Kelly Tony - Growing pineapples in the outback

Rebecca and Tony on the front verandah of the Lister family home in Mount Isa

Prologue

Rebecca

Im woken by the sound of the toilet door squeaking. I roll over and see light coming in under my bedroom door. I hear the door close and the light diminishes to a sliver. I know its Mum. My husband, Tony, is away on a work trip, and Mum and I are the only ones home.

I look at my phone on the bedside table. Its 3 am but I wont go back to sleep until I hear Mum go back to bed.

I have been back in my childhood home in Mount Isa for just under a month. Its been thirty-five years since Ive lived under this roof, but my ear tuned in to the familiar sounds immediately. As a kid, I could always tell who was in each room based on the sounds: the distinctive squeak of each brass doorknob, the thunk of the Bakelite switches, the rattle of the louvres in their metal frames, and the whir of vibrating venetian blinds whenever a door was left open.

In the first few weeks, Mums nocturnal sounds and movements caused me to wake up instantly and dive out of bed to check that everything was all right. Sometimes she would get up two or three times a night, which caused havoc with my sleep. It was a bit like living with a baby again. When my two daughters, Georgina and Lucille, were really little I would wake at their first cry and attend to them immediately. As they grew, I learnt that I could wait to see what each cry meant and what it required. Ive become more used to Mums sounds, and can now recognise them without alarm.

I roll onto my side and listen. The house is silent. Outside I can hear the neighbourhood dogs. They bark incessantly, day and night. I dont understand why people dont yell at them. When I was growing up here there was always someone yelling out, Shut those bloody mongrel dogs up! But no one seems to take any notice now. Perhaps for other people the barking is muffled by the sounds of twenty-four-hour air conditioners; the low, continuous rumble of the mine that sprawls across the western side of town; or the sound of the road trains changing gears as they tear down the Barkly Highway.

I look at my phone again: 3.15. Mum is taking a long time this morning. I think about getting up and checking. But Id have to knock on the toilet door or call out, and that would startle her. Mum has always startled easily, and hates it.

I also dont want her to feel she has to hurry. Her kidneys are starting to fail, and she can often last an entire day without going to the toilet but then needs to get up several times during the night. She doesnt say anything about it but I know it worries her, and it certainly interferes with her sleep.

I lift the lightweight doona from the end of the bed up to my shoulders. I should get up and turn off the splitty the split-system air conditioner. But I dont. I snuggle down further and pull the doona up to my chin. I love these last few hours before dawn, when the bedroom is finally cool enough for sleep.

Perhaps Mum is coming down with something? For the last few days shes been withdrawn. Not that I expect her to be the life of the party, but by nature she is engaged and upbeat. I know I havent been as attentive as I could be: Ive been flat out trying to sort things out in the house and keep up with the various projects I have on the go back in Melbourne. Mum doesnt expect me to entertain her, but she has spent too long snoozing in her green vinyl recliner. Ive tried to get her moving but it has been murderously hot; I can understand her desire to sit inside with the air con going. Tonight I watched her push her dinner around on the plate, barely eating anything. I couldnt even tempt her with pudding, which is Mums comfort food. Just before bed I cut up a pear for her and made her a cup of herbal tea. She ate and drank those somewhat half-heartedly.

I open my eyes and see light from the toilet coming in under the bedroom door again the door must be open. Thats strange; Mum never leaves the door open, and always turns off the light when she finishes. I check the time: 4 am. I roll over and get up.

I stand outside my bedroom door and look at the brightly lit toilet the room is empty. I walk over to switch off the light, then smell something odd sweet but sour. I look down and see some smallish brown blobs on the floor. I lean down to look more closely, but bring my head up quickly as the pungent smell makes me gag. Its poo. I grab some toilet paper, wipe up the mess as best I can and throw the paper in the toilet. I wash my hands in the bathroom.

I walk back into the hall and look at Mums bedroom door. Closed. I turn and see that all four fluorescent lights are on in the lounge room. I think of Dad The bloody place is lit up like a Christmas tree! As I head up the hall I see more brown blobs.

The lounge room is empty, but I see blood on the back of Mums chair. Theres more on the kitchen floor. I grab a roll of kitchen paper and wipe the floor and chair. I throw the paper into the bin, wash my hands again and go to Mums room.

When I open her bedroom door, Mum sits up and turns on her bedside lamp. Whats wrong? she asks.

The toilet light was on, and theres blood on your chair.

I got up to get a glass of water.

Where did the blood come from?

Mum says nothing. She looks pale and vacant. She lifts her hand to the back of her head, and then holds it up in front of her face. In the light of the lamp we can both see the bright red blood. She looks bewildered.

Can I look? I ask.

Mum shakes her head. She pushes back the covers and begins to get out of bed.

What are you doing?

I want a glass of water, she says. She stands and wobbles.

I reach out and grab her, saying she ought to stay in bed. She says she needs to sit up she wants to go to the kitchen.

Slowly we walk down the hall, which gives me a chance to have a proper look at the back of her head. There is an open gash, bleeding. I think it will need stitches.

We get to Mums chair and she collapses into it. I tell her that Im going to ring an ambulance. She says she doesnt need an ambulance all she needs is some water, and then shell go back to bed.