Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Mick
I never thought I’d be living with my parents at forty. But here I am.
Dad dozes in his chair while the news screens on the television—another shooting overseas, an avalanche in Europe, protestors clogging the streets of Melbourne. Nothing but despair. I stare at the open book in my hands. It’s the latest thriller—more senseless violence packaged up as entertainment.
Mum is on the phone. I hear snatches of the conversation.
“He’s not eating much … Jules … give it time.”
No prizes for guessing she’s talking about me to one of her friends. It’s been three days since my wife kicked me out and it feels like three months.
I return to the story in front of me. Reading should take my mind off missing my wife and daughter. Missing Zola’s antics. Except it doesn’t. The words blur, and a tear plops onto the page.
I close the book. Jules has often remarked that my parents’ house is gloomy. I’d never noticed until now. She’s right. Shadows linger in the corners of the room like malevolent creatures waiting to drag you into their lair. And light from the lamp flickers across the walls as if preparing to battle them. The Grandfather clock ticks.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
It’s suffocating. A walk is what I need to pull me out of this bizarre mood. I stand and swivel towards the door. The air thickens, and everything slows—my movements, the vision on the TV, my father’s snoring.
I grip the back of the chair. Try to breathe, but it’s like oxygen has been stripped from the air and I can’t get enough.
What if I don’t wake up tomorrow? What if I have a heart attack during the night? I fumble for my phone and pull up Jules’ number, but what do I say? I’ve already told her I love her. She said it’s not enough. I text three hearts, one for each of my girls, and pocket the mobile.
Mum walks in from the kitchen, her brows pinched together. “Darling, are you okay? You’re very pale.”
I kiss Dad on the forehead. He mumbles something in his sleep and resumes snoring. I shuffle towards my mother. Exhaustion nips at my eyes. Maybe an early night would be better than a walk. “I’m off to bed.”
Her eyes widen like I’ve suggested we crank up the stereo and invite a bunch of teenagers to party. “But it’s seven o’clock.”
“I’m tired.” I avoid her gaze and peck her on the cheek. Pull her in for a hug. “Can you check on me later? Make sure I’m still alive?”
My mother gasps. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“No, I just feel strange.”
“Stephen,” Mum yells at Dad and shakes him.
“What?” He splutters and sits up straighter.
“Something’s wrong with Michael.”
My father bolts out of the chair faster than his arthritis should let him.
“I’m fine, Dad. ”
I’m not fine. Nothing seems real. It’s as though I’m trapped inside a vacuum where time and space don’t exist. Except for my heart, which beats at a sickening pace in my chest and echoes with the finality of a doomsday bell in my head.
My father doesn’t accept my answer, and for the next few minutes, he subjects me to a blood pressure and pulse test and even checks my temperature.
Mum hovers over us. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I can’t be sure, but it could be a heart attack. Can you call an ambulance?”
“Noooo.” My mother covers her mouth and sobs as she picks up the landline.
I wave my father away. “Dad, I’m fine.”
He shows surprising strength, gripping my hands in his and prising the clammy fingers apart. I hadn’t realised I’d clenched them into fists. “You’re not fine. It’s probably stress, but we’re not taking any chances. The hospital can run checks to be sure.”
“I just need to sleep.”
He tsks me. “Who’s the doctor here?”
I snort. “You were an orthopaedic surgeon.”
“It might be a few decades since I graduated from medical school, but I still remember the basics.” He rubs my back. “How about taking a few deep breaths? It’ll help calm you while we wait for the paramedics.”
Four hours later, the hospital declares my heart to be healthy and I’m tucked up in bed with a hot chocolate, including a marshmallow, like I’m five years old again. All the tests and focused breathing have done nothing for the sense of doom consuming me, but the colour has returned to my face, or so my parents tell me. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. Pray I wake up in the morning and this nightmare is over.