Chapter 115
I have thought a lot about what must have happened to me on the flight.
I think it’s possible I suffered from “delirium” due to dehydration. I believe I was severely dehydrated that morning and I’ve been told I refused all offers of water during the delay. People my age are susceptible to dehydration and it can lead to the sudden onset of delirium, resulting in confusion and hallucinations.
I have also considered the possibility I suffered a psychotic break caused by grief. This is rarer than delirium, but it happens.
In my day we would have said I suffered a “nervous breakdown,” but the new term is “mental health crisis.”
Grandma would have said I had “a funny turn.”
I have tried to remember everything I can about the moments while I was still lucid.
I know I got an awful shock when I saw the fair-haired flight attendant because he was there the day Ned died. I will never forget that boy’s grim, frightened expression as he leaned over Ned, pressing two fingers to Ned’s darling neck, which I loved to kiss, which smelled so good, right near the little dark spot we were keeping an eye on. I knew there was no pulse to find. I knew the CPR wouldn’t work. I knew the paramedics who came on board wouldn’t save him. I’m sure the young flight attendant would not have forgotten the day one of his passengers died, but perhaps all his attention had been on Ned’s face, not mine, or perhaps ladies of my age all look the same to him, because he looked right through me when I boarded. It added to my feeling of unreality, as if I’d dreamed the whole thing, as if I’d never been married to Ned.
I had Ned’s ashes in my carry-on bag, above me in the overhead bin, and yet there was an empty seat right next to me, the only empty seat on the plane, as if it were waiting for Ned, and then the man across the aisle from me, who I now know was Leo Vodnik, wore the very same stylish shoes as Ned, and tapped his feet in an identical impatient manner, while he sat next to the couple who reminded me of Jill and Bert, and I saw the Jewels of Europe—well, never mind, none of this matters.
I did what I did.
—
When I got to Hazel and Tony’s house in Sydney after the flight, I didn’t technically faint, or collapse as such, but Hazel says I sat on her couch and “toppled sideways like a tree.”
Embarrassing.
She put me to bed in her guest room, and I stayed there for a week, like an invalid suffering from consumption. It was decided (without anyone asking me) that the scattering of Ned’s ashes would be postponed until I was well enough.
I lay in bed and listened for Tony’s voice because, although he and Ned are nothing alike in looks or personality, their voices have always been eerily similar. Hearing Tony’s voice didn’t upset me. I found it comforting.
Goodness, my in-laws were kind to me that week. Sometimes over the years I had wondered what Hazel and Tony truly thought of Ned and me, traipsing about the world while they stayed in one place and brought up a family. There were long periods when we had no contact and then we’d breeze in at Christmas, with our gifts and stories. Just as their children got close to us, off we went to live in another city or country. Tony and Hazel might have secretly rolled their eyes at each other while we talked about tandem skydiving and trekking in Nepal. Families do secretly roll their eyes at each other, but never mind, it doesn’t matter if they did. There is no doubt they treated me like a loved family member that week. I am ready to do the same for them when and if they need me.
—
When I felt well enough, we scattered Ned’s ashes at the scenic lookout Tony suggested. He told a lot of stories I’d never heard before about boyhood adventures involving bikes and surfboards and sand dunes. Tony said his little brother Ned made any activity ten times more fun.
I thought, Twenty times more fun. A hundred times. Maybe a thousand times.
—
Ned and I had thirty-four beautiful years together. That’s longer than my dad’s lifetime. Longer than Jack Murphy’s lifetime. Longer than Kayla Halfpenny’s lifetime.
I remind myself of this whenever I feel particularly cross with him for walking out of that damned appointment.
Chapter 116
Ethan turns and there is Carter. He’s clearly drunk. His eyes are unfocused. His too-tight buttons-straining-over-pecs mulberry-colored shirt has come loose from his jeans. He must be returning from the bar because he holds a bottle of boutique beer in one hand and a slopping glass of white wine in the other. With the studied carefulness of a drunk he places both drinks down on Ethan’s table and proffers his fist for one of his ridiculous fist bumps.
“Mate! Long time no see! How are ya?”
He seems amicable. Not angry. Perhaps it will be fine.
“I’m good, Carter,” says Ethan. “Good. How are you?” Careful, careful, just tread carefully.
“So, you going to introduce me or what?” He gestures at the two women, who both offer the classic fixed fuck-off-please smiles Ethan’s seen so many women give twats in bars.
Ethan introduces them, and Carter lurches forward and takes each woman’s hand in a faux courtly manner and kisses it, the way drunk tossers sometimes do. Ethan tries to say sorry with his eyes. He knows both women know they can’t refuse: that it’s safer to let a guy this drunk slobber over their hands, because his mood can turn on a dime, but it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and he feels the bubble of fury low within his stomach.
“Anyway, we were about to make a move,” he says.
“Yeah, we’ve got that booking.” Faith wipes the back of her hand on her shorts.
“So you heard from Jasmine?” asks Carter. “Since she’s left the country? She’s blocked me, but I bet she’s still in touch with you, right?”
“She’s my flatmate,” says Ethan. “So…you know, I’m feeding her fish.”
And here it comes. Anger floods Carter’s face. “You’re feeding her fish. I think you did a bit more than that, didn’t ya?!”
The volume and vitriol are enough to still surrounding conversations.
Ethan thinks about the “stealth knife” in his pocket, but at what point is he meant to use it? This point? Or does he wait until he’s attacked? When it’s too late.
The two women stand. They push their chairs back in.
“We’ve really got to go,” says Lila. “It was nice to meet you, Carter.”
Carter stares at her for a moment, distracted, but then a thought crosses his mind.
“You fucking him?” He points at Ethan. “He fucked my girlfriend, you know. Right under my nose.”
