Who We Were

by B M Carroll

  Lovely photo. Hope you are all well. Xx Melissa

  Then she shuts down the phone and goes back to bed. Henry is still oblivious.

  15

  ZACH

  People stare. They always do. Zach doesn’t mind. There’s nothing wrong with curiosity.

  ‘How much longer?’ Carson pants, his face red and disgruntled.

  ‘Four more laps.’

  Carson groans. He doesn’t enjoy training or anything that involves hard graft. Kids with Down’s syndrome have low muscle tone and poor coordination; exercise is hard for them, and therefore so is motivation. There is greater prevalence of obesity and congenital heart disease, which is why Zach and Izzy insist on at least forty minutes’ physical activity a day. Their number-one desire is for their son to have a long and healthy life.

  ‘How much longer, Dadda?’

  ‘Stop asking the same question. Step it up and it’ll go quicker.’

  Carson’s running technique is far from optimal. Heavy feet, clenched fists, head lolling to one side, tongue hanging out. Sometimes Zach runs backwards, which is good for encouraging his son as well as matching his slower pace.

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘Come on, keep going.’

  The last eleven years have been an enormous learning curve, with ups and downs, triumphs and failures, and many instances of two steps forward followed by one step back. Isabel is always scouring for opportunities to broaden Carson’s horizons. Thanks to her endeavours, he has modelled for a department-store catalogue, participated in various Special Olympic competitions, and even landed a short-term acting role in a TV hospital series.

  But Carson’s greatest achievement is his endless capacity for love. He loves his parents, his grandparents, his teachers and his friends. He loves animals, buses and aeroplanes. His kisses are slobbery, his hugs are a force of nature, and his face lights up as soon as you walk into the room.

  ‘Track,’ another runner calls out from behind.

  This is a warning to stay on the outer lanes and not veer in front of the runner.

  ‘Track,’ Carson calls back cheerfully, which is not the protocol. The runner casts him a closer look as he overtakes. Sees. Understands. Gives Zach a nod.

  ‘Good job, there.’

  It’s condescending but Zach doesn’t care. Condescension and curiosity, he can take. Even wariness and fear, to a certain degree. Pity isn’t so easy. It evokes memories of when Carson was a baby, their pride and love for him swamped by the overwhelming sympathy of others. Even worse than pity is the act of ignoring. The people who avert their eyes as though Carson weren’t standing there. The people who don’t speak or engage with him. The people who dismiss him as unimportant, inferior, when in fact he is the complete opposite.

  ‘The waiting time is more than an hour,’ Gloria informs him with a grimace. ‘Sorry we had to call you in.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘One of Sandy’s patients collapsed. We called an ambulance and waited a very long time for its arrival ... That was before Catrina started feeling sick and had to go home early.’

  Sandy and Catrina have been Zach’s partners for more than ten years now, and Gloria’s been in reception half that long. They make a good team. It’s not often he gets called in on his day off.

  ‘Have you prioritised who’s waiting?’

  Needless question because Gloria excels in prioritisation. ‘I don’t like the colour of the woman over there – she looks like she’s going to keel over any minute. Then I’ll send in the gentleman who’s been waiting the longest. The one with the cranky face.’

  The patients usually forget their frustration as soon as their name is called. They’re happy to see him, to sit down and finally say what’s wrong. Poor Gloria bears the brunt of their impatience and bad temper.

  The next four hours are long and busy. Zach processes the patients as efficiently as he can. He is polite and thorough, but can’t afford time for niceties like making the children giggle or chatting with the elderly patients, who come in for human contact more than any ailment. His last appointment of the day, a little girl with red-hot cheeks and a precariously high temperature, vomits on the surgery floor.

  Zach cleans up with paper towels. Gloria arrives with a mop and a bucket smelling of strong chemicals.

  She scrunches her face. ‘Do I get paid enough for this?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he says sympathetically.

  In the bathroom, Zach washes his hands scrupulously. His reflection in the mirror shows blond-brown hair that’s slightly too long, lightly tanned skin, green eyes that he’s passed down to Carson.

  You don’t look like a GP, he has been told quite often. They never say why.

  He pops his head in on Sandy, who’s finishing some paperwork before she calls an end to the day. Sandy, at fifty-two, is the oldest partner. She’s the one Zach goes to for professional advice. He goes to Catrina if he wants a laugh or to let off steam. Izzy is close friends with both women.

  ‘I’m done here, Sandy. Any update on the patient who collapsed?’

  Her expression is equal parts weary and relieved. ‘Pulmonary embolism. He’s in a critical condition but expected to make it through.’

  ‘That’s good news. See you tomorrow.’

  Zach’s car is parked a few streets away. A flyer has been left tucked under the wiper. He takes it off, chucks it on the passenger seat. He is in a hurry to get home. To see Carson’s delight when he walks through the door. To see Izzy’s quiet smile.

  ‘What this?’

  It’s Thursday morning. They’re on their way to school; Carson and the other school leaders are hosting their first school assembly. Izzy has her camera ready. She looks especially chic this morning in a navy and white dress. Carson has earphones in and is humming loudly. He doesn’t seem to be at all nervous; he rarely thinks about things until they’re actually happening.

  ‘What?’ Zach glances across at his wife. She has the flyer in her hand. ‘Just something that was left on the car yesterday.’

  She frowns. ‘Not just something, Zach. Pull in and I’ll show you.’

  He takes the next turn off the main road. Pulls up a safe distance from the corner. Tries to read her face before he takes the piece of paper from her hand.

  Name: Zach Latham

  What you do now: General practitioner.

  Highlights of last twenty years: Meeting Izzy. The birth of your son.

  Lowlights: Carson being Down’s syndrome.

  Deepest fears: Lots of things. What will happen to Carson when you and Izzy aren’t around to take care of him. Being sued by one of your patients. Izzy finding out the truth about you.

  Izzy is looking at him suspiciously. ‘What does it mean “the truth about you"? What truth?’

  He scrunches the flyer into ball. The urge to swear is overwhelming. No, not with Carson in the car.

  ‘Nothing. You know everything there is to know. It’s just some silly prank.’

  It’s the first time he’s lied to her in ... he doesn’t know how long.

  16

  ANNABEL

  ‘Come on, Mia. Hurry up.’

  Annabel checks her watch. She hoped to be out the door half an hour ago. Now they’re going to get stuck in Saturday-afternoon traffic.

  ‘Mia, what’s taking you so long?’

  Her daughter finally appears. She’s biting her lip. ‘Sorry, Mummy, but I can’t find my money. It’s gone.’

  Annabel smothers a sigh, sets down her bag and car keys on the hall table, and proceeds to Mia’s room to find the ‘missing money’.

  ‘Where did you last see it?’

  ‘In my communion handbag.’

  ‘Did you move it to a different handbag? Or into one of your drawers?’

  Mia shakes her head. ‘I didn’t move it. I really didn’t.’

  Despite Mia’s assurances, Annabel searches the other handbags – Mia has quite a collection – and rifles through her drawers. Then she chec
ks her jewellery boxes, the pockets of various items of clothing, and every other conceivable place a nine-year-old might stash money.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t hide it somewhere?’

  ‘I didn’t, Mummy, I swear I didn’t. Someone must have taken it.’

  Annabel experiences a plummeting sensation in her stomach. Daniel wouldn’t, would he? No, he would never stoop so low. Besides, he has money of his own from working shifts at the local pizzeria. She dropped him to work only an hour ago.

  ‘How much did you have exactly?’

  ‘Three hundred and eighty-five dollars.’

  Mia’s grandparents, godparents and various other relatives were very generous. ‘Buy yourself something nice,’ they said, putting crisp new notes inside embossed communion cards. Mia is going to spend the windfall on a new bike.

  ‘When did you last see the money?’

  ‘Yesterday. I counted it again because I knew we were getting the bike today.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t put it somewhere unusual?’

  ‘I didn’t, I swear. I put it back in the handbag. Then I put the handbag in my cupboard.’

  Annabel believes her daughter. She is generally reliable with both her belongings and with the truth. It is looking increasingly likely that the money was taken ... stolen. And the prime suspect would have to be Daniel. The thought that he would be so dishonest – so lacking in scruples and basic decency – makes her feel ill. The thought of how he might spend the money makes her feel more than ill; she can hardly breathe.

  ‘It’s okay ... We’ll find the money.’ Fake confidence. Can Mia detect the shake in her mother’s voice? ‘Now let’s go, before it gets too late. We’ll put the bike on my credit card and you can pay me back later. Okay?’

  Mia gives her a trusting smile. ‘Okay, Mummy.’

  Mia chooses a vintage-style bike, complete with pale green paint, cream tyres and an adorable front basket. She spends the rest of the evening cycling up and down the street. Annabel watches for a while, making sure she is steady – it’s quite a large bike – and warning her about road safety. Then she comes inside and gives the kitchen a quick tidy-up before making a start on dinner.

  She’s undecided on whether to tell Jarrod about the missing money. She doesn’t want to upset him until she has her facts straight – what if they find the money in some forgotten hiding place? But hasn’t she learned not to keep secrets from her husband? The fact that he’ll go ballistic is no excuse. Plus, it’s likely that Mia will blurt it out anyway.

  She sends him a text.

  What time can we expect you?

  Jarrod used to answer only emergency calls on weekends. Now Saturdays have become like any other workday, complete with an early start and late finish. He looks worn out, older than his years. He needs rest, less work, more play ... It’s no wonder he’s so short-tempered.

  Truth is, when she’s not worrying about Daniel she’s worrying about Jarrod. Her husband is not coping. He has become introverted, antisocial, explosive. God, everything’s such a mess, such an awful, awful mess. They’ve had their ups and downs over the years but she can’t remember a time when things were as bleak as they are right now.

  Jarrod’s response flashes on her phone: Be another hour or two.

  Annabel opens and closes cupboard doors, assembling cooking utensils and ingredients. The kitchen, with its sleek white units and aqua-coloured splashback, is only four years old but she’s already itching to renovate.

  ‘I’ve created a monster,’ Jarrod joked when she admitted that she was bored of the splashback and wouldn’t mind replacing it.

  Is she a monster? Should she have been concentrating more on her children and less on her house? Should she be more like Grace? If there was ever a house that needed knocking down and rebuilding, it’s Grace’s. Yet her friend doesn’t seem fazed by her leaky bathroom and antiquated kitchen. Her focus seems to be on things that are harder to see. Things like family unity and respect.

  Annabel dices some chicken and vegetables and throws them in the pot with a ready-made sauce base. Chicken curry, a family favourite. The chicken is simmering away. She doesn’t need to put on the rice just yet. There’s time to sit down at the kitchen table, bury her face in her hands, and allow herself the luxury of weeping.

  ‘We’re going to search your room from top to bottom,’ Annabel informs Mia after dinner. ‘I don’t want to worry Daddy until we are absolutely sure the money is gone.’

  Mia nods gravely, and Annabel is left wondering what effect these recent events are having on her. Watching her brother and her father fighting in the restaurant. Witnessing Daniel’s scorn for his parents and their house rules. Seeing him staggering through the door, stoned, his eyes rolling back in his head. Jarrod being so down on himself, Annabel being so tense all the time, the lack of trust in the household, the fraught atmosphere. What effect is all this going to have on Mia? Will she end up desensitised to drugs, family arguments, violence and deceit?

  Jarrod gets home at eight thirty and pops his head around the bedroom door. ‘There you are. I’ll have a quick bite before getting Daniel from work.’

  Mia scrambles to her feet to give her father a hug.

  ‘What’re you two doing in here?’ he asks, noticing the upturned drawers.

  Annabel fields the question. ‘Mia has lost something. We’re taking the opportunity to have a good clean-out.’

  He accepts her explanation and extracts himself from Mia. The door closes and they resume the search. Annabel hears the far-off ping of the microwave as Jarrod reheats his dinner. Then the scrape of cutlery against ceramic; a plaintive, lonely sound. About fifteen minutes later, the slam of the front door, followed by the growl of the van’s engine.

  ‘Mummy, the money isn’t here,’ Mia says quietly.

  Annabel sighs in defeat. They’ve turned the room upside down. Pulled the bed out from the wall. Checked down behind the chest of drawers. They’ve even taken the books from the bookshelf. She’s going to have to tell Jarrod and confront Daniel. She is dreading one as much as the other.

  She sighs again. She’ll tell Jarrod tomorrow. He looks too shattered tonight.

  ‘Let’s put the last of this stuff away. Then straight to bed.’

  Annabel pours herself a large glass of red wine as soon as Mia is tucked in for the night. After the debacle at the restaurant, they decided to avoid drinking alcohol in their son’s presence.

  ‘It’s too much temptation,’ Jarrod said. ‘He sees us drinking and he wants to do the same.’

  Annabel agreed. They would try to be perfect role models. It’s hard, though, because some nights – like now – the only thing that makes her feel better is a drink.

  She swirls the wine around in her mouth, then closes her eyes so she can fully concentrate on its velvety taste. Her phone rings. It’s Jarrod. Her face flushes with guilt, as though he can actually see what she’s doing. They agreed they wouldn’t drink in front of Daniel, not that they wouldn’t drink at all.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asks, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Daniel’s not here.’

  Their son usually waits outside the front of the pizzeria when his shift is over. They pull up, he jumps in, and there’s an attempt at conversation on the way home. The routine, other than the conversation part, is pretty seamless.

  ‘He must have got delayed. Go in and see if he’s doing something out the back.’

  Jarrod hangs up. Annabel has another mouthful or two of wine. She’s anxious and then chides herself; she must stop expecting the worst.

  Jarrod rings again. ‘He’s not here, Annie.’ Her husband’s voice is unusually high-pitched. ‘Apparently, Daniel doesn’t work here any more. He got fired a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘He what?’ The wine has left her mouth feeling parched. ‘If he’s not there, then where is he? Where has he been all the times he was meant to be at work? What has he been doing?’

  Jarrod doesn’t know the answers
any more than she does.

  ‘I’ll go and look for him, Annie. You ring his friends.’

  She has to tell him now. There’s no waiting until tomorrow.

  ‘He has Mia’s communion money,’ she wails. ‘He has nearly four hundred dollars on him. It’s gone from her room. It must be Daniel. Who else could it be? Now he’s buying God-knows-what with it. Oh, fuck! Please find him before he spends all that money. Please, Jarrod. Please.’

  17

  ANNABEL

  Annabel calls Jez, Adam and Dougie. Then she calls Liam, James and the two Matthews. The confusion and concern in their voices makes it evident: they’ve no idea where Daniel is either. She leaves messages for the ones who don’t pick up.

  ‘This is Annabel, Daniel’s mum. We’re worried about him. Please call us back if you know where he is.’

  It takes all her self-control to make it sound like she’s only mildly worried when she’s actually beside herself. Exactly how much – and what kind of – drugs can $400 buy? Will Daniel blow it all at once? They’ve tried to limit his access to cash; his wages from the pizzeria are – were! – lodged directly into his bank account, and Annabel keeps his ATM card so he can’t make withdrawals without her involvement. It didn’t occur to her that he might steal from his family, from his little sister. But isn’t that what drug addicts do? Lie, manipulate and thieve so they can get what they crave so badly? Now she feels stupid for not predicting that this might happen, and for not ensuring that Mia kept her money in a safer place.