The Wild Australia Stories

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The most important meeting of her life, and she was running late. Faith had offered to come along, but Sam had sensed her reluctance. In the end she’d gone off in a cab by herself, under a gloomy sky. It was probably for the best. This was something she needed to do alone. The car swished through the rainy streets. Sam stared out the window, stomach knotted tight in anticipation. She was about to meet a sister she’d known about for less than twenty-four hours.

The hospital was enormous and confusing, a rabbit warren of corridors and lifts and doorways. Preoccupied people rushed this way and that, everybody certain of where they were going – everybody except her. A fat woman pushed a teenage girl towards her in a wheelchair. Could that be her mother? Her sister? She turned to watch them pass, and cannoned into an orderly. ‘Lost?’ he asked. Sam nodded, and he steered her to a reception area.

When she gave her name, the receptionist reached for the phone. ‘Samantha Carmichael here to see you.’ She gave Sam a warm smile. ‘He’ll be down in just a moment.’ Who would be down? Sam stood, ill at ease, wondering what to do. An escape out the front doors was at the top of her favoured list of options.

A tall Asian man in a suit emerged from a nearby lift and looked in her direction. He beamed when he caught sight of her, and hurried over. Sam stood awkwardly and took a few tentative steps towards him. ‘Samantha Carmichael.’

He grasped her extended hand and shook it energetically. ‘No need for introductions, Miss Carmichael. I know exactly who you are.’ His smile was kind. ‘I’m Professor Andrew Sung, head of the acute myeloid leukaemia program, and the diagnostic molecular haematology laboratory. If you’ll please come with me.’

Sam followed him back into the lift, up to the tenth floor, and into a large room. It was some sort of lounge, with sofas and low tables and a flat-screen television on the wall. A loud gasp came from the corner, from a woman standing near a coffee machine.

Sam turned and knew she was looking at her birth mother. She blushed with shame to think that she’d wondered about the person pushing the wheelchair. Did she think she wouldn’t know her own flesh and blood? Sam had never seen anybody that looked so much like her before. It hurt more than she could have imagined.

Professor Sung took the woman by the hand and led her over to Sam. ‘Samantha Carmichael, this is Mary Kelly, your birth mother.’

‘Hello.’ It was all Sam could manage, a shy hello.

Mary Kelly was an attractive woman, with a high forehead and even features. Sam had calculated her age, from the scant information supplied by Faith. Mary looked much older than her thirty-five years, looked at least as old as Faith, and Faith was almost fifty. Mary’s hair, russet and wavy, was streaked with grey. Her eyes were set in dark rings, and fine, vertical wrinkles pinched her lips. The impression was one of tarnished beauty. Her eyes though were Sam’s own, and at the moment they were very wide indeed.

‘Samantha,’ said Mary. The word sounded like a prayer on her lips. ‘You’re so very lovely . . . and so very kind to come.’

Mary looked at Professor Sung, and Sam saw something pass between them. He gave Mary a tight-lipped nod. ‘There’s a good chance, yes,’ he said.

‘A good chance?’ said Mary. ‘There’s more than a good chance. I couldn’t tell them apart when they were born, and I doubt if I could now, except for Charlie being so skinny and all.’

Sam pricked up her ears. Her sister’s name was Charlie. Sam seized onto this new piece of information, as if her life depended on it. Charlie. That was a boy’s name. It must be short for something. Charlotte, perhaps. She explored the word, tried to conjure up an image based on the name.

‘This is too perfect,’ whispered Mary. A great smile transformed her face. It shed its shadows and creases, its worry and care. It was suddenly clear that she had once been a great beauty.

Sam tore her gaze away from this stranger who was her mother. ‘A good chance of what?’ she asked.

‘We mustn’t put the cart before the horse,’ said Professor Sung. ‘This is a lot for Samantha to take in. However, since time is of the essence…Would you like to meet your sister?’

‘I should bring her something,’ said Sam, in a sudden panic. ‘At least some flowers.’

The professor shook his head. ‘Your sister has a suppressed immune system. She can’t have flowers, or fruit. Nothing like that.’

Time was of the essence, the doctor had said. How sick was her sister? Was Charlie going to die, before she even got to meet her?

Mary and the doctor were talking to each other in low whispers.

‘Is my sister okay?’ said Sam in a sudden panic. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

Mary burst into tears. Professor Sung placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, but she kept on crying. ‘Samantha?’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Let’s have a talk?’ Sam trailed out of the room after him, leaving Mary behind.

Professor Sung led her to an adjacent waiting room and indicated for her to sit down. He pulled a chair over and sat facing her. His expression was kind, concerned. ‘I’m a haematological oncologist, which means I’m a doctor with special training in the diagnosis and treatment of blood diseases, especially blood-cell cancers.’

‘Is that what my sister has? Cancer?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. It’s something called CML – chronic myeloid leukaemia.’ There was a practised pause in his spiel. Leukaemia. That was bad. Sam’s friend’s little sister had died from leukaemia. Sam felt a sudden shiver down her spine.

‘When someone has CML, the bone marrow produces too many white blood cells. They interfere with normal blood production and cause anaemia, bleeding and bruising, that sort of thing.’

‘Can’t you do something for her?’ asked Sam. She wanted to say Charlie instead of her, but she couldn’t find the courage. To say her was horrible. She was ashamed to refer to her sister like that.

‘Your sister is in what we call the accelerated phase of the illness. She’s had the standard treatments, but nothing has worked. It’s unfortunate she wasn’t diagnosed earlier, but her family live in quite a remote, rural area. Her symptoms weren’t recognised until they became debilitating, and by then the disease was advanced.”

‘Is she going to die?’ asked Sam. Her phone rang, Faith’s number. Sam turned the phone off mid-ring.

‘We’re a long way from that point,’ said Professor Sung. ‘But I’ll explain a little more after you’ve seen your sister.’ He stood, and Sam did likewise, following him back to the lounge room.

Mary was clutching her arms nervously, pacing back and forth. ‘I’m going to duck out for a cigarette.’

Sam was aghast. ‘You’re not coming with me?’

Mary shook her head. ‘Charlie might want to see you by herself, just to start with. I’ll be back in jiffy.’ Before Sam could protest, she hurried off to the lift.

‘I’m afraid Mary can barely last twenty minutes between smokes,’ said Professor Sung. ‘The stress of Charlie’s illness doesn’t help.’ Sam didn’t know anybody who smoked cigarettes. Such a stupid thing to do. She felt a sudden burst of anger. It was inconceivable that she was related to that woman. Maybe they had it all wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t even be here.

As they walked down the corridor, Professor Sung asked a lot of questions about Sam’s health. ‘Your sister’s ANC count is low, so it’s important that you don’t have a cold, or anything like that. She’s highly vulnerable to infection right now.’

Sam nodded, wondering what he was talking about. ‘ANC count?’

‘It stands for absolute neutrophil count,’ he said. ‘An estimate of a person’s infection-fighting white blood cells.’

They walked into a ward, and stopped at the nurse’s station. A middle-aged woman looked up from her notes, and did a double take. She looked from Sam’s face to the doctor’s, and back to Sam. ‘Oh my Lord,’ she said. ‘Charlie’s sister.’

‘Do I look like her, then?’ asked Sam, excitement mounting in her chest.

‘That you do, dear. That you do. I’m Colleen.’

‘This is Samantha,’ said Professor Sung. ‘Could you fix her up with a mask and gown, please?’ Colleen took Sam’s temperature and asked her to wash her hands. After she’d finished, Sam donned a disposable gown, popped on a mask, and followed the professor into a nearby hospital room.

There was a window, a steel hospital bed, and a figure on the bed. That must be her sister … that must be Charlie. No matter what happened next, her sister would never be just she or her again. Sam held her breath as she approached, barely daring to believe she was in the same room as her sister. Tubes sprung from Charlie’s chest and left arm, attached to a dangerous looking silver machine. It loomed beside the bed, like a Dalek out of Doctor Who. Charlie’s eyes were closed, and she was motionless.

‘What does that machine do?’ asked Sam. She didn’t know why she was whispering.

‘That’s a leukapheresis machine, filtering out abnormal white blood cells.’ The doctor observed her concerned expression. ‘It’s quite painless.’

A soft toy frog, Kermit green, sat on Charlie’s bedside table. There were more frogs on the windowsill, some in zip-lock plastic bags. Ceramic frogs, plush frogs, wooden frogs. Sam dared to focus on the figure in the bed. Charlie wore faded Chinese pyjamas and a colourful scarlet headscarf. A beautiful scarf, vibrant and out of place in the functional sterility of the hospital room. Charlie’s eyes opened suddenly and she reached for a remote control, turning off the tiny television mounted on a swinging arm above the bed.

Sam got her first good look at her sister. Why did Colleen say that they looked alike? There wasn’t much of a similarity, was there? Maybe Sam couldn’t see past Charlie’s gaunt eyes and sunken cheeks. Maybe she just didn’t want to. It was frightening to imagine herself looking that sick. Then Charlie smiled and the resemblance was plain. ‘Take off your mask,’ said Charlie. ‘Just for a minute, so I can see you.’ Sam looked at Professor Sung, who nodded. Sam slipped the mask off. ‘You’re Samantha,’ said Charlie. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and started to sit up.

‘Whoa there,’ said Professor Sung. ‘Not so fast.’

Sam hurried over and instinctively reached for her sister’s back. It was strange being so close to Charlie – like looking into a magic mirror in which your reflection had a mind of its own.

‘This is the coolest thing,’ said Charlie. She was frail, but her voice sounded strong. ‘I’ve been dying to meet you all my life.’

‘You knew about me?’

Charlie nodded. ‘I’ve been wanting to find you for years, but Mum said that wasn’t right. She said that it was your decision to make.’

Sam smiled bitterly. Her decision, except that she’d never even heard of Charlie. At least Mary had had the decency to be honest with her daughter. Her own parents had taken it upon themselves to erase Sam’s entire history. She was sure that it was only Charlie’s illness that had made Faith relent. Otherwise she may have never learned the truth. ‘My parents didn’t tell me about you. I didn’t even know I was adopted. If I’d known …’ There was no way to finish the sentence. This was all too new, too much.

‘That sucks. We could have had so much fun tricking people. Nobody would have been able to tell us apart,’ said Charlie. Sam was unconvinced and it must have shown. ‘I haven’t always looked this ill,’ Charlie said indignantly. She took a photo out of her bed-side drawer and handed it to Sam, who shook her head in disbelief. It was a photo of herself, dressed in jeans and a check shirt. She was riding a horse she didn’t recognise, a compact bay with a baldy face. The most amazing thing of all was what she was doing. She was chasing a cow.

‘That can’t be me,’ said Sam, confused. ‘I’ve never even seen that horse, or those clothes . . . or that cow.’

Charlie laughed, a healthy belly laugh that suited her wide smile, but not her skinny frame. ‘No, it’s not you. It’s me, last year before I got sick.’ She pulled a few more photos from the drawer – school ones, childhood ones, more on horseback.

Sam stared in disbelief at the images. ‘We look the same; exactly the same.’

‘That’s right,’ said Professor Sung. ‘You may not have immediately recognised the resemblance, partly because Charlie is so unwell, but partly because it is sometimes difficult for us to see ourselves as others see us. But trust me, the likeness is striking … and I hope it can be more than that. I hope it can be life-saving.’ He took Sam’s hand in his. ‘Charlie’s very best hope of a complete cure is to receive a syngeneic stem-cell transplant. That’s a transplant from an identical twin. Very few people have such an option.’ He patted her hand gently.

Sam slowly took in his words and their significance. She turned back to her sister, and saw Charlie’s brown eyes, so much like her own, so full of hope.

‘Perhaps we could talk a little more outside?’ said Professor Sung. She couldn’t leave yet! She’d just got there and had so many questions, so much she wanted to ask Charlie. But Professor Sung insisted. ‘You two can catch up again later,’ and with that he whisked her out the door.

Samantha sat next to Mary in a small room off the ward. Professor Sung sat opposite. ‘Would you like me to explain things, Mary?’

‘Would you?’ said Mary. ‘I don’t have the words.’

Professor Sung gave her a brief smile and turned to Sam. ‘As I said, Samantha, Charlie’s best hope of recovery is a stem-cell transplant from a close relative. We’ve already tested your mother. Not a good match, I’m afraid.’

For a moment, Sam thought he meant Faith, and wondered why she would have consented to such a thing. Faith wasn’t renowned for her charitable nature. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, could you stop calling Mary Kelly my mother? It’s disconcerting. My mother is Faith Carmichael.’

Professor Sung held up his right hand, like he was going to swear on the Bible. ‘You have my word.’

‘And if Mary isn’t a match, what about me? I could be one, couldn’t I?’

Professor Sung gave her a pleased smile. ‘You could be, Samantha. You could be a very good match indeed. Would you be willing to undergo some medical checks?’

‘Of course.’ said Sam. She wasn’t about to forgo her lost sister just when she’d found her. ‘Ready when you are.’

Mary put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes grew large, creasing her forehead like corrugated cardboard. ‘You’re an angel.’ She moved to embrace her.

Sam dodged away from the woman’s outstretched arms. ‘I may not be suitable.’

‘We’re about to find that out,’ said the doctor.

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon undergoing a battery of tests, and replaying the scene in Charlie’s hospital room, over and over. She hadn’t even said hello, or goodbye. She hadn’t asked Charlie how she was. She hadn’t hugged her or said what a miracle it was to meet her. She’d made a complete hash of it. The desire to see her sister again grew hot and insistent. When the final test was complete, Sam hurried back to the oncology ward, terrified that Charlie might die before she could talk to her properly. Colleen waylaid her with a gown and mask before she rushed into the room.

Charlie was sitting up, and the Dalek was gone. She wore a different headscarf – emerald-green this time. It perfectly matched her stuffed toy frog.

‘Hello, Charlie.’ Sam walked over to the bed, and pulled up a chair. It was good to see her sister alone, and without the tubes tying her to the silver machine. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Not too bad,’ said Charlie, with that sunny smile again. How could she look so happy? ‘I’m freezing and there’s an awful tingling feeling in my mouth, but it’s not too bad. How are you, Samantha?’

It was an oddly formal question. ‘People call me Sam.’

‘Right. Sam. How does it feel, to know you’ve got a sister?’ Charlie looked suddenly unsure. ‘Are you okay with that?’

What a question. ‘I’m thrilled,’ said Sam. ‘I always wanted a sister.’ Charlie’s expression remained unchanged. ‘I’m not just saying that. I wanted a sister so badly, it was like . . . like I knew I should have had one.’ Yes, that’s how it was. Faith had said how lucky Sam was that she didn’t have to share anything, when all she really wanted to do was to share everything. And she’d never really talked to Dad about it. How could she? Even before he moved to Dubai for his diplomatic posting, he was never home, and when he was, he was busy. So her desire for a sister had become a private wish, unexpressed though fervent. Something to dream about.

‘We always thought you knew,’ said Charlie. ‘That was the deal when the Carmichaels took you. Mum said they were supposed to tell you.’ Charlie swallowed hard and looked lost. ‘They were supposed to tell you about us.’

Up until then, it hadn’t occurred to Sam that her father was also complicit in the deception. Everyone she trusted had betrayed her. ‘Well, they didn’t.’ Sam looked away trying not to cry. ‘Can you tell me about your life?’ she said, to change the subject. ‘If you feel up to it?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question.’

‘I asked first,’ said Sam. ‘Who’s the horse in the photo, for starters?’

‘That’s Tambo,’ said Charlie. ‘I broke him in myself, when they ran in the brumbies. He’s one of the best campdraft horses in the district.’

‘He’s a brumby?’ Sam looked at the photo again. ‘He’s beautiful.’

‘There are lots of beautiful brumbies,’ said Charlie. ‘People don’t realise how good they are.’

‘I have a horse too,’ said Sam. ‘Pharaoh. A five-year-old Warmblood gelding. We do dressage together.’

‘Dressage?’ said Charlie. ‘Now that’s some fancy riding. People say twins have a connection. Maybe with us it’s horses.’

Maybe. It was unlikely, though, that horses had played as central a role in Charlie’s life – or in anybody else’s life for that matter – as they had in hers. Horses had rescued Sam from a lonely childhood, a smothering mother, an absent father; they had been her sanctuary and her ticket to freedom. Anything worth knowing, she’d learned from the back of a horse.

Colleen came into the room. ‘Time for your shower, Charlie,’ she said. ‘And it’s time for you to go, Samantha. I expect we’ll see you tomorrow then?’

Tomorrow? Sam nodded. Tomorrow and every day after that. Nothing mattered more than Charlie. Charlie reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Will you really come tomorrow?’ she asked.

Sam leaned down and kissed her sister’s drawn cheek. ‘Just try to stop me.’ It was a wrench to leave the room. Sam hurried to the lift, faint with emotion. Mary was a little way down the corridor, waving madly. Sam didn’t acknowledge her. Instead she slipped down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time, before escaping from the hospital into the rain-drenched afternoon.