You want your mother. You felt the same way giving birth, you remember. A kind of primal need. She was there when you had Jarrah, but by the time Toby muscled his way into the world she was already dipping in and out of the fog of dementia. Now, with advancing Alzheimer’s, she is effectively gone from you.
When Finn comes in from talking to the police, the three of you, by some silent assent, move into the lounge room and sit in a row on the couch. Finn in the middle, Jarrah on the right, you on the left. Finn clasps your hand so hard it hurts, and through that small, physical pain you know you still exist.
You notice pieces of Lego rolled under the armchair opposite and you keep your gaze fixed on them. There is still a chance that if you stay sitting there, holding very still, silent, not crying, then you’ll wake up and this won’t have happened.
Every few – moments? – minutes? – you drift away and then the memory of why you are there washes back through you in another sickening rush. Some part of your brain logs the stress process: adrenaline, cortisol, norepinephrine, flooding your body. Three pieces of Lego under the armchair. One blue, one red, one yellow. Three humans on the couch. Your life is measured now in threes.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Three knocks on the glass door, so sudden and loud that you nearly choke. A woman cups her hands on the glass and peers in, and for a long moment the three of you stare at her, until at last Jarrah stands and lets her in.
‘I am so, so sorry,’ she says.
Who is she, even? Someone Finn knows? Older, conservatively dressed. You can’t place her.
‘I’m Meredith Anderson. I’m a volunteer support worker with the hospital and I represent Caring Friends, a foundation that supports families after the death of a child. I wasn’t on duty when you came in this morning.’
You cannot make her words mean anything, and eventually, when it’s clear no one else will respond, Jarrah says, ‘Right.’
‘You must be Jarrah?’ she says to him. ‘And Finn, and Bridget? I understand you haven’t been in town long. I’m here to help.’
Her lip quivers and you wish she’d go. Everything is slipping through your fingers; the new world streaming in to replace the old one with shocking speed.
She walks towards you, leans in, puts her hand on your shoulder, letting go when you flinch. ‘I know what it’s like.’
No one can possibly know what this is like.
She scans the three of you with an appraising glance. ‘Jarrah, do you think you could make us all a cup of tea?’
Who is this woman, ordering your son around? You open your mouth to protest, but she squeezes your shoulder again. She’s right. You do need help, here in this unfamiliar town two thousand miles from home, with no friends of the real sort.
Meredith isn’t afraid of silence. She moves to an armchair and the three of you listen to Jarrah’s methodical tea-making. When he carries the tea in on a tray, you know you will gag if anything passes your lips, especially when Meredith, without asking, stirs a sugar into each cup before handing it over. You take the cup and wrap your hands around its warmth. In spite of the day’s heat, you’re cold.
‘I know you’re in shock, but there are things you need to do today.’ Her voice is gentle.
‘OK,’ Jarrah says, on your behalf.
‘Finn, I understand you’ve identified your son’s body at the hospital and agreed to the autopsy, and you and Bridget have both made police statements. The next thing you need to do is notify your family and friends before they hear some other way.’
One word leaps out. ‘An autopsy?’
She nods. ‘It is required in a case of accidental death, as the doctor would have explained to Finn.
You try to understand that Toby is now a body.
‘Notifying your loved ones is the most important thing,’ she continues. ‘I can help you make a list, and assist you with those calls, if you wish.’
Your gut contracts. The Brennans. All of them. Not knowing yet.
‘The police won’t release Toby’s name until your family have been notified, but the story will be in the news soon, and these things get out fast on social media. I know this is very hard. Can I help you make that list?’
She takes a notebook and pen from her handbag.
The idea you could tell the Brennans is unthinkable and you’re silent. When it’s clear Finn can’t speak either, Jarrah starts listing names. ‘Um, my dad’s family, I guess. My grandfather. Uncle Conor. Aunt Mary and Aunt Carmel.’
As the woman writes them down, Jarrah turns his head to you. ‘What about Nan?’
You shake your head. You hated how dementia has stolen your mother, but suddenly it seems a blessing. There’s no rush to tell her.
The woman won’t give up. ‘I’ll note down the numbers for you. Where can I find them?’
‘Mum’s mobile,’ says Jarrah. ‘Where is it, Mum?’
You jerk your head towards the kitchen, and he disappears in that direction. You think Finn must be crying again because you can feel him shuddering next to you. You should squeeze his hand or something.
Jarrah comes back with your phone. ‘Some guy from work has texted. Says you’re missing a meeting.’
‘Let me notify them,’ Meredith says. ‘Your work may be worried if you haven’t turned up.’
You don’t really want a stranger calling Chen, but at the pity on her face, you subside.
‘How about Jarrah and I go and sort out the kitchen while you and Finn make these first calls? I’ll be right here if you need support. You can put me on to people if you want, to help them with arrangements, after you’ve told them.’
‘Thank you,’ Finn says. His first words since she arrived.
‘After that,’ she continues, ‘you could take a rest together.’
Finn clutches your arm like he wants to take you down with him, and what will happen when you are alone together? What will happen when you look into each other’s eyes? Because each of you has seen Toby dead, and there is no refuge there. And tonight or tomorrow, someone will slice into his skin, examine his organs, take samples.
Meredith hands you the list. ‘I’ll be just next door, with Jarrah.’
Jarrah follows her out to the kitchen like some capable stranger. What has happened to your family?