken up twice. So we have to do it.’

‘I don’t want to. I don’t want to know.’

‘Nor do I.’

‘Do you feel any different?’ Genevieve asked. ‘Nauseous? Any other symptoms?’

‘I don’t know how I feel any more. I just feel strange all the time.’

‘Me too,’ Genevieve said.

There was a knock at the door. It was Lindy. ‘Are you two finished?’

‘Not yet,’ Genevieve said. ‘Use the other bathroom.’

‘What are you doing in there?’

‘Victoria’s upset,’ Genevieve said.

‘So am I. Can I come in too?’

They heard something else then. The front door opening. More voices. Their father’s, then someone else’s. A woman.

‘Lindy? Who is it?’

Lindy went away but she didn’t come back. They could hear her talking to the new arrival. It wasn’t the right time to do the tests now. They needed to find out who the visitor was.

It was Celia.

She’d caught the bus from Hawker, after ringing the Lawsons and asking Kevin to drive her into town. She’d taken a taxi from the Adelaide bus station to her house. She had all her suitcases with her. Nick came in from paying the taxi driver.

‘Why didn’t you at least ring from the bus station?’ he said to her. ‘I would have collected you.’

‘You should have called me, Celia,’ Joan said. ‘I would have brought you down with me.’

‘I would have come with you, if you’d told me you were coming. Which you didn’t,’ Celia said. ‘It just seemed silly to me, Nick, to be up there when you were all down here.’

‘But where will we all sleep now?’ Ig said. ‘We’ve run out of bedrooms.’

Celia looked too exhausted to make any arrangements. Joan took over. She put Victoria and Genevieve into one room and moved Lindy into a different bed, giving Celia her own room back. They were still one bed short. Joan checked herself into a nearby hotel. ‘I love you all, but I’m too old to live in a commune.’

That night, Genevieve sent another update email. It was the easiest one to write so far.

Alone in the office, Genevieve was about to log out of her account when a new email came in. It was from Megan, her make-up artist friend in New York. They hadn’t been in touch since Genevieve had left. Their lives were so different now. A dose of NYC gossip was just what she needed, Genevieve thought.

Megan was full of chat. She’d finished on the TV show that caused the problems for Genevieve. She’d started work on a new film. She hated the hairdresser she was working with:

About to call out to Victoria, Genevieve heard the ping of another email.

It was from Matt.

Again about to call out to Victoria, she heard the sound of a phone ringing. Moments later, her father appeared at the door.

‘Genevieve, get everyone. We have to go. That was the hospital. Angela’s awake.’