All This Could End (21 page)

‘Mum,’ he says. He remembers yelling at his dad, his anger and his numbness in the months after she left. But he has no anger now. Has he moved beyond it, or will it come back and hit him later? Right now, he’s just grateful to hear his mother’s voice.

‘I’m coming home,’ she says, her voice a whisper. ‘I’m coming home.’

For three nights in a row, Spencer stares at the off-white ceiling of his hospital room, unable to sleep after dozing all day. Time moves strangely in hospital. Time has moved strangely for Spencer ever since his mother left—the months after Nina left stretched on forever, the day of the bank robbery felt like ten years. And the three days in hospital seem to bleed into one. There’s never any real darkness in his room. There is never anything that has to be done. There is only resting and visitors and the TV going on and on and on. He can see a partial view out the window of the park beside the hospital. If this were a normal summer, he would be out in that hazy heat. At the beach or at the pool or lying in a park in the shade somewhere. This is not a normal summer.

Instead he lies awake and plays out scenarios in his head of what to say when—if—Nina visits. In the silence of his room, he practises jokes he’s thought of—it’s lucky he got a room all to himself, or his neighbour would think him crazy. There’s probably another part of the hospital for him if he actually does go crazy. He imagines her laughing. Imagines apologising for being ignorant months back, when they’d been so close. Apologising for having no idea. What he says and what she says—but in the end those things aren’t even important to him. He just wants her to be okay. He just wants her to come by. He just wants her to care about him still.

She arrives the morning of the fourth day, after his father has gone to get coffee (well, the watery excuse for coffee that comes out of the machines in the hospital). She pauses in the doorway, smiles.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey yourself.’ Spencer is propped in bed, itching to get up and hug her. And for the nine thousandth time over the last few days it hits him that he can’t move. The leg is immobilised.

She goes over to the window and perches on the edge of a chair badly in need of reupholstering, orange stuffing poking through holes in the red vinyl.

She’s in jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail. She looks like the Nina he knew, except for the red hair. At least there’s no balaclava. She seems tired.

‘Did you escape?’ Spencer jokes. Neither of them laugh.
Oh, Spencer, always so awkward.

‘The police are waiting outside for me.’ She nods towards the door. ‘You’ve spoken to them?’

‘They brought Dad here the other day, after… everything,’ he says. ‘They were there when I woke up. I was a bit hazy on the details. Told them I’d had the weirdest dream, where my ex-girlfriend was robbing a bank and a pre-teen shot me. Ha.’

‘You have no idea how sorry I am that really did happen.’

‘They could hardly believe I’d apparently been so close to someone and not known they were a criminal. I told them I was just
really
unobservant. It’s not like you ever outright lied to me, though. I never asked “So, do you and your family dabble in bank-robbing?” ’

‘Of course, I would have said “Why yes we do, care to be taken hostage sometime? It’ll be a blast.” ’

‘It was never you, though, was it? It was your parents.’

She shifts uncomfortably on the edge of the chair, glances towards the door. Spencer imagines the police officer waiting on the other side, chatting with his father.

‘How’s the leg, by the way?’

‘Good. I had surgery the first day. I hear it went well. All I know is I can still feel that it’s there, so that’s a good thing. I’m not allowed to walk yet, I won’t be out of hospital for a couple of weeks and I probably won’t be able to walk for a couple of months, so I’ve been enjoying a fair bit of
Dr Phil
.’ He nods towards the TV on the wall. The sound is down, and a studio audience looks excited about something. ‘Hospital food is terrible. Dad feels so bad for me he just keeps bringing me Happy Meals and thick shakes. If I have a heart attack, at least I’m in the right place.’

Last time he was in a hospital, it was this one. When his mother lost the baby. He doesn’t mention this to Nina. It’s not the right time.

‘Anyone comment on the missing toe?’ she asks.

‘Ha.’ He glances at his foot, encased in the cast. ‘Not that I know of. It’s more than a little bit insignificant next to getting shot in the leg.’

‘It’s a shame you didn’t get shot in the foot,’ she says. ‘In the exact spot where your toe should be. And the absence of that toe would in fact mean that you
wouldn’t
get shot. Not that you should have been shot at all.’

‘There’s only so much coincidence that can happen in one day. We must have reached the limit.’

‘I guess you’re not considering a career as a negotiator after this?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m more wary of becoming a bank manager now, too. Are you going to come over and give me a hug or what? Bridie practically crushed me the moment she came in, and I survived that, so don’t worry, I’m not too fragile.’

Nina smiles, steps over and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. He can tell she’s being careful of the leg. She leans in and hugs him, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘This has been a weird week,’ she mumbles.

‘Understatement, I think. But I’m gladder to be alive than I have ever been before,’ he says. ‘Though the evening we first kissed and many subsequent evenings come close.’

‘Hopefully when you’re old and feeling nostalgic you’ll reflect on that rather than me as a bank robber.’ She sits back and he grasps her hand, thinking of the night she read his palm. He draws circles on her palm with his thumb. ‘Remember me as a talented palm-reader. My prediction about an unfortunate event came true.’

‘It hardly counts if the predictor causes the unfortunate event they predicted,’ he says, then stops, realising what he’s said. ‘That wasn’t supposed to sound as accusatory as it did. I’m sorry.’

She lets go of his hand and tucks her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Was talking to the police scary?’ he asks. ‘I mean, I was scared and I don’t think I’ve ever done anything illegal apart from downloading music. Which I do feel guilty about.’

Nina shakes her head. ‘They were just like normal people. No real interrogation or anything. They were actually quite polite. I was expecting some good-cop/bad-cop business. They didn’t even glare at me in an intimidating fashion. Very disappointing.’

‘I bet.’

‘I wonder what they’ve been like with Mum and Dad. At least they were nice to Tom. It’s strange, because all my life Mum has sold me the idea that the police are awful, that most people apart from us are more or less awful. A real “you and me against the world” thing. And she was totally wrong.’

‘Yeah. I got stuff wrong, too. It seems so ridiculous now, but I hated you after you left. Not hated, exactly. I was just insanely angry. Because you didn’t say goodbye and never called me or anything. And now I don’t hate you, and I’m not angry, and I regret that I ever was because it all makes sense now.’

‘Are you positive your sudden forgiveness doesn’t have anything to do with the drugs?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. When you see your brother, tell him that getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Was it?’

‘No, but I think it’ll make him feel better. Where
is
Tom?’

‘Child services are handing him over to Dad’s parents. They have to make sure he isn’t crazy first. We’ve been staying in a safe house, so the police can keep an eye on us. Taxpayer money certainly doesn’t pay for anything flash. I’ll be living with my grandparents soon as well. At least for the next six months, until I’m eighteen.’

‘Dad told me your parents just came out of the bank voluntarily after we left.’

‘Yeah. The police told me. And your dad told me, too. He hugged me in the hallway just now.’

‘Stockholm Syndrome, for sure,’ he says.

Nina laughs. ‘He was a good hostage. A couple of times, with a bank robbery, there’d be some middle-aged guy being all brave and tough and talking back to my mother. Not a good idea. It’s a miracle she didn’t shoot anyone. I thought, when I found out your dad was in there, that’d be him. Stand up to us, try and be a hero, you know. Especially with you there. But that didn’t happen. Your dad reminds me of my dad, actually. My dad and your dad are both fairly passive when it comes down to it.’

‘Or just fearful.’

‘My dad might just be easily led.’

‘Dad was whispering to me, after I got shot and you were talking to your mum. He was just rambling. All this irrelevant nonsense. Whispering everything at once like it was so important. Telling me he’s going to become a tax accountant; and we could always go on a holiday and visit Mum in Fiji; and how he rode a bicycle into a brick wall when he was seventeen and drunk. Like he was somehow trying to empathise with me being shot. I reckon he said more to me in those five minutes than he’s said to me in the past two years. So my dad’s a softie and a banker. Him faking tough wouldn’t have made a difference. I do wish your dad had stood up to your mum sooner, though. I feel there was drama that could’ve been avoided.’

‘Me too. I half expected Mum would end up in a shoot-out or something.’

‘I don’t think she’s all bad.’

‘You don’t know her.’

‘I know you. Your parents raised you. You’re a good person, so I think they must have some goodness in them. Where’d you go for those months? I forgot to ask.’

‘On one big road trip. Lucky Dad’s a teacher, hey? She was worried about us getting too close to people and escaping the family unit. Which was warranted. And I guess you’re right—when she’s not making me rob people, she can be sort of nice.’ She pauses. ‘The police told me they’re going to prison. I don’t know for how long. There’s a hearing soon but they won’t be sentenced for months. I haven’t seen them since the bank.’

‘Will you visit them?’

‘I don’t know. One day they will be out of prison, and I don’t know what’ll happen then. I can’t imagine Mum’s very happy with either of us. And I don’t know what my life’s about if it doesn’t centre around my family. I feel a bit lost. Not a bit. A lot.’

‘You can always share my family. Dad’s less of a zombie now, but I don’t know whether he’ll keep that up. The bank has given him a fair bit of time off. Monica’s back to being loud and annoying and she’s going to be a teenager soon, which will be an absolute delight. Come over for dinner and I’ll make you two-minute noodles with egg. I’m quite the chef now.’

‘That sounds lovely. I can’t say my cooking skills are much better. My dad was always the domestic one in our house. What’s next for you?’

‘Going back to school, next year. I might still be in a wheelchair, not sure if I’ll be able to walk by then. I’m guessing Bridie will have told everyone we know about everything and I will no longer be able to go on with my under-the-radar tactics.’

‘I’ve missed Bridie, oddly enough. Her hilariousness.’ She stares out the window.

‘I don’t think you’ve been around her long enough to get tired of all of her crazy affectations,’ he says.

Nina shrugs. ‘At least she doesn’t take herself too seriously.’

‘Imagine if she was a hostage in a bank robbery. She’d probably have a ball.’

‘She would. I wonder how different it would have been if she was there as well.’ She turns back to Spencer. Her legs are dangling from the side of the bed and she crosses and uncrosses them, her hands resting in her lap. She seems nervous. ‘I haven’t been to a hospital since my brother was born. Do you hate it here?’

‘It’s not that bad. Just boring. Smells weird. Food’s terrible. Get sick of the same four walls. You ever wonder why your mum thought bank-robbing was worth the risk of prison? I mean, personally I’d be terrified of getting caught.’

‘She grew up doing it. It became normal to her. She was convinced she’d never be caught.’

‘I’ll tell you what I think?’

‘You are ridiculously honest. You used to be shy. Remember that? I liked that.’

Spencer laughs. ‘People are allowed to change. Remember when you were a bank robber? And now you’re not. Do you
want
to know what I think?’

‘Yes. Tell me.’

‘I think she wanted what everybody wants,’ he says. ‘For her life to mean something. To be remembered, have an impact. Go down in history for something. Same as anybody.’

‘That makes sense. She always said she wanted fame and fortune.’

‘Infamous people are usually well-remembered. Ivan the Terrible is a lot more interesting than Mother Teresa.’

‘Debatable. Also Ivan the Terrible was not a bank robber. Did they even have banks then? I feel terrible for what I did, and I’d rather not be famous for being awful. There are dozens of people I’ve personally victimised for no reason. I can’t exactly call them up and say, “Hey, sorry about making you fear for your life, I was pursuing infamy”. Have you been reading the papers?’

‘Not really. I was there, I know what happened. I don’t need to read about it. Bridie reckons it’s all nonsense anyway. They can’t even get our ages right.’

‘My mum wouldn’t be able to resist reading her own press. But some band’s in town, so it didn’t even make the first page. That would disappoint her,’ she says. ‘On the news, they were saying crime is at an all-time high. Kids robbing banks. It’s a sign that the end of the world is nigh.’

‘They sure know how to play it up. Where do these grandparents of yours live? Far?’

‘Yeah. Near Broome.’

‘That’s what, a five-hour plane trip? Not far at all.’

‘I could always fly back and visit. If you want me to.’

‘Of course. Of course I want you to visit. I’ll write you letters. I will write you actual letters, that’s how much I care. My handwriting is shocking.’

Nina smiles.

‘They’ll probably just be listings of all my new favourite words, but still, at least they’ll be educational,’ he says. ‘I like phobia names at the moment. Like
gerontophobia
. Fear of growing old. Or of old people. And
ephebiphobia
. Fear of teenagers. Thinking all teenagers are really badly-behaved. Which is obviously an irrational fear, because you and I are perfectly nice. And we’re teenagers. When I have to go back to school, I’ll have
didaskaleinophobia
. Fear of going to school. Because everyone will want to know about this, thanks to Bridie.’