Beyond the crushing wave.., p.15
Beyond the Crushing Waves, page 15
“Oh?”
“You just missed her. I wish you’d been here…”
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“I know, it’s not your fault. But I didn’t ask her enough questions. I’m so tired, and my head is dizzy.”
He strokes my hair back from my face. “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.”
Having him here calms me instantly. He’s like a warm salve on my exposed nerves. It’s hard for me to focus too much on anything that’s happening —emotions threaten to swamp me if I do. I’ll panic and only make things worse, so I do my best to think about how wonderful it will be to go home and be in our own space as a family. Besides, it’s most likely I’m anxious over nothing and Brody is perfectly fine.
We talk about Brody. About how I’m feeling. About Ben’s work and how we’ll fill the days now he’s going to be at home with us.
Then Dr Siwa is back with Brody, and she tells us we’re free to go home. They won’t have all of the test results back for a few days, so we should call her if we have any concerns. We thank her and gather our things. Then I slip Brody into his car seat, and Ben carries it by the handle with one hand, pulling my suitcase along with the other. I’m left with the flowers after all, and ask one of the nurses for a cardboard box to carry them in.
At the car, it takes us a moment to get Brody strapped in properly, but I’m still nervous. Have we done it right? Did the car seat click the right way when we pushed it back into place? There’s a lot going on in my head. Every thought has something to do with Brody. Nothing else makes its way into my consciousness. I have no space or energy for anything but him.
My eyes blink open, and I feel rested for the first time in days. The room is dark, but when I glance at the clock on my bedside table, it tells me it’s four o’clock in the afternoon. We’ve been at home for most of the day. I’ve showered and changed and had a three-hour nap. I’m feeling almost human again. A surge of joy brings a smile to my face as I swing my legs out of bed and tramp to the kitchen.
Ben is in the dining room with the bassinet beside him. He’s reading and offers me an ample smile when he sees me.
“Brody’s still sleeping,” he whispers.
I put the kettle on to boil and search the pantry for something to eat. I’m suddenly ravenously hungry. I find some chips, then a container of French onion dip in the fridge. It’s the perfect carb-loaded treat, and I sit at the table to eat it while Ben tells me all about the book he’s reading.
A knock at the door startles us both. We weren’t expecting anyone this afternoon. When I pad to the door and open it, I find Gammy and Auntie Char standing there. Gammy’s orthopaedic boot looks out of place beneath her blue linen skirt. I cry out and throw my arms around Charlotte. I haven’t seen her in months and missed her more than I’ve realised.
“You’re here!” I say.
She laughs and kisses my cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Let me in. I’ve got to see this perfect little cherub.”
Her hair is cut in a fierce grey bob, with angles around her face. She has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, besides Gammy’s, of course — they share the same shade. She bustles into the house, exclaiming all the while over the new couch, the art on the wall she hasn’t seen before, and of course Brody as soon as she reaches him. Gammy follows, hobbling slowly behind us both.
“He’s perfect! The spitting image of you when you were born,” says Charlotte with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t know how that’s possible, since he’s exactly like his father,” I reply. “But thank you, Char.” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close to my side.
“It must be your aura,” she replies with a wink.
“Well, he certainly doesn’t have my hair.” Mine is a red and wavy, whereas Brody’s is jet black and straight, like Ben’s.
I sit on the couch with Charlotte and Gammy, catching up on everything that’s happened — the birth, Brody’s possible smile that was most likely wind, but I’m convinced means he’s advanced for his age, and also what’s been happening in Charlotte’s life in New Zealand since I last saw her.
“I’m taking an art class,” she says.
“That’s a great idea. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”
“I’ve always loved photography. So painting is the next logical step.”
Gammy huffs. “Please, you don’t have an artistic bone in your body.”
“Gammy!” I admonish. “No need to be rude.”
“It’s not rude if it’s true.”
Charlotte laughs. “It’s okay. She always gets jealous when I have your attention.” Charlotte reaches for Gammy’s hand and squeezes it. “Don’t be jealous, Virginia. You have her the rest of the time. Let me get some loving in.”
Gammy’s eyes roll. “I’m not jealous —how absurd. I’m seventy-seven years old, not some pimply-faced teenager.”
The two of them always fill my heart with joy. I love seeing them together, even when they’re bickering. They’re like a picture-perfect postcard of how life in your seventies can look — stylish grey bobs, piercing blue eyes, red lipstick, fashionable but tasteful clothing choices in subdued summer colours.
“So, tell me how Brody is doing,” says Gammy out of the blue.
It makes my heartbeat hitch for a moment because the reality of not knowing hits me again as though it’s the first time. “Well, he seems fine. But the doctor ran some extra tests, just to make certain.”
“Why?” asks Charlotte.
“Because his lips were a little bluish when she examined him. I’m not sure if there was something else that made her concerned because she didn’t say. But she told me not to worry, so I’m doing my best to follow doctor’s orders.” By that I mean I’m not obsessively testing Brody’s vitals myself. I’m waiting to hear back from the paediatrician, although it’s almost killing me.
Gammy’s smile fades and her eyes narrow. “Yes, well, you’re probably right. Most of the time these things turn out to be nothing at all.”
“Of course, he looks perfectly healthy to me,” replies Charlotte. Although I can sense the hesitation in her words.
Ben and I exchange a look. His eyes tell me not to read anything into it —mine tell him I’m worried. I swallow.
“I’m sure you’re right. I have to think about something else, though, or I’ll go crazy.”
I walk to the bassinet, gazing down at the sleeping baby. He’s beautiful and perfect, and my heart is wrapped up in him in a way I’ve never experienced before in my life. I can’t contemplate anything being wrong with him —it’s too much. He stirs, begins to cry, and I lift him quickly from the bassinet and carry him to the couch and begin to feed. His perfect fingers with their ten perfect crescent-shaped fingernails rest on my hand. I leave them there, studying them through a veil of tears.
Ben gets up to make a pot of tea for our guests.
“I know just the thing to distract you,” says Gammy, settling herself deeper into the couch.
Charlotte arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I like where this is going.”
“Oh hush, you,” retorts Gammy with a snort.
“Anything that can distract me would be very welcome,” I say, fighting hard not to cry.
“I’m going to tell you a story, one I never thought I’d tell anyone. But I think the time has come. Many years ago, your Auntie Char and I boarded a ship bound for Australia called the Strathaird…”
Panic flits across Charlotte’s face. “Gina…what are you doing?”
“What I should’ve done years ago.”
“But there are things —"
Gammy rests a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “I know, dear. Things I’ve kept secret for far too long. I want to get them off my chest, so to speak.”
“We made a vow,” begins Charlotte, her eyes glassy.
Gammy sighs. “They’re all dead. What will it matter now?”
She tells me a story of a mother who sent them away, a father they didn’t remember and a family they left behind. A tale of a luxury ship and four friends who found their way to each other throughout a journey into an unknown future. A farm school in Molong, New South Wales, where those four friends found a way to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment. And a principal who couldn’t be what they needed him to be — a protector, a confidant, a father.
She’s interrupted by my mobile phone ringing. I set the ringer to the loudest volume because I didn’t want to miss the doctor’s call. I hand Brody to Ben and answer, breathless, my heart in my throat.
“Can I speak to Mia Sato, please?” says a woman’s voice.
“This is Mia.”
“Mia, it’s Doctor Siwa. I have the results of the tests performed on Brody.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I reach for Ben and grasp his shoulder with my hand until my knuckles are white against his blue shirt.
“Yes?”
“We’ve found an atrial septal defect. It’s a birth defect in which there is a hole in the wall that divides the upper chambers of the heart.”
My throat closes over. I feel the breath leave my lungs. I recognise the words she’s saying —I’ve studied it all at some point in my medical journey. But it’s escaping my recollection — my head is light again, and something squeezes like a rubber band around my chest. “A hole?”
“Yes, that’s right. The hole can vary in size and may close on its own or may require surgery.”
“Surgery?” I ask. My voice sounds empty. It has no strength. My chest is full to bursting now, pain, sorrow, anxiety — my heart thuds with the fullness of it.
“We can’t say for certain whether Brody will require surgery at this stage. What I recommend is that we monitor his symptoms for a few weeks, see how he goes, then we can decide whether medication or surgery are necessary. I’ll need you to bring him in every day for testing for now so we can stay on top of it and make certain he’s getting the care he requires.”
Every day. To the hospital for testing. I nod mutely, but she can’t hear that, of course, so I squeak my agreement, thank her, and hang up the phone. The others are staring at me, waiting for me to tell them the news.
I swallow, glancing at Ben. His eyes are deep dark pools of worry, fixed on mine.
“They said it’s an atrial septal defect.”
His nostrils flare and he stares down at our perfect boy. “Okay. That might not be so bad.”
I nod. “Not sure if he’ll need surgery yet. We have to take him for testing every day.”
Gammy waves a hand in my direction. “In English for the rest of us, please?”
“Sorry, it’s a hole in his heart. He might need surgery, but we’re not sure yet.”
“Surgery? But he’s so tiny,” adds Charlotte, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“Let’s not jump to that conclusion yet,” replies Ben, ever the steady voice of reason. “It might close on its own.”
I inhale a deep breath. “That’s right — we’ll hope for the best.”
“He’s going to be fine,” says Ben, leaning forward to kiss me. “Perfectly fine.”
17
December 1953
Harry
Seagulls cawed beside the ship, soaring overhead then away again. The splash of water against the ship’s hull drew Harry to lean over the side to watch. Water washed white against the bow, frothing and glimmering beneath the sun’s harsh rays.
It was December, and the heat of summer was unbearable. Harry wasn’t used to the strength with which the sun bore down on top of his head. His hair was hot to the touch as though he’d been baked in an oven, and his skin was reddened where he’d been burned a few times over recent days. And yet, he couldn’t help smiling into the wind.
They were in Sydney Harbour. At least, that was what one of the German passengers had told him before heading back to his cabin to pack. Harry didn’t need to pack. He’d done it already that morning, and his suitcase sat now at his feet. This was the day they’d finally disembark from the ship. He’d never wanted to leave when they first set out, but after six weeks, he was bored and fidgety. He shouldn’t be bored, Mary kept reminding him. There was so much to explore on board the Strathaird that it seemed never-ending — there were eight decks, lifeboats, a cinema, smoking rooms, and of course the swimming pool and library. But he’d been fed a steady diet of delicious meals for so long now that energy fairly burst from every limb and each cell in his body. He simply couldn’t sit still to watch another movie or read another book.
He longed to get his feet on the ground, to run and leap, to play and shout. Of course, they’d had plenty of room to gad about on the ship, but it wasn’t the same as having the grass beneath his feet. How he missed climbing a tree to sit in its branches and ponder the minutes away alone, with no one to interrupt his thoughts. Or to fling his slingshot over his head, knocking bottles from a wall with his collection of hard, round stones. He wanted his two feet to be on solid land. Every part of him craved it.
On either side of the ship, there was land. Not like any land he’d ever seen before. There were short, stout cliffs in various shades of orange and brown. Waves beat against black rocks scattered at their base. Above the cliffs, it was green, but not in the lush way of England. It looked dry and baked, the way he felt himself.
The ocean glistened a blue that cooled him down just by looking. The ship passed through a narrow strait, then the harbour opened up into a calm blue ocean. The waves that’d crashed against the ship dissipated and a quiet descended, only broken by the call of gulls and the thrum of the wind in his ears.
“Can you believe it? We’re almost there!” Mary stepped up beside him to rest her arms on the railing. Lottie lingered behind with her arms crossed over her chest.
Nerves pulled taut in Harry’s gut. “Hmmm.”
“What do you think it’ll be like?”
He shrugged.
There was no way of knowing. This land looked so strange, so foreign. He’d tried a million times to picture in his head where they were going. All he had were the images in the brochures the women had shown them on the day they came to Barnardo’s to sell the boys on the idea of a new start. There’d been black-and-white images of smiling children, ponies, and fruit trees. He tried his best to reconcile those images with what he saw now and couldn’t make them stick.
Mary linked her arm through his. She trembled against his side.
“It’ll be grand. That’s what I think. Don’t you recall the pamphlets?”
She agreed. “You’re right.”
“Well, there you have it, then.”
They stood, side by side, in silence as the ship cruised through the harbour. Lottie sat by Mary’s feet and played with a handful of marbles one of the other passengers had given her. The ship slipped through the calm waters as passengers gathered on deck, wearing their best clothes with caps and hats to shade them from the sun.
After a while, there were buildings dotted here and there around the shoreline on either side. Soon the structures clustered down along the water’s edge, some several stories high. Small boats ducked and chugged across the surface of the harbour around and before the Strathaird like water striders. Then the Sydney Harbour Bridge rose like the back of an enormous reptile. Its curved hump arching gracefully over the deep blue water built a pool of excitement inside Harry, which welled up and up until his head was light and a grin spread across his lips.
“Wow,” he whispered.
Mary’s hand slipped into his and she squeezed. Lottie stood as well, pressed herself against the railing and held Mary’s other hand. Before long, Davey joined them, resting his arms on top of the railing.
The enormous bridge loomed before them, and the ship made its way directly towards it. Harry’s chest tightened at the sight. Would the Strathaird fit beneath those long steel beams? Or would its tall smokestacks be struck down to scatter in pieces along the deck? It seemed impossible, yet suddenly they were through and on the other side. Traffic hummed by on the bridge behind them, and Harry craned his neck to look up and watch as cars whizzed across it.
Crowds lined the edges of the marina. The ship pulled slowly up to dock at pier thirteen. Passengers bustled around the edges of the boat, waiting to disembark. Excitement buzzed and conversations hummed. All the while, Harry shuffled from one side of the top deck to the other, unable to stand still, but unwilling to go anywhere without his friends.
“We’ve got to stick together,” he said.
Davey stood on tiptoe to attempt to peer over the crowd. “Let’s not get separated.”
So, all four of them clasped their suitcases in one hand, then reached out to take hold of one another by their other hand, Mary with Lottie, and Davey with Harry. They waited like that until their chaperones finally emerged and led the entire group of children from the ship. The chaos of disembarking made Harry’s head spin. He didn’t know where they were going or what was expected of them. But before long, they found themselves standing before a giant of a man. The chaperones skipped away without so much as a backwards glance and their small group stood clumped together, waiting for some indication of what was to come.
The man’s voice boomed, shouting that his name was Mr Forrest, and for the children to follow him. So, they did. People shoved them one way and the other as they hurried about their business. There was so much noise, it was hard to hear whenever Mr Forrest addressed them with a no-nonsense, barking style. Before long, Harry had to let go of Davey and Mary’s hands. Davey clung close by him as best he could, but someone called his name, and he was separated from the group. Harry shouted after him, his face red, but Forrest grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Davey was gone, part of another group that was headed in a different direction.
It couldn’t be happening. It must be some kind of mistake. They’d both been travelling to the same place. Why was Davey taken by another group? Surely the adults would fix it all up in a moment. Harry kept walking, but his attention was fixed on the place where he’d last seen his friend. That space was filled with a group of scared-looking girls in white pinafores with sashes tied around their middles. There was no sign of Davey.
