Erica tried to commit to memory all the turns Walter took, but her mind was still distracted by her inability to remember Mark or any details around his death, or of him. When they turned into a narrow laneway and had to carefully negotiate past jutting-out police vehicles parked along their route, she became very thankful Walter hadn’t asked her to drive. When he stopped and then began to back up towards a brown nondescript roller door, she silently sighed with relief and her slight anxiety floated away. She could occasionally perform a reasonable reverse parallel park, but hadn’t needed to for ages. She wasn’t sure how she’d go in a vehicle she didn’t know and in this tight area with all the weirdness going on inside her.
Erica watched as Walter pressed an intercom button and then heard him as he gave Todd’s full name and date of birth. She heard the groan of a roller door – a sound she knew well – and looked in her side mirror. Behind it was an empty space with another roller door behind. Walter reversed further and again Erica heard the familiar groan of a roller door. The one behind them was still, so she looked back to the front. That door was now coming down. When she heard more groaning start up, she looked in her mirror to see the door behind them coming up. They were sandwiched between two roller doors – the one in front down and the one at the back up to reveal a white space like a hospital corridor. To the side stood a person dressed in black – very much like a security guard, Erica thought. Perhaps that was who had answered the intercom.
‘If it’s a bit whiffy in there, just remember to breathe through your mouth.’
Erica nodded. ‘Got it,’ she said.
‘Okay?’ Walter said, turning with his hand on the open car door.
‘Yep,’ she said, opening her door, though she wasn’t entirely sure. She was nervous; she didn’t like hospitals at the best of times, particularly not their smell.
Together they dragged their trolley out of the back and into a spotlessly clean corridor with zero welcoming aesthetics – no touches of colour here on the laminated surfaces or highlights of honey-coloured timber exuding a little warmth like there had been in the hospitals of Stuart’s stays. Nor were there any of the occasional fresh and pleasant aromas that managed to sneak through – flowers being moved around perhaps, staff’s delicate scents of deodorant, moisturiser and shampoo as they swept by in their swift, smooth, efficient movement.
Despite expecting it, the strong smell of ammonia wafting around caused Erica’s eyes to water, her head to become light and her stomach to protest.
It’s okay, just breathe through your mouth, she told herself.
Their footsteps were loud and there was a slightly rhythmic creak, rattle and groan from the gurney they pushed, echoing slightly in the empty space. She watched as another door opened up ahead. A stronger waft of ammonia swarmed around Erica. Oh god. Yuck. She gulped, trying to stop the bile that was rising up painfully inside her.
‘Are you okay?’ Walter asked, looking across the trolley at her.
Not really. She nodded her response, concerned that if she spoke she might vomit. At that moment Erica’s stomach tumbled and she swallowed in anticipation of warding off bile or gas rising. Her head began to spin.
‘I hope I’m not overstepping, but you don’t actually look okay,’ he said. ‘You’re very pale. Go and wait with the car. There’s no shame in finding this difficult. Seriously, Erica. I’m fine here. Go out and sit in the car. Please. I’d feel better – remember I have a duty of care to keep you safe and healthy; can’t have you cracking your head open if you faint,’ he said, smiling wanly.
She nodded again. ‘Thanks. I think I had better wait outside.’
‘Here are the keys,’ Walter said, handing them over. ‘I won’t be long. Just a matter of signing Todd in and then I’ll be out. Be with you in a jiffy.’
With her hands over her mouth, Erica made her way on shaking, weak legs the few metres to the roller door where the security guard still stood. He nodded to her as she went past him.
Safely inside the car, she took great gasps of the closest to fresh air she had available and then took some sips of water from her steel water bottle before holding its cold surface to her face. The change of sensation was a good circuit-breaker.
To distract herself further, she got her phone out and scrolled idly through her Facebook feed, not really taking any notice of what she was seeing. Away from the smell, she began to feel physically better quite quickly, though the background irritation of the gaps in her memories of Mark didn’t seem to be going anywhere. It was right back at the front of her mind now the assault on her senses had seeped away. Should she look on the Find A Grave website for Mark? Why not? What harm could it do?
As she put his details in the boxes for a general search, she paused to acknowledge the wave of sadness that gripped her at realising neither Stuart, nor her mother, nor her favourite auntie, Irene, would come up if she searched for them; her mum’s ashes had been scattered at her favourite park and Stuart’s remained in the urn on the mantelpiece back at the house. It was good he was with Mackenzie and Issy, but suddenly it seemed terribly sad and wrong that her loved ones weren’t somewhere people could visit and sit quietly beside them.
It really said something about how disconnected society as a whole was becoming, didn’t it? If she weren’t feeling so low, she might have laughed at how profound her thought, how like Renee, too. Should she inter Stuart somewhere she could place a plaque? But perhaps the non-specific, random nature of scattering ashes meant you had them in your heart always, wherever you went. And of course you could go to where they had been scattered, she supposed, though knowledge of their location would probably die with those who had done the scattering; it was unlikely anyone would record the details for future generations. A piece of memorial jewellery made from a portion of the ashes – like diamonds or glass beads – was a nice idea, too; though wouldn’t provide a physical context either.
God, it was all so final. Yeah. Like death, really, Erica. Der. And she smiled at her own ridiculousness. Oh how she longed to be with her small tribe of friends and have them rolling their eyes at her and all bursting into laughter until they almost wet themselves. She missed it. When had they last laughed like that? When did life get so serious? Again, rather obvious: when loved ones started getting cancer and other serious ailments and then dying, especially those who did so well before their time. Damn you, Stuart, she silently cursed. And then, Sorry, I didn’t mean that. And then, I miss you, as guilt prodded between her ribs like a branding iron into her side burning her with shame. She took a deep breath, pressed search. She wasn’t sure what result she was hoping for.
She stared at the results, shocked that so many Mark Tolmers around the world had died. As she scanned the results for Australian cemeteries she wondered if they could have buried him overseas. No, don’t be ridiculous. You were eleven; it was years before you left for the US and even longer before your parents visited that once.
She was both disappointed and relieved to find no results for locations in Australia. Definitely disappointed, she decided, because she was no closer to any answers and now had even more questions. Well, if not more, the same ones remained. Well, one that mattered, really: where was he? No, make that two. There was also: what were his favourite places? What could be considered clues as to where he had died? Oh, shit, there were so many questions, she thought, hating the rolling stream of them coming in. He’d been eighteen. Did he have a girlfriend? Anyone serious? A fling? What were his hobbies other than hanging out with his friends – at watering holes. Was it somewhere near where they lived?
Okay. Stop. Where was I at school in 1984 – year seven – last year of primary school? She closed her eyes again and tried to force her recall. Why the hell couldn’t she remember something as simple as that? All years and all schools seemed to be blended together. It didn’t help that most years she’d had one of her parents as her teacher, so she couldn’t use the teacher as an anchor to the year or particular classroom. Why can’t I remember?
She leapt in her seat when she heard the back doors open and then the trolley being slid into the van with a metallic clunk. She was still clutching her chest from her fright, as if trying to actually hold her heart and stop it from jumping out somehow through her ribs, when Walter’s door opened and a moment later he sank into his seat and closed the door behind him.
‘Shit. Sorry if I startled you.’
‘I’m so sorry about back there, Walter.’
‘It’s okay. You didn’t miss much – just swapping the trolleys and signing a form. Are you okay, though – feeling a bit better?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. The smell just got to me.’
‘I admit it was pretty strong in there today. Sometimes it’s not too bad,’ Walter said, starting the vehicle. Erica noticed the roller door opening up in front. She checked in her side mirror to see the one behind coming back down.
‘What now?’ she asked.
‘We navigate our way out of this rabbit warren without scraping any police cars and find somewhere to park to catch our breath for a minute. Now, you must have been deep in thought if I startled you, given I was only gone a few minutes,’ Walter said as they crawled their way back down the narrow alleyway.
‘Yes. I was searching the Find A Grave site.’
‘Oh. Did you find anything?’ he said.
‘No. He must have been cremated and scattered.’
‘Or perhaps the cemetery with his particular grave hasn’t been surveyed or recorded yet,’ Walter said.
‘Or that. God, I think that’s even worse than him not being anywhere to be found.’
‘Maybe you’re not meant to learn all this right now. Or maybe ever?’
‘You sound like my friend Renee – that’s what she would say. She’s very, um, wise,’ she added after a beat.
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
Erica took a deep breath in an effort to force back her frustration. She wished none of this had come up. She wished today had never happened. That thought brought her up short: she was being self-centred. Todd’s family and friends would be thinking exactly the same thing. And their hearts will be being ripped out and trampled on, shredded – hers was just having a fingernail run over it, irritating a scar. No harm had been done to her.
She lost track of where they were until they went past St Andrew’s Hospital on South Terrace and down to the car park against the Victoria Park Racecourse, where they pulled into a space and Walter turned off the vehicle.
‘Again, I’m so sorry about back there,’ Erica said, feeling the need to fill the silence.
‘Seriously, don’t worry about it. There was no harm done.’
‘I thought I’d be fine – I am in the mortuary back at work. And I was at the hospital with Stuart all those months.’
‘Well, in there is a different level of clinical altogether, so I’m not surprised it threw you for a loop. And you probably have some residual trauma from losing your husband, so being back in a place with similar sounds and smells …’
‘And taste; I could practically taste the cleaning chemicals in there. I can still smell it on my clothes,’ she said, dipping her head to her sleeve and sniffing. ‘It’s like it’s stuck in my nostrils. But you lost Mary in a hospital as well – so you’d be triggered too.’
‘True. And I am a bit.’
But someone had to pull themselves together and do the right thing by Todd, she thought, burning with shame.
‘We’re all different. For me being able to focus on the task at hand helps, but for others that in itself could well be the trigger. Do you meditate, Erica?’
‘No. I’ve tried. Years ago. I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Not sure I’m any good at it.’ She couldn’t be bothered going into it.
‘I had lots of tries and failures too. But persisted out of sheer desperation. You know Mary’s Mayhem Manager?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Erica looked at Walter, frowning.
He sighed before continuing. ‘She put it together so someone else could take over and we could have a break. Same with renovating the upstairs flat. She wanted us to go and visit our son in London. I kept promising her we’d get around to it. And then suddenly one day it was too late.’
‘Oh, Walter. I’m so sorry.’ While the words were completely inadequate, Erica wasn’t sure what else to say. And silence seemed all kinds of wrong.
‘Thanks. So, for me, turning to meditation was a desperate attempt to ease my guilt. And to come to terms with the loss and the loneliness. It’s helped me enormously – though it took some trial and error. Trying alone to visualise, following instructions in a book, didn’t work for me at all. But then I discovered guided meditation on my phone; there’s a great app – well, probably lots of them, really – with heaps of teachers to choose from. Some you pay for, but a lot is free. I found a few I really connect with and I enjoy half an hour most mornings now. I tell you, if I don’t get to do it, I feel all out of kilter for the day. I don’t know if it works or I’m doing it right but I figure you can’t go wrong with simply listening to a soothing voice and focussing on your breathing and relaxing. Stilling a racing mind and taking a break from the energy of the world for a bit. I’ll show you what I’m into if you like. But first, did you remember anything about your brother Mark? Has anything been shaken loose?’
‘No. It’s weird. I can’t even tell you where we lived or what school I was at when it happened. I feel like I’m losing my mind – or I did a long time ago when it comes to him.’
‘It was a traumatic event at a young, impressionable age and stage of development. The brain and soul can be very good at protecting us.’
‘Actually …’ Something became clear for Erica. She frowned.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve got a box of old school photos and report cards.’
‘Great. They’ll tell you what school you were at in each year.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’ Excitement rose in Erica momentarily, but just as quickly ebbed away to be replaced with the discomfort of another question. ‘But what’s now bugging me is … Mark would have had the same – he’d finished school and was still living at home. So his box – our parents kept them up to date, adding any immunisation records, important papers – would have still been in the house when I went through everything to get Mum and Dad organised to move into the nursing home. But it wasn’t there. If it was, I would have had all these questions then, wouldn’t I?’
‘Hmm.’ Walter nodded slowly.
‘And, actually …’ Erica’s heart slowed. ‘None of his stuff was in the house. I can understand clearing out his room and getting rid of his clothes et cetera. But I’ve got an awful feeling they got rid of all traces of him. Ages ago.’
‘Maybe they did. That wouldn’t surprise me at all. Some people are sentimental and keep movie ticket stubs, for instance. Others are just content with the memories. And then there are those who fall somewhere in between. And as we’re always having to acknowledge, it takes all kinds and grief takes all forms. So please don’t be too hard on your parents. Whatever they did they did because that’s what felt right at the time.’
‘I need to let it go,’ Erica said, taking another deep breath.
‘I think you’ll find that easier said than done.’
‘Yes. So just roll with it, right?’
‘It might also help to remind yourself that whether you remember or not doesn’t really change anything.’
‘You’re right. Nothing I do or don’t do will bring Mark back.’
‘Sadly, not.’
‘Enough about me, Walter; please change the subject. What did they say back there – are we waiting for Todd to take him back?’
‘Yes. Two to three hours is the estimate. Now, I’m happy to take you somewhere or to call you a cab or an Uber, or whatever it is you young ones do for transport in the city – on me – if there’s somewhere you want to go.’
‘It’s been a while since I was called young, Walter. Thanks for that.’
‘You could go and visit your daughters or one of your friends?’ he suggested.
‘Oh. I hadn’t even thought … What do you normally do in this situation?’
‘Well, this doesn’t happen very often. But when it does, I usually just sit and enjoy the quiet time. Listen to a podcast or read a book. Mary used to use the time to shop – take advantage of a trip to the city.’
Erica realised this might be the first time he’d made the journey without Mary beside him.
‘But it’s entirely up to you what you do, Erica.’
‘You’re really kind, Walter, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave Todd. Does that sound strange?’
‘Not at all. That’s how I feel.’
‘I’d love to see one of my friends or the girls, but they’ll all be at work. And we are too. It feels right to stay put.’
‘Me too. I made a silent promise to Todd’s family to take care of him.’
‘I feel like we both did – we’re in this together. I want to be able to look his family in the eye, if we do their service, knowing he truly wasn’t alone – I know he’s not aware of it, but I am. And it’s important to me.’
A part of Erica yearned to go to her house, just a fifteen-minute drive away, and look through her box of school mementos, or even phone the girls and see if they were home and if so ask them to do it for her, but that would … The thought brought her up short. Did they know about Mark? She couldn’t recall having ever mentioned him or discussing him with them. Ever. Shame burnt again as she realised she’d been as instrumental in eradicating memories of him as her parents.
But then a gentle voice inside her told her she had followed their lead. And things were probably different back then, like Walter had said. And what would she do with knowledge of where she’d been at school – or where he’d died – anyway? Again, as Walter had said: What would it change? She might go on a long drawn-out quest that ended with her being none the wiser. Or worse, experiencing further heartbreak.
What if she went and tried to find people who had known him and might have memories of his accident? It would be worse than finding no one if she found people who didn’t remember it – or them – at all. Yes, best to let sleeping dogs lie. Not knowing hadn’t hurt her all these years.