Hindsight Page 22

  Every part of me feels womanly, and it’s not just because of the dress. It’s because here men open doors for women, pull out chairs and even get out of their own seat when a lady leaves the table. What a shame most of this has gone by the wayside in my own lifetime. Bugger celebrity parties or campaign launches; this is the buzziest atmosphere imaginable.

  Numerous women come up and comment on my dress and ask where they can buy one. Pride swells in me like an over-inflated balloon as I reply, “My best friend made this for me. The dress is almost as beautiful as she is.”

  Everything is perfect. I am in the middle of a romance novel where the heroine is romanced to the point of unconsciousness by the hero. Then the big band in the corner starts playing and everyone takes to the floor. The music is loud but not deafening and everyone lets themselves go and dances like there’s no tomorrow.

  Dancing? Shit! I can’t dance. My feet have no rhythm and I haven’t drunk anywhere near enough to get any ‘groove’ going. Dance moves like these can’t be faked, it’s not freestyle or a bunch of drunken uni students swaying nauseously to modern dance music with a doof-doof beat. This is proper, choreographed dancing. Apparently my dancing skills are so good that I was an instructor, but how the hell am I going to fake this?

  Terror rises in time with the music as we approach the dance floor and increases exponentially the closer we get until my body freezes on the spot. Will this all unravel here and now? I’ve tried so hard to fit in and not arouse suspicion. I’ve cooked, cleaned, looked after kids, suffered through poo-fests and lunches with Chris’ family, and have gritted my modern, liberated teeth in an attempt not to tell Chris to go and get stuffed when he asks me to do “woman’s work”. And now, tonight, when my only wish is to be out with my husband in this fairytale dress, it will all come to a head and tomorrow I’ll wake up in the looney bin waffling on about time travel.

  “What’s wrong Jules? Have you forgotten how to dance since last year?” Chris laughs.

  My stomach and head spin together and my only response is a scary smile and feeble attempt at a giggle.

  “Come on, love, nothing to it. Your feet will remember, just give them a chance,” he says as he pulls me onto the dance floor and we are caught up in the huge swirl of couples moving in perfect unison with one another. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling as though I’m being swallowed by a storm on a raging sea, gasping for breath as my feet hit the floor and rebound off again, trying to keep my head above water. Moving together, our energies synchronise and the feeling of drowning disappears.

  My eyes open to see Chris smiling at me as we move effortlessly around the floor. It’s as though my legs are possessed by a magic beat that pulses through my entire body. I have no idea of what’s happening, or how it’s happening, but happening it is. I am Ginger Rogers and Chris is Fred Astaire and together we set the floor on fire. This is great! I feel so free, so exhilarated. My body has detached from my mind and is reveling in the sensation of dancing, of physical and mental freedom. Limbs of liquid, adrenaline surging through every cell. My feet are graceful, full of light, my arms floating like kites on a windy day. I haven’t stopped smiling the whole time.

  We dance for over five hours, only stopping when the band has a quick break. I’m having so much fun that I don’t want to stop, ever. This moment could last for an eternity and still not be long enough. We reluctantly leave the floor to return to our table for some desperately needed water. I’m so dry I could exhale sand.

  “See, I told you your feet would remember.”

  “Chris, why don’t we do this more often?”

  “Remember those three children we have at home? They sort of spoiled our social life.”

  “Maybe Gran could babysit a bit more often?”

  “Sure, but you can be the one to ask her. Come on, let’s get back to it. The band finishes soon.”

  We take our place back on the dance floor and continue to dance the night away. Girlish excitement is a drug and every part of me is overdosing.

  At half past midnight the band plays its last song, a slow one. Chris’s body heat wraps around me as I nuzzle into his shoulder, feeling his heart beating against my breast, his lean legs pressing against my hips and the strong hands of my tradesman husband holding my waist with such tenderness and warmth, my next desire is to get this man home and into bed.

  Once inside our front door he slowly unzips my dress and lowers it down past my hips while kissing and running his tongue over my throat and ear lobes. The journey home was extremely long, for a five-minute taxi ride, because my mind was filled with everything I want to do to him. It feels as exciting as the first days of our relationship, where butterflies overtook me each time we met. That giddiness that goes along with a new love. But this is not a new love. This is even better.

  I loosen Chris’ tie and unbutton his shirt to expose his muscular chest and arms, the sight of which makes every part of my body hypersensitive; everything is zinging with excitement, anticipation, heat. The touch of his bare skin against mine is almost unbearable. The desire to wrap my legs around his hips and bring him into me is almost as strong as the desire to slow down and enjoy every single second of this precious moment in time. But there’s no hurry, we’ve got all night.

  We giggle like teenagers, finally able to make as much noise as we want because there are no children in the house. After years of a sad sex-life in my own time, I had forgotten how exhilarating it is to have loud, crazy sex, the kind we used to have prior to Ethan. We even re-christen the lounge room and kitchen, as well as the shower and laundry. It’s lucky the kids aren’t home until after lunch, because we will both be exhausted.

  Chapter 20

  Sunday of the following week is Will’s big footy game. The scouts from all the private schools will be out searching for their new star recruit, the coveted prize being a two-year scholarship that will lead to matriculation, and then to university.

  We all drive down to the ground in Uncle Din’s car, Ethan sitting on Chris’s knee in the back and Cal on mine. The suspension hasn’t improved since Easter and with a nervous bladder, it feels as though I might pee myself at any moment. Chris’s family is already there, except Doug, who is in hospital with an infection. Shame. Lily, Rosie and John get a lift with Rob and Lorena.

  “Are you ready, big guy?” I ask Will before he disappears into the club house to warm up.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be Mum.”

  Everyone wishes him luck and there are many hugs and manly slaps on the back from Uncle Din, Rob, Stavros and Chris.

  “Now remember Will, just relax and let your magic happen,” I say.

  “I know Mum, thanks.”

  “So you just go out there and do your best, try to relax.”

  “Yes Mum,” he nods.

  “And remember…”

  “Mum, I appreciate what you’re saying, but really, you’re not helping at the moment,” he shrugs.

  “No, sorry.” The gymnastics taking place in my stomach are of Olympic standard.

  “It’s going to be alright, Mum, really,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving me his best smile.

  “You know, I’m meant to be comforting you, not the other way around,” I say.

  “Yes, but you were doing a lousy job of it, and you seemed in need of comfort yourself,” he laughs.

  He turns to leave and walks toward the clubrooms.

  “Will?”

  He stops and turns around to me, “Muuuuum, I’ve got to go…”

  Suddenly I launch at him and wrap my arms around his chest like a rag doll. “I love you and no matter what, I couldn’t be prouder.”

  His arms fold around me and then he heads off as my stomach’s flips and somersaults continue, resulting in me finding the nearest ladies room to throw up. God, when did my nerves get so bad?

  The game is thrilling, even more exciting than any of Will’s other games. He plays full forward, so he kicks the goals, and kick h
e does. At half-time his team, Collingwood, is in front by five goals, all kicked by Will.

  The start of the second half sees the competitors, Richmond, come back with a vengeance. The game is nail-bitingly exciting, in fact my nails have been chewed down to my elbows. Having to run off to the loo every thirty minutes to either vomit or pee, or both, my need for sedation increases toward the end of the third quarter when the scores are nearly even.

  Everyone is into it, dressed in black and white stripes; even Sylvia, who has come back to life in Doug’s absence, waves her scarf around like a pole dancer. Yelling and screaming, barracking until we lose our voices, arms flailing wildly in celebration of another goal, we are on a multi-climatic rollercoaster.

  Then, the unthinkable happens, Will is tackled and brought to the ground by the opposition in a bone-crunching splat. CRACK! It sounds as though a thick branch has snapped in half. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the pile of boys as the crowd goes silent. The three boys piled on top of him gradually climb off, one nursing a bloody nose and the other holding his wrist in agony. But Will doesn’t move, his limp body spread on the ground, facedown in the mud.

  My heart explodes as I fly over the small rail and sprint towards him, Chris, Rob and Stavros in front of me.

  “Wiiillll…Willlll… Wiiiillllllll…” I scream as my legs carry me faster than I thought humanly possible.

  Chris and Rob make it there first, along with the coach and captain of the team. No one is touching Will for fear of exacerbating his injury.

  My screams continue until I am a crumpled heap beside my boy. Frantic, my hands shake as though an earthquake is taking place within them.

  “Someone do something! Please, help my boy,” I cry.

  Voices float and echo around me, as though at the end of a long tunnel, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. The stand-by ambulance officers sprint over and roll Will into recovery position. From there it is obvious that his nose is broken, as it streams with blood and his eyes are rolled back in his head, the whites clearly visible. Stavros helps me to my feet while Lily and Gran hold me up on both sides, assuring me that he is going to be alright, but my soul is aching so hard that I don’t believe them.

  Gently, the ambulance officers apply a neck brace and roll him onto the stretcher. It is then that his injury is on display: a bone protruding through his skin just above the elbow, snapped in half like a jagged twig.

  Chris, Stav, Rob and the ambulance officers carry Will off the ground and into the back of the ambulance. I follow, silent, too shocked to speak. Chris holds me tight.

  “It’s going to be alright Jules. OK? Our son is going to be fine, I promise,” he says, and he races off into the ambulance with Will.

  “They’re going to St V’s, I take you there now Juliette,” Stavros says as Gran and Lily lead me towards his car.

  My only response is to nod and do as instructed. Other than that my body is not capable of much.

  My beautiful, beautiful boy. My Dr.Will. Is he going to be OK? Will he lose his chance of a scholarship now? Did the footy scouts see enough? Will this be the end of his dream? No, please, please. No.

  We reach the emergency department and are directed to the waiting area. Chris is sitting down holding his head as though it is aching, elbows on his knees.

  “Chris, what’s happening? Is he OK?” I ask, crying.

  He stands up. “Yes, love. He’s alright. They’re with him now.”

  “He’s regained consciousness, then?” I ask.

  Chris pauses. “No, not yet. He’s still out.”

  Like a dam wall, emotion bursts out and there’s no stopping it. Blubbering, my words are indecipherable. No one can understand me. Chris holds me tight and keeps repeating, over and over, that everything will be alright, like a meditation mantra.

  Lily is next to me, rubbing my back, wiping tears away from her face. Eventually, my legs are tired and we sit down, Lily on one side of me, clenching my hand in hers, and Chris on the other, his arm around me, keeping me warm.

  “The kids! Ethan and Cal! I left them at the ground…” I gasp.

  “No, it’s OK, lovey, Aunty Maeve took the boys home with her. They’re being looked after, it’s OK,” Lily smiles.

  “What about John and Rosie?”

  “They’re with Aunty Maeve too, probably being fed lots of cake and scones.”

  We sit in silence, until Gran arrives with Rob and Sylvia, who rushes off to make everyone a cup of strong tea. It hits the spot and gives me some resilience. Chris rearranges the chairs so that we are all huddled together, Gran and Sylvia sitting opposite me. It’s a family cocoon, these people gathering around me to protect and keep me strong.

  From Dash’s nursing experience, I know that the fact he hasn’t regained consciousness is not good. Brain injuries are complicated, but this is 1961 and they don’t have CAT scans or MRI’s, so how are they going to know what’s wrong?

  Finally, after three hours of waiting, a doctor approaches our group, “Mr and Mrs Taylor?” he asks.

  We spring to our feet together. “Yes, how’s Will? Is there any news?” Chris asks as he holds my hand tightly.

  “I’m Dr. Worthington. I’ve been treating Will since his arrival…”

  “Has he regained consciousness yet?” I interrupt, not being able to hold back any longer.

  “Perhaps we should go into another room,” he looks around the group, “where we can talk privately?”

  “No, this is our family,” I say, “We’d prefer to remain here, if that’s OK?”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs Taylor.” The doctor motions for everyone to sit down again.

  “Will has sustained multiple injuries,” he starts. The sound of my heart pounding almost drowns out his voice. “Firstly, his nose is broken, but we have reset that and it will heal in around five weeks. Secondly, he sustained a compound fracture of the humerus, which has been dressed, reset and put into a plaster cast. He will require antibiotics for the next week or two to treat any infection within the bone. It’s a nasty break and may take up to ten weeks to heal.”

  “A bone infection, isn’t that bad?” I ask.

  “We aren’t sure that he has one, Mrs Taylor. But because the bone was exposed there is an increased risk of infection. We are administering antibiotics just to be on the safe side.”

  Chris nods, as does Gran.

  “Lastly, and most importantly, Will has suffered a head injury. The significance of which I cannot tell you as yet because he hasn’t regained consciousness.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” I ask, too scared to hear his answer.

  Dr. Worthington exhales loudly, “It can be either a good or a bad thing, depending on the extent of the damage.”

  “Damage? Like brain damage? Are you saying that he’s suffered brain damage?” My earthquake hands return. Chris holds them even tighter.

  “It’s a possibility. I have to be honest with you. Unfortunately, we won’t know until he regains consciousness, but the next 24 hours are crucial.”

  Chris and I cling to each other as I bury my head in his chest and let out huge sobs. The energy has left my legs and if it weren’t for his strength, I would fall to the ground.

  Chapter 21

  Ten minutes later Chris and I are led into Will’s room, the quietest room I have ever been in. Will seems to have shrunk, his lanky limbs barely making a bump in the bed.

  “Just a quick visit, Mrs Taylor,” the nurse says. “Your Will needs his rest.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you. Am I allowed to hold his hand?” I ask.

  “Certainly. Even though he’s unconscious, I am of the belief that he can hear and feel everything. It will bring him comfort to know you are here,” she smiles warmly.

  I tip-toe over to his bedside, his long fingers stretched out next to his thigh, and reach out and take his hand in mine.

  “He’s warm,” I whisper to Chris. “Thank God, he’s warm.”

  Chris is on the other side of t
he bed, holding Will’s hand in his as if to impart all his strength to his son. That’s what we’d do, isn’t it? Give our own life for the life of our children?

  “Hey, big guy. Mum’s here, babe.” Determined not to cry in front of Will and let him know how upset I am, my PR face makes an appearance, giving me something to hide behind. “You played a fantastic game today, star of the match. The scouts were very impressed with your performance. They’ll all be fighting over you now.” Which is not true, I have no idea what the scouts thought, but right now I’d say anything to encourage Will to wake up.

  There is no movement. He just lies there, breathing in and out, in and out. The rise and fall of his chest under the sheet is hypnotic; I want to sit here and watch it all night, just to make sure it keeps rising and falling, rising and falling.

  “The coach said it was your best game this year, so that’s great news. Everyone is downstairs in the waiting room. Gran, Aunty Lily, Gran, Sylvia, Uncle Rob, Uncle Stav. They all wanted to come up and see you, but the doctor said they’d have to wait until you…wake up.”

  The PR face is slipping. Chris is grey, his eyes filled with tears as he stares intently at his boy.

  “So, about you waking up. If you could do it soon that would be great. You know, if you’re ready to that is. If you’re tired then that’s OK, we understand. I promise not to make you eat any of my cooking. But…” My voice breaks.

  “Mrs and Mr Taylor, it’s time. Will needs peace and quiet now,” the nurse says quietly.

  Chris bends down and kisses Will’s forehead, a tear falling and sploshing on Will’s skin. Like some fairytale, I expect Will to wake up and smile, but he doesn’t. Chris wipes the remaining tears away and takes his position behind me, his hand sitting on my shoulder, while I linger as long as possible, too afraid to let go of Will’s hand in case…

  “Mrs Taylor, it’s alright. I’ll look after him tonight. You can come back tomorrow, all day if you like,” the nurse nods, prompting me to vacate the room.