Chapter Ten

RICHARD WAS LEANING up against our fence, waiting for me. He was dressed in a long wool khaki coat, jeans and boots, unlaced as usual. He reached out and swept me under his arm. His clothes smelt like the wool mix that we use. We made our way up the street.

Like Dad, I sensed that Richard was anxious. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m cool. Thanks for coming.’

I wanted to ask Richard where Michael was buried, or maybe he had been cremated, but I didn’t want to freak him out. It was an epic move that he had chosen to include me in whatever was making him go there tonight.

The L90 bus came up from behind us; Richard pulled on my hand and we ran the rest of the way to the bus stop. The L90 went to the city, and the last stop was Wynyard.

As I rummaged through my purse for my Opal card, Richard tapped his and reached for mine. ‘It’s cool,’ I said and tapped.

Richard took my hand and led me to the rear of the bus, past a couple of old biddies who sat busily watching us. I slid across the seat and got a whiff of hot chips and stale body odour, and held my nose.

‘We can move if you like,’ Richard offered.

‘No need,’ I said, snuggling into the warmth of his coat.

‘How’s your mum?’

A picture of Mum curled up in her chair flashed through my mind. ‘She sleeps a lot.’

‘What does your dad say?’

‘He said it’s normal because her heart is getting weaker.’

When the bus pulled up further along the road, there was a loud bang like a gun shot. I let out a squeal. Richard stared beyond the window.

‘Just a couple of guys mucking around,’ he said.

I waited for my heart to stop racing. Two boys boarded who I recognised as Year Twelves from school. I was relieved when they stopped a few rows short of us. One of the boys stood in the aisle while the other slid across the seat to the window. The boy standing glanced at us. ‘Hey, Gates,’ he called, ‘how’s it going back there?’

Richard raised his hand, and within seconds the boys were seated with their earphones in and their heads bobbing.

‘Willow’s brother, Greg, said that you were turning into a computer geek,’ I told him, and he laughed.

‘Just because you’re into IT, it doesn’t mean that you’re a geek.’ He wrapped his arm around me, and held me a bit too tight.

‘Relax,’ I said, wriggling.

His hold softened. ‘Are … you sure you don’t mind doing this?’

I detected a nervous shake in his voice. I closed my eyes. ‘I’m fine. Keep me warm.’

Dad’s risotto flashed through my mind. I woke with a jolt to see that the old couple and the boys were gone.

I stepped off the bus and walked back into the warmth of Richard’s coat.

‘One more bus,’ he said, and I was regretting having not told Dad where I was going.

When we arrived at Waverley Cemetery the gates were closed. Richard jumped over a low white fence. ‘Here,’ he said, reaching out, guiding me over.

The air was so cold it made my chest ache. The moon was like a giant light bulb, illuminating a sea of graves and towering sculptures. A chill ran through my veins as I stared up at a marble angel. I slipped my arm through Richard’s as we made our way along a bitumen path towards the sounds of the waves smashing against the headland.

A colony of bats flew across the sky, a backdrop for the ornate mausoleums, white-winged angels and tall white crosses.

Richard aimed the torch on his phone to a headstone dated 1798 but kept walking before I had time to read the inscription.

‘Henry Lawson is buried here,’ he told me, and I felt a sense of intrigue.

We cut across the well-lit path that read Section Seven, then Richard stopped in front of a grave that had a massive bronze sculpture of a wave. A dried bunch of gumnuts had been placed in the centre of the grave. I watched him gently snap a nut from the branch and roll it between his fingers. At the base of the wave the epitaph read:

Michael Delaney

2000 – 2018

Aged 18

A loving son and much-loved brother

Your memory will stay forever in our hearts

The words made me question if hearts, like minds, held memories.

When Richard knelt beside Michael’s grave, I wanted to ask how he died, but I didn’t. I just stood there, numb and helpless, listening to his words. ‘I miss you mate … happy birthday.’

It was midnight when we arrived home. We walked around the back of the house to the steps that led to the kitchen and heard sirens cut through the laughter from a party boat on the water below. It always surprised me how we humans were more vocal than the animals in the zoo.

Richard reached out, placing his hands around my waist, and pulled me closer. ‘Thanks. I couldn’t have gone there tonight without you.’ He shook his head. ‘It helped seeing Michael’s grave. It was peaceful, don’t you think?’ I nodded. ‘I should have gone sooner, but …’

I didn’t tell him that the visit to the cemetery made the possibility of losing Mum more real. ‘I’m glad you asked me,’ I said, and my voice broke.

Richard’s eyes met mine. ‘You’re crying?’

‘No, I’m not, it’s cold.’ I lied.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow …’ His words trailed off as he kissed me.

I was too restless to sleep, so I figured why waste time trying. I switched on my computer and brought up Google.

I typed in the search bar: how many heart transplants are performed in Australia yearly? A list of organ donor links to websites came up. I clicked on the first one and started reading.

In 2016, Australia had 20.8 donors per million people. At any one time, there are between 1,400 and 1,600 Australians waiting for an organ transplant. I slipped my thumbnail between my teeth and started gnawing at it. 503 donors gave 1,713 Australians a second chance of living a full life.

That’s 503 hearts, right? I read on. Wrong!

In 2016, there were 95 heart transplants. Most patients will wait between 6 months and 4 years for a heart transplant.

I flopped on the bed and tried to comprehend that there was a chance that a compatible heart might not come in time to save my mum, but surely the doctors would prioritise. Yet how do they get it right? Maybe they don’t. There’s no real way of telling when her heart is going to stop. I screamed on the inside and sobbed outwardly.