An Ordinary Epidemic (23 page)

‘Is she all right?'

Sean collapsed back onto the couch. ‘She emailed today. She's all right, she's surviving.' Hannah curled into him, wanting to make it better.

Now the television framed a photo of the two boys who were in isolation. ‘ORPHANS DIE'. She waited for the emotion to hit her, the grief, the fear. Nothing came. She didn't know these boys any more than she knew the remains being thrown on the fire. They lived in the same town, spoke the same language, wore the same kinds of clothes, played the same computer games as her kids. That didn't make them any more real than the thousands. The thousands were not less loved by their families, the friends of each of the thousands felt their grief just as deeply. She couldn't stay on the couch, not without seeing for herself that the boys were safe.

‘There's a poo.'

No, no, it was too early. If she didn't move, she wasn't awake.

‘It's floating.'

All she had to do was out-sleep Sean.

‘It's really big.'

Not my turn, not my turn.

‘In the toilet.'

‘Flush it Mouse, just flush.' She lost, she gave herself away.

‘It won't work.'

‘Jiggle the button.' Sean still hadn't moved.

‘I did. I jiggled, it won't flush.'

She fell out of bed and followed Oscar to the bathroom. There it was, floating. She pumped the handle few times and listened for the cistern to kick in. Nothing. The sink tap spluttered and spewed a teaspoon of rust water, no help there. Sooner or later the sensitive eyes of teenagers would be up so, to protect them, she respectfully concealed the offending sight with a few squares of toilet paper.

Sean peered around the door as she was contemplating her handiwork. ‘This could be a problem. No water in the kitchen.'

The internet was full of people tweeting about lack of water, it looked like the whole city. The water website had no specific information, only an emergency number, and Sean waited on the line for half an hour before he reluctantly hung up. ‘The water will come back or it won't. Knowing when won't change anything.'

‘I haven't run the laundry tap but at most there'll be a cup of rusty water in the pipes. But even if you boiled it, I wouldn't drink it. There's bottled water in the pantry, that should get us through a couple of days but not if we flush the toilet.'

‘If the water doesn't come back by tomorrow, we might have to drink our own urine.'

‘That won't be popular.'

‘It would solve the flushing problem.' Sean smiled like an idea had gone off in his head. ‘What about the rainwater tank?' He looked pleased with himself. ‘You haven't been using it to water the garden or anything useful have you?'

Sean filled the kettle from the tank, to prove he could, scooped out the coffee grounds carefully, levelling off the top with a knife. He sniffed at the dregs in the milk carton. There was just enough that they could pretend they were drinking macchiatos but it left an oily slick on top. They hadn't had anything fresh delivered for a week but she put that thought out of her mind. One problem at a time.

Sean made a salad for lunch. The last few cherry tomatoes, a couple of papery spring onions, a handful of olives, a half a small tin of salmon and some left-over pasta. He stared at the tomatoes.

‘Do they need to be washed? Is it worth the water or does wiping them with a damp cloth get them clean?'

He served out onto six plates, five for them and one for Gwen. For six days they had taken her lunch and dinner, knocking on her door, leaving cling-wrapped plate on the step and listening, hidden on their porch, for her to collect it. What a bad neighbour Hannah was, a bad human being, making Gwen live all alone. But she was alone before the lock-in too, so if Hannah was failing her, she'd been doing it for a long time.

In the living room, Zac, Daniel and Oscar were playing cards. They sprawled out on the floor, Zac leaning against the sofa leg. Oscar sat upright, cross-legged, staring at his hand of cards, examining each one. The pack was sitting in the middle, the top card face up. Each boy had a messy pile next to him, the won tricks, Hannah guessed.

‘Come on Oscar, put something down.' Daniel's legs splayed out in front of him, his cards in a fan by his side. Oscar screwed up his face, his hand hovered over one card then another.

‘Give him a chance,' said Zac, ‘He's littler than us. Hey, Oz, take your time.' That was her Zac, the one that didn't admit to enjoying his brother but at least tolerated and looked out for him.

‘Zac, I've got lunch for Gwen, do you want to take it round?'

Oscar played a card triumphantly. From the surprise on Daniel's face, it was a good move.

‘It's my turn and this is the last hand.'

She was already holding the plate and the boys had been so well-behaved, it wouldn't hurt to take it herself.

As she walked up the hallway, the diffuse sunlight through the security grill hit the glass in their front door, forming a golden geometric glow. She balanced the lunch in her left hand to grab the doorknob with her right, her eyes on the plate, trying not to let it tip. The light unfolding around the edges as it opened, dazzled her for a moment and she smiled, thinking how nice it was to really pay attention to the small things. Just as she took hold of the grill handle, it jerked away, pulling her with it. Her hand pivoted to keep the plate flat, and she landed heavily on her right foot, just on the edge of the step.

By instinct, she grasped the handle harder as it juddered. A high-pitched voice, chattering in distress or anger, issued from the silhouette of a person. Hannah couldn't integrate the unformed sensations. They moved around then snapped,
without changing, into Gwen. On their doorstep. Tugging at the grill. Screaming at her. And the grill was unlocked. How the hell had she left the grill unlocked?

Hannah grabbed the handle tighter and tried to wrestle the grill back to the frame. Gwen's practical clothes were clean and well-presented. Her hair was in its usual grey bob. Hannah couldn't reconcile the navy canvas lace up shoes, their white rubber soles pristine as always, with the rage in Gwen's face. Inexplicable rage.

Gwen tugged at the grill in anger. At the end of each tug, the steady pressure of Hannah's weight brought the grill nearer to being closed. Hannah tried not to hear the stream of abuse and accusations, tried not to think that this was Gwen, her pleasant neighbour, Gwen whose garbage bin she'd put away as a neighbourly gesture. That wasn't Gwen on the other side of the grill.

Gwen yanked, the grill banged, hitting the frame and jumping away again. Hannah considered shouting but Sean was out the back and she didn't want the kids to come running. She didn't want them to see this, to be part of this.

The keys were in the door and the door had swung all the way open but she couldn't let go of the grill until it was locked. Her free hand was holding the plate and the plate held the salad. If she dropped it, one whole meal was gone. How dare Gwen, after all they had done for her.

She gave the handle an almighty shake and sent Gwen flying back. Hannah was shocked that someone could treat an old woman like that. She had an impulse to look around for the culprit. Surely it couldn't be her.

Gwen spun around and grabbed at the verandah wall to stop herself falling. She was on one knee, bloodied from hitting the bricks.

Hannah considered only for a split second letting go of the handle. She swung her body around in hope of finding help in
the seconds before Gwen stood up, a solution, some form of twister that would let her hold the handle, the plate and keys. But the only thing she saw was Zac, halfway down the hall, quiet and still.

‘Take the plate,' she screamed at him. He darted forward, eyes down, and took it with both hands. She twisted back, threw herself at the keys, still holding the handle fast. The key turned with a metallic snap just as Gwen got to her feet.

Hannah pushed down on the lever, hard, and when the lock held, she forced herself to let go. She took a step back, a metre's distance between her and the grill. Her hand was cramped, her knees were weak. She put her hand to her face to stop it from shaking. Her face was cold and clammy. She turned her back on Gwen and there was Zac, still standing there, still quiet, still looking down, still holding the salad. ‘Take it to the kitchen.' He took a step backwards. ‘Everything's fine.' She forced herself to speak slowly and calmly. ‘Thanks, you were a great help. Everything's fine now.' Zac took off.

Gwen pressed against the grill. ‘I know what's happening. I know.'

Hannah took a breath before speaking, she struggled to keep her voice down. ‘Do you? I have no idea.'

‘They've turned off my water. They've turned off my water and you're happy to let them.'

‘Everybody's water's off. It'll be on again by dinner, like the power.'

‘I went over and talked to Roger Henderson. His water is off too. It's not an accident. They'll help people like you. But you won't help me or Roger Henderson because it doesn't suit you.'

‘You have to go two days, two days, without seeing anyone. How hard is that? How can you not do that? Who else have you talked to? And who else has Mr Henderson talked to? And who have those people talked to? My kids' lives are more
important than a chat with Mr Henderson.' She couldn't stop. ‘And what difference does it make which side of the wall you're on. We're full up, we're not a bloody hotel. We've given you food, we'll give you water. Stay inside your bloody house if you want to live.'

Gwen shook a finger at her. ‘And who'll look after Roger Henderson? There won't be enough to go around, not enough medicine, not enough food, so let's get rid of the old people, let's turn off their water. You know and you don't care what the government's doing. More for you.'

Hannah gently closed the door on Gwen so she didn't have to see the hatred directed at her. It shut with a soft click. She felt herself being submerged by exhaustion. Her legs and arms felt heavy and spent. Gwen's shape was still behind the glass, still yelling at the door.

The extra meal sat on the bench, covered with a tea towel, accusing Hannah of heartlessness.

‘I'll take it around later, we can put it in a container. I can jump the fence and put it at her back door.' Sean kept his voice low even though the boys were sitting at the table with them.

Daniel whispered to Zac who batted him away with a scowl. Daniel looked around at Hannah and Sean, confused and worried. He tried whispering to Zac again.

Zac snarled. ‘Nothing, just nothing, okay?'

Oscar looked up from his fork. ‘Everyone is grumpy today. Zac's grumpy and Gwen was really grumpy, I heard her yelling.'

‘Gwen's a bit scared and sometimes scared people get angry.' Sean spoke soothingly and Oscar seemed satisfied.

She had tried to do everything right, do right by everyone. She'd re-laid her plans when Daniel joined them and again when Gwen needed help. Bloody Gwen. They should have
stayed out of it, rung some government service, left it to the proper channels. There must be some plan to look after people like Gwen.