The Survivors(13)

He had stared at her. ‘Me, what?’

‘A guy like you – what are you, eighteen? In a situation like this? You are a prime candidate for that, my friend. Prime.’ The doctor’s tone softened. ‘That could be you. Easily. So I want you to make sure it isn’t. Do not let yourself get sideswiped by this, all right? There’s going to be a lot to deal with emotionally, so be prepared. You need some sort of release that’s not going to end up with you dead or miserable or in jail. So take me seriously when I say this: find something positive that helps.’

The same day he was released from hospital, Kieran had followed Verity into their house, dropped his bag and walked down the hallway and straight out of the back door. He had stripped down to his shorts, plunged into the sea and swum and swum and swum.

He opened the hall cupboard now to put the broom back, and slowed as he passed the next bedroom along. It had once belonged to his older brother, Finn, but at some point Kieran and his parents had simply started referring to it as the ‘other’ room.

Other room was about right. Since Finn died, Brian and Verity had tried using the space variously as a home office and a gym. They never said it out loud, but Kieran guessed they didn’t find it easy to spend time in there because for the last few years it had become essentially a storage space. It was packed full of belongings they hardly ever needed, which offered the dual benefit of keeping the room both in use and rarely visited.

The door was ajar now, though, and Kieran used a finger to push it open. It looked almost as he expected, with the addition of flat-packed cardboard boxes stacked against the walls, but he stopped when he saw that the spare bed nestled amid the clutter had been made up.

The sheets had been tucked in without much care. A dirty coffee mug stood next to the bed, along with a book spread open to mark its page and Verity’s reading glasses perched on the spine. She must be sleeping there, at least some of the time. Kieran had never in his life known his parents to sleep apart. He looked at the bed now and wondered what to make of that.

In the kitchen, he found Verity leaning forward in her seat, balancing a mouthful of cereal on a spoon. She was holding it out at face height, ignoring the milk that slopped over the edge and onto the tiled floor. At the other end of the spoon, Brian Elliott opened his mouth barely wide enough to speak.

‘I’ve had enough.’

‘You haven’t had anything at all yet.’ Verity glanced up as Kieran entered and pointed him towards the fresh coffee, before turning her attention back to her husband.

Kieran’s parents had used to compete in local triathlons together. Four years ago, Brian had come second in the over-fifty category. Verity placed the edge of the spoon against her husband’s lips, coaxing them apart. He opened his mouth like a child.

Kieran watched until eventually Verity looked over. ‘How was the Surf and Turf?’

He shrugged. At the table, his dad refused a second mouthful. ‘It was fine. Have you seen Mia this morning?’

‘No. Eat please, Brian. She’s not here?’

‘She’s taken Audrey out.’ Kieran checked his phone. No new messages.

He pulled out a kitchen chair and moved a box so he could sit down. The flap wasn’t sealed and as he looked inside, he stopped.

In the box were some of his mother’s clothes, folded neatly next to what he could only describe as rotting household rubbish. The cream jumper Verity had knitted herself had a dark spatter across the front where a used teabag had bled out against the wool. A browning banana peel was tucked into the pocket of a pair of trousers.

Kieran stared at the contents, then held out the box wordlessly. Verity barely glanced at it, shrugging at his silent question.

‘He knows we’re moving.’ She turned back to Brian, breakfast bowl still in her hand. ‘He sees me packing and he wants to help, so he puts in whatever he can find.’ She ran an eye over the other boxes. ‘He’s done a few.’

‘This is dreadful.’

Verity didn’t reply, just scooped up another mouthful of cereal.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes?’

‘You should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me it was like this?’

‘You have enough on. You’ve got Audrey now. Work.’ Verity looked him calmly in the eye. ‘I can manage your dad. It’s fine.’

‘It’s not. Mum? This is not fine at all. This is really bad.’

‘I can understand why you might be feeling that way.’

And there it was, like clockwork. The active listening that Verity was so keen on.

Kieran ignored it and tried again. ‘How long have you been sleeping in the other room?’

‘Not long. And only sometimes.’ Verity gave up on the cereal and stood to put the bowl in the sink. ‘He gets a bit restless at night.’

They were talking about Brian as though he wasn’t there, Kieran realised. He wondered what Verity’s current online support group – he thought it was a fairly safe bet that she was part of one – would make of that.

‘It’s not too late to find somewhere in Sydney, Mum,’ he said. ‘For both of you.’

‘It is. And we’ve been through this.’

‘I know, but –’

‘Your dad would find an interstate move difficult.’

‘Yeah, but he’d get used to it eventually. And it’d be better for you. You wouldn’t have to do this on your own. Mia and I would be around. And Audrey. It could be a new start.’