‘Mummy!’
Vince sat bolt upright, dragged from a dream.
‘Where are you, Mummy?’
‘Coming, Susie. Oh. Shit. Melanie.’ He rolled out of bed, reaching for a dressing gown which didn’t want to be worn. His arm went through the wrong hole, and he had to start over.
‘Mummy! Daddy!’
Melanie was standing on her bed, tears streaming down her face. Vince put on the light. Arm outstretched, she pointed at him and shouted, ‘I want to go home. I want them back.’
‘Melly…’
Her face crumbled into despair, and she plonked onto her bottom. He sat beside her, at a loss. Nothing he could do or say made this better.
‘I don’t want them dead,’ she said with a whimper.
‘I know, sweetie. I don’t want them dead either.’
She threw herself into his arms and for the longest time he let her cry, rocking them both and stroking her hair. His heart was empty. Stone cold.
The sobs turned into sniffles.
‘Hang on. Let me reach for a tissue.’ He got some from the bedside table and she let him dab at the tears before taking over and blowing her nose.
‘Where’s Raymond?’ she asked.
‘Who’s Raymond?’
‘Raymond Bear. He always sleeps in the bed with me.’
The teddy in your old bedroom? Why didn’t I bring him instead of leaving him on your other bed? Idiot.
‘I’ll find him in the morning. Okay?’
‘But…’ she put her hand over her mouth as her eyes glistened again.
‘Hang on, Mel. I have an idea if you can give me a minute? Jump back into bed and I’ll see if I have a stand in for tonight.’
She climbed in and he tuned on the lamp.
On his way out, he switched the main light off.
In the hall closet he dug around in the furthest corner, extricating a dusty old box. Under the lid was a worn, pink teddy bear resting on photo albums and papers and memorabilia. He left the box and took the teddy to Mel’s room. She half-sat up, her eyes curious.
‘This is Topsy, and she’s been in a box in the cupboard for a long time. I think she needs a lot of cuddles.’
Melanie took the bear and scrutinised it, turning it around. ‘Was this your bear?’
‘Topsy belonged to your mum.’
Her mouth formed an ‘o’ and she looked from the bear to Vince and back again. Was the truth too much? He could have lied about it but lying didn’t help anyone.
‘Do you think Topsy could be a stand-in for Raymond Bear tonight?’
Melanie slid back into bed, clutching the teddy against her. The tears might be gone, but how her little heart must be aching. Vince pulled the blankets higher and straightened them.
‘I’ll sit here for a bit if that’s okay?’
With the smallest of nods, Melanie squeezed her eyes shut.
He’d forgotten this. The middle of the night tears and panic. Susie waking and calling for her mother. Nights he’d sat here hating himself over and over for not getting home in time that day to save Marion’s life. Or at least save Susie from seeing her die.
And then he’d sing to Susie. It always calmed her and sometimes it calmed him too.
‘The moon is watching…’ he began, as softly as he could. ‘The stars are dancing…’
Melanie’s eyes opened a bit.
‘And way up high someone special is thinking of you…’
I can’t believe I remember the words.
‘They love you always… you are their precious gift…’
Mel’s hand reached out for his and she gave him a faint smile.
‘And the moon and the stars are adoring you, too…’
She’d drifted off to sleep and he’d kissed her forehead.
He found himself in the living room. He’d collected the box from the cupboard and didn’t know what to do with it so dropped it onto the sofa. His heart wasn’t empty or cold now. It thudded heavily as he tried to force the terrible sadness down. It was the same nightmare all over again.
They’d got through it, him and Susie.
I can’t do this again.
He stared at the bench he used for wood carving. The bird was there where he’d left it, the one he’d cut too deeply with the arrival of the police. He picked it up and with a quick motion snapped the neck and tossed the pieces into a waste bin beneath the bench.
At the back of the bench was a finished carving of an exquisite lyrebird, its tail curved upwards, and every feather perfectly defined. Vince grabbed it, held it over the bin.
Then he drew in a shuddering breath and carried it to the mantlepiece. Between photographs and other birds, he found a space for it.
His legs shook. There was a roaring in his ears.
Picking up the photograph of him with Susie and Marion, he held it against his chest and stumbled to the sofa. He rocked back and forth as he stared at the image of his daughter and wife.
Tears welled in his eyes until they spilled over, running down his cheeks as he reached into the box and pulled out a baby book. On the first page was Marion, heavily pregnant with a radiant smile competing with a mild expression of panic.
On the next page was newly arrived Susie. Susan Marie.
A pink teddy bear was in the corner of the crib.
Page after page of memories.
A lock of Susie’s hair.
Images of her crawling, then walking.
Her first word. ‘Dad-da.’
Vince closed it abruptly and wiped the tears from his face.
Framed in dark timber was their marriage certificate. Vincent John Carter and Marion Leigh McLean. His finger traced Marion’s signature. It had never changed over the years, the way she wrote so neatly, unlike his messy scrawl.
There were a handful of letters Marion had kept when they’d been engaged and he’d had to be away for weeks at a time. Both to and from her and one day he’d read them again, but he didn’t have the courage yet.
At the bottom was a small box and within it was a gold medal with entwined ‘V’ and ‘A’ in its centre. The Police Valour Award for bravery. He snapped the case shut.
His bravery meant nothing.
Yellowed and folded, a newspaper article caught his eye. He had forgotten he had it. Why he’d kept it… perhaps somebody gave it to him, and he’d shoved it in here with the other reminders. The main photograph showed a uniformed police officer helping an elderly lady to her feet. They were on a road where people milled about and crowd control barriers lined either side. She wore an armed services uniform and medals.
Another photo of a sheet over a body at the top of steps overlooking the same road.
And one of a paramedic attending to another police officer, her face bleeding.
Liz.
A headline.
Tragedy Averted at Regional Anzac Day March.
His eyes closed as memories hammered him.
A shaven-headed young man lurking behind a statue at the top of the steps. The glint of something in his hand sent Vince flying up the steps even as a gun was pointed at the crowd below. A warning screamed over his shoulder might have alerted the crowd but also the gunman who squeezed off an ill-aimed shot which grazed Liz’s face.
He’d positioned himself in the line of fire and took down the man in two shots.
Nobody else was seriously injured. The man had left a note behind. He intended to kill as many people that day as he could. It was the half-baked plan of someone on bail on charges of threatening his estranged grandfather, a veteran who was one of only a handful in this march in a town two hours from the city.
Vince opened his eyes, refolded the newspaper, and returned it to the box. He’d been there that day on short notice, driving up with Liz. He couldn’t remember why them. Or why the local police wanted a stronger presence.
‘It was my day off.’
The medal box dropped onto the newspaper clipping.
Marion had been unwell with asthma overnight. But he’d left her alone anyway. Her and Susie.
He added the baby book to the box.
As the panic of the shooting had subsided, as his own adrenalin had finally crashed, a call came. He was told to get home.
The ambulance was still at his house when, sirens screaming, he’d turned into his driveway. Lyndall had Susie in the kitchen. Marion was on the sofa in the living room. He was too late.
He held a large envelope against his chest for a while, eyes far away. It had been a long time since anyone touched this. With a sigh which came from his soul, he opened the envelope. Two wedding bands. His. And Marion’s. And her death certificate.