An Ordinary Epidemic (51 page)

‘Hello?' She couldn't hear anyone on the line.

‘She went to play, Mum.'

The third time she walked by the bag of clothes in the hall, she found Oscar sitting in front of it. She moved it inside the door of her bedroom.

The house was quiet, even though Ella had been a silent child. At the kitchen table, Zac and Oscar went back to school, with email and Wikipedia as teachers. Silently, electronically, they were all flooded with communication from the outside world.

‘I was right, it's gone.' Zac appeared noiselessly, his voice startled her.

‘What's gone?'

‘I put today's number on my graph and it fits. I think it's exponential, or the opposite of exponential. I think that's still exponential.'

‘You need to give me some context. What is exponential?'

‘The curve. It dropped yesterday, a lot. No one new is getting sick.' He stopped to consider this. ‘The people who are dying are people who were already sick.'

‘Or you might have a couple of days that are anomalies and the numbers will go up again tomorrow. That's what happens in the real world.'

‘It's gone.'

‘It can't be
gone
gone. These things don't disappear overnight. If you've got one sick person, they'll be infecting others.'

‘Not many and only some of them are going to die, because
they can treat lots of them.'

‘Then it's not gone.'

‘But it will be, in, like, a week, it will be. Even if we got it now, we'll probably get better 'cause the less people who are sick, the better they can treat them. If we got it now, by the time we ended up in hospital it would be almost over. I saw some guy on the internet, dancing. Outside. It's weird.'

‘I'm taking the TV, kids.' Hannah changed the channel.

‘But Mum, we were watching.'

‘This is important.'

Zac pointed at the screen. ‘What, an empty stage with some suit hanging around the back?'

‘Give it a minute.' The suited man stood self-consciously to the side of the podium as if he wasn't sure whether to stay put or slink off. ‘There's some big announcement.'

Zac sat forward like he had money on it. The image didn't change, two commentators filled up the dead air with chatter that said nothing.

Sean wandered in holding his laptop. ‘Are you watching this? Oh, you're watching this.'

The Minister for Health finally arrived, followed several large paces behind by the Prime Minister. They took up well-spaced positions on the podium. Hannah noticed that the suit had taken a step into the background. Maybe no one wanted to be responsible for losing two high ranking government members to a virus that was supposed to be on its way out. Odds were they were both wearing mask, gloves and gown the second before they walked in the pressroom. The Health Minister's suit was perfectly ironed, her hair formed a satiny bob. She was immaculate and healthy.

She spoke of pulling together in a time of crisis, of the
unwavering spirit of the Australian people, of the sacrifices made by us all in this time of hardship. She pressed her lips together in a thin smile of solidarity, she furrowed her brow in concern and grief. She smiled at her own words of hope but not too much, not disrespectfully. There were real words to be said but these weren't those.

The Minister leant forward on the lectern and gave a tight smile as she invited the first question.

‘Can we ask the Prime Minister, there are already cities in Europe that have declared themselves disease-free. Can you tell us how you will define what “disease-free” means and what criteria you will use to decide that this epidemic is over?'

The Minister promptly vacated the lectern for him. The Prime Minister smiled and nodded, as if the journalist had asked just the right question. His answer referenced the experts who were working on the problem, the post-pandemic role of international and non-governmental organisations, the patience of the Australian people, the complexities of the issue and the necessity for caution. He promised the nation he would give the matter the serious consideration it deserved.

The coverage cut to news footage from around the world. Celebration in Europe, a roundup of cities, all looking much the same. Hannah searched the faces in case one was Sean's sister but they knew from her emails that she wasn't in a celebrating mood, she'd lost too many friends. Youth hugging in the street. A young woman ran at the camera, arms outstretched. ‘Kiss me.' She called out. ‘I'll kiss anyone.' Hannah was torn between deploring her recklessness and celebrating her optimism.

When she wasn't looking after Oscar, Hannah worked diligently. Not because the work was important or engaging but
because it was a reason to delay reading her emails. They sat there on the computer, gathering weight, demanding attention. She didn't need to open them to know what was in them. They were an invoice for her random and unfair survival.

It was a bleak roll call. The first one was a client of Kate's, a man she didn't really know. She sat with the email on the screen, trying to remember something specific about him, the tone of his voice, a time she'd spoken to him, a meeting they had both been in. If she could make the electronic message real, she would know that he was dead, say goodbye.

The second was a list of teachers from Zac's school. Five names. A couple taught subjects Zac didn't take, two more she didn't recognise, but one was Zac's maths teacher from last year. And in her mind, Hannah could see her, on the other side of the desk at the last parent-teacher night. The way she had smiled at Zac and talked about her own sons was more real than the pixels on the screen. A woman she had only met once.

Hannah made herself read on. The email finished by advising that a memorial would be held for teachers, children and family lost once the school reopened. Like a note sent home that the Sports Carnival was coming up, or Tuesday would be mufti day. Her inbox still held five more emails that she knew would be like this. To even look at the subject lines brought to mind Victorian mourning announcements, black bordered and florid. They formed an unseemly deluge of memorial services, as if everyone realised that if they didn't lock in a time next week, the best slots would be gone. When she had read them all, with their bold typefaces and their funeral director approved phrases, she wiped her face, breathed. Her head felt as if it was crushing in, as if the act of crying had desiccated her.

She gave herself permission to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. In the small hall just outside the bathroom,
she passed Sean. He whispered conspiratorially, ‘What are we going to do about Oscar's teacher?'

‘Not her too?' Mrs Gleeson's face was in front of her, her way of smiling when she was annoyed, the after school conferences about Oscar's misbehaviour. Someone she never really knew. ‘Do we tell him?'

‘He's going to find out but I don't know the right words. Or what to do, do we take him to the funeral?'

The apprehension in her chest spread through her body, as if looking for release, as if she couldn't hold much more. ‘I'll tell him.'

Zac and Oscar were propping each other up on the couch. ‘Hey Mouse, can we turn the TV off?'

‘I'm watching something.' Eyes fixed to the box.

Hannah perched on the arm of the sofa. Better not to think, better to start speaking. Anything to release the pressure inside.

‘Zac, can you mute it?' She moved herself down to the sofa and sat beside Oscar, with her arm along the back. Was that normal? Was that how she usually sat? It shouldn't be normal, to have this conversation. She didn't want any of this to be normal.

The tension pushed into her fingers and toes. She needed to get it over, say it, spit it out. Now, right now. ‘Mouse, it's about Mrs Gleeson.' He sat patiently. ‘Mrs Gleeson got sick.' He was still looking at her. ‘Mrs Gleeson died, Mouse. I'm sorry, she died.'

‘Oh, okay.'

‘Do you want to talk about it?'

‘That's sad.'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘I love Mrs Gleeson.'

‘I know, Mouse.' He was silent, waiting to hear her out. ‘There's going to be a funeral for her. Do you think you want
to go?'

‘How do you know she really died?'

‘She did, Mouse. That's why we have a funeral, so we can understand that she is gone and remember her.' To really know it, like she'd been trying to do with the emails.

‘Mrs Gleeson's family must be sad.'

‘I'm sure they are.'

‘All the kids must be sad too.' His eyes went to the TV. She stood up. ‘Mum, it's good you're not dead.'

The curtains glowed and slowly faded as the sound of a car's engine flowed and ebbed. Hannah kept her eyes closed, but the light diffused through her eyelids. There were people out there, people in cars. She was nearly asleep when it came again, the pulse of the outside world. Glow and fade—long, slow, urgent Morse code.

It came again, the distant hum of an engine, reminding her of the people passing by, hermetically sealed inside their tin cans, kept fresh by their air conditioning. A day, two days. The thought of waiting made her muscles twitch. It was a physical yearning, like a crush. A lust for the world and she couldn't think herself out of it.

‘Are you asleep?' She whispered softly.

‘No.'

‘What are you thinking about?'

‘Nothing. Sleeping. I'm thinking about sleeping.'

‘I want to go out.' Once the words passed her lips, she had to confess all. ‘Not be running away from anything, not afraid. Just a stroll, to see. Like we belong there.'

In the long pause before Sean spoke, she knew he was weighing up just how irresponsible she was. ‘Word on the net is it's pretty much gone. We could go out, for a minute.'

‘Zac will hear.'

‘Then don't make noise.'

She slipped a jacket over her pyjama top and pulled on the day's worn jeans. They carried their shoes until they got outside, tiptoed down the stairs and trod lightly past Gwen's house. The breath in her mask kept her nose warm but the thin disposable gloves didn't hold any heat. She wedged her hands into her pockets.

She walked briskly in order to get back home as quickly as possible. Sean put his arm around her shoulder and slowed her. He walked with false bravado. Their steps rang out, daring the quiet houses to take notice of them. The street lamps were like floodlights, banishing from the open spaces any shadows that an escapee might hide in. In the dark crevices that remained, she caught glimpses of the occasional rat scurrying out from a garbage bag.

Sean hesitated at the corner. ‘Where are we going?'

She smiled at him. ‘For a walk.'

‘Left or right?'

‘I want to see normal again.'

By unspoken agreement, they headed to the shops, keeping to the safe, well-lit main streets. Seeing people walking, being, even from a distance, was exhilarating. Sean slipped his hand in hers and even through the glove, his warmth made the cold ends of her fingers burn. The shops were lit up, switched on, empty, but there were people in the street. The crowd was thin at this end of the short main stretch but the further down she looked, the more dense it became, until the groups were so close, the people could reach out and touch each other. A buzz rose from them, friend calling out to friend and where there were no friends, strangers chatting. The crowd was skittish, like teenagers playing chicken for the first time, daring each other on. So many people shouldn't be in one place.