Fear sat in the back of my throat like a lump of bread stuck halfway. I swallowed. ‘I wouldn’t want to live if anything happened to Mum.’
Aunt Cass frowned. ‘Nothing is going to happen to your mother, Steph!’
‘You didn’t see her struggling out there – she could have drowned.’
Aunt Cass stopped at the end of the driveway to let a car go by. ‘Your mum didn’t drown.’ She placed her hand on my mine. ‘She’s safe.’
I stared vaguely at the world beyond the car. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘You did well, Steph, you took control of the situation. Your mum would be proud.’
‘Joslyn, she’s in my grade, her mum died.’
‘Your mother isn’t going to die.’
‘How did Gran die?’
‘Your Grandmother was eighty-one when she died.’
‘Yeah, but what happened? I knew that she was unwell. Was it her heart?’
‘It was old age.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said, resting my head against the headrest, thinking of life without Mum. What would happen to me? Our house would be empty, I’d be alone. I’d never want to paint again. My eyes filled with tears as I drowned in self-pity.
Aunt Cass’s hand touched my knee. ‘Your mum’s not going to die,’ she reassured me, but I didn’t believe her.
‘Did you pick up my phone?’
‘I threw it in my bag. You can reach in for it if you want.’
‘No, I’m not ready to talk to anyone just yet.’ It’s crazy how one minute things are perfect, and suddenly they’re not.
Chapter Three
THERE WERE TWO ambulances parked in the hospital emergency area. The door of one was open, but I couldn’t tell if it was the same ambulance that had transported Mum.
Aunt Cass veered into the entrance of the hospital car park, stopped, took a ticket, and the boom gate opened, letting us through.
‘The car park’s full,’ she told me, and made her way to level blue, then green, to yellow, stopping on level orange. All the spiralling didn’t help the knot in my stomach. Aunt Cass got out and slipped the parking ticket into the side pocket of her skirt, waiting for me. I admired the way that she handled a crisis. She was as solid as a World War II bunker. ‘Hurry,’ she ordered and started walking towards the lift. I ran to keep up.
The lift was claustrophobic and smelt of worn rubber and disinfectant – disgusting. The words welcome to shit creek were scratched on one of the stainless-steel panels. I held my breath between floors.
The doors opened into a reception area.
‘Wait here,’ said Aunt Cass, leaving me in the patient administration area. A girl lined up behind Aunt Cass. She had a massive tattoo with the name Chris across her lower back. At least she had options if they broke up. You could turn the name Chris to Christ or Christmas. I managed a smile.
Aunt Cass came back. I tried to read her face. ‘Your mum’s been taken to emergency.’
‘Emergency? Why there?’
‘The doctors will run the appropriate tests that will explain what happened and if it’s recurring.’
‘Are you saying this could happen again?’
‘I’m saying that it’s possible.’
‘So, what happened might not be a one-off?’
‘Steph, please,’ she sighed.
I couldn’t help but fidget, back, forth, back and forth on the tip of my toes, as we waited for another lift.
‘Steph, please,’ Aunt Cass said again.
‘I can’t help it.’
She sighed, and the lift door opened. As the door closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall. My hair was stiff and knotted. I made a useless attempt to comb it with my fingers.
We stepped from the lift into the corridor. The hospital was a huge rabbit warren. It took forever to find the emergency department. I stood in front of two transparent doors. Aunt Cass took my hand and led me to a row of empty chairs, where we sat waiting for news from Dad.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
‘Nope,’ I said, peering beyond her, hoping to see my dad.
Thirty minutes on and there was still no sign of him. My legs ached with all the waiting. I picked up a magazine; it was old, like three years old. The front page had a photograph of a model in a slinky bikini. She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her bony frame. The caption above the picture read Career Versus Health. I rolled up the magazine and started slapping it against my hand.
Aunt Cass reached out and placed her hand on mine.
The double doors flapped open and a boy around my age walked out. He had thick blond hair that was stiff, like mine. He was wearing a pair of board shorts and a white T-shirt with a picture of a monkey smoking a bong. That didn’t impress me one bit. He made eye contact with me and dropped his head. He’d been crying. He turned right, and disappeared around the corner.
An hour passed. I took my phone from Aunt Cass’s bag. Libby’s name was on the screen. I pressed re-dial, but it went to voice mail. I chose not to leave a message and scrolled to Willow’s number, then changed my mind. Aunt Cass rested her head against the wall, with her eyes closed. The heaviness of her breathing told me that she was asleep.
As I stood to stretch, the boy with the stiff hair returned wearing fresh clothes, a blue checked shirt, blue jeans and boots with the laces undone. He was accompanied by a girl, who I guessed was either a sister or girlfriend. His tanned face held a frown, and I noticed the girl’s face was blotchy. I tried not to stare and was relieved when they disappeared behind the doors.
I sat. ‘I hate this place,’ I said, loud enough to wake Aunt Cass. The doors opened and at last Dad walked out. Aunt Cass stood and I ran over to him. ‘How’s Mum?’
‘They’re still running tests.’
I frowned. ‘Still?’
‘They’ve done a chest X-ray and blood tests. I imagine they’ll also do a CT scan and possibly an MRI.’
‘So, it is Mum’s heart?’ My words came out loud.
‘Calm down!’ ordered Dad. ‘Let’s not start guessing.’
I made a conscious effort to keep my voice low. ‘Dad, I’m not stupid. I know what a CT scan is. You did one on Milly, the wombat. She had a heart problem, remember?’
‘I’m not saying that you’re stupid, Stephanie. If it is her heart, they’ll call in a cardiologist.’ His voice broke. ‘Please – be patient.’ He reached out, tucking me under his arm. I knew that he was stressing because his body oozed an unnatural heat.
We sat and a wave of silence came over us. Finally, a doctor came out to see us. We stood to attention.
‘Doctor Wong,’ he said, shaking Dad’s hand, and pointed to the chairs, gesturing that we sit. He reached for a chair and sat facing us. ‘I was asked to check your wife’s test results,’ he told Dad, and Dad’s jaw tightened. ‘Mr Conner, we’re picking up that there is an issue with Kim’s heart. We’d like to carry out further tests. The good news is that we don’t believe that Kim has had a heart attack, so there is no fear of her heart muscle having been damaged. I’d like to start with an MRI.’ Dad was right. ‘We’ll also do a heart echo, and if we still have questions, we’ll do a nuclear heart scan. Kim’s answered most