The gifted son, p.8
The Gifted Son, page 8
She rolled the crystal glass in her manicured hand and swore that she would make it up to him. She would show her mother that she was wrong to doubt her, and she would be the person her brother had imagined her to be when he’d sent her the message telling her she deserved her good things.
She’d been his protector when he was little, but somewhere she’d lost her way. Now he needed her more than ever, and this time she would not fail him.
Chapter 8
Jamie
It was odd to wake up in a room that strangers rushed through like a bus station during peak hour. Visitors. Orderlies. Nurses. All in a hurry. The doctors were the worst. They talked across Jamie like he wasn’t there. His bedroom was their workplace and his injuries were items on their to-do lists. Every now and then Dr Ling would ask him questions: ‘Any pain overnight?’ ‘Any sensation?’ It was like a pop quiz, and Jamie wanted to do well. He hoped his answer would make the doctor smile, tuck his hands behind his back and say, ‘That’s an excellent sign. That’s just what we want to see.’ But the officious doctor was always wordless when he noted Jamie’s response. He was standing beside the bed now, peering at Jamie through gold-rimmed bifocals, asking how he felt today.
‘The same really,’ was all Jamie could say.
Dr Ling said something inaudible to the two younger doctors who were shadowing him. Jamie wanted to ask, ‘How bad is it? What’s going to happen?’ But before he could speak, they turned and left and his mother rushed in, like an understudy who’d been waiting in the wings.
‘Can I get you anything, darling?’ she asked, straightening his bedsheet and topping up his water cup.
‘Have they told you anything else about my injuries?’ he asked, annoyed he’d wasted his chance to question the doctor directly. His mother turned her back to him and started fussing with something out of his line of sight.
‘I expect they’re still trying to figure it out themselves,’ she said.
Whenever Jamie asked his parents or nurses what was wrong with him they fobbed him off with ‘we’ll see’ and ‘we’ll know more when we’ve done more tests’. So far he had resisted pushing for more information because he was afraid of what he might learn.
He was haunted by the nurse’s comment about his spine. Whenever he thought about it panic would rise in him like a fever. He’d calm himself by opening and shutting his good hand, which worked fine. It was major surgery, he’d tell himself. Of course you don’t feel normal. They cut you open like a frog in a biology class. Just wait.
The skin under his cast itched. Noticing he was clenching his hand, his mother asked if he needed anything. Jamie looked into her eyes which were creased with concern. The words were on the tip of his tongue: How bad is the damage to my spine? What’s going to happen to me?
‘Mum?’
‘Yes darling?’
He steeled himself to ask. Then he faltered, afraid. ‘Umm, do you have my phone?’
Lillian’s face softened. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said, apologetic. ‘The police only found this.’ She took his wallet from a drawer in the metal cabinet next to his bed.
‘But didn’t someone pick it up? What about Jez?’
‘I’m sorry, darling. It must have been dropped or lost when the paramedics came. At least you didn’t lose your wallet.’
‘There’s nothing important in there anyway,’ Jamie said, dejected.
His mother raised a brow and ripped open the Velcro strip. ‘Library card. Opal card … Jamie!’ She slid out his fake ID. ‘Twenty-two are we, Joseph Capshaw? Nobody’s actually fallen for this have they?’ she teased.
Jamie tried to smile but the loss of his phone was a blow—he wanted to google some of the things he’d heard the doctors say.
‘What’s this?’ His mother was pulling out something else. A white card. Jamie didn’t recognise it. Lillian read: ‘Cal Wallace. Partner. Probate and Family Law.’
‘I’m not sure.’
Lillian handed it to him. As he touched the card an image flashed in his mind: Mr Hoover had given it to him in the gym. He remembered the smell of the fresh paint and the feeling of opportunity the card conferred. Other memories followed: Ryan West pointing a paint gun at him, running towards a busy road, the thick taste of iron and salt, an eerie, starlit sports field. Swirling colours in the sky. An unearthly game of chess. And something almost warm-blooded. The sense of two people. Two shadows. Two shades.
‘Jamie?’ Lillian was leaning over him with a concerned look on her face. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yeah. Fine.’ He felt breathless suddenly. His mother was studying him.
‘Just a bit of pain.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Mum, remember when you said you knew something was wrong when I was injured?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did that feel like? I mean, how did you know?’
Lillian sat down next to his bed. ‘Well, it was a sense, I guess. A fear deep inside me that something wasn’t right, like an instinct telling me to act. It made me shiver. You know the saying, someone just walked over your grave?’
Jamie said he did and felt suddenly cold himself.
‘Well it was like that, as if the universe was trying to tell me you needed me. Call it a mother’s intuition.’ She adjusted his blanket. ‘Now, is there anything you’d like me to bring you from home?’
Jamie had planned for a summer of surfing but the only wave he was riding was made of opiates. He was hooked up to a pain-relief drip that he could administer himself, which he did liberally, because the pain whipped up fear and uncertainty about how extensive the damage was and why this had happened to him.
He’d perform tests on himself by squeezing each of his muscles. He started with his toes and worked up. It was a roll call of functionality. He tried wiggling them. Scrunching. Nothing. Next, he’d try to bend his knees, a frustratingly impossible exercise. He guessed at the prognosis. He knew what damaging that delicate bundle of cardinal nerves in his spine meant. He was opening and closing his good hand, grateful to see it responding to his brain’s commands, when there was a knock at the door.
‘Hey, mate,’ Jamie smiled. Jez looked sheepish and a little pale as if he’d been unwell himself. Michael and Ben from school trailed in after him, murmuring, ‘How’re you going?’ ‘Good to see you up.’ They hung back, away from the bed, as if the slightest atmospheric disturbance would damage Jamie further. ‘How’re you feeling?’ they asked.
‘Pretty strange. They put rods in my spine.’
‘We couldn’t believe it when Jez told us.’
‘We came to visit the day after it happened,’ Ben said. ‘But you were still out from the surgery.’
‘You’ll be alright though, won’t you? The technology’s got to be pretty good,’ Michael said.
‘Can you feel where they cut you open?’
‘Guys,’ Jamie said proudly, ‘you have to get some of these painkillers, they’re insane.’
Everyone laughed and relaxed after that, and talk turned to the other casualties from muck-up day—Corey Mason had fallen out a first-floor window and broken his arm—and how weird it was to be finished with school, until Jamie said, ‘Where’s Giesen?’
‘Adelaide. He went early. Got into a big fight with his dad,’ Jez said.
‘What’s he going to do about exams?’
‘He’s coming back. He’s going to stay with me.’
Jamie felt the sting of jealousy, which seemed ridiculous given what had happened. But he couldn’t help it. Mark would sleep on the air mattress in Jez’s bungalow and they’d stay up all night hunting zombies on Xbox. They might even go out exploring pubs. Jez had turned eighteen in April and was free to roam that adult world. Mark had hit the milestone in September but school had held them back. Now, no longer. Jamie was still a few days from turning eighteen. His birthday was the same day as the English exam, and when he’d first seen the schedule he had been annoyed that his big day would be spoiled by a three-hour test. Now he’d give anything to be able to walk into the school hall and spend his birthday morning writing essays.
‘We’ll just be studying,’ Jez said, as if sensing Jamie’s envy.
‘’Course,’ Jamie said, trying to sound unbothered. He didn’t want to be any more of an object of pity than he already was. ‘Hey, how good was my scam to get out of studying?’ he said.
Jez released an uneasy laugh. ‘Yeah.’
‘Exam prep’s almost worse than school,’ Ben said.
‘Yeah,’ Michael chimed in. ‘I thought we were free but these practice exams are a killer. Ms Larson’s running daily study sessions in the Year 12 maths room. Mum drops me off every morning.’
‘That’s because you’re such a dingus,’ Ben jabbed him in the ribs. ‘I don’t know why she’s bothering, all you’re ever going to need to know are the directions to Centrelink.’
‘At least Giesen isn’t there being a know-it-all,’ Michael said. ‘He’s such a freak.’
Jamie’s eyes went to Jez, expecting him to defend Mark. Instead, Jez bobbed his head and said nothing.
‘It’ll be over soon,’ Jez said earnestly. ‘Soon we’ll really be free, and then when you’re out of here, Hoges, we’ll start looking for a place to rent together.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Jamie said. But it seemed like an unlikely future.
After the guys were gone, Jamie gave himself a hit of morphine.
‘You’re going to sprain that finger if you don’t give it a rest,’ the nurse named Mary said cheerily as she wheeled in a tray of food. She gave him a wink as she moved the table over to Jamie’s bed so that it was over his chest. ‘Dinner is served. I bet you’ve been looking forward to this.’
The thought of swallowing food made his stomach turn.
‘I can’t eat,’ Jamie croaked.
‘Don’t you want to get better? You need nutrients to heal those bones.’
‘I’ll be sick,’ he protested.
The nurse gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Well it’s lucky you’re already in hospital then isn’t it?
‘Come on now. Just try a little bit,’ she said, removing the foil covering from his lunch. The inside was dappled with water droplets. The hospital kitchen had prepared white rice with an accompaniment of orange-brown puree. For dessert they’d provided a cup of jelly.
‘Wow,’ Jamie said flatly. ‘How did you get Gordon Ramsay to work in your kitchen?’
The nurse put her hands on her hips, an amused look on her face. ‘It’s not to your liking, my lord?’
‘Why would you think that?’ replied Jamie. ‘Gruel is my favourite food. Is this meal two Michelin stars or three?’ Mary tried to smother her smile. ‘You want to get better don’t you?’
Jamie sighed. But he found himself wanting to please this good-humoured nurse. He liked that she teased him. It made him feel a little like his old self again.
He picked up the plastic spoon in his good hand and took a desultory mouthful of the leather-coloured mush. His gag reflex sprang into action and he retched a little. Dismay crossed Mary’s face. He forced the sludge down, feeling it slide into his belly inch by slimy inch. She grinned proudly when he completed the swallow.
‘I know it’s not the nicest thing in the world, but it’s important you eat as much as you can,’ Mary said kindly.
Jamie nodded, but when he brought another spoonful to his mouth the odour made his throat close over.
‘I can’t,’ he said. The mush was starting to form a crust. Eating the whole meal suddenly seemed as impossible as throwing off his sheets and running a marathon.
‘Can’t I have some Macca’s from downstairs?’
‘Junk food?’ Mary said, in mock outrage.
‘Or some pasta? I’ll order Uber Eats. There must be some good Italian around here. I could murder some ravioli.’
‘Do you think this is the Grand Hyatt?’
Jamie pushed his plastic tray away. He and Jez would order lunch to school all the time. They weren’t supposed to, so they’d sneak out the back gate and have it delivered to one of the neighbouring houses then run to a clump of trees at the far corner of the sports field to eat it sitting cross-legged on the grass. A pang of loneliness hit him as he thought of Jez and Mark eating greasy Red Rooster in the bungalow in front of the cricket.
The nurse looked at the sludge. ‘You’re right. It doesn’t exactly stir the appetite. Why don’t you try the jelly? Just to get something into your system.’
‘Sugar and food dye is the new miracle cure is it?’ Jamie asked.
‘You’ll feel better if you eat. Don’t make me call that mother of yours in, or you’ll find yourself being hand-fed.’
Jamie smiled weakly and attempted to tear the lid from the jelly. The nurse grinned, victorious. ‘I thought that might motivate you.’ He was having trouble gripping the cup with his hand in the cast.
‘Let me help.’ As he passed the jelly to her, he noticed the plaster was covered in writing. Surprised, he rotated his arm to find messages scrawled all over the cast. There were names of people he didn’t remember seeing. Jez and Mark, but also Paddy, Drew, Michael and Ben. Only days earlier they’d been graffitiing each other’s school shirts with profane stick figures and boysy farewells: ‘Glad I won’t have to look at your ugly dial anymore.’ But seeing him injured had stripped away their machismo. ‘Get better soon mate,’ they wrote. ‘We missed you at the footy club trophy night.’ And: ‘If anyone can get through this it’s you.’ Jamie felt a rush of tenderness. He looked around him and, for the first time, realised there were flowers in vases and plants in coloured boxes on every available surface. There was a giant white Get-Well-Soon bear plonked in one of the chairs, which had a bunch of helium balloons tied to its arm.
‘They’re all rooting for you,’ Mary said, tilting the jelly cup towards him. Jamie grinned, misty-eyed, and picked up the spoon. He dug into the quivering dessert, took a large scoop and gulped it down.
‘There now,’ Mary said, satisfied.
Jamie went back for a second spoonful. The flowers and balloons in his peripheral vision stoked his resolve. He felt like they were urging him on, a cheery chorus of friendly geraniums and roses. It was the same feeling he’d had when Mr Hoover had announced Jamie’s election as school vice-captain at the start of the year. Everyone had clapped and whooped. He’d turned pink with pleasure as he walked to the front of the assembly, surrounded by cheering students.
As he got closer to the stage the Year 12 boys had started to pummel their feet against the floor, so that a great thundering noise filled the gym. Jamie had felt a welling of pride. Being elected vice-captain would open many doors, or so his father had told him when he was nominated.
As the principal pinned the gold badge to his lapel, Jamie glanced back at the boys to see Jez’s hand up, one thumb standing in salute, and Ben cupping his hands around his mouth to shout, ‘Good on ya, dickhead.’ Jamie couldn’t help but smile. But then he’d noticed the slow, reluctant clap from Mark.
Mary broke his reverie. ‘Another spoonful?’
He scooped out another glob of jelly and jammed it in his mouth. It was slimy and overly sweet but that was a small price to pay to inch along the road to recovery. He forced it down, then dug his spoon in for more. He wouldn’t be defeated by a cupful of jelly, and he wouldn’t be defeated by this injury either.
After Mary cleared away his tray he tried to sleep, but he felt like someone had hammered six-inch builder’s nails into his spine. He wanted morphine, but—as Mary had reminded him—he needed to be off intravenous drugs before they could move him to rehab. Now that he realised everyone was rooting for him, he had something to fight for. The button in his hand was connected to a plastic cord like those found on bedside lamps. But there was no lamp on his bedside table. Instead, there was a vase of lilies with long tapered petals dusted with yellow pollen. Jamie stretched his good hand towards the bouquet and flipped the card. He felt a surge of pleasure as he read the note penned in feminine cursive: ‘Dear Jamie. Get well soon. Tessa. Xx.’
His eyes focused on the Xs, each representing a kiss from the lips of the most intriguing girl he knew. He knocked the morphine button off the mattress so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for it for the rest of the day.
Chapter 9
Jez
The fierce morning sun pierced Jez’s flimsy maroon curtains like lasers. Groaning, he covered his face with his pillow and tried to block out the day. Jez hadn’t slept more than a few hours together since the fight. Dogged by his own thoughts, he lay awake at night, sweating into his sheets. There was a permanent lump in his throat, and he felt like one of those water balloons they’d hurled on muck-up day, with a very thin skin that threatened to burst at any moment.
The police had called the house twice and he had agreed to go down to the station on Tuesday morning to give a statement. But as the appointment had approached, he’d become more and more anxious, until he felt like he was going to vomit up his own guts. Whenever he pictured himself walking through the sliding glass doors and sitting down in a police interview room to dictate the fateful day’s events, his heart would beat faster and faster until he was a jittery mess. And so he cancelled.
He knew he couldn’t avoid the cops forever, he just wished he could somehow write down what he wanted them to know without having to look them in the eyes. He wanted to help, but when his mind flashed back to the violent afternoon, he felt shocked and scared.
The fight had been a blur. It had escalated fast and ended brutally. One hot minute of chaos. He couldn’t bear to think about what had happened to poor Jamie, but he fretted over the part he’d played in it too. Jez had been angry Ryan had split open his hand with a pellet, then shot up his car before racing off, and when Jez had found him, Jamie and Ryan were struggling against each other, tumbling and wrestling on the footpath. Ryan was stronger, and he was winning, so Jez had pulled him off and shoved him to the ground and seen that he’d landed badly, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.
