Trust (30 page)

Every part of the story was important: the life, as well as the death. How could she show it all, in one drawing?
Not one drawing
, she realised.
Many drawings, on one page, that’s how.

Scissors. She cut her drawings into various shapes – hacking, almost, she was so eager to see how it might work. Using the back of an old poster laid face down on the table, she moved the pieces around. Not a collage, more like — a comic.
I’m making a comic
. At the thought, she gave a little snort of laughter: brief, faint, but still an actual laugh. Her students popped into her mind: she pictured Bianca giving a cool nod of approval, Angelo crowing, ‘Totally sick, miss!’

Susanna had no idea how long she worked.
Captions, I can have captions, too
. Hours went by. Yet when she stopped, she felt that same restfulness, a sense of something resolved, that she’d felt after making those other drawings of the family in the Blue Mountains, as though an overdue task had been completed, or perhaps a promise kept. She yawned, an immense stretched-out yawn.
And now, I could sleep
. She brushed her teeth with Jean’s toothbrush, put on one of Jean’s nightgowns, lay herself down in Jean’s bed.

She’d almost managed to forget that when she woke up, she would be burying her mother. But just before dawn, Susanna was woken by the sound of desolate sobbing: her own.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Tessa rubbed the fabric of Stella-Jean’s hospital gown between her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head sorrowfully. ‘Sorry about this, Stellarina,’ she said. ‘I have told them and
told
them.’

‘Told who what?’ asked Seb.

‘Hi, Tessa,’ said Rory.

‘Hey there.’ Tess gave them a little wave. ‘I’ve told the nurses that she is
not
happy about wearing this! I mean,
synthetic
? And what is this colour? Beige? Not something Stella would ever wear!’

‘Tess, come on.’ Okay, the girls had their big fashion thing, but this, Seb thought, was just plain ridiculous. ‘Right now, I don’t reckon she gives a rat’s arse what colour it is.’

Tessa rolled her eyes as if
he’d
said something ridiculous. ‘Guys!’ she said in a scornful aside to Rory, who nodded regretful agreement. But Seb instantly forgave her this small disloyalty: Rory had actually asked to come with him to visit Stella-Jean, for which he was more grateful than he felt able to say. Seb found standing around his unconscious sister’s bedside horribly depressing, even though the doctors kept saying ‘no longer critical’ and ‘positive indicators’ and crap like that.
Hello, people? She can’t wake up!
Two weeks since the crash and he’d only visited her … twice. Not what you could call a lot, really.

Now Rory was checking out all the stuff crammed on to the shelf and the top of the steel locker. This place was almost as craft-crazy as Stella’s real bedroom. ‘Well, at least there’s all these really pretty things here for her,’ she said to Tessa. ‘Oh, wow, look at these gorgeous little dolls.’

‘One of Susanna’s students did those. Aren’t they divine? Hey, Seb, I’ve been talking to your mum about doing fine art at her college in a couple of years, that would be
way
cool.’

‘Sure sure. Where is my mum, anyway? I thought she was gonna be here.’

‘She’s just gone downstairs to phone in today’s update,’ said Tessa. ‘You know, for the Google group.’

‘Oh, she could’ve used my iPhone,’ Rory said.

‘Only if you pressed every key for her,’ said Seb. ‘My mum’s a tech-free zone. Her students set up the Google group because she was going nuts trying to keep up with everyone who wanted to know what’s happening. Otherwise she’d still be sending out … I dunno, handwritten letters or something.’

‘Those updates are really good,’ Rory said. ‘All the medical info is so
precise
.’

Seb nodded. ‘My dad puts all that in. Mum just phones in the touchy-feely stuff to … someone.’

‘But that’s beautiful,’ said Tessa. ‘Touchy-feely is what mums are for!’ The wide sleeves of her top floated out as she wafted her long arms around in a touchy-feely way. There were shiny things in her hair: crystals, or beads, or something, and about a kilo of eyeliner on her eyelids; Seb wondered how she kept them open. He remembered one time hearing Tess describe her style to Stella as ‘fairy goth’, and he’d said,
Better than mangy parrot, like Stinker-Bean
. That had earned him a whack in the arm. ‘Your mum’s
lovely
,’ Tess insisted. ‘Look how she’s brought in all Stella’s talking books, and her fave CDs, and —’

‘I know,’ said Seb, holding up both hands. ‘I know.’

‘Plus the way she always goes off and does something else while I give Stella the goss. So I don’t have to, you know, censor.’

Rory carried a plastic bucket chair over to the head of the bed and folded herself gracefully into it.
Every movement she makes is graceful,
Seb thought. ‘It’s Rory here, doll, in case you hadn’t picked that up,’ she told Stella-Jean conversationally. ‘I wanted to tell you, I was thinking the other day about that Mother’s Day stall you and Tessa had, the first year you were at high school.’ Tess, leaning on the other side of the bed, chortled. ‘Remember? You guys got this spare table out of a storeroom and hauled it into the corridor at lunchtime, and started selling stuff. Little bags, and earrings and …’

‘Ooh, the velvet eye-masks – they went like hot cakes,’ said Tess.

‘Oh yes! Then one of the senior-school teachers came up and told you you had to stop because you didn’t have permission. And I’ll never forget, you just looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, we’re not going to, sir. Because as you can see, we’re
showing initiative
.” ’

All three of them burst out laughing. ‘
And
,’ added Tessa, ‘providing a service!’

‘He didn’t know what to say!’

‘Kids kept coming up to me all week going, “Did you hear what your sister did?” ’ said Seb. ‘This shrimp in Year Seven. God, what an embarrassment – I wanted to wring her neck.’
But at the same time I felt incredibly proud of her. I kept thinking, she’s got more guts than anyone else I know.

‘Ooh, ooh!’ squealed Tessa. ‘She smiled! Did you see that? She
definitely
smiled.’

The girls leaned over so their faces were right up by Stella-Jean’s. Seb couldn’t tell if there was something like a smile or not. ‘Well, I think she did,’ said Tessa uncertainly. Gradually they drew apart; Rory floated her bottom back into the chair.

‘Let’s tell you some other news, then,’ she said. Throwing Seb an inquiring glance, she asked, ‘Have you told her about your grandma’s funeral?’

‘
No
,’ said Seb, with a very creeped-out expression. ‘Why would I do
that
?’

‘Because it’s important!’ Rory and Tessa had both attended Jean’s funeral with their parents. ‘I mean, I know it was a really really sad day, but it’s also really sad that Stella-Jean couldn’t be there, exactly
because
it’s her grandma!’

‘I think Mum read her the thing Mr Styles wrote,’ Seb conceded after a few moments. ‘You know, the eulogy.’

‘Which was really beautiful, but she needs to know what it was
like
.’ Rory looked across to Tessa for confirmation.

Tess nodded. ‘Rory’s right, Seb. Don’t be such an Anglo.’ Tess’s parents were Italian. ‘Okay, I’ll start. So, Stella: your Jeejee’s funeral. It was awesome!’ She and Rory went on to describe everyone who’d been there, the flowers, the music, what was said, what had made people cry (and how much), and any other details that occurred to them.

Seb added the occasional item, like Auntie Ange’s
friend
(said meaningfully, with air quotes) singing ‘Amazing Grace’. ‘He wasn’t bad, either. Not a dry eye in the place – except Dad’s, of course. He was spewing.’

‘And after the service,’ said Rory, ‘we went back to the retirement village. They had a fabulous afternoon tea thing – is that a wake? – in this hall they’ve got there.’

‘The Lodge,’ Seb put in.

‘Yeah, the Lodge. There were lots more old people who hadn’t been able to come to the funeral. They were really sweet.’

‘And they were all wearing name tags. Gladdie, and Verna, and Betty.’

‘The food! Oh my god, I ate like a pig.’

‘Fantastic sausage rolls,’ said Seb.

‘Tell her about that nice ambulance guy who came,’ said Tessa. ‘I thought that was so sweet of him. What was his name, Seb?’

‘Andrew,’ said Seb shortly.

‘Yeah, Andrew. And he’s
cute
, too.’

‘He is
not
! Don’t be so —’ Seb stopped short, suddenly aware of how angry he sounded. ‘He’s – um, he’s like, twenty-four. Way too old for Stella.’

‘Gee, Seb,’ said Tess, making a face at him. ‘Johnny Depp is like, fifty, and Stella thinks
he’s
cute. It’s not like this Andrew guy’s gonna front up here and ask her out on a date or anything!’

‘Course not,’ muttered Seb.
No, it’s me Andrew’s asked out.
‘Forget about it.’

Rory rose from the chair at the head of the bed. ‘Tell her
your
news,’ she urged Seb. ‘Go on. Sit down here and just crap on to her.’

Seb twisted his good shoulder in refusal. ‘I feel like an idiot.’

‘That’s not the point, Visser.’ She rattled the back of the chair. ‘Go on!’

Reluctantly, Seb sat down. ‘Um … well …’ He looked down at his sister’s face. It was much less swollen than it had been a week ago, less bruised. ‘I’m going to see this physio. He wasn’t taking new patients but Dad crowbarred me in. I don’t actually like him that much but Dad reckons he’s the best in the state …’ He snuck a look over his shoulder at Rory, who was standing with her arms folded. She was trying to look encouraging. ‘Anyway …’

‘You know, Seb,’ Rory said, ‘maybe Tess and I might go and get a coffee. I feel like we’re kinda cramping your style here.’

‘No! You don’t have to go.’

But the girls already had their bags slung over their shoulders and were heading out the door. ‘Back in ten,’ Rory called.

‘We’ll bring you a coffee,’ said Tessa.

Seb hunched his shoulders and shifted about in the plastic chair. ‘Right. Okay. So: me and Mum were talking about you the other day. That world music show was on the radio, that one you really like with the dorky presenter. Remember how you used to go
off
when I’d do imitations of him?’ He chuckled, waiting for a response from Stella-Jean. When none came, he went on at a gallop. ‘And Mum said that next time she was in here at the right time, she must remember to turn it on for you, and I said, it’s downloadable, Mum, you could play it to her any time. She looked completely bahzoolied. I reckon she still thinks podcasting is something you do with peas.’

No response. He knew there wasn’t going to be any, and it made him feel stupid, and hopelessly inadequate.
I’ve only ever been mean to her, no matter what I really feel.
He jockeyed the chair closer. ‘That afternoon, before the accident, when you and me had that big fight … okay, I know we’ve had plenty of big fights, but that time …’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘But the thing is, afterwards, when we were waiting outside the tennis centre, you were trying to be friends again, and I wouldn’t. I just gave you the big freeze.’ He rubbed the hand not pinioned in its sling roughly over his face. ‘Why did I have to be such an arsehole?’ He hunched down, low and miserable, his voice sinking to a whisper. ‘Nobody knows about it. Not about that fight, or why we had it; not about anything. I just wish there was
somebody
I could talk to.’

If he wasn’t so scared, he could talk to Andrew. Andrew had texted him after the funeral to say that anytime Seb wanted to talk, or get together, just let him know.
I’m here
, that’s what he’d said. Seb closed his eyes.
I want to, but I’m too scared
.

He opened his eyes and gazed at his sister’s unchanging face.
Can she hear me?
he wondered.
Will she remember anything that happened?
Seb leaned all the way forward and rested his forehead on the bed beside her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Stell. That’s all I can say, I guess. I’m really sorry.’ Raising his head, he looked at her face. Her eyelids were quivering, but that was all. ‘After you wake up, I’ll never call you Stinker-Bean again. Face-ache, maybe, yeah. Not Stinker-Bean. Promise.’

What an incredible relief to hear the music of the gamelan, tinkling and donging into the darkness.
I’m in Bali, at last!
As soon as she heard the music, Stella-Jean knew she was safe. She felt like she’d been travelling for weeks. Something had gone wrong at the start, on the way to the airport. The taxi? Did the taxi have an accident? And all those days in the transit lounge, unable to move or go anywhere: waiting, waiting. The flight itself had gone on and on, so long she’d almost forgotten where she was going.

Let the gamelan music guide her: she would find the members of the orchestra – rice farmers and shopkeepers by day – rehearsing, sitting cross-legged at their instruments in the open-sided village hall. Even though it was completely dark, she had no fear. Some people, when they heard the name
Bali
, immediately thought of the terrorist bombings, but Stella-Jean knew the Balinese were the kindest people in the world. The Balinese always watched out for you, made sure you were safe. Even walking down a pitch-black road, like this one, they would be watching out for her.

Finn would be really happy to be back here, too. ‘Finn!’ She groped for his hand in the darkness, and then heard a voice, calling her. Not his. A hand took her own, but it was an adult’s hand, not Finn’s hard little paw.

‘Stella-Jean? Stella-Jean, look at me. Open your eyes.’

She opened her eyes. The light was ferocious: a spotlight, shining straight at her. Protesting, she closed them tight, and then her mother’s voice was calling her. She sounded upset, and Stella-Jean opened her eyes again.
Is that Mum?
It was hard to tell, there was just an outline against the glare. She should be happy to be here in Bali too. ‘Where are we staying, Mum?’ she asked.