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Back Going Under Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I BIRTH
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. PART II LIFE
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. PART III DEATH
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. FORTY-SIX
  54. FORTY-SEVEN
  55. FORTY-EIGHT
  56. FORTY-NINE
  57. FIFTY
  58. FIFTY-ONE
  59. FIFTY-TWO
  60. FIFTY-THREE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

He laughs, coffee-stained teeth flashing at me. ‘Yeah, it was a doc like you, from the city. He certified a death and signed the back of the form then, after the van was long gone, he checked the name and realised it was an old Italian bloke, when the death he’d certified was a sheila in her early forties.’

‘What?’ I feel horrified. ‘But couldn’t he just ring the … you know … van drivers?’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ the morgue attendant grins ghoulishly. ‘No one really knows who they are. They’re just contractors, you see.’

Fantastic. ‘So what happened?’

‘Ah, it turned out all right. He called the police and crosschecked with them and found the body but, you know, it was a scare.’

‘Hmm.’ I feel disconcerted, to say the least. I imagine the death van drivers running some kind of organ-pilfering ring, which hapless junior doctors become accidentally party to. There’s a good horror movie in that for sure.

This proximity to death has me standing on the edge of a full-blown existential crisis, I realise, as I wait outside the morgue for my friends to walk home, in my mind halfway through the screenplay for Death Van: Part 3. I feel an intense longing for the shallow days of binge drinking, arguing with Winnie about putting out the bins, and my pathetically huge crush on my surgical boss.

Max arrives first, looking pleased with himself. The only other gay man in the hospital, a nurse called Robert, has invited Max to the Wingabby races this weekend.

‘I’ve heard the country races are pretty fun,’ I tell him, having listened to the nurses on my ward gossiping about them. ‘Maureen looked super excited when she told us about the races at orientation. I think it’s like the biggest event of the year.’

Max looks pleased. ‘It’ll be a good story, don’t you reckon? That time I went to the country races when I was a junior doctor in a town of seven thousand people.’

Like me, Max sees the value of a good story. Even the biggest catastrophe can be turned around a few months later over some wines and a good laugh. Not that one ever wishes for a catastrophe, I remind myself, thinking about my colleague and his lost body, shuddering. I’ve had enough to do with the death van for one lifetime.

EIGHTEEN

eighteen

On Saturday I sit on the couch in poo palace considering Max’s chosen outfit for rural race day. ‘The light blue is better than the pink,’ I decide. ‘And I like your R.M. Williams.’

Estelle is still asleep, even though it’s after midday. She ‘treated herself’ to a heavy dose of wine and sedation last night and will be in bed till at least 4 pm.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Max says.