“No, you’re telling it fine. It’s like I’m hoping I’ll find a loophole. A flaw in the logic that will mean she isn’t sick.”
“Well, she’s sick, all right. It’s a disaster in there.”
“Can’t they just give her a bag? Forget the stomach, go round it.”
“You know she’d rather die.”
“God forbid her insides be visible from the outside.”
Dan gave a tired sigh. “Dr. Ainslie’s trying to persuade her. He says anything’s better than getting a blockage. But she’s running out of time. She’s getting weaker by the day, and the op itself could kill her.”
“So do nothing, which is bad. Or something—which is bad.”
“Yeah.” Dan glanced at her, pleased to be understood. “Two options, both bad. That’s why I sent you the message.”
“You did exactly the right thing.” When she closed her eyes, she could still see the psychedelic airport carpet from her layover in Singapore. The pattern twisted and danced. She tapped her phone to see the time. Nearly 8 a.m.
“What do you want to do first?” Dan said. “She’s got her own room, but we’re not allowed to visit this early.”
“What day is it?”
“Good question.” Dan paused for a while. “It’s Sunday.”
“Can we go to the market? I’m starving.”
He put the indicator on. “I suppose we can.”
“Just tell me one thing,” Coralie said. “Does Mum know I’m coming?”
“She does, yeah.”
“She knows it’s a real emergency?”
“She does.”
•••
During the week,Nightcliff’s small shopping precinct was home to a supermarket, a pawn shop, a betting shop, a payday lender, and a massage parlor that might or might not have been a sex one. But on Sundays, it transformed into a lush oasis with stalls for fresh fruit and vegetables, plants, bits of hippie junk, souvenirs made of or depicting crocodiles, boxes of cut mango with lime and papaya with chili, sugarcane juice (in fact, all kinds of juice), laksas, Vietnamese coffee, and crêpes. Coralie loved it.
“I had a massive crush on someone at the market,” she said as they parked the car.
“Is he bald? I knew it,” Dan said. “Well, he’s still there. His operation has expanded. Three burners now. Lots of staff. He just stands in the background, overseeing his empire.” And there he was, Ben of Ben’s Crêpes, looking perhaps more portly than he had fifteen years earlier, and with some unfortunate mirrored sunglasses. “Are you going to have one, a crêpe?”
“I’m such a mess. My body thinks it’s dinnertime. I’m getting a laksa. This is bad, but what I want most is a beer.”
“You know Darwin. There are no limits.”
They found seats at a communal table. It was the dry season. The weather would be perfect for months, thirty beautiful degrees a day. Men with giant beer bellies sauntered past in battered Akubra hats.Women screeched with laughter like birds, freckled shoulders shaking. His long limbs cool in tiny football shorts and a singlet, Dan sipped his watermelon juice like an elegant woodland creature. With her lank airplane hair and heavy winter clothes, Coralie felt haggard and gross. “It’s been cold in London since Halloween. It’s crazy to see people’s bodies,” she said. “Help, this beer’s gone to my head.”
“Did you sleep on the plane?”
“Not at all. God.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m so tired I thought I saw a snake on that man.”
Daniel turned around. “Thereisa snake on that man. It’s the Nightcliff Snake Man. Don’t you remember him? The Snake Man?”
“Jesus Christ.”
After a bit, she nodded toward the public bathroom. “Remember once I went in there? And there were green tree frogs in the toilet?”
