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Laura

By Jo-Anne Berthelsen

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Margaret Harding had sensed for weeks that something was wrong. Now, glancing out of the window at Laura and the boys playing in the nearby paddock, she was sure of it. Icy fingers of fear gripped her deep inside. She gasped, as Laura again tripped over and fell flat on her face, in the midst of a valiant effort to keep up with her brothers.

Soon the little girl was on her feet, slightly shocked, but apparently none the worse for wear. She struggled on a few more steps, before stumbling yet again over some obstacle hidden from view in the grass. This time she let out a despairing howl of rage and stayed put, rubbing her eyes hard with her small fists.

Now Jamie had stopped and come back for her, bless him. He could never resist her plaintive cries. Margaret watched him brush his little sister down carefully, take her hand and determinedly begin leading her towards the house.

‘Mum! Mum! Laura’s gone and fallen over again! She’s so clumsy – she never looks where she’s going.’

Margaret picked her daughter up and comforted her. Yet it was more in an attempt to comfort herself, she knew, that she held her close and patted her.

Having safely delivered Laura into his mother’s care, Jamie shot off to rejoin his brothers in their latest escapade. Margaret had no worries about the boys – they were sensible and could look after themselves. It was her daughter, now held tightly in her arms, who caused her to lie awake at nights, tense with anxiety, trying to tell herself that everything was fine, yet knowing in her heart it was not. Not at all.

Laura’s sobs had begun to subside. Now she was content to lie quietly against her mother. Margaret gently stroked her hair, remembering how Laura had begun to walk unaided long before her first birthday even, determined to join in with the boys as soon as possible. She had had her share of tumbles, just like any toddler, but it was not long before she was following her brothers everywhere, attempting to copy everything they did. Usually they let her tag along, often piggybacking her around whenever she got tired. But lately, she had become so accident-prone that their patience had begun to wear thin – just like it had today.

‘She’s a big nuisance!’ Greg complained, whenever Laura wanted to go anywhere with them these days. He was almost eight and always the first to voice his unhappiness if things did not go his way, with the result that the family, even Margaret, usually ignored his objections.

‘Yeah, she is so too!’ Ian could be counted on to add, echoing his older brother’s opinion.

Ian knew instinctively, even at five, that he had to stay on the right side of Greg. Jamie would always look after him, but Greg – well, he was just Greg, sometimes sticking up for you, at other times acting like you weren’t even there. Ian reckoned he needed all the help he could get, being new at school and quite small for his age. Besides, he wore glasses – and at their school that was asking for trouble. Already he’d learnt it didn’t pay to be different.

Margaret would normally have taken little notice of the two younger boys’ complaints, but when ten-year-old Jamie reinforced their view as he just had, she knew she could no longer ignore the situation. He loved Laura dearly – in fact, he had doted on her from the very beginning, when they had first placed her in his arms at the small local hospital. It pained her now that even he did not want his little sister around so much.

Perhaps there was more to it than that. Jamie was into the roughest games with his friends and brothers and could give as good as he got, but he was also a sensitive, intelligent kid. He could tell a mile off when she herself was tired or upset.

‘Don’t wowwy, Mummy! Everythink will be okay,’ he had often said to her from an early age, stroking her face gently, when things had occasionally become too difficult for her.

Now Margaret wondered how much of her concern over Laura he was picking up – how much his impatience masked his own worry over both his mother and sister. The night before, when he thought no one was looking, she had noticed him staring intently at Laura’s eyes, before holding out a favourite toy to her, his own eyes almost begging her to take it. She had not responded at all. Eventually, he had placed the toy directly in front of her, where it was quickly grabbed up and cuddled. Margaret had watched helplessly, the lump in her throat almost choking her, as, without a word, he had quietly got up and announced he was going to bed.

‘But it’s early yet, Jamie,’ Greg had howled.

They slept in the same room, but Greg was definitely not keen on going there one minute sooner than he needed to.

‘Mum, I don’t have to go to bed yet, do I? Jamie’s a big spoilsport!’

I’m a bit tired,’ Jamie had mumbled rather red-faced, eyes suspiciously bright. ‘I’ll read for a while – you can come later.’

Margaret had wanted with all her heart to follow him to his room and assure him things would be all right, but her own fears had held her back. Now, as she cuddled Laura and stroked her small blonde head, she came to a decision. She would talk about it again with Ken when he came home – that is, if she could stay awake that long.

Soon she felt Laura’s body go slack and her breathing became heavier. Margaret continued to hold her, telling herself there was plenty of time before she needed to start preparing dinner. It was unusual Laura would want to sleep at this time, she thought to herself – especially after she had already had an afternoon nap. But then she remembered how disturbed Laura’s nights had been recently, how she had heard her tossing and turning and moaning softly a number of times. She herself had lain awake for what seemed like hours, after getting up to check on her and straighten the covers yet again. It would be great when Ken could get around to finishing off enclosing part of the side veranda, she thought for the hundredth time, yawning as she did. Then Laura could have her own room, rather than share theirs. Not that that really worried Ken. Nothing disturbed him these days, once he finally came to bed.

Gradually the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun began to form long, wavering patterns on the worn carpet at Margaret’s feet. She shifted her weight a little, trying to ease the small, inert body on her lap into a more comfortable position. Laura whimpered, then closed her eyes again, content to stay put. In the distance, Margaret could hear the boys’ voices as they shouted excitedly to one another in the midst of an energetic game of Cowboys and Indians. She was proud of them, the way they played so well together – at least most of the time. She loved all four of her children. And she was sure, come Christmas, there’d be a fifth. Not that she’d told anyone yet – not even Ken.

Drifting on the edge of sleep herself, her mind played games with her, traversing the years back to the day she and Ken had met. It had been at a church social – he was in the band invited to provide the entertainment. She was new to the area, having recently been appointed to teach at a small primary school nearby. She was aware his parents owned a large store in the town – she’d even caught sight of him there a few times, but his interests had seemed to lie elsewhere. Besides, she’d always been in a hurry, preoccupied with getting home to prepare the next day’s lessons. Everything had been so new to her then, so different and challenging. She was living away from home for the first time. She was teaching a class of her own for the first time. She was slowly but surely beginning to find her feet in a small country community.

And soon she was in love for the first time.

By the end of that year, they were engaged. Even now, years later, a smile played around her mouth as she remembered those heady, romantic days. Ken was warm and friendly, a good musician and an energetic member of various local community groups. He had not enjoyed study over much, he told her, so after a brief stint at university, had given it up in favour of helping out in the family business. By the time they met, his parents had retired and moved closer to their only daughter down in Brisbane, who was trying to raise three children on her own. Ken was left in charge of the store, a task he tackled with great gusto but minimal business acumen, as soon became apparent to most of the other storeowners in town at least. However, he was popular, and the business had managed to keep functioning largely on the strength of the family name – at least, until the end of their second year of marriage. By that time, Margaret was expecting their first child and knew she would soon have to give up teaching. She remembered now how she had faced the prospect with considerable reluctance, not only because she loved her pupils and they loved her back, but also because it was obvious by then the family business was in serious financial difficulties.

Suddenly, the same reluctance and uncertainty that had haunted her then was there again in the pit of her stomach, evoking memories she would rather forget – memories of the day, a month after Jamie was born, when the liquidators had arrived and the shop doors closed. Now she felt again the panic that had engulfed her when Ken broke the news. Soon after, they had moved to an old house on several acres of mediocre farmland a few kilometres out of town, renting it from Ken’s uncle at a nominal rate. The plan was for Ken to work the farm as best he could, supplementing their income with odd jobs, as well as occasional gigs with his band. By then, his days of entertaining church groups were a thing of the past and he had become well known at several of the local pubs – not only because of his music, but also the extended periods he spent drinking there at regular intervals. Deep emotion stirred in Margaret, as she remembered the heated discussions that had regularly taken place between them in those days.

Eventually, Ken had listened and tried hard to reform. Things had improved, but Margaret was painfully aware he had never quite succeeded in shaking the habit. Not even the arrival of two more sons in the years ahead had served to wean him away from his drinking mates completely, despite the fact that he loved his boys and was immensely proud of them. He spent time with all three whenever he could, yet often, after they were safely in bed, he would find some pressing reason to catch up with one or other of his friends at the pub.

‘Got to sort out our next gig, Marg,’ was the most common excuse. ‘You know how we need the money. The guys and I have to work out some new songs.’

All that had changed markedly, however, when Laura was born. Now, even as she half dozed herself, her arms around their daughter, Margaret remembered Ken’s reaction when Laura had first made her appearance. He had been speechless at first, but then had not tried to hide his delight.

‘Wow, a girl! She’s so gorgeous, Marg – just like her mother,’ he had burst out.

Looking down at Laura in her lap now, she could still see the broad smile on his face, as he held his daughter for the first time. From that moment on, Laura had enchanted him. More than that, she had won his heart completely.

‘I’ll be such a good dad to you,’ he had whispered softly, tears in his eyes, as he gently stroked her cheek.

Mostly, he had kept his word. He had tried to make more of a go of the farm, clearing and ploughing paddocks that had long been neglected and tending the old fruit trees his uncle had planted years earlier. He had taken the boys with him as much as he could while doing these jobs, in order to help her out with the baby. And by and large, he had stayed away from the pubs. If the band needed to get together, they met in an old hall not far away, where they could practise without disturbing anyone. And when their gigs were on, Ken was usually the first to pack up and leave afterwards. Better not to hang around drinking away any of the profits, he had told the others straight up.

In the evenings as he relaxed after a hard day, he had loved to hold Laura in his arms and look down at her perfect little features – especially her big blue eyes, so like his own. Then, as she had grown, he was in his element playing all sorts of pretend games with her, or reading her first books to her, while she sat snuggled up close to him on his lap. Margaret loved to hear them laughing together, enjoying each other’s company.

But lately, there had been much less laughter from Laura. She was not sleeping well at nights and had been clingy and irritable during the day – and her clumsiness had become so marked, that, against Ken’s wishes, Margaret had finally taken her to their local doctor.

‘Marg, she’s probably dreaming a lot or something and just gets clumsy when she’s tired,’ Ken had said irritably. ‘She’ll be right – don’t waste the doctor’s time!’

Margaret knew he was worried, but could not face the dreaded thought that something was actually wrong with his beautiful little princess. He had always preferred to stick his head in the sand and pretend everything was all right – like when they had lost the family business. That was the way he coped.

Looking down again at the sleeping bundle in her arms, Margaret remembered how she had listened to the doctor’s verdict with a mixture of relief and disquiet. It was obvious to her that day that he was tired of seeing too many patients with trivial problems and that he was of the opinion Laura was another one.

‘I can’t find anything wrong with her, Mrs Harding. Whatever’s troubling her, she’ll get over it in no time, I’m sure. You should know that after three active boys – don’t worry so much!’ was his very peremptory diagnosis.

Margaret left, but the next day quietly took herself off to the new doctor in town. This time Laura had been examined a little more carefully, but no clear diagnosis had been forthcoming. Still not fully satisfied, on a rare visit to Brisbane to see her mother, she had taken Laura to her own old family doctor. While he could find nothing specifically wrong, he knew Margaret well enough to sense she would not fuss unnecessarily.

‘If you want a further opinion, I can refer you to a paediatrician in the city,’ he had offered, ‘but unfortunately he doesn’t come cheap.’

Margaret had taken the referral letter and made the appointment. That was the easy part. Telling Ken was much more difficult.

‘No, Marg, she doesn’t need a specialist!’ he had responded angrily. ‘It’s not only the money – it’s just that I’m sure you’re making too big a deal out of it. Let her be for a while – she’ll come good, you’ll see.’

Beneath the anger, Margaret could hear panic in his voice. She gave in, knowing it was useless to argue, and cancelled the appointment.

Laura had not improved, however much Ken liked to pretend otherwise over the next weeks. She cried more and could not tell them exactly what was wrong, except that her eyes hurt. She rubbed them a lot and was constantly falling over things, just as she had with the boys only an hour or so earlier. She had been much more lethargic too.

Suddenly Laura stirred in her arms and whimpered, her little hands rubbing her eyes once again.

‘Hurting, Mummy,’ she cried, still half asleep. ‘Make it better!’

Brought back to reality with a jolt, Margaret kissed her softly and smoothed the fine, slightly damp curls off her forehead.

‘What say we give you a nice warm bath? Daddy will be home soon and then we’ll have some dinner. It’s one of your favourites too – sausages. Yum!’

…

Ken was tired. He had been fixing fences along their western boundary most of the day, not even bothering to return home for lunch. It was late afternoon now – time to finish off and clean up before dinner. Momentarily, he toyed with the idea of heading into town for one quick drink with his mates. After all, he hadn’t seen them for ages – it felt like he’d been stuck on the damn farm working for months.

The thought no sooner came, however, than he dismissed it, although not without a struggle. Normally he loved this part of the day – but lately he had begun to dread it. Not that he didn’t like being with Marg and the kids. Sure, the boys were always rowdy, climbing over him and fighting for his attention, but he could handle that. It was just that he found it hard to see his Laura so unhappy and obviously not herself. It worried him too much.

Better make an effort to talk to Marg tonight about it, he decided, as he packed up his gear and slowly headed home.

Margaret greeted him with a quick smile and a kiss, but he could see she was pale, with dark rings under her eyes. She was trying to balance a tearful Laura on her hip, while she finished getting dinner.

‘How’re my big girl and my little girl doing? Not so well?’ he asked lightly, more for something to say than anything. ‘Just give me time to clean myself up a bit and I’ll be right back to help out.’

Laura whimpered louder and reached out for him, but he had already disappeared in the direction of the shower. Finally Jamie came to the rescue, distracting her with her favourite dolls. Soon dinner was on the table and food took priority over everything else. Laura was quiet for a while, content to chew on her pieces of sausage, as she tried hard to make the peas stay on her spoon. Margaret ate hurriedly, in between helping Ian with his food. She knew the lull would not last for long.

She was right. Soon Laura grew restless and wanted to sit on her father’s lap. Margaret let her climb out of the old high chair, taking her time cleaning her up in order to let Ken finish his dinner. He must be hungry – and besides, she wanted to give him some breathing space.

Eventually, Ken took Laura and sat her on his knee, while he helped Ian with the rest of his dinner. Margaret quickly ate the remains of her own meal, then served a simple dessert of jelly and ice cream, which all four children greeted with whoops of delight. Ken helped Laura eat hers where she was on his lap, while he talked to the boys.

‘So what did you guys get up to after school today?’ he asked. ‘No fights, I hope.’

‘We played Cowboys and Indians in the bush up the hill, Dad,’ Jamie explained. ‘Ian and I were cowboys and Greg and Laura were Indians, but then I had to bring Laura inside, so after that we made a cubby up there.’

‘Yeah, Dad, we were having a good game, until Laura spoilt it all. She kept falling over and when she cried, Jamie and Ian could find us real easy,’ Greg complained.

‘We would’ve found you anyway, so stop whingeing!’ Jamie promptly responded.

‘Would not have either.’

‘Would so too.’

‘Yeah, we would so, Greg,’ Ian added, joining in the argument as he usually did by supporting whoever seemed to be winning at that strategic moment.

‘That’s enough, boys!’ Ken cut in sternly. ‘I guess she couldn’t help it, after all.’

‘I know she can’t, Dad – but she does spoil things for us a bit right now,’ Jamie said then.

It was not his usual way to complain about his sister. Reluctantly, Ken enquired further.

‘How’s that, Jamie? She’s not even three yet.’

‘I know – but lately you and Mum never have much time to play with us at nights or read to us, because you’re so busy looking after Laura, when she’s crying because her eyes are sore. I wish someone could fix them up.’

To Jamie’s horror, his voice wobbled on the last few words. Ken could not help noticing the tears that began to well up in his son’s eyes, but made no comment. Quickly, Jamie jumped up from the table.

‘I’ll go and wash the dishes,’ he muttered, grabbing his own plates and making a dash for the kitchen – but not before Margaret saw him lift the front of his old T-shirt and surreptitiously wipe his eyes with it.

‘Come on, Greg,’ Margaret intervened, ‘clear the table and take the dishes in to Jamie! You know that’s your job. Ian, I think the bin needs emptying. Maybe, if you hurry, we can all play a game of hide and seek.’

Ken could hear them continuing to squabble in the kitchen, until Margaret silenced them with the threat of early bedtime. He sighed, as he moved to his favourite old lounge chair. Laura still clung to him, so he manoeuvred both of them into a reasonably comfortable position, before closing his eyes and leaning his head back. I could sure do with a beer, he thought to himself – but he knew Marg hated him drinking with the boys around and he didn’t want to disappoint her. She had enough on her mind right now. They all did.

The boys managed to squeeze in their game of hide and seek before bedtime, although it was not without incident. Laura naturally wanted to join in, but in trying to hide alongside Jamie, had fallen over a chair that had been left jutting out from the table and crashed to the floor. Margaret quickly picked her up and carried her onto the veranda. Maybe the cool evening breeze would soothe her.

‘You stay with the boys!’ she yelled to Ken above the din. ‘They want you to keep playing – I’ll look after her.’

Somehow none of them had the heart for it after that and the game soon ended on a rather lame note. Laura’s cries could still be heard outside, as Ken read one last book to Ian before bed.

‘Daddy, do you think Laura will be all right soon?’ he asked in a sleepy voice, as Ken tucked him in.

‘Sure she will, mate,’ Ken replied confidently. ‘Don’t you remember how you used to fall over lots when you were little?’

‘Well, sort of, but I was just a baby then – and I didn’t do it as much as she does, anyway.’

Ken agreed, but didn’t let on, as he kissed his youngest son.

‘’Night, Ian – sleep tight!’

He did not fare much better with the two older boys, as he went to say good night to them. At first they were unusually quiet, until Greg suddenly spoke up.

‘Go on, Jamie – ask him! You said you would.’

‘Ask me what, Jamie?’

Jamie hesitated, but finally the words came tumbling out.

‘Dad, if we gave you our pocket money, could you and Mum find a doctor in Brisbane who might know how to fix Laura? Her eyes always hurt and she keeps falling over – ’

‘ – and we don’t like it,’ Greg chimed in then. ‘If she was better, we could have a lot more fun.’

Ken was now the one who had difficulty finding his voice. Greg’s motives were no doubt mixed, but he could tell by the look on Jamie’s face that he had Laura’s best interests at heart, as always. In fact, now Jamie had buried his face in his pillow and Ken could see his shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to cry quietly. Without a word, he ruffled his eldest son’s hair and let his hand rest on his shoulder, before moving to Greg’s bed to do the same.

‘Thanks, guys! I’ll talk to Mum about it,’ was all he said in the end, as he turned out the light.

Laura had cried herself to sleep, as Margaret had walked around outside with her. Now Ken sat in the dark on their front veranda, waiting while she was put to bed and thinking about what he needed to say next. He was not the best at apologies, but he knew that had to be part of it. Eventually, Margaret came and sat down in the old wicker chair next to him with a deep sigh.

Slowly, he reached his hand across the space between them.

‘Marg, I’ve been thinking – and so have the boys. I reckon I made a mistake when I told you we didn’t need to take Laura to that specialist in Brisbane – a big one. And I’m sorry. Now Jamie, Greg and I all want to find the best doctor possible to look at Laura and see what can be done.’

Ken recounted what had just happened. Margaret could not hold back the tears and soon Ken was holding her close, his own eyes moist.

‘I feel so relieved! Something has to be done – for Laura’s sake, as well as ours. And I’m so proud of the boys – they’ve tried really hard to look after their sister.’

She lapsed into silence for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.

‘Ken, I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, but … Ken, I think I’m pregnant again! So there’ll be another one around to care for soon. It’ll be hard going for a while, but we’ll manage. I’ve always wanted a big family, as you know, so I’m really happy about it. Laura will love having a baby brother or sister around. I won’t know for sure until I go to the doctor this week, but I’ll get him to give me another referral for Laura while I’m there.’

She was babbling now, unable to look at him. For what seemed forever, he said nothing. Then, to her relief, he hugged her tight.

‘Poor Marg – no wonder you’ve looked so tired, what with Laura’s troubles and now this new baby coming. That’s wonderful news – and of course I’m happy about it! But that’s all the more reason we need to see what can be done for Laura right away. Somehow – without the boys’ offer of help – we’ll find the money we need.’

That week, Margaret’s pregnancy was confirmed, but they decided not to tell the boys straight away. Now that Ken requested it as well, their family doctor begrudgingly agreed to refer Laura to an old paediatrician friend of his in Brisbane.

‘He’ll probably think I’ve gone crazy referring you to him, but I’ll do it if you really want another opinion,’ he said gruffly, still sure the problem was simple childish clumsiness.

The paediatrician in Brisbane had been somewhat brusque and non-committal after examining Laura, but concerned enough to refer them to an eye specialist at the Children’s Hospital for tests. When Margaret finally managed to get an appointment and arrange to make the trip once again, she was hopeful there would be some sort of breakthrough at last. Laura had days when she seemed somewhat better, but even with the medication the paediatrician had prescribed, she had shown little real improvement.

This time they stayed with Margaret’s mother in her small unit not far from the hospital, for the three days it took to complete the tests the new specialist had ordered. For Margaret, these were anxious days, not only at the hospital but also at home. She knew her mother wanted to be helpful, but Margaret found it hard to relax around her, particularly with Laura so unsettled. Jean fussed so much and seemed to take it as a personal affront whenever Laura refused to be comforted by her, preferring her mother.

‘There’s got to be something really wrong,’ Jean would say many times over, until Margaret almost wanted to scream. ‘Children always stop crying for me.’

They could not believe it then, when the ophthalmologist, a courteous, quietly spoken younger man, explained that nothing untoward had been discovered in any of the tests they had conducted.

‘If nothing’s shown up, then there really is very little we can do – I’m sure you understand that. Bring her back in a couple of months’ time, if you’re still worried, but I have a feeling things will settle down. She’s not much over two and a half, is she? Sometimes children that age are a little difficult to manage – as my wife and I are finding out ourselves right now. Perhaps it’s your little girl’s way of getting attention in a noisy, busy family. Three boys and a girl must be quite a handful.’

Margaret felt a surge of anger rise up that threatened to overwhelm her, but she tried to respond as calmly as possible.

‘Doctor, I think I know how young children behave – and I assure you Laura isn’t falling over on purpose, nor is she only pretending to have sore eyes. Are there any further tests or X-rays that can be done, just to make sure?’

The doctor tried to answer politely enough, but could not help a slightly patronising and impatient tone creeping into his voice. He had noticed Margaret was not dressed in the latest fashion, to put it mildly. Probably poorly educated too, he decided – so why bother to try to explain things to her further? Besides, he was tired and extremely overworked – and he’d had his fill of overanxious mothers for the day. His words came out shorter than he meant them to and he regretted them the moment they left his lips – but by then it was too late. He had lost Margaret’s confidence forever.

‘Mrs Harding, please don’t waste my time any further! I have other children to see to who really are very ill. If you want to spend hours waiting around in doctor’s surgeries and having more unnecessary tests, then that’s your business, but it’s not what I’d suggest. As I said – she’ll grow out of it.’

With as much dignity as she could muster, Margaret quickly rose, clutching Laura in her arms. The tears began spilling over as she made to leave the room. Hastily, the young doctor sprang to his feet.

‘Mrs Harding, please forgive me – I’m so sorry! It’s just that we’re so overworked here …’

But Margaret turned away, brushing unseeingly past nurses and patients alike as she hurried out of the building.

Later, she had almost no memory of the long, tiring drive home from Brisbane that day. Fortunately, Laura slept most of the way, as Margaret fought to gain control of her whirling thoughts and emotions. There was something wrong with Laura – she was convinced of that. But what could she do, in the face of the lack of medical evidence to support her claims? Only hope and pray, she supposed now – but it had been a long time since she or Ken had prayed about anything. And right now God seemed very, very far away – certainly not at all interested in their little girl.

Ken did not say much when he was told the news.

‘She’ll be right, Marg,’ he mumbled awkwardly, trying to comfort her. ‘Anyway, nothing we can do about it right now, I guess. If it doesn’t settle down though, like the doctor said, we could ask to be referred to someone else – no harm in a second opinion.’

‘But he was already the fourth doctor we’ve seen,’ she responded tearfully. ‘How many more won’t believe us when we tell them something’s wrong with her?’

Two months passed – months that were difficult for the whole family. Laura was seen by the local doctor several more times before he reluctantly referred them to another paediatrician in Brisbane. After examining Laura carefully and studying the previous test results, he also refused to believe anything was radically wrong with her. Appointments with a local naturopath followed, who suggested a complete change in Laura’s diet, but after some weeks of trying to get her to eat things that were unfamiliar to her, and with no great improvement resulting from the new regimen, Margaret gave up persevering along that route.

Laura seemed to settle a little more the following week, but was still listless during the day. Now she rarely tried to follow her brothers around when they played in the bushes above the paddocks or fossicked along the nearby creek bed. Any confidence she had developed in earlier months to run here and there with them seemed to have deserted her. And she definitely walked more slowly and cautiously these days, Margaret noticed, taking her time to look where she put her feet. She seemed happiest playing nearby on the floor with her favourite toys, or curled up in Margaret’s lap watching TV. But that lap was fast disappearing with the coming of the new baby and any energy Margaret had was stretched to the limit, as Laura clung to her more and more. Whenever she sat mending the boys’ clothes or peeling vegetables, Laura would want to be held. Often Margaret thought she noticed her feeling around on the table in front of her until she found the thimble or cotton reel or saucepan lid she wanted to play with. Was it that she was just tired – or could she really not see them?

Finally, a comment from Ken one night galvanised Margaret into further action. He and Laura were reading a bedtime book together after dinner, while Margaret supervised the boys as they finished their various jobs. She sat down to rest for a minute, closing her eyes and stretching her tired limbs, but as she opened them again, she found Ken’s eyes on her, a look of uncertainty – almost of fear – in them.

‘Marg,’ he said quietly. ‘I hate to say this, but I think Laura might be having real trouble seeing these pictures or even knowing which one I’m pointing to. Have you noticed that? She likes to listen to the stories and cuddle up close to me, but she doesn’t seem so interested in what’s on the pages. And her eyes don’t look right to me either – the pupils seem really big. Is that normal?’

Margaret turned Laura’s face gently towards her and examined her eyes closely. Not that she needed to – she knew what she would see. Then together they watched Laura turn her head at an awkward angle and move closer to the book she was holding, until her nose almost touched the paper. Her eyes were screwed up and her little pink tongue was poking out of her mouth, as she concentrated fully on the task in hand. Then she suddenly gave up and leant back against her father, whimpering and rubbing her eyes and putting her thumb in her mouth. She’d been doing that more and more, Margaret had noticed – as if she needed extra comfort that none of them could give her.

‘I don’t know, Ken,’ was all Margaret could say, the lump in her throat too huge.

Ken’s face was white and his hand stroking Laura’s hair shook a little.

‘What’ll we do, Marg? There must be something more … the doctors must be able to help somehow.’

They sat staring miserably at each other, until Margaret finally made up her mind.

‘I’m driving to Brisbane again tomorrow, Ken,’ she announced, desperation clear in her voice. ‘I’m going straight to the hospital – and I’m going to sit there until they give us some answers. Surely someone there will help us this time.’

She and Laura left home before sunrise, while the boys were still asleep. They were among the first of the outpatients to arrive at the busy Children’s Hospital and spent all day moving from one waiting room to the next, traversing long corridors between medical departments. They sat for hours, as one specialist after another asked endless questions and repeatedly examined Laura, until she clung sobbing to her mother and refused to let them touch her. All the way, Margaret had to remain firm and unyielding, determined not to leave until she had received some answers.

Exhausted, she and Laura stayed overnight at her mother’s, returning to the hospital the following morning for further consultations. They passed through the hands of the lowliest of interns, then on further, step by step, right up to the most experienced of paediatricians, neurologists and ophthalmologists. Margaret would not take no for an answer – and they seemed to recognise that.

Finally, after more hours of waiting, as the various specialists compared notes and checked X-rays and test results once more, Margaret was called in to consult with two of the most senior staff members.

One of them, a tall, thin man with a kindly face, began to talk gently to her.

‘Mrs Harding, my name’s John Brandon – I’m head of ophthalmology here. And this is Dr Vincent, one of our surgeons. Perhaps it’s best if I get straight to the point. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. You were right in thinking Laura’s eyesight has been getting worse – unfortunately we’ve found tumours growing in both her eyes. The tumour in the right eye has possibly been there since before birth even, but doesn’t seem to have caused any trouble until recently. I’m afraid there’s no gentle way to say this, but it would be best if my colleague here operated as soon as possible, to remove both of Laura’s eyes. You see, if we don’t, there’s a strong possibility the cancer will spread through the optic nerve into her brain, or maybe to other parts of her body through the bloodstream – and then she wouldn’t have long to live at all. Even if we don’t remove her eyes, she’d be blind soon anyway – so it would be far better to try to save her life, rather than hold onto what sight she now has. Perhaps if we had seen her even a couple of months ago, we might have been able to save the sight in her left eye at least – but I doubt it. Who knows? Now I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I’m extremely sorry, Mrs Harding. This must be so difficult for you!’

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