I almost turned away, to run back to Golden Beach, to run anywhere.
I don’t know if I can do this anymore, I thought.
All the way home in the train I had imagined finding my room violated, the lock broken, Grandma’s desk gone, and Mum’s junk covering every surface, so I was relieved to see that the padlock was still intact.
I opened the door with my key. The room was as neat as I’d left it. I dropped my bags, opened the window and turned to face the rest of the house.
Slipping on the stuff underfoot, I made my way to Mum and Dad’s room, calling to them as I went. The smell was even worse than I remembered, but I couldn’t open any windows without moving the piles of stacked rubbish, papers, boxes, bits and pieces of furniture, and strange, useless objects.
I hadn’t spoken to Mum for two weeks. She didn’t answer her phone when I rang and she ignored my messages and texts. Perhaps her phone was lost in the mess.
I found her in her bedroom. Bottles of pills littered the floor. She’d been shopping online, for there were packets of new purchases, many unopened, piled up around her on the floor and the bed. With the stuff that was already there, the additional new piles made the room look like one of those out of control stalls you saw at flea markets.
I couldn’t see Mum, but her shape was there, buried under the bedclothes. The smell was especially bad in this room, a mixture of sweat, urine, unwashed hair and dirty bedding. There were plates of half eaten stale food everywhere, and remains of cups of tea with milk congealed on the surface.
I began to retch, and had to run back to the open window in my bedroom to breathe in some clean air. When I came back into Mum’s room, I pushed a pile of stuff aside and forced the window open.
‘Close it,’ she screamed from under the piles of blankets.
‘No, it stays open. I’m going to get some air into this stinking place.’ I went closer and bent to kiss her, but she pushed me away roughly. Her face was white and puffy. Her hair was a mass of greasy, knotted, grey curls, and her fingernails, where she clutched the bedclothes, were black. Her eyes were glazed. What pills was she taking?
‘Why are you in bed, Mum?’ I asked. ‘Are you sick? Where’s Dad?’
‘Don’t know where he is.’
‘Have you tried his phone?’
‘Nooooo …’ she drew the word out and burrowed down further.
I didn’t know what to do. ‘Mum, this is awful. The house is worse than ever. How long since you got out of bed?’
Suddenly she turned on me. ‘What do you care, traitor? You couldn’t care less about me. You threw my stuff away in that bin, and took my mother’s desk. Then you ran off to that cruel old man’s place and left me here. I suppose the two of you have been talking about me these last two weeks. You don’t love me. It was just pretence.’
‘You know I love you, Mum,’ I protested.
‘If you loved me you’d stay when I need you. I thought I could rely on you, but you left me like everyone else. Well, you cast me off so you can go too. Go on, get out, you think you’re too good for this house.’
The unfairness of her attack winded me. She was snarling, vicious. I noticed that her teeth were streaked with yellow and green plaque. Hygiene had been abandoned, probably on the day I left. She had turned in on herself, choosing to hide inside her layers of skin as an animal curled up to lick its wounds. Yet despite her crazy fury, I still felt the old ache of helpless, hopeless love and pity. I cleared a place on the bed and sat down, reaching for her hand.
‘I’m home now, Mum. Let’s get you out of bed and we’ll fill some buckets so you can have a wash. Then we’ll get something to eat and I’ll help you change the sheets on your bed.’
‘No, go away! Leave me alone. I don’t need you. He’s gone and you can go too.’
‘Come on, Mum, you’ll feel much better. I’ll wash your hair for you. We can eat and then watch some TV.’
‘Can’t wash, there’s no water,’ she muttered.
The nausea rose in my stomach again. ‘What’s wrong with the water?’
‘There hasn’t been any water for over a week.’
What now? Was it an unpaid bill, or a fault with the plumbing? Where was Dad?
‘Well, we’ll have to get a plumber in. We can’t live here without water.’
She began to shriek again, striking out at me with her fists. A wave of her foul body odour washed over me.
‘No, no, no one’s coming here. We can manage. You can buy bottles of drinking water.’
If the situation wasn’t so desperate, I could almost have laughed. She really believed that we could live in this filthy place without water. I knew then that she needed much more help than I was able to give her. I couldn’t carry it anymore. I had to ask for help if I was to save myself, and not be sucked into the mental and physical mire in which she lived.
I left her crying in her room, and feeling sick in my stomach, I looked around the rest of the house. There was the usual swarm of cockroaches in the kitchen, feasting on the grease that covered the stovetop, benches and dirty plates, but it was in the bathroom that the nausea finally overcame me. The stench filled my nostrils and seemed to penetrate my skin and hair. I vomited when I saw the overflowing, unflushed toilet whose contents had leaked onto the old newspapers, magazines and wads of tissues and dirty clothing that covered the floor.
‘Oh, Mum,’ I groaned. I doubled over, heaving again.
I don’t know how to help you anymore. Where are you Dad?’
I found wet wipes and a bottle of water in in my backpack. I wiped my face and swished water over my tongue and teeth. Then I took my phone and rang Dad’s number.
‘The number you have called is not connected. Please check the number and try again …’
I knew now that I had no choice. My desperate voice went to Uncle Leo’s message bank. ‘It’s Alison. Mum’s very bad. I need help. Please, please call me as soon as you can.’
I left the same message in a text and then went back to Mum’s room. She was pretending to be asleep. I sat on the bed and took her hand. Uncle Leo would know what to do. I stayed with her until help came.
Chapter 13
Leo Brennan
Sunday, 10 April
I was shooting a 65th wedding anniversary party in a gracious old home in Ascot Vale when Alison’s message pinged on my phone. The guests were beginning to leave, so I made an appointment with the elderly couple for the next day, packed up my gear and texted: On my way now to Alison. She’d never asked me for help before. It must have been bad.
She met me at the door, white faced and looking bilious.
‘I can’t talk any sense into her. There’s no water. The place is disgusting. She won’t get out of bed.’
I hadn’t seen Bernie since before Alison went to Golden Beach, and I was shocked at her deterioration and at the condition of the house. Worst of all was the smell. I put a hand over my nose and mouth.
‘It’s the toilet,’ Alison said. ‘No water. It won’t flush.’
‘How will she react to me?’ I asked.
‘She’s up and down, screaming one minute and crying the next. She thinks everyone hates her. She’s not thinking straight, thinks she can stay here without water.’
This is so unfair on you, Allie, I thought. Why should you, at sixteen, have to carry this?
Bernie was hunkered down in her bed, but she raised her head when I came in. I could hardly breathe for the smell, even though a window was open.
‘Oh you,’ she growled. ‘Why are you here? Isn’t it enough that you threw out my stuff and gave her Mummy’s desk? Now I suppose you’ve come to stick your nose in again.’
All of Bernie’s usual submissiveness had gone and she had become like a hurt animal, lashing out in anger to defend herself.
‘Where’s Harry, Bernie?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’
I cleared a space on the bed and sat next to her. She’d always trusted me, at least unti
l now.
‘Let me help you, Bern. You know you can’t stay here. Come to my place. You’ll be safe there. We can get you clean and get some good food into you.’
That terrified her. She hadn’t left the house in over a year. She pushed and hit out at me. She was surprisingly strong. ‘No, no, I’m not moving from here, and you can’t make me. Go away, go away, and take her too. I can look after myself.’
She began to throw things at me then — empty pill bottles, a TV remote, a bowl full of hairpins. ‘Get out, get out,’ she screamed.
I knew then that Allie and I couldn’t help her. I remembered the name of the psychiatrist who had treated her when she was younger, and I wondered if he was still practising. Outside in front of the house, I downloaded the number. It was Sunday evening, but it was worth a try. The automated message told me that Dr Werstein’s hours were nine to five on weekdays, but there was a number for a local Crisis Assessment Team. I rang it.
Please, please come tonight.
Everything happened quickly after that. There were three of them, calm professionals who took no notice of the state of the house or the smell, who spoke to Bernie with consideration and compassion, despite the fact that she disappeared further under the bedclothes when they came into her room.
‘Who are you?’ she shrieked? ‘Are you from the police? Have you come to take my daughter away?’
Behind me, Alison was sobbing. I put my arm around her and guided her outside the room. ‘Get your school things and whatever else you need. You’re coming to our place tonight.’
You will never, never spend another night in this house, I vowed silently.
‘But Mum?’
‘Mum will be going to hospital, she’s very sick.’
The medicos had to sedate her. With expert care they moved her onto a stretcher and navigated the obstacles to get her safely into an ambulance.
‘Where are you taking her?’ I asked.
One of the medicos quickly replied, ‘To a psychiatric in-patient clinic at Box Hill. Follow us in your car, please, Sir. There’ll be paperwork.’
So I took down the address of the clinic, and then I dropped Alison with her school clothes and books at our house, where Trent was. As I helped her from the car, I said with what I hoped was authority. ‘No school for you tomorrow, Allie. Sleep in, and then we’ll go back together and get all your stuff. You’re not living in that house anymore.’
Her father wasn’t there. There was no water, and I was sure there was no food either. It was a squalid and unhealthy place for a teenager.
Alison didn’t argue
When I arrived at the clinic, I gave what information I could about Bernie’s mental health and her previous treatment. I waited to see her admitted and taken to a private room. She was deep in sedation.
Bernie will never forgive me for this, I thought as I made my way, exhausted, back to Alison and Trent. Oh God, I’ll have to tell the Judge … tomorrow will be soon enough. He can’t do anything tonight.
Chapter 14
Trent Grierson
Sunday, 10 April
I didn’t have much experience with teenage girls. Give me a room full of coppers any day. But when Leo dropped Alison off at our place, and told me something about the situation, I knew we had to look after her.
In spite of the warmth of the evening, she was shivering. My rudimentary first aid training kicked in, so I wrapped her in a blanket on the couch and brought her a cup of hot chocolate. She took it without a word, staring straight ahead, as if she didn’t see me. I couldn’t imagine what the events of the evening had been like for her, and what she would have to face in the weeks and months ahead.
She sipped her chocolate and finally managed a smile. ‘Thanks, Trent.’
I couldn’t help myself, then. I kissed her cheek. ‘You’re family, love.’
She began to cry, and the gentle sniffling soon became great sobs. I brought her tissues.
‘I should never have gone away,’ she kept saying, crying and blowing her nose.
Of all the injustices this poor kid has suffered, I thought, this is surely the worst, that she thinks her mother’s condition is her fault.
‘Allie, you can’t be expected to take care of your mother 24/7. You have your own life. You have your schoolwork, and you have to think about your future. You had a perfect right to visit your grandfather. You’re not to blame. Your mum is in a good place. She’ll be well looked after.’
‘What’s going to happen to her?’
‘One day at a time, love. Leo and your grandpa will have to make some decisions until your dad turns up.’
‘Where is he, Trent?’
She was confused, like a little child. All of her usual outward confidence had gone.
‘I don’t know, but I do know this. You’re going to stay with us as long as you need.’
I was into comfort food. I had a beef bourgignon pie keeping warm in the oven for Leo, so I cut her a slice and brought it to her on the couch. She was starving. She ate the pie quickly and scraped the bowl with her spoon.
‘That was yummy.’
‘You must be tired, Allie.’
‘Yes, but I’ll wait up until Leo gets back to hear about Mum.’
When I went to bed, she and Leo were still talking softly. I left them there together and set my alarm to begin another Monday.
Very early the next morning, I was jerked awake by the loud ring of my phone. I took it out to the kitchen, although it had probably already woken Leo. It was a police officer from the Flinders Street Precinct.
‘There’s a suspicious death at Enterprise Park opposite the Casino. We’ve sent a team of officers down there.’
I knew the park of course. A hangout for shifting groups of homeless and a hotbed of ice distribution.
‘What do we know?’
‘Not much. A very old man, I believe. Badly bashed.’
‘Who called it in?’
‘A casino worker on her way home from night shift. She’s waiting for you there. Our officers are securing the place and Forensic Services are on the way.’
This wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot of suspicion of police among these homeless communities.
I was pleased that Senior Detective Jocelyn Wallachia’s team was rostered on that day. Jossie was the best lead investigator I’d worked with. She was also a great colleague and friend. We were in the same intake at Police Academy, worked at different stations for five or six years, then met up again in detective training. I liked and trusted her.
I rang her, told her what little I knew, and asked her to get her investigating team to the park by seven. I would call my boss when I knew more.
I was desperate for a coffee but I decided to wait and grab a takeaway when I could.
After a quick shower, I threw on a jacket over my jeans and black T-shirt, put on my runners, grabbed my notebook, ID and phone, and jumped into the unmarked police car outside, taking to Melbourne’s silent early morning streets.
I parked in King Street and jogged around the back of the Aquarium into Enterprise Park. I could see the entire park, east to west along the north bank of the Yarra, and under the Flinders Street railway bridge. In 1835, Melbourne’s first white settlers alighted at this spot from the Enterprise, and the annual Melbourne Day was celebrated here.
Across the river I could see the fashionable Southbank Boulevard and Crown Casino, deserted at this early hour. The park had always been a gathering place for Melbourne’s increasing homeless population. They clustered around the immense graffiti-covered pylons of the bridge, wrapped in sleeping bags, old doonas and blankets. In the colder weather they set up tents, folding them briefly when the police arrive, only to bring them back in time for the next cold night.
On this morning in early March, the weather was still warm, and there were few tents, but there were several groups congregated together in a jumble of old furniture, couches, tables, milk crates, bicycles, small stoves, tin mugs and plates, as
well as piles of blankets and pillows. I saw four of these makeshift communities — bodies huddled together under tarpaulins and blankets.
There were at least a dozen police officers in yellow high-visibility vests protecting the scene, some were standing guard at the entrance to a large cordoned off area, others walked among the park’s occupants recording names and keeping lists of anyone who arrived, entered or left the scene.
The body was off by itself, towards the western end of the park, about fifty metres from Aquarium Drive. Outside the cordoned area a young woman, very pale and wrapped in a blanket, was sitting with a female police officer, a cup of steaming liquid in her hand. I walked over and sat next to her, showing my ID to the police officer who identified herself as Constable Bev Talbot.
Then I turned to the young woman. ‘Hello, I’m Trent Grierson. I’m a Detective Sergeant with the Homicide Squad. You found the body?’
‘Yes, I’m Anna.’ She was about twenty, I thought, attractive with a long, thick tawny ponytail and careful make-up. She wore a black cocktail dress, knee-length black raincoat and sneakers. A small backpack, bicycle and helmet were on the ground beside her. She was shaking.
‘What time was it when you found the body?’
‘Just after five o’clock. It was starting to get light.’
‘What were you doing in the park at that time of the morning?’
‘I was on my way home.’
‘From where?’
‘The casino. I’m a croupier. My shift ends at four. I ride my bike across Queens Bridge, through the park and on to Flinders Street to catch the train.’
The Blooming Of Alison Brennan Page 6
