It was pitch dark when Ashley woke up, but she knew at once where she was. Dexter must be hungry, she thought. He must have made a noise to wake her.
She lay still, waiting to hear it again. The night was chilly — the fire in the wood stove must have burnt low and it was only early spring. For the first time since she’d arrived, she couldn’t hear rain falling on the roof.
In fact, it was strangely quiet. She couldn’t hear anything. She felt around for the torch, slid out of bed and flicked it on. The kitchen clock said 2.43.
Ashley felt a pang of worry. Dexter should have been calling out for food hours earlier. He hadn’t eaten, apart from the glucose and water, since sometime the previous night. From what Micky said, he should have been bouncing around his room, climbing the tree, eating leaves, playing and calling out for milk. But she hadn’t heard a thing.
She crept to the door of his room and put her ear against the wood. But on the other side was only silence.
Ashley realised she was shivering. What if something was wrong with Dexter? Micky had said to leave him alone if he didn’t make a noise, but surely she didn’t mean for this long? Maybe he wasn’t calling for food because he was alone and he didn’t know that someone was waiting to feed him. Or maybe he was in trouble.
She felt for the door handle and softly opened the door, making sure she kept the torch pointed towards the floor so she didn’t startle him with the light. The rest of the room was gloomy and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust as she scanned the branches of the stumpy dead tree fastened to a climbing frame that she and Micky had put up earlier. Where on earth had Dexter gone?
She stood on tiptoe to peer into the basket, which was hanging off one of the branches. She saw something furry inside, but realised it was only the teddy.
She looked up at the tree again, and then saw him. He’d wedged himself into a fork surrounded by leaves. He was slumped there, leaning on the branches, just staring blankly ahead.
There was something about the way he was sitting that made Ashley’s heart start to pound. It didn’t look natural. He wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t curled up, he wasn’t gripping the branch. It didn’t look like he’d touched any of the leaves that they had carefully chosen for him.
‘Oh, Dexter,’ she said.
He gave no sign that he’d heard her voice.
Ashley backed out of the room, then turned and ran up the stairs to her aunt’s bedroom, not caring how much racket she made. ‘Micky! Wake up!’
She accidentally flicked the torch beam right onto Micky’s face and her aunt flung up an arm.
‘Jeez, kid, watch the light,’ Micky grunted, and sat up. ‘What’s going on? Is it feed time?’
‘He’s not doing anything. He hasn’t eaten anything, he hasn’t called out for food, nothing. He’s just sitting there in the fork, staring.’
Micky sighed. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Just before three.’
‘Doesn’t sound too good. I suppose you want me to take a look?’ Micky got out of bed, put on her slippers and grabbed a dressing gown.
Ashley led the way down the stairs, chafing at Micky’s slow progress. But at last they reached the koala room and went inside.
Micky rubbed her eyes and then studied Dexter. ‘I don’t think there’s much we can do here, Ash.’
‘But you convinced him to drink before. Even when he wasn’t calling for food. Can’t you do that again?’
‘If he doesn’t want to drink, then he probably doesn’t want to live. It’s better to just let him go.’
Ashley shook her head. She wasn’t ready to do that. ‘His mother has only just died. He probably misses her. You said he can’t be near other koalas, but he can be near us. Why can’t we keep him company until he gets over her?’
Micky was silent for what felt like ages. At last she said, ‘All right, Ash. Looks like he’ll die otherwise, so we’ll try giving him some comfort. Get his blanket and teddy and sit down. I’m going to reach up and get him from the branch, and put him on your lap. You can give him a little scratch and let him feel the warmth of your body, while I get his formula ready. Then we’ll try convincing him to drink.’
Ashley gave her aunt a grateful look. ‘Thanks, Micky.’ She took the blanket and teddy out of the basket and sat down on the beanbag in the corner. Micky reached up and slowly lifted Dexter out of the fork. He barely moved as she turned around and lowered him onto Ashley’s lap. He was limp, but he still managed to sit. Micky offered him the teddy, but he ignored it.
‘Poor little thing,’ Micky murmured. She stood watching Dexter for a moment, then turned and went out of the room.
Ashley could hear Micky getting the feed ready in the kitchen. She looked down at Dexter herself and felt her eyes fill with tears. Perhaps it was true what Micky had said. He looked as though he’d lost all of his life force.
Ashley bit her lip to choke back tears and slowly lifted her hand. She found the little spot on the back of his neck that she’d scratched before and sank her fingers into Dexter’s fur. When she felt his skin, she started to rub it gently with her fingertips.
Dexter didn’t move. It was like scratching a toy koala, except that he was warm. Ashley couldn’t stop the tears falling as she kept going. It looked like he was going to die right there on her lap, and there was nothing she could do about it.
How do you show love to a koala? she wondered. It was easy with a dog. You could show a dog you loved it, and it returned the feeling; you understood each other. Even cats, though they were more aloof, knew you cared about them. At the very least, feeding an animal showed it that you cared. But if Dexter wouldn’t eat, what other way was there? How could you show a wild creature that you loved it?
She couldn’t force love on him, she realised. She couldn’t force him to eat, and she couldn’t force him to live.
The only thing she could do was sit still and be there with him. It was up to Dexter to accept comfort from her. Or not.