Crashing Down (10 page)

‘What are you talking about?'

‘I heard them.' He's venomous. ‘Last night, talking. About you.'

‘Heard who?'

‘My parents. My dad.' He shakes his head at the memory. ‘He said how you were going out all the time. That you were only with me out of pity. That you were seeing other guys.'

Lucy doesn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
As if!
When did she have the time, or the inclination? She wants to tell him that if she wasn't here, she'd be home studying for exams, not off with some fictitious boyfriend and having a rollicking time. ‘I don't think so,' she says.

‘WHAT?' he roars at her. Spittle flies from his mouth. ‘Are you calling me a LIAR?'

‘No.' She edges towards the door. He is mental. Psychotic. ‘I just don't think they'd say that. They know I'm not going out. I was at school every day until you woke up. Now I'm here. I think you misheard them, or maybe you dreamed it.'

All of a sudden he deflates. Right in front of her, he loses all puff and steam and collapses down against the pillows. He turns his face away.

‘I don't know what to think.' He sounds like he's crying. ‘I can't tell what really happened. I don't get what's going on. One minute I think something, and then the next minute I'm told something else, and I don't know what's real. You're real, though? Aren't you?' He turns to face her, cheeks streaked with tears.

‘Yes.' She wants to move towards him but is
scared he might turn violent again.

‘Why did you tell me I was in a hospital in Melbourne?' he asks.

‘I didn't,' she says.

‘You did.' His voice becomes strident again. ‘Why would I make that up?'

She is worn down. ‘I don't know, but you have to believe me. I'm not lying to you. You are at Sir Charles Gairdner Hospital and have been here for seven days. Five in a coma. You were in a car crash.'

‘Oh.' He looks puzzled. ‘A car crash? Why didn't anyone say?'

‘I've told you before. We all have.'

‘Was there anyone in the car with me?' he asks suddenly.

She hesitates, unsure whether to tell him or not. What if he can't handle the news? What if it tips him over the edge? She wants to wait and ask his father or a doctor before she does. ‘I don't know.'

He sighs and looks relieved. ‘That's okay, then. Cos if there was, you'd know.' He indicates the chair. ‘Come on, sit down. Why the face? You look sad.'

She worries about her lie, what he'll say when he finds out the truth, but then realises he'll have
probably already forgotten it.

There's a knock at the door.

‘Hello.' It's Big Al and Ben.

‘Hey.' Lucy leaps from the chair. ‘Come in, guys.'

‘Hey, bro.' Al comes close. ‘So good to finally see you. How you doin'?'

‘Alright.' Carl is surly again. He has pushed himself back up against the headboard. ‘What do you want?'

‘Nothing.' Ben looks a bit embarrassed. ‘We just came to see how you are.'

‘Who told you I was sick?' Carl's tone is suspicious again.

‘A little bird.' Big Al laughs.

‘Yeah,' Carl snarls, ‘then that bird should be hunted down and shot. Say something and get out.'

‘Carl!' Lucy says, but Ben and Al just shrug.

‘No worries, bro, get better.'

‘Catch ya soon.'

They wave at Lucy and leave.

‘Carl.' She turns on him. ‘Why would you be like that? They're your friends.'

‘Are they?' He rubs his face against the pillow. ‘I thought they were Jehovah's Witnesses.'

‘That's Al and Ben,' Lucy says.

‘Oh, right.' He looks really tired. ‘Thought they looked familiar.' His eyes start drooping. Within minutes he's asleep.

Lucy looks out the window and then decides to go for a walk while he sleeps.

It's beautiful outside. It's spring, the days are still cool, but the light is bright and the air fresh. She wanders along the gardens. What to do? What to do? It's all she can think about. She was almost going to tell him about the pregnancy, but now, after that violent reaction, she thinks she'll wait. She has calculated she is six and a half weeks pregnant, which means, according to her Google search, she has another three and a half until she will no longer be allowed a medical abortion. And that seems like the best option. A few pills (she thinks) and job done. But if she leaves it longer, it will be surgical. An abortion clinic. She hates that idea. She needs to talk to Dad. Has to. He knows all this stuff. She'll just have to face his disappointment.

She looks at her watch. Fifteen minutes. She should head back. It's all so majorly depressing. Carl.
The pregnancy. Poor JD. Exams. While she is here, she can't study and the mocks are soon. It's been her whole life, getting the score to get into uni — train to become a lawyer. But, she reasons with herself, it's not over yet. She needs an 80 ATAR for a basic Bachelor's degree. She's sitting on 97 now — surely she'll be okay? She wanders back to the hospital.

Mr K is heading for the elevator as she arrives.

‘Lucy.' He grabs her and kisses both sides of her face. ‘How is Carl today? Better?'

‘Yeah. Nah.' She hesitates. ‘He got a bit mad, but then sleepy. I think he's okay.'

‘Look at these.' Mr K hands her his camera. ‘I've just come from the wrecker's yard.'

She scrolls through the photos. Carl's car is mangled. The roof on the passenger side is totally flattened; the car looks like it's wearing a hat at a rakish angle. The entire front is stoved in. The back seat is obliterated. That Carl and JD even came out alive amazes her.

‘I stopped in to see Douglas earlier,' Mr K says as they enter the elevator. ‘He's a strong boy. But he was crying over Carl. I told him Carl will be fine. Soon. That you're making him better.'

She raises her eyebrow at this. She's no neurosurgeon, and Carl's problems are huge. ‘Don't you think Carl might need some extra help?'

Mr K nods. ‘Yes, I've discussed it with the doctors. They're assigning a psych to him.'

They stand in silence as the elevator ascends.

‘I'm so sad for Douglas,' Mr K says eventually. ‘He's such a good person.'

Lucy nods. He is. Carl is. She isn't so bad herself. So why are they up to their necks (so to speak) in shit?

She follows Mr K into the room. Carl is awake.

‘Carl,' his father says, going immediately to his side.

Carl flinches but stares at Lucy, his black eyes boring into her. ‘So you decided to come back?'

‘I went for a walk. You were asleep,' she says, crossing her arms over her stomach.

‘Yeah, three weeks ago. Long fucking walk,' he snarls.

‘Carl,' his dad says. ‘Be nice.'

‘Why?' Carl snaps. ‘Why be nice when my wife is slutting around with other men? Flaunting it in my face. While I'm sick here in bed.' He pauses and
frowns. ‘Why am I sick? What's wrong with me?'

Lucy looks at Mr K; he is ashen. The fact that Carl has already forgotten he was in a car crash washes over Lucy easily, but the mention of her being his wife freaks her out.

‘You've been in a car accident,' Mr K says. ‘You banged your head up. But you are going to be okay.'

‘Oh.' He looks at Lucy. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

She sighs — this is like
Groundhog Day.
‘I did, you've forgotten.'

‘Was anyone else in the car?' He sounds like a little boy. ‘Was I driving?'

Lucy looks at Mr K and raises her eyebrow. ‘Yes, Carl, you were driving. Douglas was in the car.'

‘Douglas?' Carl looks at Lucy. ‘Who's he?'

‘JD,' she says.

‘JD?' Carl looks puzzled. ‘That Asian kid?'

‘Yes,' Lucy says. She is exceptionally tired.

‘Is he okay?'

Carl sounds concerned, and for some reason it lifts her spirits. She looks at Mr K.

‘He is okay. He will be okay,' Mr K says.

‘Can I see him?' Carl asks.

‘Soon.' Mr K pats his restrained hand.

‘Why not now?' Carl whips his head around. ‘Where is he?'

‘Not here,' Mr K says. ‘He's in another hospital.'

‘Why?' And Carl now sounds suspicious.

‘Broken bones,' Lucy says, ‘different hospital. That's why.'

‘Okay.'

He sounds relieved, but Lucy's not sure why.

She watches her dad across the kitchen bench. He's chopping vegetables, making his famous nasi goreng. She's always loved these evenings with her dad, just the two of them, spending time together, talking. He's always been a great listener and is never judgemental. So why do the words she wants to speak remain lodged in the back of her throat? She knows he'll be disappointed, but it'll be fleeting — he'll be more concerned. He'll want to fix the problem.
Tell him,
she instructs her vocal chords,
tell him now.

‘So …' Dad She tries for jovial.

‘Rabbit.' He looks up from his chopping board.

The word knifes her. Rabbit. He's called her that
since she can remember. She doesn't know why. She doesn't have buckteeth, or floppy ears — she's never even had a fondness for carrots. But that was what he always called her. And she wants to stay his Rabbit.

She thinks quickly. ‘So Lydia …'

‘Little Lydia — what's she done now?' Dad is already laughing. He loves Lydia, accepts she's not the smartest kid in the world, but has always defended her big heart.

‘She learns the word
procrastinate.'
It's easy to come up with a Lydia story; the girl excels in all things silly. ‘And she uses it as much as possible.'

‘And probably out of context,' her dad says.

‘Totally,' Lucy agrees. ‘So she's upstairs at home, studying. Her mum, downstairs, texts her:
What are you doing?'

‘Her mum texts her from within the house?' Dad is still laughing and he looks so young. So handsome. Sometimes Lucy wonders why it didn't work out between her parents — after seventeen years. But, as both of them tell her, seventeen years is a long time and people change. They both did —
evolved separately
is how they explained it.

‘Yeah — refuses to come upstairs because she's fed up with Lydia asking her to get things. So anyway, Lydia gets this text and replies:
Homework. Well, I'm meant to be but I'm procrastinating.
And get this …' —Lucy is now laughing — ‘auto correct changes it to
masturbating!'

Her dad roars with laughter, puts his knife down and hangs on to the benchtop. ‘No way.'

‘Yes!' Lucy is laughing hysterically, recalling Lydia's face as she retold the story. ‘Of course, Lyd doesn't see it. She's sitting at her computer when the door opens and her mum comes in, head swinging around, looking.'

‘Wait — what?' Her dad is gasping for air. ‘She thinks her daughter is masturbating and rushes in?'

‘Exactly what I said.'

‘Isn't that when you call out loudly — or in Lydia's mum's case, text —
Taking the dog for a walk?'

‘True.' Lucy nods. ‘Lyd reckons she thought she was up to mischief.'

‘Masturbating mischief!'

‘Reckons she thought Lyd was sexting — and sent it to her by mistake.'

Neither of them can stop laughing.

After a while, her dad resumes chopping. ‘That sexting stuff is serious,' he says. ‘Young girls sending naked images of themselves to their boyfriends, well, once they're out there, they're irretrievable.' He doesn't look up.

‘I don't do that sort of thing, Dad. Carl's not into that. But …' Her courage deserts her again.

‘What?' He looks up and puts the knife down, sensing something serious. ‘What is it?'

How many ways can you say it? How do you soften the blow? How do you prepare your dad for the hardest thing you've ever had to tell him?

‘I'm pregnant,' she finally blurts.

He nods. Eyes never leaving her face. ‘Right. Okay. Right.' He turns and washes his hands.

Procrastinating, Lucy thinks.

‘What do you want to do?' he asks, coming around the bench and sitting on the stool next to her.

She bursts into tears.

He puts his arms around her. ‘Shhh, Rabbit. Don't. Let your old dad help you here.'

‘Dad.' She sobs into his shirt. She loves this man so much. And he hasn't shown anger or disappointment. Just his total love. It kills her. ‘I
don't know what to do.'

‘What does Mum say?' he asks, knowing Mum knows already, and not mad or upset.

‘Whatever I want.' Lucy looks for a tissue, can't see one, uses her sleeve.

‘Me too,' Dad says. ‘Come on, Rabbit, let's figure it out.'

They talk late into the night. Dad discusses all the options with her. He is in favour of an abortion. ‘Your life, Lucy, it will become something unimaginable. Eighteen with a tiny baby. And what about Carl? You'll be connected to him for the rest of your life. You've got uni, travel, and going out with friends, being young. Having a baby takes all that away.'

‘A baby, Dad.' Lucy wipes her tears with the kitchen towel Dad found when he couldn't bear seeing her use her sleeve.

‘It's not yet.' Dad shakes his head, pours his third whisky.

She notes this — as stoic as he is presenting, he's shaken. Her dad is not a big drinker.

‘Let's look at the facts.'

She nods eagerly. Facts are what she needs.

Knowledge is power, her dad always says. Give her the power. ‘When does life begin?' she asks.

‘That's the wrong question.' Her dad sips his whisky. ‘Most people — pro-life and pro-choice — would agree that life begins at conception. When the sperm fertilises the egg, this “zygote” now has life. The true question is: when does personhood begin? A fertilised egg has the ability to turn into a person — but, for a myriad of reasons, that may or may not happen. We are talking about when it is a person.'