impossible.
âGâday, Tom,â says Hazel, leaning out of the doorway.
Hazel is the residential unit manager. She ran the hospital wing for almost a decade before she was transferred. Nana adores her.
âYou after some peace and quiet, darl?â she asks.
âHeading for the day bed, Haze, but I was hoping to get there unnoticed.â
âCommon roomâs deserted,â she says, with a wink. âYour grannyâs latest pond-dive was too much excitement and everyone, except Campbell, is off having a nap.â Campbell is the common-room cat.
Hazel walks over to me, takes my arm and leads me to the day bed. She helps me up, arranges the pillows under my knees and covers me with one of Betsy Grootâs hand-knitted blankets. âThere you are, maâam,â she smiles. âWill there be anything else?â
âThanks, Haze,â I say. âYouâre the best.â
âGive me a yell when you want to get down. Campbell and I will be in the office, catching up on paperwork.â
Bill has secrets. I know this because Iâve seen them: small canvas satchels stashed in various cubbyholes in and around the boatshed. He used to move them from one spot to another every few months, usually late at night when he thought I was asleep. But how could I sleep? I was homesick. I missed Mumâs laugh and Sarahâs morning snuggles. Mostly I missed the sound of Dad rummaging around in the dark.
The first time I heard Bill digging, I thought it was Dad. I snuck out of bed to get a better look and there he was, spade in hand, like always. I sat on the floor and watched him, filled with relief that the nightmare was over and my life was back to normal, until something made me realise that I was watching Bill. Suddenly I felt sick and frightened. I watched for hours, frozen to the spot, as Bill dug a hole large enough for me. It was still dark when he finished and I crawled back into bed. I lay awake till dawn. I was living with a stranger who, by the look of it, was going to kill me and bury me in the yard.
In the morning the hole was gone and the ground was flat. I walked over the spot a few times, trying to feel if it was looser than the surrounding dirt, but it all felt the same. âYou worried about something, buddy?â asked Bill, leaning against the screen door. I realised I had no idea how long he had been watching me.
Bill cleared his throat and spat the contents onto the dirt.
âBecause you look like youâre pacing,â he said.
Mrs Blanketâs assistant, Clare, is from Kansas. I know Kansas from The Wizard of Oz . Clare moved to Australia to be a teacher but changed her mind once she arrived. She decided she liked animals more than kids, and she worked as a jillaroo for a few years out west, until the drought forced her to look for work in town. It flooded not long after she settled here. She says if she was ever going to leave, she would have done it then. Iâm glad she stayed.
âYouâre looking a bit tired,â says Clare, using her index finger in a simple back and forth motion to mimic the dark circles under my eyes. âYou need a sleeping tonic,â she says, and disappears out the back.
âHi, Mrs Blanket,â I say, waiting for Clare.
âHi, Tom,â she says. âYouâre looking tired.â
âSorted,â Clare says, reappearing suddenly, clutching a small glass jar and a large syringe.
âYou ever had a Kansas sleeping tonic?â she asks, knowing my answer. I shake my head, no. Clare walks over to the axolotl tank and hands me the jar. With the syringe she draws a full measure of water. âWell,â she says, looking at the jar in my hand. âOpen it.â I take off the lid and she squirts the water in. She does this twice more until the jar is about a third full. âFollow me,â she orders, and I follow her back to the counter. âGive it here,â she says,
âGâday, Tom,â says Hazel, leaning out of the doorway.
Hazel is the residential unit manager. She ran the hospital wing for almost a decade before she was transferred. Nana adores her.
âYou after some peace and quiet, darl?â she asks.
âHeading for the day bed, Haze, but I was hoping to get there unnoticed.â
âCommon roomâs deserted,â she says, with a wink. âYour grannyâs latest pond-dive was too much excitement and everyone, except Campbell, is off having a nap.â Campbell is the common-room cat.
Hazel walks over to me, takes my arm and leads me to the day bed. She helps me up, arranges the pillows under my knees and covers me with one of Betsy Grootâs hand-knitted blankets. âThere you are, maâam,â she smiles. âWill there be anything else?â
âThanks, Haze,â I say. âYouâre the best.â
âGive me a yell when you want to get down. Campbell and I will be in the office, catching up on paperwork.â
Bill has secrets. I know this because Iâve seen them: small canvas satchels stashed in various cubbyholes in and around the boatshed. He used to move them from one spot to another every few months, usually late at night when he thought I was asleep. But how could I sleep? I was homesick. I missed Mumâs laugh and Sarahâs morning snuggles. Mostly I missed the sound of Dad rummaging around in the dark.
The first time I heard Bill digging, I thought it was Dad. I snuck out of bed to get a better look and there he was, spade in hand, like always. I sat on the floor and watched him, filled with relief that the nightmare was over and my life was back to normal, until something made me realise that I was watching Bill. Suddenly I felt sick and frightened. I watched for hours, frozen to the spot, as Bill dug a hole large enough for me. It was still dark when he finished and I crawled back into bed. I lay awake till dawn. I was living with a stranger who, by the look of it, was going to kill me and bury me in the yard.
In the morning the hole was gone and the ground was flat. I walked over the spot a few times, trying to feel if it was looser than the surrounding dirt, but it all felt the same. âYou worried about something, buddy?â asked Bill, leaning against the screen door. I realised I had no idea how long he had been watching me.
Bill cleared his throat and spat the contents onto the dirt.
âBecause you look like youâre pacing,â he said.
Mrs Blanketâs assistant, Clare, is from Kansas. I know Kansas from The Wizard of Oz . Clare moved to Australia to be a teacher but changed her mind once she arrived. She decided she liked animals more than kids, and she worked as a jillaroo for a few years out west, until the drought forced her to look for work in town. It flooded not long after she settled here. She says if she was ever going to leave, she would have done it then. Iâm glad she stayed.
âYouâre looking a bit tired,â says Clare, using her index finger in a simple back and forth motion to mimic the dark circles under my eyes. âYou need a sleeping tonic,â she says, and disappears out the back.
âHi, Mrs Blanket,â I say, waiting for Clare.
âHi, Tom,â she says. âYouâre looking tired.â
âSorted,â Clare says, reappearing suddenly, clutching a small glass jar and a large syringe.
âYou ever had a Kansas sleeping tonic?â she asks, knowing my answer. I shake my head, no. Clare walks over to the axolotl tank and hands me the jar. With the syringe she draws a full measure of water. âWell,â she says, looking at the jar in my hand. âOpen it.â I take off the lid and she squirts the water in. She does this twice more until the jar is about a third full. âFollow me,â she orders, and I follow her back to the counter. âGive it here,â she says,
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