Sydney's Song (32 page)

“He
is
. Please don't refer to him in the past tense. It annoys me big time. And don't refer to his ex as his wife—he doesn't like it. His ex is an ex for a reason, he said. Why do you and your Mom keep placing her on a pedestal?”

“Because it was Pete who left her to travel the world! Mom had wanted him to stay home with his wife.”

“Stay home? What was he supposed to do? Join her in a threesome or group sex?”

“Whaat?”

“Yes! You really don't know, Pete. I'm afraid that wasn't his style.He's very decent and romantic. And very philosophical about these things.”

She slumped on the sofa, her very beautiful green eyes round, jaw hanging.

“Didn't your husband look after Pete's divorce?” I asked.

“His law firm did. Callum is family, and couldn't get involved. And it was all confidential.”

“There you go. Alright, Eve. She was making out with another guy in front of Pete. Do you blame him for leaving?”

“What?! God…” her hands flew to frame her face. “How sad. Poor Pete. He was so young then. Oh God… I didn't know…”

“He threw his wedding ring into a beggar's bowl
two years
before we met! So I had nothing to do with his marriage break-up, alright?That was a totally separate phase of his life. And it's useless trying to make me feel guilty for accepting a divorcing man, because I don't!Pete is lovely. I could rave all night about his morals.”

It took her some time to come to terms with this revelation.

“So you must be a virgin then,” she concluded after a while. “How old fashioned. Tell me, now that Pete is in his current shape, do you regret not falling into bed while you could?”

“I wouldn't trade a single moment of what we had to do it differently. I'll never forget the indescribable euphoria of those fantastic six weeks of my life. I could tell, he valued me as a person.”

“Oh?” she pondered this. “I don't think you know what you're missing, really. So, how did you two become involved?”

And I told her about our very precious friendship. About Pete's intuitiveness. I told Eve about the sports we played and the places we visited, while all the time my mind was wandering down the avenue of many, many affectionate moments. I remembered vividly Pete's warm hugs when he arrived at my door. The twinkle in his eyes. Him feeding me breakfast. Us holding hands everywhere we went.Cuddling up watching TV. His exquisite kisses. His wonderful voice sending me to sleep. His vibrant morning calls. The intimacy and exuberance of his enchanting romantic-violin concerto.

Eve snatched a serviette, quietly drying my cheeks that somehow had become wet.

From that evening Eve's mean stance towards me changed. She chatted about Pete the child and brought me photographs of a young Pete growing up. She was still of the opinion that he would remain a shell for good, but she kind of approved that I looked after him.

“Even when it's beyond me why you'd want to,” she chirped.“Perhaps everyone should be wonderful, so they aren't dumped when problems arise. By the way, Lance has finished his exams and he's not allowed to travel far while Pete's sick. Go out with him and his friends.”

“Hi Sydney.” Rowe came in with old Dr Rushworth when I was massaging Pete one afternoon. “I heard you've completed your patient-massage course. Congratulations for being a certified masseuse!”

“Thank you. I've memorised the complete maps of nerve ends and muscles. The better to help Pete.” I nodded to Dr Rushworth.

“He's lost quite a bit of weight,” the doctor commented.

“He'll return to normal when all his wounds heal,” I ran a loving hand through Pete's now longish hair before moving back to allow them access to him.

The tall, silver-haired doctor faced me. “It may not be wise to be so optimistic,” he said in a stiff, cold voice.

He took me on a one-flew-over-the-cuckoos'-nest tour to observe his other patients. All of them were in a very sorry state.

“I have dealt with too many accident victims. As you can see for yourself, there's no guarantee my patients can ever overcome the trauma.”

Politely I suppressed my objections.

I woke up the next day with renewed determination to help Pete recover. Caring for him was the only thing I had. It kind of gave me strength, because I had some purpose. A reason to get out of bed every morning. Looking out my window to a beautiful late June day, I said my prayers, asking for Pete's complete and speedy recovery.Hopefully there really was a God listening somewhere.

As I brushed my hair absently I noticed so many grey strands that had made their appearance among my chestnut locks. I dismissed them. This was not the time to worry about myself. I had somebody to look after.

But I did not count that my resolve would be put to the test immediately.

When Pete needed help, with both the number one and two by the smell of them, I pressed the bell for a nurse. But no one came. I knew there had been several emergencies in other rooms. All the medics were extremely busy. I rang again. Still no answer. I looked at my beloved, feeling terrible. If I were sick and senseless, I would not want to be left stinky and messy.

I walked to and fro in the small green room, its usual clean scent now contaminated. My eyes caught the stack of clean nappies and new catheters. I stopped, fidgeted, threw Pete a look over my shoulder. He did not know what was going on. He did not what was happening to him. His clear eyes stayed emotionless. He was helpless.
My love!
I whirled around, my chest ripped apart.

With shaking hands I pulled down his sheet. I closed my eyes tightly to strengthen my resolve. Oh Lord.
Help
… I had been praying quite a bit lately, but never for this. This was totally out of my imagination. I opened my eyes. Lifted his hospital garment. And looked.

With a broken heart I set to work. Which girl ever had to
see
her beloved this way? Don't ask me. Oh don't ask me! No words could ever describe the anguish I was going through. Pete didn't have any awareness. He did not know I was cleaning him up. Angrily I swiped at my eyes with my forearm. Fresh tears kept rushing out. I reached for a nappy and a new condom catheter. A condom catheter is an external catheter. When the patient is a male it is easier to put on. It has a lower risk of infection compared to the type that you have to insert into the bladder via his urethra. I would not look at his face as I put it on.

“Oh Sydney…” Sister Fleming arrived at that moment, looking worried to find me in tears.

“I'm changing him,” one sob escaped. “It's okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asked in sympathy.

“This is just a simple procedure, right? No big deal. I've come to reason that if any nurse has to do it, it may as well be me,” another sob. “While I'm here.”

Pete was mine. Mine to love. Mine to look after.

She opened her arms and I stared at her, my chest and throat tight with emotion. Hesitating.

“‘S okay darlin'. All these months you've stood firm and braved it all. Come, you don't have to be strong all the time.”

And I collapsed in her motherly arms and cried a river.

My maiden, missish reservation vanished out the window. As I cut Pete's nails after lunch, I decided to care for my beloved in
every
possible way whenever necessary. Unless it was something beyond my strength or requiring medical expertise.

I buffed his nails with my manicure sponge to a perfect gloss. He actually would not fuss over his nails to this degree—I did this just to fill the time. We were listening in quiet to Mendelssohn's enchanting romantic-violin concerto which Pete himself had played with carefully placed striking moments. I hoped to trigger his conscious mind through his love of violin.

Then I heard firm footsteps behind me.

I first thought it was the catering staff coming to collect the plates, but the steps sounded too solid instead of the usual shuffling. I turned around. To my surprise a hulking blond man with glittering silver eyes was standing there.

“Dad?”

He opened his arms and I flew into them, tears rushing to my eyes.“Dad, oh Dad…”

“How's he today?” he asked in a hush tone after I controlled myself.

“He—he doesn't react to anything,” I said dejectedly. “Look. His stare is very blank.”

“No,” Dad objected. “His eyes flickered with interest just now.When you were crying.”

“Really?”

“Positive. Once. I saw it.”

“Dad… do you know that was only the second time?”

We rushed to tell Dr Rushworth.

“It's possible he will improve,” the doctor conceded, looking harried. “But we don't know when it will eventuate. Or how significantly. The comatose duration, as well as how much is recovered within the first month, are good indicators of long-term recovery. Pete was in a coma for three weeks, and that was rather long. And although he's regained consciousness after that, he hasn't shown any awareness of his surroundings. He first responded to stimulation at six weeks when Sydney arrived. And nothing more has happened until today.”

“That's a great improvement,” Dad beamed. One thing about Dad, he believed in positive thinking. Dad was sunshine. He forever radiated vitality and optimism.

When Pete fell asleep, Dad pulled me out to his rental car and took me sailing on a small rented daysailer.

“So what's happening with Geraldine, Dad?” I turned my face to the beautiful sunshine as we headed out to the estuary. Pretty colours were sprouting along the riverbank.

“She's just had a hefty pay rise. Did a brilliant well-log analysis and found a new oil closure off the Mahakam Delta. Everybody else was against her but she insisted it was oil—movable oil. Geraldine convinced the company to drill it, and, bingo! She was right. So she's bringing in a whole lot of money to the company. They, of course, tripled her beginner salary.”

“Good on her. But what's happening between you, Dad?”

“Well, I'm here, aren't I?” Dad smiled with unconcern. “She's not keen on leaving her burgeoning career. I respect that.”

“But what about love? Loyalty? Companionship?”

“‘Fraid not her immediate priority. Don't worry, hon. The world is big.”

“So you aren't going back there?”

“Nope.” And he smiled with genuine pleasure. “But I did manage to increase the locals' pay before the hubbub. They're really grateful.Gave me presents when I left.”

“Dad… I'm so proud of you.”

He stayed with me, admiring the sophisticated decor of my spacious studio as he folded out the sofa bed at night. I offered to sleep there because Dad was so tall his legs would hang out of the edge. He agreed to use my longer bed because it wasn't pink.

“Although it smells girlie,” he complained as he carried Pete's photo from my bedside table to the TV stand next to me. “And you just want to claim the best seat to watch TV, don't you?”

“Hah! The TV watches
me
every night.”

“What?! Are you saying you've been wasting all these wonderful, eleventy-nine American channels? How could you do such a grave injustice!” He started flicking the channels happily.

I confiscated the remote control and poked my tongue at him. “I need to be at the hospital early.”

“Iyiyiyi! Heartless! Spoilsport!” He threw a pillow at me, hard!“And you'll drag me to jog in that big park near here first thing too, I suppose?”

We fought. He made me laugh. We chatted, reminiscing about our old adventures, until sleep claimed us.

One morning Dad convinced me to leave Pete's bedside all day, saying that Pete would have wanted me to do something I liked. He took me canoeing and horse riding over an hour's drive north, at the enchanting Harold Parker State Forest.

“I love this so much, Dad.” We navigated the canoe around the peaceful lake. This park was a vast area of beautiful serenity rather like Hornsby's Crosslands but with different vegetation, and they had organised facilities for horse-riding, mountain-biking, skiing and such. “I feel guilty for enjoying myself. I must come back here again with Pete, someday.”