The words came from her lips, just like any other ordinary words.
‘I have some very bad news for you, Sunny. Your mother has been involved in a car accident. I’m so sorry. They did their best for her, but she died at the scene.’
The words didn’t have any meaning. They didn’t make sense at all. Your brain can’t process words like that, at least, not straightaway. Sometimes I still don’t believe them. How can someone just be there one minute and the next they don’t exist?
Kevin got me from school and we went back to Kelly’s Crossing to make arrangements. I didn’t get to see Mum. I always wished I’d said something about that, because I think seeing her would have helped me understand that change, from here to gone. But at the time I was catatonic with sadness. And those three days before the funeral, waiting in that oddly empty house, were the worst days, hours, minutes and seconds of my life.
They’d tried to talk to me, Kevin and his mum, but I didn’t talk back. My heart was broken and couldn’t be repaired. That’s when Kevin got Mr Greenwood, the counsellor, on board. Poor old Greenwood; he meant well.
The phone continued to ring so I jumped out of bed thinking Kevin wasn’t going to answer it. I needed to stop that ringing, that persistent, lonely alarm. But he beat me to it, flicking the light on and lifting the receiver just as I made my way out of my door toward the kitchen.
‘Hello.’ His voice was croaky with sleep and he scratched his bum through crumpled boxers.
‘Oh … yes, I was, it’s okay.’ Whoever he was talking to was familiar to him, you could hear it in the tone of his voice, but I also sensed his irritation. I stayed in the hallway, leaning against the wall, doing my best to glean what I could from the one-sided conversation.
‘It’s nothing, no … it’s got nothing to do with me … he just took off … no, they’re still looking.’
From that I determined that indeed no-one had died, at least no-one new, and they were talking about Dylan. I peered through the doorway, watching Kevin’s broad shoulders tense as he leant against the bench, head forward, propped up by one arm.
‘Because there was no need to tell you,’ he continued. ‘No, I don’t want a lawyer … there’s no need.’ Kevin stood up straight and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘We’re okay. You don’t need to come, Mum.’
When I heard him say her name I suddenly felt like an intruder, and went quietly back into my room. I’d only met Kevin’s mother twice: once at Mum and Kevin’s wedding, a quick ceremony in a park in Dawson, and the time she came here before the funeral. The main thing that struck me about Margaret was her capacity to dress well. In the short time I knew her that had become her most memorable feature.
She’d worn a cream tailored skirt and jacket to the wedding three years earlier – I’m sure she’d disapproved of Mum’s white muslin hippy frock with matching band of baby’s breath around her head. And to Mum’s funeral, she’d worn a black tailored skirt and jacket. She and her husband, Malcolm, had turned up to both events in their shiny black BMW. She hadn’t said a lot to me. I guess Margaret was one of those people who didn’t know what to say to teenagers.
The morning of the funeral Kevin had knocked on my door.
‘I bought this for you to wear today, Sunny.’ He’d held up a black dress.
‘Thanks.’ The dress had felt heavy and expensive.
But I’d ended up wearing a blue flowery one I’d already picked out. Kevin didn’t even seem to notice when I came out of the bedroom wearing it, but I swear I saw a flicker of annoyance cross Margaret’s face. I guess she’d helped him pick it out. I didn’t care. Mum had bought me the blue flowery dress and I knew she would’ve preferred that to the black one. I was going to apologise, but when I saw that darkness cross Margaret’s face, I’d decided not to bother. I didn’t have the energy.
I went back to bed with my mind freshly awake and ticking over. Insomnia was leaning up on his elbow, wanting to know what was going on. He had a temporary advantage thanks to the phone call and, as usual, I flipped over and over on the bed but no position was comfortable. Occasionally random thoughts took my hand and began to lead me away to sleep only to cruelly yank me back to reality on a whim.
Afterwards in the bleak early hours of the morning, I could have sworn I heard crying coming from Mum and Kevin’s room. I rolled over and covered my head with my pillow, trying to block out the mournful sound. This was not life. This wasn’t living. And it sounds strange, but at times like this I envied my mother.
All I needed was word from my dad and I would leave. I had already checked the bus schedules. The bus that would take me to Dawson was due to depart at eight on the night of the Christmas Hop. The connecting bus to Brisbane left that night at eleven and took twenty hours. I’d be there the next night. Half of me knew leaving was wrong, and then there was Matt – I didn’t want to think about that – but the other half couldn’t bear Kelly’s Crossing a moment longer. With Mum gone my life had unravelled like a pulled seam and I was desperately trying to hold the pieces
