Before This Is Over Read online

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2015, 2017 by Amanda Hickie

  Cover design by Susan Zucker

  Cover art by Arcangel / Jill Battaglia

  Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  First North American ebook edition: March 2017

  Originally published in Australia by MidnightSun Publishing Pty. Ltd. as An Ordinary Epidemic, May 2015

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  ISBN 978-0-316-35546-9

  E3-20170224-DANF

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Newsletters

  To K and X, the most interesting people

  I will ever meet.

  Hannah drew the sheet around her face and nose so that it caught a pocket of her breath and warmed the air. She sank into the mattress, as if the bed were wrapped around her, around both of them. She felt Sean’s bulk beside her, impressing his shape down into the bed and up into the bedclothes. Cocooned together. Her dozy mind moved around the house, expanding the cocoon to encompass the boys as well. She tried to pull herself back into sleep, think herself deeper into the bed—but sleep slid away every time she got close.

  She leaned over Sean to look at the clock, making nothing more than a pretense of trying not to wake him.

  “It’s too late to go back to sleep, hon, too early to wake up.” He whispered but his voice was alert.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not long. I didn’t want to disturb the boys. Don’t want them up any earlier than they have to be.”

  She felt the hyperawareness and nausea of overtiredness. Every time either of the boys went away, sleeplessness broke out. Ever since they were little. Even for a sleepover. She had woken up last night, she couldn’t remember how many times, with some specific dread in mind—a bus crash, a swimming accident, a teacher turning away for a second, Zac following instructions to some terrible conclusion that she just stopped herself from imagining in detail.

  Three hours’ drive was too far away.

  The teachers seemed competent but she didn’t know them. If there was a crisis, if hard decisions had to be made, Zac would be just another one of the kids.

  She ran through a list of warnings for Zac in her mind. About washing his hands and not kissing anyone (not that he showed any signs of being interested in kissing), not following along if his instinct tingled, the numbers to ring in an emergency. It was important he knew she trusted him, but what if the one thing she didn’t tell him was the one thing he needed to know?

  And then there were all the things she couldn’t influence, the people she couldn’t give a stern lecture to. The bus driver falling asleep, the air-conditioning in the hotel spreading germs, something Zac would have no control over, something she couldn’t prevent with cautionary words. The luck of where he sat determining how he fared.

  “He doesn’t have to go.” It slipped out, so softly she wasn’t sure Sean had heard.

  “He’ll be fine,” Sean whispered curtly back. “He’s not a little kid. He went last year, he was fine.”

  “The school should have postponed it.”

  There was silence for a moment from Sean, an impatient silence. “It’s not like he’s going to Bangkok. There isn’t a single case in Canberra. There isn’t really even a case here yet. Do you want him to be the only kid who doesn’t go?”

  “It’s not like this is important.”

  Sean’s whisper became sharp. “It is to him.”

  Why was it so hard to see the times she should have dug in her heels, except in hindsight? It was Pascal’s wager, the tiniest chance of danger to her kids weighing heavily against a very large chance of looking a bit foolish.

  From deep in the house she heard Zac’s bedroom door slam and the sluggish thump of his feet in the hall. Sean dug her in the ribs. “Time to get up.”

  As Hannah came down the hall, Zac was in the doorway of the kitchen, silhouetted by the weak rays of the not-quite-risen sun. His edge was clear and solid. Watching him, her eyes relaxed. Yet again he took her by surprise, his slender height filling the door, his arm up, hand lazily touching the lintel. Her round and squidgy boy had been pulled out to a long strand.

  Sean was a few paces into the room, his form dark in the shadows of the kitchen. He seemed solid compared to the slight, bright mirror of his son. They were saying the easy, normal, meaningless, repetitive things that had become habit. Words that started and ended everything. Zac’s clear young voice, so light it almost blew away before she could catch it, broke through Sean’s soft, low rumble. As she slid past, Zac pulled closer to the door frame to let her by. He loosely held a piece of toast.

  “That’s not all you’re having to eat?”

  “It’s too early for food.”

  The colors in the room shifted blue as she turned on the light. She made herself a cup of coffee to drink while she made Zac’s lunch, going back to the cupboard for extras—a muesli bar, some crackers, a bag of chips. Just in case. For whatever situation it was she couldn’t foresee. Zac wouldn’t eat any of them, and in five days’ time the lunch bag would come back with the extra food intact.

  She turned the radio down low so as not to wake Oscar. A case in Sydney would have been the lead story, but there wasn’t one. All she got was Newcastle and no change, more people sick but no confirmed cases since that lone woman last week. And Thailand and Britain. Actual cases but too far away to be the justification she needed to cancel Zac’s trip. Too far away, too hard to grasp, meaningless numbers. There would be nothing official from China, yet again.

  When Sean and Zac paused in their conversation, she found herself saying, “Do you have your phone?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

&nb
sp; “Is it on and charged?”

  “Yes, Mum.” A slightly impatient smile.

  “Okay then.” But she couldn’t just let him go. “Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  “Do you have some money, just in case?”

  Sean, leaning against the wall, swiveled to her. “I gave him money. He’s fine.”

  “Don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

  Zac turned back to face her, his smile wider now, and good-natured. “I’m not going to be running around in the middle of the night, Mum. I promise.”

  “Of course not. Just stay safe.” She watched him as he rifled through his bag, checking against a list from the school. His face was pinker now, so alive, as the sun took over from the cold fluorescent light. All she had to do to make this feeling disappear was tell him he couldn’t go.

  Sean watched Zac. “What’s the holdup? I thought I’d be rid of you by now.”

  “I haven’t got my MP3 player.”

  “I thought they said no electronics.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t mean it. It’s not like it’s worth anything.” He rolled his eyes as he closed up the bag, then threw it over one shoulder and loped through the door to the hall.

  “Quietly,” Hannah whispered loudly to his back. “Oscar’s still asleep.”

  “He’s fine, you’re fine, we’re fine. So relax.” Sean leaned back against the door frame.

  “I know, but…”

  “No but.” He looked her in the eye. “If you hurry back we might even get in a cup of coffee before Oscar wakes up. A whole cup of coffee with no kids actually in the room.”

  She pushed past him and he followed her in silence until she paused at the front door, reluctant to let the day officially begin. “So, I should drive really fast.”

  “That’s right, safely and really fast.” He swung open the front door and stepped back to let Zac through.

  “And if I had a real phone I’d have music because Mum says I have to take my phone. So, you should write me a note, ’cause if I get in trouble it’s your fault.”

  “Not a hope. Behave yourself and do all the stuff your mum said.”

  Hannah gave Sean a quick kiss. As she got in the car, she turned for one more look, but the door was closed.

  They drove to the school in comfortable silence. Zac was absorbed in his inner world. Just a couple of years ago it was hard to get a word in edgewise, but now he kept his thoughts to himself until they were well-ordered. He’d done his own packing and she was tempted to check whether he’d had the foresight to take a fleece. It had been on the list and he knew it was a few degrees colder in Canberra. It would be a learning experience—no one ever died of getting a bit chilly, although, at the moment…no, they really didn’t.

  She couldn’t help herself. Some things were too important. “Don’t forget the hand goo.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Use it a lot.”

  “I will.” He wasn’t really paying attention, but she’d said it.

  The streets were still empty. It felt odd to pull into a parking space straight in front of the school, as if she were taking something not rightfully hers. Two hours from now the buildings would look the way she was used to, hidden behind double-parked cars as kids jumped out and ran for the gate.

  Zac pulled his backpack out of the car as he stood up. He waited for her to come around to the curb, and they walked together into the asphalt yard and stood side by side. A knot of kids congregated in front of the waiting bus, their high, chirrupy teenage voices drowning out the muted murmur coming from the small clusters of parents. She looked around for a friendly face, but if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really know any of Zac’s friends’ parents.

  Zac stood facing no particular direction, as if he didn’t know whether to join the clump of kids or be with her. The two of them were matched in their awkwardness. She wanted to push him towards the group, but he had his own pace. His body had started to mature, but every emotion was still expressed, unfiltered, on his face and in the way he stood.

  As she stared into the distance, the figure of a woman walking towards her impinged on her thoughts. Someone familiar, someone she had met before, although she couldn’t quite place where or who. Possibly Daniel’s mother, she thought. She hoped. They had definitely met more times than could justify Hannah’s not remembering her name. The woman came to a stop next to her, and side by side, in the moment before either felt compelled to say something, they looked at the kids. Hannah leaned slightly back, trying to retrieve an air gap between them.

  “Is Zac as disorganized as Daniel?”

  One right at least. “If there are undies in his bag, it’ll be pure chance.”

  “This is embarrassing, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  Thank Christ. “Hannah.”

  “Susan.” Saved.

  Hannah stared at the gaggle. Zac had moved to the outskirts, watching. She could see him unconsciously matching his body language to the other kids’, laughing at something as the others laughed. The group had widened, fanned out just enough to include him, and while he relaxed a little, he stayed listening, head to one side. Her heart jumped and she realized she was smiling, almost like she was in love.

  Susan’s hand bumped the back of hers. Cold fingers. The touch was so light that normally it wouldn’t register at all. Susan was clearly unaware she’d done it. “Isn’t it terrible, the news from overseas?”

  “Oh, yes, horrible.” Hannah tried to think of something more salient to say, but she couldn’t get her mind off the spot on her hand, the spot that had been touched. It could be the cold morning, but she felt a lingering sensation of damp. A wet touch would transfer germs better than a dry one. She had to fight the urge to rub the cold away with her other hand. Even if it didn’t look strange, it would do nothing but spread the germs.

  She edged slightly away. On the Internet it said that she should keep a meter between herself and anyone else. Surely that wasn’t enough. Surely a cough or a sneeze could travel farther, but it might at least reduce the accidental bumps and incidental spit.

  “What about Thailand? We were there at Christmas. Graeme got sick—Bali belly, and then he was dehydrated—but the hospital was terrific. Last night, there it was on the news. You could barely recognize it, there were people dying in the corridors. And it was so clean and normal when we were there. We were right there.”

  Now Hannah’s hand was hanging. She fixated on it, couldn’t take her thoughts from it long enough for it to move freely. There was a wipe in her bag, but pulling it out to clean her hand now would seem rude.

  Zac had broken away from the larger group. He was chatting and laughing easily with two other boys, then stopped to look around. His eyes landed on her, looking for her. He walked over self-consciously and stood slightly too far away.

  “Well, bye, Mum.” He generously allowed her to hug him.

  “Be good, enjoy yourself, try to learn something.”

  “’Kay.”

  Everyone else was lining up in front of the bus doors. If he didn’t hurry, he would be last and end up next to some kid he didn’t really know for the next three hours.

  His back was pressed against the glass of the bus window. The boy on the other half of his seat was almost touching him. Another two on the seat in front and two behind. At least five kids within a meter of Zac. He leaned closer to the boy in front to say something, breathing the same air. She had forgotten to tell him about the one-meter rule, and even if she had, there wasn’t enough room on the bus to keep his distance.

  He looked so capable, suddenly so much his own person. She had made him and now there he was—complete, whole, independent.

  The bus lurched forward. The kids, some despite themselves, looked out the windows to their parents. Some waved, some just looked. Zac was still talking to his friends and didn’t look back, only raising a hand slightly and giving her his confident smile once the bus had almost
pulled away. She stood and watched until they were out of sight.

  The narrow school gate was clogged with leaving parents who had stopped in groups to talk. She had to weave through, trying not to be touched and not to breathe too hard.

  She skirted a toddler hanging on to the tether of his mother with one hand and smearing his snotty nose with the other. Her pulse skipped again. But it was a cold morning—that made noses run. She looked for anything else that might be a symptom, even the memory of a cough or a sneeze. There was no way she would have missed it if someone coughed. The chance that she was looking at the first case in Sydney was minuscule.

  Not every sneeze was Manba, that was what she had to keep telling herself. But not everyone who had Manba had symptoms. Any of these healthy-looking people could be in the early stages—or be an asymptomatic carrier—and you wouldn’t know.

  This was how bad things happened—by ignoring her instincts. If something went wrong, she would always know she’d had a choice to stop him from going. She had to hold herself back from running after the bus.

  Every kid did this. All the kids went, the teachers would look after them, Zac was safe. She knew that. She told herself that. But still Hannah felt she had failed him.

  It was too late now. It was done.

  The cold nip of the car door handle took her by surprise. She glanced at the clock—seven thirty, even though the bus was supposed to leave by seven. Still enough time to get home and get Oscar ready. As much out of habit as anything, she turned on the radio for the news. She felt jumpy, maybe just eager to get home.

  There was more traffic on the road now. As she passed Oscar’s school, kids were already arriving. A harried-looking father dropped two small girls at the gate of the before-school care center.

  The voice from the radio pushed itself to the front of her attention. “…organizers believe they have now identified all attendees. However, a small number have still not been located. The World Health Organization has offered assistance to any government whose citizens attended the conference…”

  The wind had picked up a little, and the kids looked like small blue-and-white bundles with their arms wrapped around themselves.