The Fall Ch. 06

'I love you,' he said.

'I love you, too.'

'Oh, and I totally forgot to mention it, but I have the next week off work. Let me know if you need my help.'

She hugged him tighter. 'No. Enjoy your time off. Pack up your shed. You need some time to yourself. I'm not here just to take and take and take.'

~~~~~~~~~~~

Cyril woke on Sunday morning with the realisation he wouldn't see the week out. He didn't feel particularly unwell. Nor had there been any dire warnings from his doctors. The understanding just came from somewhere deep, deep inside him.

He sweated through a trip to the paddocks to take pictures of the cattle. They'd need to go as soon as possible. He knew that when he died, his will would be contested. Relatives would claim they needed his support. It was probably his own fault. He'd helped two of his four siblings out of self-created financial difficulties on more than one occasion, and they now felt entitled. It was a shame, really.

At any rate, he didn't trust the people to whom these matters would be entrusted to properly care for his cattle when he was gone. It was better to move them on to a good home now. He put an ad online, and took the photos and news to the O'Sullivan's lunch, hoping to find spread the word.

After lunch was finished, Cyril and Anna sat inside at the kitchen table. It had been a quiet Sunday at the farm, and everyone else had left. It was only the two of them who remained. They talked about the hospital, about their oncologists, and the upcoming sale of Cyril's bovines.

'I always thought the cattle would go to Dylan,' Anna remarked. 'Wasn't he interested in buying a few?'

Cyril shook his head. 'He's reached an agreement with his ex-wife. She's buying him out.'

Anna raised her eyebrows. 'Interesting.'

'He can start again. He's only young.'

They sipped their respective drinks. Anna's had barely touched her lunch, and even her glass of water remained largely untouched. She was losing her appetite, and her body weight, with alarming speed.

'Do your kids know yet?' Cyril asked quietly.

She shook her head. 'I can't bring myself to tell them, particularly Kyle. I don't want him to start drinking again. He's doing so well.'

'I understand,' Cyril said. And he did.

'We're going on a cruise this week, Ed and I,' Anna said suddenly. 'We're leaving tomorrow.'

'Who's in charge while you're gone?' Cyril inquired. 'Alan or Kyle?'

Anna shut her eyes and groaned. 'Don't even go there. '

'Alan?'

'Neither. Ed thinks that if we leave them alone, they'll figure out how to work together.'

Cyril thought there was fat chance of that happening, but he didn't say a word. Anna already knew it was a bad idea. She didn't need him reiterating that.

Later that afternoon, Cyril received a call from a man outside of Dalby enquiring about the cattle. The sale was conducted with a minimum of fuss, and on Tuesday morning the bovines were exchanged for a deposit into Lydia's bank account.

He informed Lydia about the financial transfer on Wednesday morning, after requesting she drive him into Oakey to do some shopping.

'Are you fucking insane?' she demanded. 'Cyril, I don't need your money.'

'I'm dying,' he replied patiently. 'Whatever I have left - and it's going to be a significant amount - will go to charity. I'd just like to make a few gifts before I go.'

'A thousand bucks would've been sufficient. Enough for me to go 'wow' but not enough to make me feel guilty.'

He lit a cigarette. 'You've always been a pain in the arse. Ever since you were a kid you've been causing me grief. Remember that year you asked for that cabbage patch kid? Do you have any idea how hard it was to find out here? I had to drive into Brisbane to find it. Drove around to twenty different bloody stores.'

She grimaced. 'Sorry.'

'Just take the money.'

'I feel bad about it. I'm a lousy carer. I'm not worth it.'

Cyril chuckled. 'You were always worth it, Lydia.'

She hugged him quickly and without warning. The move surprised them both. They weren't physically affectionate people. As quickly as it had started, it ended, and to avoid any unease they both suggested heading into town without delay.

Cyril went to the bank and organised to give a little bit of money to two of his siblings, and a little bit more to the two who had never asked him for a cent. Afterwards, he went to the local solicitor's office and paid for Dylan's final legal bill pertaining to his divorce. The boy had stopped accepting payment for his services weeks after taking up with Lydia, a state of affairs Cyril had found deeply troubling. He didn't like being indebted.

He left the office a few thousand dollars lighter and went to the jeweller's. There he picked up the necklace he'd ordered for Suchada. She was a good whore. They say you never forget your first or your last, and he thought that was true.

The first had been a thirty year old who looked forty. It was a gift for his sixteenth birthday from his workmates, who'd old chipped in so he could lose his innocence at the hands of a woman who knew what she was doing. The old boys had laughed as he strutted back into the yard the next day, light on his feet after a suck and a fuck.

It was a pleasant memory, the sort that gets bundled up next to recollections of beach holidays as a young child, the smell of beer on a hot day and a lazy afternoon spent fishing with a mate. Had Cyril had a good life? No, he'd had a great life. He'd lived it exactly as he'd wanted to, and if leaving this mortal coil behind a few years earlier than most was the price he had to pay, so be it.

He bundled the necklace into his pocket and told Lydia he wanted to go to the pub for lunch. He wanted roast pork and fourex gold and to play a few games of Keno after. He could see a split second's hesitation in her face. She had work to do. She couldn't spend all afternoon humouring him.

'Never mind,' he said. 'I know you have things to do.'

She bit her lip. 'There's wifi at the pub. How about I do a bit of work while we eat lunch, and then we can play Keno together?'

'As long as that won't put you behind.'

'It won't.'

Cyril stared at her as she worked. He remembered her as a baby, fat and dark haired with a piercing wail. She'd screamed when he'd tried to hold her. He'd been what, twenty-eight back then? Nearly as old as she was now. He hadn't understood the appeal in either marriage or children, but he'd been glad his brother did. There was something about her he'd always liked.

He used to pop in to visit a couple of times a year, and she'd always beg for a ride in his truck. She must've been ten years old the week her parents let him take her to Darwin with him. That had been a long, hot trip. They'd stayed at cheap motels and eaten at truck stops.

When he returned her to her parent's care, she'd announced she was going to be a truck driver when she grew up. They'd been horrified. Either they had loftier ambitions for their eldest daughter, or they'd seen her ride a bicycle and knew her driving ability was going to be limited. He preferred to think it was the latter.

Without looking up, Lydia asked if he was laughing at her.

'Only at the way you drive.'

She flipped him the bird and returned her attention to her laptop.

He ate his crackling and turned his thoughts to Dylan. It had been a stroke of luck, lining him up with Lydia. They were a good pair. Dylan was the sort who'd want a stable home life and a few kids, and that was precisely what Lydia needed. She didn't need another narcissistic man who was happy to bully and belittle a woman until he got what he wanted.

After lunch and a few games of Keno, Cyril ended the afternoon thirty-two dollars in front. He stopped at a store to buy cigarettes for what would be the very last time, and together he and Lydia headed home.

He woke the next morning inexplicably satisfied. He couldn't eat much, and when Suchada came that night he settled for a cuddle and conversation, but it was intensely enjoyable all the same. He got stoned with Lydia and Dylan, and went to sleep in his own bed for the final time.

He woke on Friday morning knowing he was dying. He didn't say anything to either Lydia or Dylan. He just sat at the kitchen table, took his pills, and waited.

'There's a hell of a storm coming this afternoon,' Dylan remarked, peering out the window. 'The humidity's through the roof.'

Cyril nodded his understanding. Maybe that was why he was sweating. He could feel the perspiration dripping down his back but had attributed it to his illness, not even considering the possibility that the weather might be affecting him.

Lydia filled the dogs' bowls with water and stared out at the sky. 'It looks fine.'

'No,' Dylan shook his head. 'There's a big one coming. I saw the report last night, but I think it's going to be worse than they said.'

As he finished speaking, Dylan's phone rang. The man glanced at the caller ID and went outside to answer. Cyril could only half hear the conversation despite the fact that they were just metres apart. The world was becoming vaguer and vaguer.

Beneath the kitchen table, a wet nose pressed against his leg. Kelly, the eldest of his dogs. He patted her head and asked Lydia if she'd remembered to buy dog food from the feed store.

'I picked it up yesterday afternoon,' she reminded him.

So she had.

Dylan came back inside and said he'd be off. Kyle O'Sullivan had called. The latest weather report had come with a flood warning. The lower part of their property was liable to water ingress and they needed to move a few thousand sheep while at the same time bring the last of the sorghum crop in.

'Jesus,' Cyril remarked. 'I would've thought they'd be able to better manage the farm.'

'Kyle said Alan's been arguing with him.'

'And Alan would probably say Kyle's been arguing with him,' Cyril pointed out.

'And they'd both be right,' Dylan agreed. 'I'm going to be doing my best to keep out of it.'

'Good luck with that,' Cyril snorted.

Dylan was rueful. 'I reckon I'm going to need all the luck I can get.'

Lydia went outside with Dylan to say good-bye, and Cyril lit a cigarette. He took a puff and thought how nice it would be to see one last summer storm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cyril hadn't looked particularly well all morning, but by lunch time, Lydia was convinced he needed to go to hospital.

'If I go now, I'll die there,' he said.

'If you don't, you might die here,' she argued. 'At least they can give you pain relief. They can help you. And if any roads got blocked or flooded, I might not be able to get into Toowoomba later tonight.'

'Oakey hospital will do in a pinch.'

She sighed. 'You're a pain in the arse, you know that?'

She made sandwiches for lunch and they sat down to eat. He asked her how her work was going and she told him it was fine. She'd written a popular piece last month, about subject matters she'd rather not discuss with him, and there would be a decent amount of money coming in soon. She thought that between that, and the money Cyril had given her, she should make a start towards saving for a house deposit. It would be nice to have some sort of security.

Cyril wasn't hungry, and he fed the dogs his lunch. She'd asked him quite early in the piece what he wanted to happen to the dogs after he passed. He'd assured her a mate of his was willing to take them, and the friend in question had confirmed that for her. She just needed to drop them around after Cyril had died.

Her phone beeped and she read the message. It was from Dylan.

Hope you are having a good day. I'm going to kill these two fucking morons if they don't stop arguing. Ask Cyril if he thinks shooting them would be too crude.

She grinned and asked Cyril his opinion. He replied with something entirely nonsensical. She repeated her question and he just stared into the distance. Her heart sunk. This wasn't good.

She looked outside at the sky. Dark clouds had begun to gather. She'd have to leave now if she wanted to make it to Toowoomba before the storm hit. She texted Dylan to say that Cyril wasn't doing well, and she'd be taking him to hospital. She then packed up his belongings, brushed her hair, put out fresh food and water for the dogs and led Cyril into her car.

'Where's the Charger?' he asked.

'Dylan needed to do some work on it,' she lied.

He was very quiet on the journey. She wanted to know what was going through his mind, but at the same time she was too scared to ask. She didn't want him to get angry or become upset. She needed to get him to Toowoomba so he could get the medical attention he obviously needed.

The storm was just hitting as she parked her car. They'd need to hurry inside if they didn't want to get wet.

'Not yet,' Cyril barked. 'Let me have a cigarette first.'

The statement jolted her out of her daze. She turned to her Uncle, who looked all the world as if he were entirely healthy, and entirely right in the head.

'If we don't go in now, we're going to get stupidly wet,' she warned.

He snorted. 'Don't care.'

They cracked open their windows and lit cigarettes. Rain was starting to pelt down around them, and steam was rising off the hot asphalt car park. Wind whipped at the trees. Inside the car they were safe and sound, their little microenvironment both cooled and dehumidified by the air conditioner.

'Hell of a storm,' Cyril remarked.

'It is. How are you feeling?'

'I'm getting there.'

She checked her make-up in the rear vision mirror as they smoked. Her eyebrows were a mess and her hair really required some professional help. She'd done what she could by herself, but it was now at the point where it was looking unkempt.

'I'm glad you came out,' Cyril said. 'Thank-you. You've bought some entertainment to my last months.'

'Would you stop talking as if you're about to keel over? It's unnerving.'

'You worried I'll die in a Hyundai Getz?'

She smiled despite herself. 'A very mechanically safe Getz, I'll have you know.'

Cyril stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. 'If you don't want to talk about me dying, do you mind telling me why I can't call a black kid 'boy'?'

She laughed at that, and explained as best she could. When she was done, he asked if she thought he might have offended Dylan.

'Always thought he was full white,' Cyril said.

'Me too.'

'He's a good man. He's crazy about you, you know that? Slow down that drinking of yours. Don't go breaking his heart.'

'I will and I won't.'

'Lydia,' he said firmly.

She stared at the steering wheel, focussing on the cursive 'H' for Hyundai. She was quiet for a while. He didn't want a flippant answer. He wanted her to acknowledge and respect what he was asking.

'I know,' she admitted.

'The baby's gone. You gotta stop beating yourself up about it.'

She stared out the window at the rain that was now hammering down. She could feel her little car being pushed around by the wind. They were going to get soaked. She'd need to drive up to the entrance and let Cyril out, then park, then go inside.

'At least now you've got a chance of having a kid to someone who's worth your time,' Cyril said with a sigh. He lit his cigarette. 'That's enough lecturing for now. I'll finish this and go in.'

'I'll drive you to the entrance. The doctors will shoot me if I get you wet.'

'Fuck 'em.'

She glared at him. His pale blue eyes met hers. His hands were trembling and he was scrawny, his body worn away by cancer. She didn't pity him. He didn't want pity. She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge and waited for him to concede.

He gave her a rueful smile. 'Thanks love,' he said.

They smoked a final couple of cigarettes, then she started the car and drove up to the emergency entrance. She wanted to find a wheelchair, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. Instead, he hobbled out and said he'd wait for her inside.

'I'll be back in a minute,' she said.

'The shopping bag is back,' he replied.

Oh shit. She went back to her car, parked, and ran through the rain back into emergency. She'd only been gone a few minutes, but when she returned, there was no sign of Cyril. The triage nurse spotted her and waved her over.

'He collapsed,' the nurse told her. 'He's not breathing.'

Lydia stared at her. 'He didn't want to be resuscitated.'

'We know. He might start breathing again. You never know. Come through.'

She waited with him for half an hour. She waited for a noise. A movement in his chest. In the end, there was nothing. A doctor came to see her, and she started to cry.

'I'll just go and call my boyfriend,' she said.

Before he could answer, she fled the room and ran back through the rain to her car. She knew the hospital would probably want to talk to her about Cyril's body, but right now she needed to speak to Dylan. His promise to be there for her when Cyril passed had been what had kept her going. It had made his final weeks seem less ominous and terrifying.

Lydia lit a cigarette and dialled his number. Please answer, she thought. Please, please, please answer. I need you more than two idiot men need you to help them move some godforsaken sheep. I need to hear your voice.

Her call went straight to voicemail. She laughed at the stupidity of it. Then she ran back into the hospital. She was wet through and her boots would be ruined from the rain. The air conditioning was cold, and she shivered and inspected a clump of her hair. It was fucked. Just...fucked.

She waited to speak to a doctor. It only took a few minutes to sort everything out. As she was leaving, the doctor suggested she wait until the worst of the storm passed before driving back.

'We don't want to see you back here as a patient,' he said.

She nodded numbly. 'I'll wait in my car. I'll call my family and let them know.'

The doctor gave her some brochures on grief, and she shoved them into her handbag and ran back to her car. She checked to see if Dylan had returned her call. He hadn't.

She took a deep breath. He was obviously busy or out of range or both. He'd call her as soon as he can. And, when he did, she'd probably really break down, and follow it up by getting stupidly drunk. She may as well be pragmatic about the situation. She needed to let her family members know before that happened, so she could answer their questions clearly and coherently.

It took nearly two hours before she'd finished speaking to Cyril's siblings. Her own parents had been the worst. They wanted to know what she'd been up to. They wanted to know she was safe and well. They didn't ask 'are you still drinking?' but they fenced around it in a way that made it abundantly clear they wanted some assurance she was now sober, and she lied and told them in vague terms that she was fit and well.

The rain had slowed by the time she was finished, and she carefully drove back to Cyril's house. She thought about Dylan. Maybe his phone had gotten wet. Maybe he was at Cyril's house waiting for her. She missed him already. She wanted to feel his body against hers, and his hot mouth on her cold skin. Her nipples were achingly cold and it would feel nice to have him suck them back into soft, smooth pillows.

He was such an oaf. Such a fat, hairy, loveable lump of hick. She loved everything about him. Sure, he still often dressed like he was homeless when he was hanging around Cyril's house or his, but he was a good man. He loved her and she loved him.

Dylan wasn't waiting at the house when she arrived, and nor had he responded with a text or call. She hurried inside and showered. When she was warm and feeling somewhat human, she made herself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette. She tried hard to phrase her text message to him.

Hi hot stuff, I know you're probably busy, but I wanted to let you know Cyril passed away a few hours ago. Please come and see me tonight. I don't want to be alone.