One True Thing (24 page)

I study those tickets one last time, fighting the disappointment I know I'll feel tomorrow when it's too late. The whole tour has sold out. There won't be another one for ages. They could break up. They could retire. This might be the only chance. A weight presses against my chest and I almost delete the whole thing.

I shake my head. Count two bars, 4:4 time. Twice.

And press ‘send'.

I hurry across the pool centre, already late. Luke will have spent the past twenty minutes meticulously going through his warm-up. I try to be there for that – Mum and Dad will be. It gets him in the mood and he likes knowing where we are before he can turn his mind to the race ahead.

The centre is crowded and hot, so it takes a moment to notice the cluster of people at the far end of the warm-up pool. There's no reason to worry, no logical or likely reason, but I break into a sprint, ignoring years of being yelled at by lifeguards and parents not to run on a pool deck, my feet moving ahead of my brain so that I still haven't really processed the scene when I find myself in the middle of it.

Everything seems to shift to slow motion then and the crowd starts to blur. I can make out Luke's coach, Mum by the stretcher, a couple of ambulance officers working on Luke – tiny, ghostly Luke, disappearing under the tangle of all the bits and pieces helping him to breathe. Travis Matthews is hovering nearby in his lifeguard uniform, dripping wet, fear etched into his frown.

I push through the chaos. Dad is beside Mum, his hand on her shoulder, partly holding her out of the way, partly holding her up, as though if he let go she might just fall over. Her face is white and her lips are a tight, thin line. Stripped back and exposed, there is no pretence, no performance. Premier Mulvaney has well and truly left the building and it's about the most terrifying thing I've seen.

I blank out all those worried faces crowding Luke, hating the fear I see in their eyes. It's the worst feeling you can imagine – being desperate to help but knowing there's nothing you can do.

‘Luke?' My voice barely cuts through the pool din. The other lifeguards and attendants have blocked off the space with some of those oversized witch's hats they use when the wave pool is shut, so that at least now most of the people in the immediate space around Luke are actually there to help him. There's still a large crowd at the other end, gawping like they're fans at a footy match. But this doesn't surprise me. Not anymore.

Mum looks up, relief cut into her features. ‘We've been calling …'

‘My phone was off,' I say weakly. ‘We had rehearsal.' I broke one of our family rules and can't help but feel that this could have been avoided if I'd done the right thing. ‘What's happening?'

Gran appears beside me, her hand grips my elbow. ‘Hold on, darlin'. He's a toughie.'

The ambulance officers are working either side of him. Luke is hunched over, his shoulders high, his chest caved in. I can see him struggling for air, even as the ambulance officers attach the mask and start filtering medicine through it. I've seen him attack too many times to recall now, but this one is different. I can feel it, see it. He's barely getting any air through those ruined lungs. Mum is clutching his hand. Dad is talking to him, a steady, reassuring babble of words largely comprised of ‘you'llbeallrightyou'llbeallright'. Every now and then Luke gasps some variation of ‘I can't breathe!' even though we're all trying to tell him to calm down, to stop talking and let the medicine work.

‘Stop it, Luke!' I say, my voice is shaky. ‘Stop talking. You have to breathe. Just …
breathe
!' And for a tiny second he smiles a half-smile – the words, the title to that favourite of songs – and I take such enormous strength from this acknowledgement, this split second of normality, that I almost cry.

It's only when they've got Luke on the stretcher, attaching all the bits that need to be attached, that I see Colin, standing by the exit, his face as ghostly as Mum's. He's leaning against the wall, his hands pressed against it like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he's going to be sick. He doesn't see me and I doubt Mum or Dad have noticed him.

Mum is rubbing Luke's back, trying to get the air flowing while also trying to stay out of the ambulance officers' way. She's moving now, responding to the ambos, taking control, and I find enormous reassurance in that.

I glance over at Colin, who's moved closer. His jacket collar is up high and straight, his head bowed. I want to say something – to Mum and Dad, to Colin – but he looks so frightened and so in awe, whether of the moment or the scene, of Mum and Dad or even of Luke's horrible gasping breaths.

‘Gran,' I say, and nod over at Colin. ‘He came.'

She scans the crowd and finds Colin looking back. There's the faintest tilt of his head, his shoulders hunching further forward. ‘Right you are,' she says quietly, without a trace of surprise.

I look at her. ‘Did you bring him?'

She offers a tight smile. ‘He wanted to come. He just needed a little push.'

I only briefly consider what ‘a little push' means in Gran Mulvaney-speak before I return my focus to Luke.

One of the ambulance officers straightens while the other checks the connections and Luke's breathing. They've injected some medicine now and are working at clearing the mucus that's thickening his air passages. I push forward again, close enough so he can hear me. ‘You'll be okay, Luke,' I say, smiling at him, but when he looks up at me, fear is so stark on those sharp, old-man features that I do the only thing I can think of – I start to sing.

Quietly and unevenly, the first lyrics of ‘Just Breathe' come rasping out of my mouth. Hardly anyone else can hear me in this chaotic noise, but Luke can – I can see it in his eyes. Recognition, then a softening. And when I glance over to where Colin was standing, I see he's come closer. He's still hanging back, behind Mum and Dad, out of their view, but he's a part of it now, when a moment ago he wasn't. Colin is watching me carefully, and my voice catches under the weight of that gaze. I stop singing.

For a long moment we just stare at each other – this man I don't know but who is, at least by blood, my brother. My family. If only he wanted to be.

Mum reaches across to take my hand, and I watch Colin fade back into the crowd until I can't see him at all. I squeeze Mum's hand. Dad is beside Luke, that mantra about being okay taking over where my strangled version of Pearl Jam left off, and I feel a sudden and powerful rush of energy. I feel
stronger
, I guess, just because
we're all there. Even Gran's gruff concern beside me is reassuring somehow. Take out the medical emergency and Luke's gasping breaths and it's probably the daggiest family moment imaginable, but I don't care.
I don't care.
Because, whether it's wishful thinking or reality, gradually, painfully, Luke's hunched shoulders seem to relax. He arches his back, then his whole body loosens and the hoarse, Darth Vader noises coming from behind the frightening oxygen mask start to ease. It's still painful and awkward, the way he's reaching for air, but it looks like the medicine is starting to work.

The ambulance officers ask him how he is and Luke nods. They confer with each other, then one of them calls ahead to the hospital.

The other ambo smiles gently at Mum. ‘He's stable now, but we need to take him in.'

Mum moves out of their way and Dad presses his hand against her back, moving his hand in small circles just like Mum was doing for Luke only minutes earlier – though it feels like hours. Then Luke is being moved through the pool centre. People shift out of his way, with Mum close on their heels. Phones are out recording our horror and it's all I can do not to vomit. It's vile. They are vile.

I hesitate when I see Travis Matthews block my view. He's still wet and pale-faced, but the shock has faded, and now he's in charge. He reaches for the first of the phones, snatches it out of a stunned woman's hands without a
word and slides it into his pocket. ‘Everyone get back!' he snaps in a voice that leaves no room for argument. ‘And get rid of the phones!'

‘Coming, Frank?' Dad hovers at the exit. ‘I've got the car.'

I drag my gaze from Travis and face Dad. ‘Coming,' I say.

I look back at Travis, who's arguing with the woman and blocking everyone else's view.

‘Francesca?' Gran is beside me. ‘I'll meet you there,' she says. ‘Your father's waiting.'

We drive in silence, shock thick in the air. And then I look over and see my dad's face wet with silent tears, his focus on the road ahead. When he speaks I have to strain to hear.

‘I'm sorry,' he says, a sob catching in his throat. ‘Can you forgive me?'

‘For what?'

He takes a long jagged breath. ‘I haven't handled this well. I haven't been there for you – or Luke.'

I look down, studying my hands in my lap. ‘I haven't been here, either. Not really.'

Our car slows to a crawl as we approach a red light, and I feel a strange mix of dread and anxiety. I want to
get to the hospital as fast as I can, but at the same time I don't want to go there at all.

‘If I could do things again …' Dad's voice is just loud enough to clear the rumble of passing traffic.

‘He's going to be fine, Dad.'

‘I know.' Another dull, stifled sob. ‘I do.' He shakes his head.

‘None of us has handled this well – me especially. I've screwed up pretty much every part of my life.' I wind down the window, the cool air a welcome relief in the stuffy car.

He wipes his eyes with a rough hand. ‘There's a song there,' he says, his voice a little lighter.

‘A couple, I'd say.'

He laughs and changes gears with a steady hand. ‘I thought I could handle it, protect your mum, you and your brother. But …'

‘Really, Dad, it's okay. I get it.'

He glances across the front seat and smiles. ‘Yeah. You really do.'

I stare out at the traffic, cars moving at a snail's pace as though deliberately trying to block our path.

‘So, tell me, what about that boy? The big date?'

‘Wouldn't you like to know,' I say, smiling.

‘Yes, Francesca, I would.'

‘It's a long story.'

He squints at me, a half-smile on his face, nodding
at the traffic around us as it crawls to a virtual stop. ‘I've got time.'

So after I call the hospital to confirm that Luke is stable and has been admitted, in the middle of all that city traffic, I tell my dad about the photos, about finding Colin. I don't mention Seamus Hale yet – that one might have to wait. But by the time we've parked the car, I'm not on my own anymore. All the pieces have been laid out and shared with my dad, these imperfect fragments forming something that resembles my life – the parts I want to share, anyway. And it feels good.

The waiting-room chairs are as uncomfortable as they look. The vinyl covers stick to the backs of my legs and the iron armrests are in exactly the wrong place for a typical arm. I've been shifting and squirming in this horrid seat for about an hour now. They let me see Luke straight away, but I've had to wait in this room for Mum and Dad ever since.

Gran is off getting a ‘hot toddy' somewhere – good luck finding anyone who knows what it is – and Harry has been back and forth, calling around to cancel events and warn the media to back off, demanding they respect our privacy. Finally. So far it's worked; they don't know what hospital we're at, which helps, but I can't imagine that'll last long. Christie has the job of fielding calls
from the electoral office, trying to distract them with actual news.

I glance over at Sarah, who is squinting at her phone, her reading glasses forgotten once again.

‘You can increase the font size,' I say to her, reaching for the phone and adjusting the settings.

She barely moves when I return the phone to her.

‘Are you okay?' I say gently.

Tears glint on her lashes. She nods. Her phone rings and she stares at it like she doesn't understand its purpose.

‘You should take that,' I say.

She nods again, stands up and puts the phone to her ear, disappearing down the corridor.

I shift in the seat, pull my phone out of my pocket. I'm pretty sure I'm meant to have turned it off, but after today's disaster, I've decided I'll never turn it off again, except for fear of death. Then again, the blonde-haired nurse with a withering stare who's been snapping out orders to the growing ER crowd could convincingly slay me with a single look if she wanted to.

I read my phone. There's a message from Kessie saying simply:
CALL ME!!!!

I go outside and dial. ‘Hey, Kess.' My voice sounds rough and husky. I clear my throat and look at the clock. It's after five.

‘About time, Frank. So, something weird happened today.'

‘Yeah?' I ask, my brain too cloudy to think about it.

‘I received some tickets in my inbox. Two very valuable, sold-out tickets.'

‘Really?'

‘Yeah. This band? You might have heard of them. Starts with Pearl, ends with Jam.'

‘Sounds familiar.'

‘You've got a couple of hours to get here so I can give them back to their rightful owner.'

I'm exhausted. I barely have the energy to reply. ‘No. They're my gift to you and Tyler.'

‘Holy dumb-arse, Batman. Are you for real?'

I sigh, long and deep. ‘Are you going to stay shitty forever?'

‘Only as long as you act like an idiot.'

‘I said sorry, and I am. I thought this would help.'

‘
Help?
Can you imagine the guilt I'd be living with? You'd never let me live it down.'

‘I'm okay – really. It feels right.'

‘Then
I'd
never let me live it down!'

‘I don't have any way of getting there.'

‘Um, the tram? The train? Far as I know, public transport still operates. Unless there's been a zombie apocalypse I don't know about, though that would explain why you've given me your beloved Pearl Jam tickets …'

‘I'm at the hospital, Kess. Luke had an asthma attack,' I say. ‘He's fine,' I rush in at the sound of Kessie's gasp, and
tell her what happened before panic takes hold properly. I realise I should have called her earlier. She's his family too. ‘They're going to keep him here for a few days. The attack was prolonged and it took ages for the Ventolin to work …' I falter at the memory of Luke's panicked face. The shallow, mucousy sound of those drowning lungs, the terror in his eyes … I can't leave him. Even if I could get there, I can't leave him. ‘Sorry, Kess, looks like you're stuck with them.'

‘Luke's definitely okay?'

‘Yeah. Yeah. I mean, it wasn't good, but he's stable now.'

There's a long silence and then I hear someone talking to her in the background. Tyler, I guess. I hear Kessie's muffled, ‘I am. I'm trying to.' And then the noise stops and her voice is clear and disbelieving. ‘This is all you've talked about for years. Forever, really.'

The sinking feeling in my chest is real, disappointment has already set in, but it's nothing compared to how I felt at the pool. And then suddenly Colin is standing in front of me, out in the middle of the hospital entrance, and it's all I can do to not drop my phone.

He smiles grimly.

‘Uh, Kess? I have to go.' I hang up, not letting myself think about it long enough to doubt my decision. ‘Hey,' I say.

He tilts his head in acknowledgement.

‘How did you get here?' I ask, not realising how rude that sounded until after the words are out of my mouth.

‘Taxi. Your gran told me where you were.'

‘Um, thanks for coming.'

He gestures towards the hospital. ‘He all right?' He smells a lot like he took a detour via the pub.

‘Yeah.' I smile nervously and glance towards the hospital entrance. ‘He's breathing properly but they've got him in intensive care.'

Colin nods slowly, looks everywhere but at me.

‘Did you want to …?' I'm about to invite him in but a sharp look stops me. ‘Thanks for coming,' I say again.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. We both stand there, not knowing what to say.

I try again. ‘Did you want to come inside?'

He glances up at the doors. He shakes his head, looks away. A pungent whiff of beer and cigarettes follows his movements and I have to fight the urge to step back.

‘They're in there,' I say. ‘All of them.'

Colin looks at me and I see fear. ‘I don't think so.'

‘Yeah. Listen, I have to go back in …' I wonder if I'm meant to ask again and then I shake it off. I could turn myself inside out with all these conflicting emotions. I stand there longer than feels natural but I can't seem to leave.
Should I say something? What's the etiquette here? Where's the instruction manual for dummies? How do you convince the brother your mother
abandoned that you should be friends? How does that sentence even begin?

‘Frankie! Are you okay?' Dad is standing in the hospital doorway, taking in the scene.

‘Dad.' I step towards him, but he moves past me, heading straight for Colin.

I wait nervously, those purposeful strides so loaded with the frustration and hurt of the past weeks, the distance between my dad and the only woman he says he knows how to love – the love of his life.

Colin holds his ground, tilting his chin just a little higher, determination mixed with a faint trace of uncertainty. That chin tilt that belongs to his birth mother. My mother. Dad's wife.

‘Colin,' Dad says when he's standing between us, barely an arm's length away from the very person whose photos changed our lives forever. But instead of the anger I expect to see, Dad holds out his hand to shake Colin's. There are several uncomfortable seconds when Colin just stares at him, and then he reaches out his hand too, and they grasp firmly, if a little grimly. ‘It's good to meet you, Colin,' Dad says carefully.

Colin nods sharply but doesn't speak. I've noticed that Colin often doesn't have words. I guess in this way he's nothing like his mother. And yet there's something to be said for it. A certain grace, a spirit, both admirable and a little heartbreaking, in his silence.

‘Are you coming in?' Dad says eventually.

Colin looks at us and I see a flicker of indecision. Then he smiles faintly and shakes his head. ‘No …' We wait for what seems like an explanation but he just shakes his head again and says, ‘Sorry.'

Before either of us can object, Mum appears behind Dad, carrying a coffee. Colin's expression is so shocked that I worry he'll turn and run.

Mum looks fragile standing there. There's no sign of the Premier now. Only my mum, though she could be any mum worried about her kid. She's shaking so hard her coffee splashes and spills over her hand, but she doesn't register the pain, just stares at it dumbly. She sets the cup down on the seat by the entrance, then unsteadily straightens and faces Colin. She doesn't say his name. She simply says, ‘He's this way.'

And, like a ghost, Colin follows her. We follow too and wait outside Luke's room, watching through the window as Mum goes to Luke, taking her place beside him as though she's been doing this for years, not hours. She leans over and kisses him gently and whispers in his ear, but he's asleep and gives no suggestion that he can hear her. He looks shattered, even as he sleeps, but his cheeks have faded to a more recognisable pale, splotchy in bits where his blood is still finding its way to his face.

Colin hangs back, unable to cross the threshold into Luke's room, but when Mum comes out again and stands
beside him, he leans towards the window and rests his head against the glass. I don't move. I don't dare move. I watch in awe as Mum reaches out to touch Colin's arm. And holds it. That's all. Just rests it there on his sleeve. Colin twitches, the tiniest movement, then his shoulders sag and his edges seem to soften.

‘I'm sorry,' she says, those strong, kind eyes liquid with unshed tears.

Colin straightens. There's the finest tremor in his arm as though it's buckling under the weight of Mum's hand. He looks at Luke. ‘Will he be all right?'

‘Yes. He will.'

He stands there a long moment – we all do. I notice Gran waiting in the corridor, watching us, holding back for once.

And then Colin Leith, the brother I didn't know I had, the son Mum gave up at birth, the grandson Gran thought would change Mum's life forever, turns on his heel and leaves.