Hello from the Gillespies (24 page)

Angela was halfway to the lookout point. She wouldn’t stay long, she decided. She was beginning to regret even deciding to come. She could have been back in her hotel room, enjoying the luxury and comfort while she waited for the computer. Not on a solo drive to what was probably still a lovers’ lookout. Some sight she’d be, there on her own as couples smooched all around her. She turned on the radio, a talk show filling the car with noise.

At least the concierge’s directions were easy to follow. The roads were quiet through the suburbs. As she drove closer to the foothills, the houses grew farther apart. She drove around bend after bend, past road signs warning of corkscrew turns. She loved to drive but this wasn’t easy, a twisting, unfamiliar road at twilight.

Another sign appeared. One kilometre to go. More tight bends ahead.

She had slowed to forty kilometres an hour when she saw it. An enormous huntsman spider on her windscreen. Not outside the car, inside the car. Centimetres in front of her. The fat body, the long legs, as big as her hand. She screamed. She took her hands off the wheel for only a second. It was enough. The car went out of control, veered to the left, and slid off the bitumen.

The last thing she saw was a huge gum tree coming towards her.

The last thing she felt was a searing pain in her left side as her body was thrown against the steering wheel.

The last thing she heard was the car horn, blaring in response to her sudden weight against it.

The last thing she tasted was her own blood.

(Deliberately blank.)

(Deliberately blank.)

Angela’s whole body felt so strange. So heavy. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut. She couldn’t seem to open them. Her left side hurt. A lot. Not just her left side. Her chest too. Her head. Her arms. Everything.

Had she just been in a car crash? She must have. That had to be why she was slumped against the steering wheel like this. But how had it happened? Had someone run into her? As she tried once again to open her eyes, she became aware of something.

Voices. Lots of voices from lots of people. Gathered around her car. All talking about her.

Is she alive?

I think so. Look, she’s breathing.

I saw the whole thing! Her car just suddenly ran off the road and hit that tree. Is she okay?

Yes, thank you, she wanted to tell them. But she couldn’t seem to make a sound.

What if the car explodes? Should we try to get her out?

The car might explode? Oh yes, please, do get me out!

No, don’t move her. She might have spinal damage.

I don’t think I have, she wanted to tell them. But my left side hurts. It really hurts.

Should we risk it? I can smell petrol.

No, don’t. Here comes the ambulance now. Let them do it.

She waited, listening for sirens. Nothing. All she could hear were the voices. But was ‘hear’ the right word? No, she decided. It was more like she was ‘seeing’ the words somehow, as though they were subtitles on a film, lines of words running across the inside of her eyelids. But how could that be? Had she actually died in this accident? Was she having a peculiar out-of-body experience? Somehow drifting away from her physical self, looking down on the last moments of her life?

Stand back, please. Everyone, stand back! Let the paramedics through.

She waited, wondering if she would be able to feel them reaching for her. There was nothing.

Only more voices.

That’s it. Lift her out. Careful now.

Her pulse is low. It’s gone. Stand back, everyone. Stand back. Defib!

Pain, a rush of something, like sparks, fireworks behind her eyes, in her head, and a force of something. It felt like someone had shoved her, hard, in the chest. There was still that excruciating pain in her left side. She wished she could talk out loud, tell them about that pain, but she couldn’t speak or open her eyes. There was just more of those voices, more talk of her pulse, her lack of pulse. They sounded so serious. They were talking about the hospital. They were taking her to hospital. She was in the back of the ambulance being taken to hospital.

A short time later, or perhaps it was a long time later, there were more voices, more discussions.

Can someone check for ID?

Here it is. I’ve got it.

Was she at the hospital now? It sounded as though the police were there too, as well as the paramedics. They’d found not only her driver’s licence but an In Case of Emergency card, listing all her personal details.

Everything’s here, names, numbers, addresses.

If only everyone was this organised.

She couldn’t remember filling out anything like that.

Her name’s Angela Gillespie. She’s fifty-five years old.

Angela Gillespie? The Angela part was right, but that wasn’t her surname. Her name was Angela Richardson. They must have found someone else’s handbag. Someone who happened to have the same first name. She wanted to explain, but she still couldn’t make a sound.

Next of kin is her husband, Nick Gillespie. According to this, she’s got four kids – three daughters and a son. She lives somewhere called Errigal via Hawker.

Hawker? That’s practically the outback, isn’t it? Wonder what she was doing here in Adelaide?

Adelaide? The outback? A husband called Nick? Four kids? No, no. They had it all wrong. She was married to Will. He’d been her childhood sweetheart. She’d kept her own surname, Richardson. Will hadn’t minded at all. He’d always wanted her to be independent. They had one daughter called Lexie. And what was this about Adelaide, the outback? She and Will and Lexie lived in London, not the outback. London, England. The other side of the world. There must have been a terrible mix-up. They were talking about another Angela. A different Angela. She tried once again to open her eyes, tried to speak. She couldn’t.

Try the husband first.

Yes, please ring my husband, she wanted to say, to shout somehow. Ring Will. He’d sort all this out in an instant. He was probably already worrying where she was. Not that she could remember where she was going or where she’d been when she had the crash, but surely he’d be expecting her home by now?

She wished she could tell them that, tell them everything. But Will would get to the bottom of it all.

Beside her, one of the voices began to make a phone call. She had to strain to make out the words. It was as if the letters on her eyelids were growing smaller, fainter. As if she were moving away, drifting somewhere. Her left side was really hurting now. She felt like she was plummeting into velvety darkness. Not into sleep, but something deeper, heavier . . .

Mr Gillespie? Nick Gillespie? Is your wife Angela Gillespie, aged fifty-five? Does she drive a blue Holden Commodore? Mr Gillespie, I’m sorry, I’ve got bad news. Your wife has been in a car accident. She’s alive, but she’s unconscious . . . Yes, yes, I promise you, she’s alive —

Angela didn’t hear the rest. She was already far, far away.

The landline rang ten times before Nick remembered he and Celia were the only ones in the house. The twins and Ig were in Port Augusta, due back soon. Lindy was dropping that friend of hers back to the Lawsons.

Celia was in the living room, with the TV turned up to full volume, watching a soap opera. ‘Phone’s ringing, Nick,’ she said as he went past. ‘I thought there was no point getting it, it wouldn’t be for me.’

Five minutes later, he was back, ashen-faced.

She stared up at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘That was the police. It’s Angela. She’s had a car accident. She’s in hospital. It’s serious.’

‘A car accident? Where?’

‘In the Adelaide Hills.’

‘The hills? What on earth was she doing there?’

‘I don’t know, Celia.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. I need to get to Adelaide now, as soon as I can.’ He stopped. ‘I don’t have a car. All the cars are gone. Oh, Jesus.’

‘Ring Joan.’

‘She’s an hour away.’

‘Contact the girls. See how far away they are.’

He took out his mobile phone and dialled. ‘No answer. No bloody answer.’

‘But you can’t get a signal from here, can you? I meant their car radios.’

‘I’m not thinking straight.’ He went to the radio in the kitchen and tried Genevieve first. ‘Answer,’ he said under his breath. ‘Come on, answer.’

Genevieve’s voice filled the room.
‘Ten four, big daddy, you’re coming in loud and clear.’

‘Where are you? I need the car.’

‘Hello, Dad. We missed you too.’

‘Your mother’s had a car crash. I have to get to Adelaide. Tonight. Now. It’s serious.’

‘Oh, Dad. Oh God. Is she all right?’

‘She’s in hospital. They’re operating. I don’t know any more than that. I have to get there now.’

‘Oh God. You don’t have a car, do you? We’re not far, Dad. Half an hour maybe. I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

‘Hurry,’ he said.

Lindy and Richard were still on the side of the road, in the spot where the windscreen had shattered. The other car had driven on, oblivious. Their intention had been to take out the broken windscreen glass and keep driving – with Lindy at the wheel – but somewhere in the process, the idea of carefully picking out pieces of broken glass had been replaced with the idea of kissing. They had now been kissing for twenty minutes. Lindy couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt. To be here, outside, pressed against the car, her arms around a man who had his arms around her. Any more of these deep, amazing kisses, and that rug on the seat of her dad’s four-wheel drive would be on the ground beside them, and them on top of it. Richard’s hands were already inside her shirt, on her skin. Her hands had long been on the bare skin of his back. She could hear small moans of pleasure. Her name, spoken again and again.

‘Lindy, answer me. Lindy.’

It was her father. Her father’s voice coming from the radio in the car.

‘Can you ignore it?’ Richard murmured.

‘Sure,’ she said.

‘Lindy, where the hell are you? Answer me.’

She broke away, reluctantly. ‘Sorry, I’ll be right back.’

She picked up the handset. ‘Dad?’

‘Get home now.’

‘But, Dad, I —’

‘I need the four-wheel drive. Your mother’s had a car accident.’

‘What? Where?’

‘In Adelaide. She’s in hospital. I need to get there and I haven’t got a bloody car.’

‘Dad, the windscreen – it’s smashed.’

‘Fuck. Okay. Forget it, Lindy.’

He hung up.

Richard had heard it all. ‘Lindy, what is —’

She got into the car and started the engine. ‘Get in,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’

They’d only gone twenty metres when the radio crackled into life again.

Lindy snatched it up. ‘We’re on our way. As fast as we can.’

‘About time, Lindy.’
It was Jane Lawson. ‘
Is this some kind of joke? What now? Overheated engine? Another flat tyre? My cousins are about to leave and —’

About to explain about her mother, her father, the windscreen, Lindy lost patience. She said something she’d wanted to say to Jane Lawson for years, then replaced the handset.

‘Wow,’ Richard said. ‘That told her.’

Lindy just kept driving.

Genevieve saw the light ahead first. They’d turned off the main road and were now on the dirt road to Errigal, travelling at forty kilometres an hour, the fastest she dared to go. It wasn’t a car or a truck coming towards them. ‘It’s a motorbike,’ Ig said. Their father was coming along the road towards them on the station motorbike.

She pulled onto the side of the road. He did the same. He leapt off the bike, holding out his hand for the car keys. Genevieve handed them over.

‘But we’re coming with you, Dad,’ she said. ‘All of us.’

He’d just started the car and was turning back towards the main road when the radio crackled. It was Lindy.
‘Genevieve? It’s me, quick, answer.’

‘Does she know, Dad?’

Nick nodded.

Genevieve picked up the handset. ‘We’re on our way, Lindy. You’ll have to follow us.’

‘I can’t. My windscreen’s gone. Wait for me, please. I can see your lights, I’m not far.’

‘Dad?’ Genevieve put her hand on her father’s arm. ‘Dad, please. She has to be with us too.’

Nick took his foot off the pedal. They waited.

Lindy was parking behind them less than five minutes later. She ran across to the car, got into the back with Victoria and Ig. Then she got out again and ran back.

‘Richard, sorry. Here are the keys. Just drive slowly. Keep going in that direction. Past our house for another forty minutes. The Lawsons is the only other station on this road. You’ll be fine.’

‘But I don’t know where I am.’

‘You’ll find your way. Use the radio if you get lost.’

‘I don’t know how to use it.’

‘You’ll work it out. I’m sorry.’

He stood watching as Lindy and her family drove away.

The car filled with voices as Lindy and Genevieve fired questions at their father. Ig started to cry. Victoria tried to soothe him. Nick eventually held up his hand to silence them.

‘Stop it, everyone, just stop it. Just shut up. Please,’ he snapped, finally.

‘Dad, please, tell us everything.’ It was Victoria, her voice quiet. ‘Now we’re all here.’

‘The police rang. She had an accident. In the Adelaide Hills. She’s been seriously hurt. They rushed her to hospital. She’s being operated on now.’

‘What do they mean by seriously hurt?’

Nick glanced back at Ig. Victoria had both arms around him.

‘He needs to know, Dad,’ Genevieve said. ‘We all do.’

‘She’s had some kind of internal bleeding. It caused a sudden drop in her blood pressure.’ He hesitated. ‘The paramedics had to restart her heart.’

Lindy gasped.

‘Did she die?’ Ig asked.

Victoria held him even tighter. ‘No, Ig. There were paramedics there. They kept her heart going.’

‘But if they hadn’t been there —’

‘They were there, Ig,’ Victoria said. ‘They got her to hospital. She’s in hospital now. The very best place.’

A mobile phone rang. They’d just come into signal range. Nick scrabbled inside his shirt pocket, took it out and gave it to Genevieve.

It was a nurse from the hospital with an update. Genevieve asked questions, listened for several minutes. She told the caller they were on the way, that they’d be there in less than four hours.

‘Mum’s still in the operating theatre,’ she reported. ‘It’s a ruptured spleen. That’s what caused the bleeding and the lack of oxygen. They had to —’

‘They had to what?’ Nick said. ‘Genevieve, what?’

‘Her heart stopped again. They had to use the defibrillator on her in the hospital, in the operating theatre. But she’s alive. She’s still alive.’

In the back seat, Victoria held Ig tighter.

Lindy was crying. ‘Will she be all right, Dad?’

‘Of course she will,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

They prayed. All of them, for the rest of the journey. Prayers that they hadn’t said in years, since school, since the days they used to go to Mass every Sunday. Hail Marys. Our Fathers. Over and over again, until they reached the outskirts of Adelaide. They made only one stop, for petrol. Only Nick got out. In the light from the petrol station, their faces took on a strange golden glow.

Ig spoke, his voice clear in the silence of the car. ‘Robbie says she’ll be fine.’

Lindy sobbed. ‘It’s not the time for Robbie, Ig.’

‘He says she’ll be fine!’ He shouted the words.

Victoria held him tight again, stroking his hair, kissing his head. ‘It’s okay, Ig. It’s okay.’

‘He knows about this stuff,’ Ig said. He was crying again now too. ‘He told me to tell you.’

‘Tell him thanks, Ig,’ Genevieve said.

‘He’s here. Thank him yourself.’

Their father was approaching. Genevieve exchanged a glance with Victoria, who nodded.

Genevieve turned right around in the seat and addressed a spot somewhere between Ig and Victoria. ‘Thanks, Robbie. We’re really glad to hear that.’

‘Ready?’ Nick said as he got back into the driver’s seat.

‘Ready,’ they said.

Thirty minutes later, Nick pulled up in front of the main hospital in the centre of the city. All four doors of the car opened.

‘Go, Dad,’ Genevieve said. ‘I’ll find a car park. I’ll find you all.’

‘I’ll stay with you,’ Victoria said.

‘No,’ Genevieve said. ‘Go now, please. One of us should be there if —’

‘She’s going to be all right.’ Victoria’s tone was fierce.

‘I know. Just go, Victoria. I’ll be there as quick as I can.’

Victoria turned and ran after her father, sister and little brother.

It took Genevieve twenty minutes to find a car park and then find her family. They were sitting in a small waiting room near the operating theatres. There were plenty of spare seats but they were in a huddle in the corner, sitting side by side. Her father was staring across the room. Lindy and Victoria were talking softly to each other. Ig was talking too; smiling even. As Genevieve got closer, she realised he was talking to Robbie. About a TV program they both liked.

‘What’s happened?’ Genevieve asked her father. ‘Is she —’

‘They’re still operating,’ Nick said.

Beside him, Ig laughed. ‘No, that’s not the funny bit. The best bit is when the duck goes —’

Genevieve was shocked at her rush of temper. ‘Ig, no, not now. Tell Robbie to be quiet.’

His expression turned mutinous. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Then at least whisper to him, will you?’ She turned back to her father. ‘Have they told you anything else? How it’s going? How long they’ll be?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Nothing new.’

Victoria reached up and took her twin’s hand. ‘We just have to wait, Genevieve.’