“Why do you think you’re crying so much, and I can hardly cry at all? Maybe it’s because…”Mum never really loved me, Coralie was going to say.
“I’m a massive poof?” Dan said, and (as the sun set dramatically around them) she found she couldn’t stop laughing.
She couldn’t remember her childhood before him. She could hardly remember it after. What if they’d been able to grow up together? How much better it might have been.
They didn’t have the air con on at night, just fans. Through the open windows, in their separate rooms, they could smell frangipani, hear geckos clicking, and the sea.
•••
As Darwin became more real,London seemed farther away. She woke to a long and funny email from Adam about how awful the election had been. Worst of all, Tom had won Eastbourne, and people on Twitter were saying they quite fancied him.
Coralie couldn’t reply. She didn’t want to write about what washappening, and not happening, in the hospital. Just like her mother, she didn’t want to think too much.
•••
Dan drove herto Chemist Warehouse at Casuarina.
“What kind does she like?” Coralie asked. “Adult nappies.”
“They’re called, like…I don’t know. Reliability Pants or Be Safes or something. Backups. Something like that.”
“She’s so discreet, isn’t she? Never a hint of what’s going on inside.”
“She’s just a tiny, tidy little bird.”
She bought four extra-large packs of Depends, enough for two weeks or more.
Dan watched as she threw them on the back seat. “Optimistic.”
There was a beep on Coralie’s phone. “Oh, it’s Mum.” She slid into the passenger seat and read out the message: “Cor, Palliative Care have called. A room is available. They’re moving me up this afternoon. C U soon.”
Dan got out of the car and slammed the door.
“Palliative Cor,” she couldn’t help joking to no one.
After five minutes, Dan came back with a pink face.
They drove back to the hospital in silence.
•••
Coralie busied herselfwrapping her mother’s flowers in pages of theNT News. There was a funny story about a juvenile crocodile that had gotten into Parap Pool. She took a photo of it. “I’m just sending this to Adam for Zora,” she narrated.
“Who?” her mother grunted, or perhaps “Why?”
“Zora? Adam’s daughter? My sort-of stepdaughter? I miss her so much.”
Her mother murmured something into the pillow.
“What’s that, Mum?”
“You’re not married,” her mother said. “She’s not your anything.”
“But,” Coralie said, her eyes filling with tears, “I do love her.”
“Easy to be lovey-dovey about someone else’s child,” her mother said. “Wait till you have one of your own.”
“What do you mean?” Coralie said. “Mum, what do you mean?”
