‘We’ve talked on the phone a few times.’ He shrugs. ‘I called him – figured it was better to get it over and done with. He cracks the shits every time I call, but it’s easier than dealing with him in person. At least I’m not standing right in the line of fire, y’know?’
I can’t nod or agree with him: I’ve never had to handle anything like that. I don’t feel like my physical safety is ever in doubt when I’m at home, or with family.
‘I’m sending him some money,’ he continues. ‘And helping pay off the bills. That’s placating him a bit.’ He looks at me. ‘It’s not just the cancer or the booze, yeah? That makes it worse, but he’s been like this since I was a kid. He’s just…mean.’ He shakes himself suddenly, as if he’s shaking off a bad dream. ‘Anyway, I’m not living with him anymore which is a helluva relief.’
‘You’re living in a sharehouse shack with a bunch of drug dealers instead.’ It’s staggering that he considers his current accommodation an improvement on the one he had before. I tug the bandage end, fix on an elastic fastener. ‘I’m sorry about your dad.’
He snorts at how I’ve echoed his sentiments back. ‘Hey, I’m not bereaved. But sometimes, I can’t help thinking …’
‘…that it’d be easier if you were?’ I suggest softly.
He looks at me, looks away fast. I’ve hit a nerve, and maybe he’s just realised that implying you wish your parent was dead in front of someone whose parent died isn’t the height of sensitivity.
But I don’t know how his father’s illness is progressing, and now I feel guilty. ‘I’m sorry, that was bad manners –’
He makes a low laugh. ‘Don’t apologise. It should be me apologising. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know what comes outta my mouth sometimes.’
‘Well, don’t hold back for my sake.’ I keep my tone light. ‘Anyway, I get the impression the way I was with my mum and the way you are with your dad are very different things.’
‘Yeah, that’s possibly the understatement of the year,’ he says evenly. He pauses. ‘I’m just happy I had the guts to cut loose.’
‘God, I think you’ve been incredibly gutsy so far.’ That came out a bit more honest than I expected. I redirect. ‘Look, make sure you’re being careful in Mildura. I’d hate to think of all this first-rate nursing going to waste.’
He pats his now-bandaged leg. ‘Don’t worry. I got my own personal well-being in mind at all times. The last thing I want is Mick the Leb breaking my kneecaps.’
He hops off the outpatient table with more energy than he had climbing onto it, tests out the bandaging, taking a few steps around with his cane. I’m chilled by the thought of Harris having his legs broken because of what he’s agreed to do. What he needs more of, though, are people around who give him support.
I make my voice firm. ‘It looks better – more comfortable for you. Make sure you look after it like we discussed.’
‘I will.’ He zips his pants-leg back into place, looks at me. ‘Thank you. It’s just…good to talk, y’know? There’s nobody else I can talk to about any of this.’
I bite my lip. ‘I guess you have to go now.’
‘Yeah, it’s a long drive back.’
I say the next bit hurriedly. ‘Harris, remember to stay in touch.’ I smooth my hands down the sides of my work pants. ‘You’ve got my phone number.’
‘Okay. I will.’ He pulls his hood up. ‘Good luck with your nanna. Hope it works out okay.’
We have this weird moment, when it seems like our simple acknowledgements aren’t quite enough; I feel like hugging him, or giving something more than just a formal goodbye, and Harris seems to feel the same way. He hesitates, reaches out with the hand not on his cane. My fingers slip into his and we both squeeze, just for a second, before releasing. That’s about as demonstrative as we can be in public anyway. Our eyes make up the shortfall.
Then I open the door of the Examination room and watch him limp off towards the hospital foyer and the outside doors. I get busy again when I see Barb coming towards me from the opposite direction. She enters the Examination room while I’m gathering together all the wound-care scraps.
‘That patient of yours has been up to mischief, I hear,’ Barb says.
‘What?’
She helps herself to supplies from the cupboards. ‘I heard Harris shot through from Mark West’s place. That he’d gone to Mildura.’
I keep my expression appropriately mystified. ‘Who’d you hear that from?’
‘Came in to do my shopping yesterday, ran into Delphine, Mark’s mum. She was telling me what she’d heard from Mark. According to her, Mark said Harris is in Mildura. He said it was a shame Harris took off, that he seemed to be getting better.’
I try to look dismayed, as if this is all news to me. ‘Then…he came all the way down for his appointment. That has to count for something.’
Barb raises her eyebrows, shrugs. I know what the gestures mean. I’m starting to understand what Harris meant when he said people are happy to assume the worst about him.
Barb’s already commiserating with me. ‘You’ve got to let it go, hon. He’ll come to his appointments or he won’t. I know you’ve tried hard for that boy, but sometimes people don’t want your help as much as you want to give it.’
