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‘What are you going to draw?’
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Maybe one of those big wombat things that used to be around ages ago.’
‘Megafauna,’ I say. ‘Diprotodon.’ He loves learning about megafauna too. He has a series of books, megafauna as well as dinosaurs, on his bookshelf, as well as a poster of a diprotodon on the wall.
‘Yeah. Di … di-proto-don.’
‘I can’t wait to see to see it when you’ve finished.’
He begins to draw. I thought he was lost in his work and so I turn to leave. But, with his face still looking at the page, he says, ‘Will you be next door?’
‘Yes, mate. Next door. Like always.’
He nods and keeps drawing. I can already see an outline of the diprotodon in a deep blue. I go next door to my bedroom. Then I fall on to my bed – face down with my head hanging over the edge. And I cry. I cry and cry and fucking cry. Thank Christ I am alone. Thank Christ no one can see me.
After a minute or so, I manage to stop crying. I am tired. I am just tired. How is it possible to be this tired and still function?
The machine’s whirring is audible from my bedroom, so I can hear any alarms go off. And I can hear Tom if he needs help. I feel myself falling asleep. One half of me fights it and the other half wants to succumb. I am caught in-between. I can’t make decisions. And then I fall asleep.
