#1
Jess lets herself in. She can already sense something is off. The house is too cold, too quiet, except for the sound of someone too sick to be panting like they’re running a marathon.
She finds Amber in the dining room. She’s not standing on anything sensible, like a step stool or a ladder, but on a flimsy, creaking chair. She’s on her tiptoes, too, slashing at cobwebs and dust bunnies. Jess eyes Amber’s skin, reddened and bloated above her compression socks.
‘Couldn’t wait for me?’ Jess calls out.
Amber doesn’t answer.
Jess notices the laptop on the table, open to an email in Amber’s National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) portal. The subject line is huge, almost designed to be conspicuous: Functional capacity – Reassessment requirements.
She looks back at Amber. The duster hits the wall. Again. And again. Amber’s pace is quickening.
‘The reassessment,’ Jess says. ‘That came in?’
Amber’s laugh is short and ugly. ‘Yeah. They wanna know if I still need funding for “reasonable and necessary supports”, as they so eloquently put it.’
‘And if you’re in remission, like you have been for the last couple of months …’
‘Goodbye, funding.’ She eyes Jess. ‘And who knows how much they’ll end up cutting –’
