Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

Dog Days Are Over – Florence + The Machine

:: chapter one ::

Just as I finished writing an announcement about the plane being readied for landing played over the in-flight PA, and I pushed my right shirtsleeve back so I could check my watch. Its face gave the time as just after eleven-thirty – I’d already set it forward to Sydney time before take-off, so the time difference wasn’t as jarring as it normally might have been. Back in Perth it was about half past eight – Shanna was probably awake by now and pottering around the kitchen of our little cottage in Fremantle, a thought that had me swiping roughly at my eyes. It had only been a few hours since I’d left, and I already missed her so much it hurt.

I closed my journal, winding the strap back around it to keep it shut, and clipped my pen back into its usual place. It had been a birthday present from Shanna a couple of years earlier, a replacement for the journal that at the time I’d just filled up – she’d found it during one of our regular weekend wanderings around the Fremantle Markets, and had got someone to engrave my initials and a replica of the tattoo that I had on the back of my right shoulder into its dark brown leather cover. It had quickly become one of my most prized possessions, and by now its pages were two-thirds full of not only journal entries, but also song lyrics, sketches and the occasional Polaroid photograph.

By some stroke of luck, and much to my relief, my flight ended up landing early, touching down at Sydney Airport just before a quarter past twelve. I’d always disliked flying, but I particularly hated it right now – between the cramped and uncomfortable seat that I’d spent the last four hours in, the aches in most of my joints and the bones of my right arm and both of my legs, and the pressure against my left temple from a migraine that was currently threatening to start, I was feeling rather more miserable than usual. I rubbed my eyes a little as the plane taxied down the runway toward the terminal, wishing I didn’t feel so awful. All around me I could hear the other passengers talking in low voices, the chiming of notification tones as phones were taken out of flight mode, and the hum of the plane’s wheels against the tarmac. I took my own phone out of a pocket of my cargo pants, unlocking it and deactivating flight mode, and opened my text messages.

Flight just landed, I typed into a new message to Shanna. I miss you already.

I didn’t hear from Shanna until after I was off the plane and heading down the jet bridge into the terminal, my backpack hanging by one of its straps from my left shoulder. My phone started ringing in my pocket and vibrating against my right hip as I walked past the gate staff, but I waited until I’d sat down in one of the rows of seats that filled the gate lounge before I answered.

“I miss you too,” Shanna said as soon as I’d picked up. I closed my eyes and let her voice wash over me. It sounded like home. “How was your flight?”

“Too damn long,” I replied, and Shanna let out a quiet laugh. “Landed early though, so that’s something.”

“I noticed that. Must have been some good tailwinds or something.” She was quiet for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

This time I was the one who was quiet as I tried to figure out how to answer. “Not great,” I admitted. “I’m sore, I’m beyond exhausted, and I’ve got a migraine about to start – I had aura almost the whole last half hour of the flight.” I let out a sigh. “If this is how bad I feel now, I don’t even want to imagine how I’m going to feel once I start chemotherapy.”

“Don’t think about that right now, okay?” As she said this, I almost imagined I could feel her running a hand over my head and smoothing my hair down. “Are your parents picking you up?”

“Mum said they’re going to, yeah. They didn’t want me to drive or get the train. I don’t think I could handle either one right now anyway.” I opened my eyes again, switched my phone to my other hand and pushed my shirtsleeve back over my watch. It was almost the time that my flight had been originally scheduled to land – my cue to get a move on. “I should go – they’re probably already waiting for me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, yeah?”

“It’s a date,” I agreed. “Love you, Shan.”

“Love you too, Tay.”

We hung up, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket before easing myself to my feet, hitching my backpack back onto my shoulder. As soon as I was sure I could move without falling over, I headed off through the terminal toward Arrivals.

I spotted Mum as soon as I walked through the automatic doors that separated Arrivals from the airport concourse. She was standing underneath the flight information screens near the café, scanning the crowd that filled the Arrivals hall – almost like she was looking for someone. I knew straight away she was trying to find me among the teeming mass of travellers. It didn’t take long at all for her gaze to land on me, and I swore I could see her eyes light up. Not wanting her to wait any longer, I drew on what little energy I could muster and hurried through the crowd, stopping just beyond her reach.

“Hi Mum,” I said quietly, unable to meet her gaze. Instead I looked down at the toes of my sneakers, feeling incredibly guilty – and with good reason, as far as I was concerned. It had been fifteen years since I’d been home, after all – a whole decade and a half where the most contact I’d had with anyone in my family had been phone calls, emails, text messages, and in recent years video chats over Skype.

But somehow, none of that seemed to matter anymore. The last fifteen years vanished in an instant as Mum stepped forward and drew me into her arms. “Oh love,” I heard her say, just barely loud enough for me to hear her. I wrapped my own arms around her, my backpack dropping to the floor, and bent down so I could bury my face in her shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” I just barely managed to get out, already feeling like I was going to start crying. I hadn’t realised until now how much I’d needed or missed her, especially since finding out exactly how sick I was. “I’m so sorry Mum…”

“Shh,” she whispered. She started stroking my hair gently, just like she used to when I was a lot younger. That was all it took – I lost it right then and there, not even caring that I was in public. Mum’s hand moved to my back, and she started rubbing in slow circles, not stopping until I’d cried myself out. “It’s in the past, Taylor,” she said as I straightened up. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for.”

“Your mother’s right,” a voice said from behind me, and I looked back over my shoulder at Dad. I hadn’t even realised he’d been standing there until he’d spoken. “Hey Tay,” he continued.

“Hey Dad,” I replied. Before I could say anything more than that, Dad stepped forward and enveloped me in a hug so tight it nearly took my breath away. I hugged him back just as tightly, beyond relieved that my parents had not only forgiven me for walking out on everyone all those years ago, but that they still loved me.

“You’re going to be okay,” Dad said, and I nodded mutely, wanting more than anything to believe him – I knew if I tried to speak I was going to start crying again. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

It wasn’t long before the three of us were heading out to where my parents had parked, the midsummer heat almost making me regret the long sleeves and pants I was wearing. Dad had collected my suitcase for me and was wheeling it along beside him, while Mum carried my backpack. They both had an arm around me – Mum’s was around my waist, while Dad’s was across my shoulders. In that moment, I never wanted either of them to let me go ever again.

“How are you feeling?” Mum asked once the two of us had got into Dad’s silver Mitsubishi four-wheel-drive. I glanced over at where she sat in the front passenger seat, people-watching out the car window having lost its appeal for the moment – she’d turned to face me, studying me with blue eyes identical to my own. For the briefest of moments I considered lying to her, but I knew better than to do that. She’d always been able to see right through me anyway. Behind me I could hear Dad loading my gear into the back of the car.

“Tired, mostly,” I replied. “I’ve been awake since two o’clock – well, five o’clock I guess it is now.” A yawn threatened to betray precisely how tired I was, but I managed to hold it back.

“You’ll be able to get some sleep soon,” Mum said, and she reached for my left hand. I didn’t resist as she took my hand into hers and started tracing the creases on the inside of my wrist. “I’m glad you’re home. Your dad is as well.”

I smiled a little at this. “Yeah, me too.”

The next words Mum said sounded almost like the hardest she’d ever had to say, and I knew I couldn’t blame her. “You’re going to be okay, Taylor. Everything will turn out okay. It’s just…” She trailed off, as if she was trying to find the right words. “It’s just going to take some time. You’re strong, and you’re a fighter – you can beat this.”

I took a breath and let it out as a quiet sigh. “I hope so,” I said quietly, wanting so badly for her to be right, and Mum gave my hand a squeeze – one that spoke volumes.

The back of the car closed loudly, making me jump a little, and I looked over at my car window again to see Dad walking around to the driver’s side door. He popped the door open, climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door again, and looked back at me. “Ready to go?” he asked, and I nodded. It was a half-truth – I was absolutely ready to go home, but at the same time I was nowhere near ready to face my brothers and sisters. What could I say that would come even close to making up for abandoning them? I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling sick with anxiety over the whole thing, and tipped my head back against my seat’s headrest. “Taylor, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just really anxious about seeing everyone,” I replied without opening my eyes.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

I nodded a little, wincing slightly as pain spiked on the left side of my head. The last thing I needed right now was for the migraine that had been threatening for the last three-quarters of an hour to make an appearance. “Totally sure.”

I figured this had to be the right answer, because the next sound I heard was the engine turning over. At the same time I could feel my heartrate almost skyrocket out of nothing more than sheer anxiety. To say that this wasn’t going to be easy was a serious understatement – I knew there were going to be questions, ones that I either really didn’t want to answer or that I just didn’t know how to answer. At the same time I had plenty of questions of my own, one of which I was particularly dreading the answer to.

“Do they know?” I asked. I opened my eyes just in time to see Mum looking back over her shoulder, and shifted my gaze briefly to the rear view mirror right as Dad looked at me. “Why I’m coming home now, I mean.”

Mum shook her head. “No, not yet,” she replied. “We were going to tell them, but…” She looked over at Dad, and he picked up the thread.

“We thought you’d want to tell them yourself,” he finished.

“Right. Of course.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’ll tell them sometime this week – I’ve got that appointment at Lifehouse tomorrow morning, and I don’t really want to say anything until after that.”

The traffic in the airport precinct was much lighter than I’d expected it to be for a Monday, so it wasn’t long until we were properly on the road home. Unfortunately for me, it was right around the time we were crossing the bridge over the Cooks River that the migraine I’d had coming finally hit. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as blinding pain erupted across the left side of my head, swallowing hard against the nausea that was threatening to rise up my throat. All I wanted right at that moment was to lie down somewhere dark and quiet, take my migraine meds and try to get some sleep, but anything like that was going to have to wait.

I had to have made some sort of pained noise, because the next thing I was aware of was a hand on my left knee. I carefully worked an eye open to see Mum looking at me, worry in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked.

I shook my head, immediately regretting that one small movement. “Migraine,” I just barely managed to get out. “I need my meds but they’re in my backpack.”

Mum squeezed my knee in what I took to be sympathy. “All right. Just hang on a sec.” She turned back around and leaned over to speak to Dad, and I let my eye drop closed again.

Soon, I could hear the car’s indicator ticking, followed by the handbrake being set, seatbelts unbuckling and the driver’s and front passenger doors opening. I risked opening my eyes just in time to see Mum opening the door opposite mine. “Mum, I’m okay,” I tried to protest.

“If there’s one thing I know about you, Taylor, it’s how stubborn you get when you’re sick, tired or in pain,” she said once she’d sat down and closed the door. At any other time I thought she might have been amused by this, but now she just sounded worried. “And I also know how bad your migraines can be. You don’t need to put on an act around me, or around your dad.”

Rather than argue with Mum – entirely aside from knowing that she was right, I really didn’t want to make my head hurt more than it did already – as soon as Dad had passed me my backpack I took one of my Imigran tablets, swallowing it with a mouthful of water, and I lay down across the backseat with my head in Mum’s lap. Almost as soon as I was settled she started stroking my hair again, and I let my eyes drift shut. Between the movement of the car, the rumbling of its engine and the feeling of Mum’s fingers on my hair, and despite my medication not having kicked in just yet, it wasn’t long until I fell asleep.

I wasn’t sure what woke me – whether it was the lack of movement, my migraine having eased off or some part of me having decided I’d had enough sleep for the time being – but when I opened my eyes again it was to find myself still in the backseat of Dad’s car, still with my head in Mum’s lap. I closed my eyes again for a moment, not entirely willing to face the waking world just yet. “Mum?” I asked, my voice barely louder than a stage whisper.

Somehow she heard me anyway. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked as I slowly eased myself upright, wincing as my joints started complaining all over again.

“My migraine’s gone, yeah,” I replied. “I still feel completely awful, though.” Right now, that was the worst thing – even worse than the migraine itself, because I had no real way of telling the difference between the inevitable hangover from my latest migraine and the way this absolute bastard of an illness had been making me feel.

“Do you need any help getting inside?”

I barely even needed to consider my answer. “I think that’s probably a good idea, yeah,” as I popped my car door open. The absolute last thing I wanted – or needed, for that matter – was to faceplant on the driveway and break something, and consequently end up in hospital earlier than I was sure I would already have to.

“Okay. You just sit tight.”

While I was waiting for Mum to come around to my side of the car, I looked out the windscreen and up at the house. It looked just the same as it had when I was a teenager – two storeys of redbrick, with grey corrugated iron on its roof and on the overhang above the garage, two matching concrete pillars either side of the front door and the upstairs balcony, and a garage door, front door and eaves painted the same off-white. I could even see one of my younger siblings peering down over the railing of the upstairs balcony. More than anything else, though, almost as much as the cottage back in Fremantle, it looked like home.

It even felt like home, I realised as Mum and I stepped through the front door. I could feel it settling over me like a warm blanket – a comforting familiarity that I’d only ever felt in one other place. I stopped just inside the doorway, eyes closed, and just let myself breathe.

“Your dad’s in the kitchen,” Mum said, breaking me out of my reverie, and I nodded without opening my eyes. “I’m going to get your sisters downstairs – Josh is out with his friends at the moment but he’ll be home later.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

I found Dad in the kitchen at the back of the house, just like Mum had said he would be – he was reading the newspaper at the dining table, a mug of what I thought was probably coffee close at hand. He looked up as I dropped into one of the table’s other chairs. “It awakes,” he teased, just like he had when I was much younger.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked. Part of me wanted to just put my head down on the table and go back to sleep, but I ruthlessly pushed that particular impulse down as far as it would go. It could wait until after I’d said hello to my sisters.

“About an hour and a half,” Dad replied. “We were going to wake you as soon as we got home but your mum said to let you sleep.”

“Thanks. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it.” Here Dad proceeded to study me as if I were a rather interesting insect beneath a magnifying glass. “How are you feeling right now? That migraine seemed like it really knocked you around.”

“They usually do, yeah,” I replied. “Especially if I haven’t had one in ages.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples a little, wincing at how sore the left side of my head still felt. “I feel really hungover, but I can’t tell if that’s because of the migraine or not.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, why do you feel hungover?” a new voice asked, and I opened my eyes to see my two youngest sisters walking into the kitchen with Mum close behind. I almost asked where the rest of my siblings were, before remembering that Isaac, Zac and Jessica had all moved out – it made sense that neither of them would be around at the moment.

“I feel hungover because I’m just coming down off a migraine, Zoë,” I replied. For the moment, though, I ignored how I was feeling, and eased myself back to my feet just in time to end up on the receiving end of a hug from my youngest sister.

“I missed you,” she said as we hugged, her voice muffled by my shirt. “I really did.”

“I missed you too, Zo,” I said, and pulled back just far enough that I could get a proper look at her. She was quite a bit shorter than me, clearly having inherited her height from our mother – the top of her head just barely reached my shoulder. We had both inherited our eye colour from Mum, but Zoë’s eyes were a much brighter blue than mine. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to come home.”

“It’s all right,” Zoë replied quietly, her gaze downcast, and I felt guilt settle over me all over again.

“It’s really not. I should have come home a lot earlier than this.” I pulled her close for one last hug before turning my attention to Avery. I’d hurt her the most when I’d left, and I knew that even after all this time she still resented me for it – something I didn’t blame her for in the slightest. “Hey Ave.”

“Hi,” she said, sounding wary. Even if I hadn’t been able to hear it in her voice, I would have been able to see it in her body language – she’d crossed her arms over her chest, mouth set in a thin, hard line. As much as I wanted to give her a hug like I’d done with Zoë, I held back. Right now I was just glad she was willing to talk to me.

“I know you don’t like me very much right now,” I said carefully, not wanting to set her off. The two of us were very similar, and I knew that anything capable of getting me worked up had a decent chance of doing the same to Avery. “And honestly, I don’t blame you for a second. I know I really hurt you when I left, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for that.” I took a very cautious step closer to my sister, feeling relief surge through me when she didn’t take a step backward in response. “If you want to talk or anything, you know where to find me. Okay?”

She didn’t respond verbally to this – instead, she nodded once before turning on her heel and leaving the room. I watched her go before sitting back down at the table, suddenly feeling drained.

“Why don’t you go and lie down for a little while?” Mum suggested. She had one hand on my right shoulder, thumb stroking the back of my neck, and when I looked up at her she gave me a small smile. “She’ll come around, love.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said quietly. Once I was sure I could stand without falling over I eased myself back to my feet, and allowed Mum to lead me upstairs to my bedroom.

“What time is your appointment tomorrow?” Mum asked once we were in my room with the door closed – I didn’t want any of my siblings to hear any part of what was being talked about, at least not until after my appointment the next day. I still hadn’t decided when I was going to tell everyone what was going on, only that it would be before I started chemotherapy.

“Ten o’clock,” I replied. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, tossing my phone from hand to hand, and Mum was sitting adjacent to my right knee. “I need to be there by nine-thirty, though. Can you and Dad come with me?”

“Of course we can,” she replied. “Did you really think we would say no?”

“I guess some part of me did, yeah,” I admitted.

“Taylor,” Mum said, her tone only mildly chiding. “It doesn’t matter how much of an idiot you are or how many mistakes you’ve made, you are still my son and I still love you. There is no part of me or your father that could stop loving you. All right?” I nodded at this, not trusting myself to speak, and Mum got up from her seat. “Try and get some more sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“Okay.” I was quiet for about half a minute. “I love you, Mum.”

Mum leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “I love you too, Taylor.”

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