Lost Girls (5 page)

So, the next
day, the Friday, Vic went to the hospital and met with the best
orthopaedic surgeon. There was a gap in his surgery list for Monday
so he was booked in. He would need to stay in hospital for two or
three days after the surgery until they were happy that the
incision site was not getting infected and would heal well. Then he
would have to spend about a month on crutches until the reset
bones, which would be re-joined with a metal plate, began to knit.
But if he followed directions properly the surgeon said he was
confident that within three months Vic’s leg would be as good as
new.

Vic had never
had an operation and felt nervous, but both Emily and Sandy, who
had come along too, assured him it would seem like next to nothing
for a man who had walked on a broken leg for hundreds of miles. In
the end he held up his hands in surrender and it was all
agreed.

So they had
their four nights and the days in between them. It was too precious
to waste. A couple times it was on the tip of Vic’s tongue to
propose marriage; he loved this girl so totally.

But he decided
he would get his leg fixed first. Then, once he could run and jump,
he would bring her to stand next to the ocean and pick her up and
carry her across the sand and into the milky sea. Then he would ask
her the question.

Emily delighted
in and returned his love. In her own mind their future together was
sealed, she felt she had made this pact with God for his safe
return, it had been her unspoken prayer for a month in her cell
until the debris of his helicopter was found floating in the sea.
Now, as he had been brought back to her, so must she give of
herself and there was no trace of regret in the giving.

She had a vague
awareness of something else, a Mark with a crocodile face, swirling
through her darkest hour dreams. But the dreams would fade each new
day and she was filled with delight as the sight of this man
sharing her bed each morning when she awoke.

All too soon
Monday came around. They were to go together to the hospital
between 8 and 9 am in the morning. Vic was ravenous when he woke,
he had been eating double over the weekend and she could feel the
hollowness of him refilling. However the doctor’s orders were
clear, “nil by mouth” on this day.

So she played
the policeman, enforcing the rule while he grimaced, pleading, “So
Hungry.”

She returned
her sweetest smile, “Tough, can’t the man who lived on lizards and
frogs for three months survive a few hours without a breakfast
plate of bacon and eggs. Don’t worry; I will have a double burger
waiting when you wake.”

“So long as it
is you holding it, I guess I can last that long,” he said.

All too soon
the taxi was waiting downstairs. They packed light, a change of
clothes in an overnight bag they found in the cupboard along with
toothpaste and shampoo, and a couple novels from the bookshelf.

The hospital
was familiar from her pregnancy visits and several of the nurses
knew her by sight, now a minor celebrity. They waved and smiled.
She was due for her own check up on Wednesday and hoped that would
be the day that Vic was discharged.

After filling
in lots of forms they were taken to a private room and Vic was
shown his bed. They settled in, both sitting on the bed, side by
side.

The morning
passed in a steady stream of visitors, Buck and Julie popped in to
give best wishes, half an hour later it was Vic’s mother and
sister, followed by her own parents and cousin, Ruth, who had
stayed over the weekend and was flying back to Sydney tonight. Anne
sent apologies; she, David, Sandy and Alan were tied up. So for
half an hour she had a nice chat with her Mum, Dad and Ruth. She
liked the way they had accepted Vic into her life, sensing this
man’s importance to her.

Then it was
just them again. She could tell Vic was anxious, she thought it
must be about the operation. She asked, “What is the matter? Are
you scared about what they are going to do today?”

He shook his
head, “No, not really, I just have this bad and anxious feeling in
the back of my mind, as if everything since I came back and they
let you out of prison is too good to be true. I wish I did not have
to leave you, even for a few hours.”

She hugged
herself to him, “Well I am here now and all is fine. So let us just
keep enjoying what we have, one day at a time. I will stay here
today until I you wake up after the operation and I will come back
each day until they let you out.”

A knock on the
door came. It was a nurse with a sedative, saying it was now half
an hour until he was taken to be prepped for surgery. Then they
were left alone for the last half hour. Vic became dreamy and
started to doze in bed. Susan sat next to him, resting a hand on
his shoulder, willing all to go well. It seemed only a few minutes
until the orderlies arrived with a trolley to take him to the
theatre.

Susan walked
alongside, holding his hand until the surgical theatre doors where
she had to leave him. She gave him a last wave, and watched until
the trolley turned the corner out of sight.

She knew she
needed more clothes, almost nothing she had fit her anymore. Last
Friday her father had given her an envelope holding $1000 cash with
this in mind. So for the next couple hours, while the surgery
proceeded, she decided she would go to Casuarina Shopping Centre
and buy a couple loose fitting dresses, that gave space for her
babies, and some other bits and pieces, nothing too much, as in a
month her shape would change back and her ordinary clothes would
fit once again.

Outside a taxi
was waiting and it brought her to the shops. She bought a cheap
overnight bag and a selection of loose fitting things, two
shapeless dresses with a floral pattern and a couple of tracksuits
and T shirts for comfort, along with a pair of runners and some
undies and socks. Then she indulged in a large ice cream. In
sympathy for Vic she had skipped her own breakfast too. Now, with
the babies taking a huge share, her blood sugar had fallen away and
she was really hungry.

It was time to
get back to the hospital; another taxi had her there in no time.
Vic was in the theatre and they indicated it would be at least
another hour before he was out and awake, but all was proceeding
fine.

Emily went to
the café and bought a plate of hot food and ate it, while she
distracted herself with flicking through magazines to pass the
time. They were all old editions. She was pleased, not wanting to
take the chance of stumbling across herself in the pages.

She returned to
the waiting room outside the theatre. Vic had just come into the
recovery ward, the operation completed. It would be another half
hour before he was recovered enough to come back to the ward when
she could see him. The time passed with excruciating slowness but
at last his trolley came out and she walked alongside his barely
awake form. He would open his eyes and try and look around then
drift back to sleep. She took his hand and held it and, when he
looked her way, she gave him a reassuring smile.

In the room the
nurse fussed around, checking his observations and saying, “As he
comes to his leg is going to painful. I have a shot of fentanyl to
give him for pain relief but it will keep him groggy for a few
hours.

Vic opened his
eyes. “You’re right, it does hurt big time, but at least this time
I have a pretty girl to hold my hand and another to give me a jab
to make it all float away. Last time it was just me and a huge
crocodile for company, so this is definitely an improvement.”

They all
laughed.

Then the nurse
asked. “Ready for your jab now?”

Vic nodded,
“You bet, anything to kill the pain. Christ my leg hurts.”

Soon it was
done and the nurse left. At last it was just them. She took his
hand, held it and stroked it. “I am so glad it is done and now I
have you all to myself,” she said.

“Me too,” he
said, fixing her with a boyish grin.

They sat for a
while. Vic’s eyes kept closing, as he drifted off, but each time he
would pull himself back, and look at her. Finally he said, “I need
to keep looking at you, over and over, to convince myself you are
real. Did I tell you I love you?”

She smiled back
at him, “I think it is the first time but I guessed it, and I love
you too.”

Then he said,
“I think I would really like to be married to you.”

“Me too,” she
said, “but I want you to ask me when you are properly awake, and
not full of drugs, before I say yes.”

He nodded. Now
it was as if he had set his mind to rest. He drifted off into a
deep sleep.

Emily sat there
watching Vic sleep for a long time, her mind in a dreamy state of
happiness. He was OK, he had asked her to marry him and even though
it was in a befuddled state, she knew it was real. And she had as
good as said yes, loving the idea of linking her life to this man,
who made her smile inside every time he turned his warm brown eyes
her way.

Finally she
roused herself from the reverie. The outside light was fading. Vic
would sleep for hours yet. She needed to go home, fix dinner and
sleep herself.

It was her
first night on her own, when not in prison, for longer than she
could remember. She was happy it was so; she could go and have a
meal with her parents, or Anne and David, or even Alan, Sandy, Buck
or Julie. All were her friends; all had invited her and would be
delighted to hear she was available. But, nice as that thought was,
this was a night for her and her alone, the first tiny step towards
getting on with her own life outside. She needed to face that world
again, not as Susan but as Emily. She must face it with her head
held high in her new-old identity.

She walked
through the foyer, passing alongside the café. She saw newspapers
for sale. She could not remember how long it was since she had sat
and read a newspaper or watched the TV news – months and months. On
impulse she picked one up, not even looking at the cover. She
passed the money over to the man at the counter before putting the
newspaper into her overnight bag.

She felt tired
as she sat into the taxi, feeling in her shoulders the tension
which she must have held inside herself on Vic’s account. The
babies were getting heavy and pressing down and she could feel her
ankles were puffy.

Soon she was
inside the flat on her own. She put on the kettle and made some
toast, feeling suddenly flat, tired and very alone. Part of her
wished she had gone somewhere for dinner, someone else to fill the
empty space with conversation would have been nice along with a hot
ready cooked meal. She knew she could still ring and do it; someone
would call round to collect her. But her back was aching, there was
a headache at the edge of her consciousness and overall she was
really tired from an unaccustomed day of walking around.

No, she would
just have her tea and toast, stretch out on the couch, read the
paper and maybe watch a bit of TV as she fell asleep. Tomorrow was
a new day. She could get organised then.

She pulled out
the paper to read, placed a cushion at one end of the couch for her
head, lay down and stretched out. She picked the paper up but she
could not keep eyes open. She fell into a deep, dreamless
sleep.

She woke up
thirsty. The clock on the mantel said the time was after eleven at
night. She had slept for four hours. The room felt oppressive. She
had not turned the air conditioner on. It was hot and stuffy. But
it was more than that, there was some portent of doom pushing into
her mind, like the crocodile spirit was seeking to return.

She went to the
sink and filled a glass of tepid water, sipping it with distaste.
She was filled with anxiety, source unknown. She picked up the
paper, thinking reading may distract her. The front page was some
boring story of a prime minister’s announcement, pure poly
speak.

She turned to
page 3. Her face jumped out at her. She looked at the caption. It
read “Two Faces of Susan Emily McDonald.”

Below were two
photos, one of a bookish looking school girl in uniform, captioned
“Emily”. It must have been a final year high school photo when she
was studying hard to get good grades. The second, “Susan” was a
typical party girl photo, her in a skimpy bikini, on a holiday,
drink in hand, flaunting her body and exuding sex appeal, one of
those half drunken snaps on a friend’s camera, taken up close and
showing way too much body with almost nothing to cover it.

Off to the side
of those photos was one taken on the day she walked from court, was
it only last week, her face sedate but dazed looking – she
remembered that numb relief feeling.

The story
continued. “Who is the real Susan Emily McDonald? Is she studious
and serious Emily, the model pupil with butter wouldn’t melt in her
mouth manners? Or is she the wild and raunchy party girl, Susan,
known to give it out to many men in wild parties?

“We don’t know
all their names as she cut swathes through the social circles of
London and Sydney. But there was Edward, budding business
entrepreneur, son of a powerful stockbroker, dumped when she got
bored. Then there was Mark, aka Vincent Mark Bassingham, the NT man
from nowhere, who she fed to the crocodiles when he tried it on.
Then there was David, son of the squattocracy, old Sydney town
money with an impressive stable of sports cars. And last, but not
least, is Vic, helicopter pilot from Alice Springs. Rumour has it
she is currently holed up with him in a sleazy Darwin apartment.
She won’t talk to us but she has plenty of words and more to share
with her succession of boyfriends. Will Vic share the same fate as
the others when the wheel turns?