Henry Hoey Hobson (11 page)

‘Is he coming?' asked Manny.

He flicked off the stove and gave the small pan of dark sauce a final quick stir. ‘Dinner is about to be served.'

‘I think so.' I hesitated. ‘He was drawing ... it was really good, but he didn't seem real happy that I'd seen it–'

Manny pursed his lips. ‘A lot of artists are funny about showing their works-in-progress.' He poured the sauce into a small jug. ‘I feel the same way about early drafts of my own work.' He winked at me. ‘Don't worry too much about anything he says–'

‘He didn't
say
anything. He just looks at me like he hates me–'

‘He doesn't hate you, Henry–' He tossed the hot pan, sizzling, into the sink, gave it an efficient wash, then added it to the draining rack. ‘If anything, he hates himself ... Ever heard of the term “Art as therapy”?'

I shook my head.

‘Well, it could have been termed for our Anders–'

A door clicked shut behind me and a jovial note forced its way into Manny's voice. ‘Ah, here he is, our wandering artiste–'

Anders stood in the doorway, arms hanging, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. I wasn't sure what his problem was, but edged closer to Manny, just to be on the safe side.

‘You planning to wash those filthy mitts before you eat, Anders?'

Manny's hearty voice jerked him into action. He stared at his charcoal-stained hands as though he didn't recognise them, then made straight for the sink.

Manny passed me three plates and nodded at the cutlery laid out on the kitchen bench. ‘We'll eat in here, seeing there's just the three of us.'

I sat down on the stool closest to Manny, and kept a wary eye on Anders, scrubbing at his hands with soap and a kitchen scourer at the sink.

‘Where are Caleb and Vee?'

‘They're in the zone,' Manny said, sprinkling toasted pine nuts over the top of a huge platter of roasted meat and veg. ‘They'll come out when they're hungry.'

He must have seen my blank look. ‘They're both writing like mad things. When they get in the zone, sometimes I don't see them for days. I only know they've been out of their rooms by what's missing from the fridge.'

He patted me on the shoulder. ‘You did good, getting Caleb out of himself. He had a real breakthrough at the pool the other day and he's been powering ever since.'

He rolled his eyes. ‘Vee's positively manic. She sleeps most of the day, but at night she hasn't stopped. Three nights setting up her room, getting herself organised, and every night since, working like a demon to meet next month's deadline for her latest romance. Don't worry, I've kept them some food. They won't miss out.'

He nodded towards Anders at the sink. ‘There's another one who gets in the zone. Disappears for weeks on end, then turns up like a half-starved mutt, all eyes and ribs.'

He grinned at Anders, who squeezed out a sliver of a smile as he reached for the handtowel hanging on a loop below the sink.

Manny drizzled the sauce across the top of more roast than I had seen in one place in my life, then poked two huge serving spoons into the side and pushed the platter towards me. ‘Here, dig in.'

I didn't need to be told twice. ‘I thought you said we were having salad.'

All I could see was a stack of roast meat mixed into piles of crispy potato and sweet potato chips, with toasted pine nuts sprinkled over the top. ‘Not that I'm complaining,' I added hastily. ‘It looks fantastic.'

‘What does this look like?' He pointed his knife at the scattering of cherry tomatoes and green leafy things that added colour to the dish. ‘A ham sandwich?'

Anders slid onto a stool beside me and poured himself a glass of iced water from the jug on the bench. He tilted it questioningly in my direction.

I nodded and he filled my glass. There was still a fine line of charcoal embedded under his nails. ‘Thanks.'

‘You're welcome.' His voice sounded rusty, like it needed a good oiling, or maybe, just to be used a bit more often.

I shovelled a forkful of meat and potato into my mouth so I wouldn't have to make conversation. As soon as it hit my tastebuds, a little moan slipped out.

‘Good, huh?' Manny tucked into his plate of food with gusto. ‘I think the secret's in the balsamic
jus,
but the caramelised onion adds that little something, don't you think?'

‘Mmm–' I thought the secret was in the sheer volume of meat and potatoes on my plate that was now making its way into my stomach. But I kept the thought to myself. I was happy to let Manny to do the talking. I had better things to do with my mouth. I was in the zone, stuck in a delirious cycle of chewing, swallowing and shovelling.

Roast meat and potatoes was always good, but whatever Manny had done to it had boosted the dish to all-time status.

Anders, on the other hand, seemed hardly to notice the food. Maybe that's what kept him so thin. He ate slowly and methodically, occasionally sipping at his water.

I could sense his eyes on me the whole time I ate, but each time I glanced his way, they would slide away from me and focus on something else: his next mouthful, Manny's running commentary, the clock on the wall, ticking away the time till Mum came home.

The thought of my mum, running around for twelve hours straight, put a dampener on my appetite. I put down my fork.

‘Did you talk to Mum tonight, Manny?'

He nodded. ‘She's going to be late, so I said you could hang here if you wanted. Says she's this close–' a stubby finger and thumb pinched at the air, ‘–to making some big sale.'

I wouldn't get my hopes up. We'd been on this real-estate rollercoaster before, me and Mum. I knew what she'd be doing: desperately trying to sell that dump on the river for more than anyone in their right mind would want to pay, but for less than the owner would want to accept.

She was the piggy in the middle; the one forced to watch the golden ball sailing over her head, from one set of hands to another. Always just out of her reach.

This little piggy had roast beef...

This little piggy had none...

I lined up my fork and knife together on my plate and pushed it away.

‘Had enough?' Manny looked round at the clock that I'd been staring at. It really was getting late.

He patted my arm with his scarred paw. ‘The bears didn't turn up, so there's heaps left over. I can give you a plate to take home with you for your mum, if you like.'

I shot him a grateful look. ‘That'd be great. Thanks.'

The trill of a mobile vibrated on a corner of the kitchen bench. He went over and picked it up. ‘Caleb's phone, Manfred speaking.'

His grin faded as he listened to the voice on the other end. His eyes met mine and clouded. He turned his back, and after a moment walked out of the kitchen, still listening hard to the voice on the other end of the phone.

I started clearing up, just for something to do. Apart from the dishes we had just used, Manny's kitchen was spotless. He had cleaned up as he cooked, so there was practically no washing up left to do at all.

Anders had reached the sink ahead of me and was running the hot water. He squirted in some dishwashing liquid, the corded muscles in his arms standing out as he plunged in both hands and started scrubbing.

I picked up a tea towel. ‘That should get rid of the last of the charcoal,' I said.

He glanced down at me, the intensity of his gaze softening, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile. It gave me the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at me during dinner.

‘Are all your drawings that sad?'

His hands stopped moving, tiny bubbles of detergent foam popping in the hairs on the back of his wrists. His whole body had gone still, as though the question had caught him between breaths, between heartbeats. He raised his head and stared out into the gaping blackness beyond the kitchen window. Somewhere in the street, a lonely dog howled.

I didn't think he was going to answer my question, but finally he nodded.

‘Why?' My voice cracked on the question.

He reached for another dish and swished his washcloth across it, front and back.

‘Life can be sad,' he said quietly.

I wanted to argue with him, tell him he was wrong. That maybe his life was, but that it wasn't like that for other people. But it seemed cruel to say it out loud, to rub it in that his life wasn't happy.

Instead I took the dish from his hand and started wiping it dry. ‘Not always,' I said. ‘It can be good too, if you let it.'

He turned and nodded slowly, as if trying to work out what he wanted to say next. ‘Caleb and Vee and Manny are good people to have on your side. Good people to have living next door–'

I wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but I had to agree with him. ‘Yeah, I guess it was lucky you found them this house.'

He hesitated, as if about to say something more, then looked over my shoulder, his face changing as he focused on the doorway behind me.

It was Manny, with Caleb and Vee in tow.

Caleb's face was even paler than usual, his eyes troubled. There was no trace of Vee's usual amused look. Manny's crooked face had sagged into haggard lines. He walked over, cupped a heavy hand on the back of my neck, and gently squeezed.

He took a deep breath and that's when I knew.

‘What's wrong? Something's happened, hasn't it?'

He hesitated, opening up a huge gaping hole in my gut.

‘It's Mum, isn't it? That phone call – Where is she? What's happened?'

I grabbed the grinning devil's face on the front of his ridiculous shirt.

‘Tell me,' I demanded wildly. ‘What's happened to my mum?'

Vee stepped forward and put an arm around me, unknotting my hand from the front of Manny's shirt. Her voice was so gentle it took a moment for her words to strike home, a direct hit to the heart.

‘She has been in an accident, Henry. She is in the hospital–'

The world tilted and its bottom fell out. I grabbed the edge of the bench to steady myself against a dizzying rush of vertigo. Another voice cut in.

‘Manny has spoken to her and she is going to be all right–'

‘–But she has to go into surgery, Henry–'

Faces spun and blurred, their voices washing over me. Telling me stuff I didn't want to know, that I needed to know, that I was afraid to know. I lost track of who was talking, their words merging and whirling around in my head.

A freak accident ... A red light ... An old bloke and a heart attack ... Mum's little Hyundai smashed and spinning ... hitting a pole.

Hands gripped my arms. Manny's face swam into focus, his usually booming voice rumbling soft and low. ‘Henry, she's going to be all right. I spoke to her, and to the Emergency doctor in at Royal Brisbane and–'

‘Why are they operating on her?' I interrupted, my voice cracking. ‘You said she had to go into surgery–'

He took a deep breath. ‘Her leg is broken. They have to pin it. And maybe her arm too, they're not sure–'

Something shrivelled and died in my chest at the thought of my tiny mum, broken and alone in the hospital. And of my last text to her, missing the x's.

‘I have to see her.' The uncertainty that flitted across their faces made me feel like shouting. ‘You have to take me to her. I can't leave her in there on her own.'

Caleb put a hand on my shoulder, his voice gentle, but firm. ‘They said to leave it till tomorrow, Henry. They're not sure what time they'll be able to operate, and it'll be a while after that before she wakes up–'

I shook his hand off. ‘I don't care. I'll wait. I have to see her.'

Manny shook his head helplessly. ‘Henry, they've given her something for the pain. She was woozy from the drugs when I spoke to her, and wasn't making much sense. Maybe it's better if you wait–'

‘I'll take you,' said Anders. He stepped forward and stood next to me, facing up to the other three adults in the room. ‘She's his mum. If he wants to see her tonight, then I'll take him tonight.'

It was the longest speech I had ever heard from his lips.

Manny's furrowed brow showed his indecision. But after a brief pause, Vee rubbed my arm and nodded. ‘It is right that you should go. Anders knows his way around the Royal; he will take you to your mum.'

Caleb said nothing. His eyes had been tracking a path between Anders and me. They flared with a sudden recognition, then narrowed. His gaze stayed fixed on Anders as though he needed an answer to a question that hadn't yet been asked.

I didn't know or care what any of them thought. ‘I just want to see my mum. And I want to go now.'

Caleb finally nodded, his voice curt. ‘All right. Anders, you take Henry. Let him see Lydia, then bring him back here to sleep. We'll make a bed up for him in the studio. I'll talk to you then.'

Even I heard the warning note in his voice, but Anders' only response was to pull a jangle of keys out of the pocket of his jeans and raise an eyebrow in my direction.

I nodded. I didn't care where I spent the night or who was going to take me to the hospital. The only thing that I cared about was seeing my mum. Nothing else mattered.

The three of them parted to let us through and together we walked out into the black night.

Anders pulled open the front passenger door of a late-model Mazda station wagon and leaned in, shifting a wooden drawing box and a pile of sketchbooks off the seat and onto the floor.

The back seats were folded down and stacked with canvasses, an easel and more boxes of paints. The only clear space in the entire car was the driver's seat. It looked like Anders hadn't shared his personal space with anyone in a long, long time.

I got in, careful to keep my feet away from his drawing books. I buckled up, the solid lump of my old mobile phone bulging from the side pocket of my shorts. I fished it out as Anders slid into the driver's seat.

I should have thought of it before. With shaking hands, I called Mum's number. Anders barely spared me a glance as he pulled away from the kerb, his hands sure and steady on the wheel.

The flat
brrt, brrrt
seemed to go on forever.

Pick up. Please, just pick up.

Mum hated missing calls and had set her phone to maximum ring time before it diverted to message bank. I had almost given up, when a voice cut in.

‘Hello?'

‘Mum? Are you OK? I'm on my way–'

‘Sorry, I'm one of the night nurses in Emergency. I heard the phone ringing. Who are you after?'

‘My mum. Lydia Hoey Hobson. She had a car accident–' My voice broke and finished in a choked whisper. ‘Can I talk to her, please?'

There was a brief hesitation and her voice softened. ‘Hang on a sec, love. I'll see what I can find out.'

She must have put the mobile down. I could hear phones ringing in the background, muffled voices, the
whoomp
of something heavy landing on something soft.

I stared blindly out the car window.

Royal Brisbane was only a few minutes up the road and the evening peak hour had fizzled to a light stream of traffic; we were almost there.

The hospital loomed like a fortress against the night sky. Lights shining on all floors, across huge interlinked buildings, thousands of patients, doctors, nurses, ambulance drivers, and somewhere in there, one tiny bird-like mum with a broken leg and a broken wing, waiting and hurting–

My breath caught in my throat. I didn't know where to go, how to find her. The place was a maze, I wasn't even sure where to start looking–

‘Hello? Are you still there? Hello?'

‘Yes–' My voice was thick, hardly able to squeeze past the lump in my throat. ‘I'm still here.'

‘Your mum's getting another X-ray; she's listed for surgery tonight.' The voice sounded sympathetic, but busy. ‘Listen, love, she could go into Pre-Op any time, so if you'd like to call back in the morning–'

‘No, we're already here–' Anders had pulled into the high-rise parking station and was winding his way up the ramp. ‘We're at the hospital, and we're on our way in now. Where is she? Where should we go?'

There was a long pause on the line, then a sigh. ‘All right, love. Go into the main reception area on the Ground Floor. They'll direct you where to go from there.'

For once I was glad for Anders' silence. I didn't trust myself to speak and didn't want to start blubbering like a baby in front of him.

He led the way in from the car park as though he'd been there a million times. No wrong turns, no asking for directions, straight to the reception area where we lined up at the enquiry counter, behind a lady with a screaming baby on her hip.

It seemed to take forever for the frazzled mother to explain what she needed to know, and an age more for the wooden-faced receptionist to retrieve the answers from the hospital system. Around me, people waited in a stupor of boredom and resignation, while I fidgeted, drumming my fingers against the sides of my shorts, shifting from one foot to the other, jiggling one leg, then the other, and still it wasn't our turn.

I couldn't stand it any longer and turned to Anders, impassive at my side. I was desperate to fill the endless wait with something, anything, even a conversation. ‘How come you know your way around in here?'

His eyes rested on me for a moment and then flitted back to the receptionist.

‘Manny,' was all he said.

A whole unspoken story ballooned out from that single spoken word. His broken face rose up before me. The huge scars twisting down his neck and disappearing under his shirt. The winces when he straightened that he covered with a booming laugh and a wink–

‘Can I help you?'

Anders answered for both of us. ‘Lydia Hoey Hobson. Road accident. Admitted tonight.'

He wasn't much of a conversationalist, but he knew how to get the essentials across. After the last inquiry, the receptionist was probably grateful. She tapped rapidly onto a keyboard, eyes searching the screen in front of her.

‘She's still in Emergency. There're no beds available, so she'll stay there till she goes into surgery. She's on the list for tonight.'

‘Thank you.' Anders put an arm round my shoulders and walked me away from the desk.

‘What are you doing?' I pushed at him, but his arm had no give; if anything it clamped tighter. ‘You didn't even ask if we could see her–'

‘I know where she is.' He stopped and forced me to face him. ‘I can take you down there, but be prepared–'

His mouth worked as though he was trying to find his way through the unfamiliar landscape of words. ‘Your mother will be drugged and–' He hesitated. ‘Pain strips everything away. Seeing her like that will be hard for you–'

‘I don't care. She needs me to be there. She doesn't have anybody else.'

As soon as the words left my lips, I knew they were true. She had no-one else. No other family. No real friends she could rely on. We'd never stayed anywhere long enough – she'd never been free of work, and of me, long enough – to make any.

There was just me.

An almost-teenage boy who was more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

‘She needs me,' I repeated, forcing a stubborn note into my voice to cover the fear. To cover the truth that I couldn't bear to say out loud.

That I was the one who needed to see her.

Because she was all that I had too.