Yellowcake - Margo Lanagan [29]
He met her eyes, her serious smiling. Couldn’t you just say no? he said.
Her smile went, and the face behind it was written all over with guilt. He was sorry, straight away.
You were there, she said softly. You felt some of it, didn’t you?
He nodded, giving in, watching his hands in his lap. One was a tight fist, and the other was wrapped around it—kindly, warningly, or perhaps just to cover the sight of it.
She slid her shake back in front of her and sucked on the straw. She glanced around the food hall, letting the rest of the world back in. And anyway, they’re life skills. It’s not as if you’ll never use them, even if I stay.
So now Marcus could cook. Marcus could vacuum and dust and wipe down benchtops, and keep the bathroom clean. Marcus knew how to look after Lenny, what to watch out for, what to make sure she ate, now and in the future, how to get through the illnesses she had to have in order to build her immune system. She’s only small, Mum had said. Things can happen very quickly with her, so you need to keep an eye on her, and act fast if it’s something dangerous. He knew all about the little phone and the numbers Mum had put in it. He knew how the money worked, how Dad should move it around when his wage came in, when the bills arrived.
Mum had taught Marcus all this secretly. Dad would have been upset to find out about it. He’ll learn it soon enough if I do ever go, Mum had said, that day at Eastlands. He won’t expect you to do it all. But he won’t learn it from me, so you’ll have to pass it on for us, Marky. Her cheeks had caved in as she pulled on the thickshake, it was so thick. And at the beginning. You might have to do it all for a little while at the beginning. If it ever happens. It might never happen.
Marcus had been interested to learn how life worked, and pleased to be able to do grown-ups things. He’d been proud to know more than other kids at school did, and to keep that knowledge quiet. It was only now, flying through the night towards town, with Dad holding onto his panic in the front seat and Lenny unaware under his hand, that Marcus felt how sad it was, that he realised he’d been working with Mum towards this moment. Had he made it possible for her to leave by being such a good boy, by carefully soaking up her instructions, by practising and getting better at things? If he’d been a hopeless cook, or a sloppy cleaner, or an idiot with numbers the way some of the kids at school were, or if he’d just been moody, or if like Dad he’d dug in his heels and refused to believe it was ever going to happen, would she have been unable to go? Should he have made her stay and do the roasts and bills and vacuuming, and the sending of Christmas cards? Should he have folded his arms and stuck out his lip and said No, I won’t learn?
But always the little video clip played in his memory, of the rose and lavender wreath coming good in his hands, getting prettier and prettier, while from his floating mum poured down upon Marcus, like the beginnings of a rainshower, like a light sprinkling of gold dust, blessings, wellbeing, peace and perfect happiness. How could he not want his mum to feel those things? How could he deny them to anyone, let alone her?
Because it was so late, Dad could pull up right outside Swathes. Police tape fluttered across the entrance, and Marcus felt sick at the sight.
‘You go and tell them, Dad. I’ll get Lenny out.’ He had a sudden need to busy himself with the mechanics of the capsule, with Lenny’s blanket and limbs, to support her sleeping head.
Dad came back as he was kicking the car door closed, Lenny in his arms. Dad took her up gently. ‘Fifth floor, they reckon.