Gus lay listening in the dark. It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying over the rumble of Pete’s snore. He reached up from the mattress on the floor and gave his friend a jab. Pete turned over and lay with his face pressed into the pillow.
‘We can’t keep him, Kate,’ said Pete’s dad. ‘You know we can’t take him on. There’s not the money or the space for him here.’
Gus pulled his sleeping bag up to his chin. He bit his lip and looked out at the dark night outside the bedroom window. You’d think they were talking about a lost dog or something – not a kid they’d known since he was a baby.
‘It’s not like he’s family or anything.’
‘But he’s got nowhere else to go, Bob.’
‘Look, he’s a great kid, but if Annie doesn’t make it, we could be stuck with him forever.’
Gus wished Pete would start snoring again. He didn’t want to hear any more. He felt worse than a stray dog – more like a kicked mongrel.
Pete’s mum drove Gus to the hospital the next day. They didn’t talk much on the way there, but she seemed to know what he was thinking because she gave him a quick hug before he walked down the long corridor to his mum’s ward.
Gus sat on the end of the bed, waiting for her to wake up. He reached out and touched her chest lightly, just to be sure – to be sure she was still breathing. He could hear Bob Spanner’s voice echoing inside his head: ‘If she doesn’t make it…’
‘Mum,’ he whispered.
She shifted on the bed and slowly opened her eyes. Gus clenched his jaw and felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about. He knew he had to get his act together.
‘How are you doing, Gus?’
Gus thought of how he’d spent all afternoon in sick bay at school the day before. Most days he felt like he was sitting in the middle of a black cloud. Even in the hospital, where everything was so light and shining, he could feel the darkness inside of him.
‘Good,’ he answered.
‘Everything working out round at Pete’s?’
‘Yeah,’ he shrugged and looked out the window at the summer day and the long line of cars heading towards the city.
‘Gus,’ she said, his name a reproach.
‘They don’t want me there, Mum.’
‘It’s not you, honey. Kate came to see me this morning and we talked. It’s not their fault. It’s just the doctors say it could be a long while. I can’t help them with money either. They’ve been really good to do as much as they have.’
‘Yeah, I s’pose. But what’s gonna happen to me?’ he mumbled, picking at the edge of the blanket, pushing his fingers through the weave until it started to unravel.
‘I’ve written to your grandparents,’ she said.
‘Grandparents!’ He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘My mum and dad.’
‘But I thought they were dead! I thought it was just you and me – that’s what you’ve always said. Just us.’
‘I never said they were dead – I never said that – but it’s too hard to explain just now. They said you can stay with them until I’m back on my feet. I’ll come and get you again as soon as I’m strong enough, Gus. It won’t be for too long.’
‘How long?’
‘Maybe a month or two – maybe a bit more. But as soon as I can.’
Gus looked across at the lady in the bed opposite his mother’s. He’d been watching her get thinner and paler as the weeks went by.
He got up from his chair and pulled a few petals from the flower arrangement on her bedside table. His mum said nothing, just watched as he paced around the bed. He walked over to the window and pressed his face against the glass.
‘So where do they live, these grandparents?’
‘At the moment, Adelaide,’ said his mum.
‘What! You mean I’ll have to leave school and all my friends? And leave you here? Without me?’
‘Gus, there’s nothing else I can do. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. We’ll still keep in touch.
The circus is always easy to track down and you can write to me.’
‘A circus! What kind of a circus?’
‘Your grandparents run a bush circus – a travelling circus that goes from town to town – so they’re on the road most of the time. Don’t worry, you’ll fit in. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a clown,’ she said, forcing a smile.
Gus was hot and burning all over. He wanted to shout at her – he didn’t care how sick she was. She couldn’t send him away from Melbourne, to people he’d never even heard of before. He stood next to her bed, clenching his fists, ready to argue with her. Then he realised she was crying. He sat down and laid his head on the side of her bed.
‘It won’t be forever, Gus,’ she said.
She rested her small and frail hand on his head and he felt a black tide of fear swelling inside him. What if it was forever?