by B M Carroll
Jarrod has driven the length and breadth of Manly, Daniel’s usual haunt. Having no success from the driver’s seat, he parked and went on foot up and down the Corso, checking the laneways and darkened doorways, calling Daniel’s name. He gave up, came home, and now they’re standing in the kitchen, unsure what to do next. It’s after 11 p.m. Where is he?
Annabel’s phone rings. It’s an unknown number.
‘Mrs Harris?’
Just from the way the woman says her name, the overly professional tone, she knows immediately that it’s a police officer, or a social worker, or someone else of that ilk.
Don’t let this be bad news. Don’t let this be a phone call that I’ll replay over and over for the rest of my life.
‘Yes.’ A lump of dread is wedged in her throat.
‘This is Janine Egan. I’m a nurse at Northern Beaches Hospital. Your son’s been admitted to Accident and Emergency. Don’t worry, he’s not in any immediate danger ...’
She clasps a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
‘What is it, Annie?’ Jarrod asks frantically. ‘Where is he? Is he all right?’
‘He’s in A&E ... They said he’ll be okay.’ Then she asks the woman, whose name she’s already forgotten, ‘What happened to him?’
‘He’s taken a combination of amphetamines and cannabis.’ The woman’s tone is unsurprised, implying she’s seen it all before. ‘Then he got beaten up by a gang of youths.’
Annabel’s mind is spinning, finding it hard to keep up. ‘What?’
‘It happens more often than you think. When you’re in that state, you’re vulnerable to crime – assault, in particular.’
‘We’ll be there in ten minutes,’ Annabel promises hurriedly. ‘We live quite close by.’
She passes on the details to Jarrod: amphetamines, cannabis, assault. They look at each other, stricken, for what feels like an eternity. How did they get here? How do they navigate this? Their suspicions have been unequivocally confirmed: Daniel is experimenting with other drugs.
‘I’ll go,’ she decides, because Jarrod’s face is a worrying shade of grey. ‘You stay here with Mia.’
‘I’ll wake her up. We’ll all go. The three of us.’
His voice is faint, lacking in authority. The last few months have sapped him.
’No. Mia sees enough. She doesn’t need to be exposed to what happens on Saturday nights in Accident and Emergency.’
Annabel briefly thinks of Grace. She could ask her or Tom to come over and watch Mia while she and Jarrod present a united front at the hospital. Grace is probably in bed by now, but Annabel knows that won’t matter. Her friend would be here in an instant, given the chance.
For some reason, Annabel doesn’t give her that chance.
She pecks Jarrod on the cheek. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I get there. It’ll be okay ... They said he’s not in any immediate danger ... We’ll get through this, Jarrod. I know we will.’
Where has that bullshit come from? She knows no such thing.
This is what she finds at the hospital.
Her sixteen-year-old son with a swollen face, a couple of cracked ribs and a bandaged hand – apparently, a deep laceration on his palm required stitches. Her sixteen-year-old son compulsively scratching himself, swearing under his breath, his pupils so enlarged he looks like a stranger. Her sixteen-year-old son unremorseful for his actions, blaming his woes on the ‘gang’, bridling with hostility as soon as he sees her.
‘Look at what you’ve done to yourself,’ she says sadly.
‘It wasn’t fucking me. It was them.’
‘You made yourself a target.’
‘I was going along, doing nothing, and this guy pushed into me. He said, “This is him,” and next thing five or six of them were on top of me.’
She sits down then. Takes a moment to collect herself. ‘Are you saying you knew them?’
‘No, I’m saying someone set me up.’
‘More like they saw what state you were in and took advantage.’
‘Fuck’s sake, you never take my side.’
In the next cubicle, there’s a man groaning in pain. Somewhere else there’s a baby crying, a mother crooning in response. These people have a right to be here – it is through no fault of their own that they’re not feeling well. Unlike Daniel, whose pain is completely self-inflicted. She is angry with him for doing this to himself, for directing precious resources away from legitimate patients, for being so selfish and self-destructive.
‘You took Mia’s communion money ... That was pretty low.’
He shrugs. Then scratches his neck. He has a cut there. From the beating or the constant scratching, she’s not sure.
‘Did you spend all of it? So you could end up like this?’
Once again, he doesn’t answer and she has to accept that she isn’t going to see any remorse from him, at least not tonight. Maybe tomorrow when he’s sober and has had some time to dwell on things and face up to his little sister.
She tries a different tack. ‘What happened with your job?’
At least this time he answers. ‘The boss was a dickhead.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us that they’d let you go?’
She knows exactly why he didn’t tell them. It suited him. They thought he was at work when he was really somewhere else, doing something that he shouldn’t be doing, something that was destroying him and destroying their family.
A nurse – young, pretty – pops her head around the curtain. ‘So, you found us, Mrs Harris. I’m Janine.’
‘Yes, thanks. Hello, Janine.’ Annabel has no idea what to say to this young woman. Other than apologise for her son. ‘I’m sorry about this.’
Janine gives her a gentle smile. ‘It’s nothing you’ve done.’
How can she be so sure about that? They could’ve been more vigilant, attentive, strict. They could’ve said no to the job at the pizzeria, locked him in his room at night.
Janine takes Daniel’s pulse, moves her stethoscope around his chest, writes on his chart.
‘Can I have a word?’ Annabel asks, awkwardly getting to her feet.
‘Sure.’ A flash of that pretty smile. ‘The tea room is usually quiet.’
Annabel follows Janine, trying not to stare at some of the Saturday-night ‘clientele’. A girl, not much older than Daniel, screeching uncontrollably. A young man in handcuffs, flanked by police officers.
‘Come in. Sit down ... What can I help you with?’
Annabel gets straight to the point. ‘We’re at the end of our tether with him.’
Janine walks towards the back of the room, where there is a large brochure holder mounted on the wall. ‘There’s information here. Out-reach programmes. Counselling services. Contact details for social workers .’
Annabel nods, clutching Janine’s selection of pamphlets in her hand. She and Jarrod have tried to deal with this themselves. They’ve tried reasoning with Daniel. They’ve tried pleading with him. They’ve tried being tough. Nothing has worked. Their son is in A&E. He has graduated from cannabis to speed. He is angry at the gang, not at himself. It’s time to throw more resources at the problem.
‘You look like you could do with a cuppa,’ Janine says kindly. ‘Daniel won’t be going anywhere for the next few hours, there’s plenty of time to have one.’
Annabel makes a strong cup of tea. Helps herself to a packet of the complimentary biscuits. Sends a quick update to Jarrod.
Battered and bruised. Some stitches on his hand. Not the slightest bit sorry.
Then she settles down with the pamphlets. In the middle of them she finds a flyer for a parents’ support group.
Is your teen taking drugs? Do you feel helpless, ashamed, frightened and unable to cope?
She feels all of the above. A sob escapes, then another. She thought they’d hit rock bottom at the restaurant. She was wrong. Receiving that call tonight. Seeing Daniel so bashed up yet so unrepentant. Holding this flyer in her hand. Knowing s
he’ll be calling some of these numbers on Monday morning. This is what rock bottom is.
18
KATY
‘Auntie Katy, can you give us our bath?’
Nina’s youngest gives Katy an imploring smile. Her older sister tries a more forceful approach, tugging on Katy’s arm.
Katy stares from one to the other and uses her witch’s voice. ‘Ah, ha, ha, ha ... You filthy creatures ... I’m going to scrub, scrub, scrub until you’re clean ... Ah, ha, ha, ha.’
The little girls shriek and bolt towards the bathroom.
Philip, Nina’s husband, winces and gulps some wine. He is preparing dinner for the adults. He does most of the cooking. Nina, excellent at scientific measurements, is conveniently dyslexic when it comes to recipe measurements.
Katy follows the girls and ‘the witch’ game continues in the bathroom. She towers over them, washcloth in hand.
‘You are mine ... all mine!’ she cackles. ‘And I will not eat you until you’re squeaky clean.’
‘Don’t eat us,’ the youngest pleads. ‘Don’t eat us, please.’
‘Eat us, eat us,’ the older one challenges. ‘Go on, eat us.’
She holds out her arm for consumption. Katy smacks her lips. The youngest lets out an ear-piercing scream and Katy can imagine Philip’s grimace, followed by another slug of wine.
‘Can we keep it down in here?’ Nina comes in with towels and fresh pyjamas. ‘Daddy has a headache.’
‘She’s going to eat us! She’s going to eat us!’
Katy bares her teeth, the girls scramble to get away and a big splash of water hits her full in the face.
She laughs. ‘Well, there goes my mascara. Now I look more like a ghoul than a witch.’
‘What’s a ghoul?’
‘It’s a ghost.’
‘Can we play ghosts instead of witches?’
Nina takes charge. ‘Come on, bath time is over. Time to get out.’
‘We don’t want to get out. We want to stay in. We want to play witches.’
‘And ghosts.’
‘Out,’ Nina commands. It’s the same tone that pulls teenage students immediately into line; the girls don’t stand a chance. They stand up and meekly get out of the bath.
‘Great way to spend Saturday night, eh?’ Nina comments as she dries one child and Katy dries the other.
‘Well, it’s not as if I’ve had any other offers,’ Katy says wryly.
‘There’s always William,’ Nina points out.
Katy laughs and shakes her head. ‘Still not that desperate.’
‘Auntie Katy, can you read us a story?’
Katy cuddles up with the kids in bed while Nina goes to help Philip, or at least drink wine while she watches him do all the work.
’The Cat in the Hat, by Dr Seuss—’
‘Why is he a doctor? Can doctors write stories?’
‘Shush. The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold wet day ...’
Katy pauses to drink in their rapt expressions. Their tousled, towel-dried hair. Their plump cheeks and sparkling eyes. The smell of them: soap and shampoo. This is what she wants more than anything in the world. To have children. To be a mother.
Why is it so impossible to achieve?
Katy is driving home when her phone rings. It’s unusually late for a phone call: 10.30 p.m. The number is unfamiliar.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi ... Is that Katy?’ The voice is male, and also unfamiliar.
‘Yes ... who is this?’
‘It’s Rickie. Tom’s friend.’
Now he calls. Late on Saturday night. Why couldn’t he have called earlier today? Or even yesterday?
‘Oh, yes. Hello, Rickie.’
‘Hello, Katy .’
There’s an awkward silence. She scrambles for something to say, but thankfully he fills the void.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to meet up .’ His voice is slightly slurred. Has he been drinking?
Stop being critical. He rang. See what happens.
She stops the car at a red light. ‘Sure. When were you thinking?’
‘Well, I’m free now and not that far from where you live . Grace said you’re in Neutral Bay?’
The light changes to green. Katy puts her foot too heavily on the accelerator and the wheels skid as she takes off.
‘You want to meet up now?’ she asks incredulously.
‘Yeah. I’m in this pub but I could drop around—’
She’s furious. So angry she can hardly concentrate on her driving. ‘What is this? Some kind of booty call?’
‘No, not at all. I just—’
‘Fuck off, Rickie. Don’t bother ringing me again.’
Her face is wet. She’s crying. Is this the best she can hope for on a Saturday night? Hijacking Nina’s family and getting a booty call on her way home? Is William, with his old-man clothes and prattle about the geography syllabus, the best she can hope for?
She pulls into the driveway of the apartment block a little too aggressively and her tyres protest once again.
Calm down. Rickie’s not worth it. You haven’t even met him. He’s nothing to you.
Her hand searches for the remote control to open the security gate leading to the car park in the basement. She locates a tissue and blows her nose while the gate rolls upwards, creaking and groaning. This time she makes sure she takes off slowly.
The car park is desolate and poorly lit: some of the light bulbs need replacing. Katy hurries to the stairwell, her heels clicking loudly against the concrete. Four flights to the first floor, her breath caught in her throat. She has an irrational fear of being trapped in the stairwell, the fire doors locking from the other side. Not being able to get out or call for help. There’s no phone reception in this part of the building.
The fire door bursts open when she pushes it. She proceeds down the hall: her apartment is the last one on the right-hand side. She knows all her neighbours by name. She knows the children the best because they’re the friendliest and always want to talk. Her door key is ready in her hand. She slips it into the lock and she’s inside within a matter of seconds.
She goes around the apartment turning on lights. Her heart rate is slightly up; she never enjoys the walk from the car park when it’s late at night. She pours herself a glass of wine and is on her way to the bedroom, to fetch her slippers, when she sees something on the hall floor. A piece of paper, right inside the door. Something that dropped out of her handbag as she was coming in? Or perhaps a note from Jim, her next-door neighbour, that she failed to spot? Wine glass in hand, she bends down to pick it up. Unfolds it awkwardly with one hand.
You need a boyfriend, Katy, and better security in your apartment block. Great idea to have a new yearbook, though. Hope you’re enjoying my contributions!
19
GRACE
Grace is woken by the sound of her phone ringing, and then Tom saying hello.
‘Who is it?’ she asks groggily. She and Tom were watching a movie together. She must have nodded off. She was tired: she’d been gardening all afternoon.
‘It’s Katy.’
‘Who?’ Her brain is still muddled with sleep. Her skin feels hot. Sunburn?
Tom hands her the phone. ‘Katy, your friend from school.’
Oh yes, that Katy. But they weren’t friends, that’s the perplexing thing.
She pulls herself into a more upright position. It’s late: almost eleven. ‘Katy ... Hello ... What is it?’
‘I’m so sorry for disturbing you ... I just didn’t know who else to call, who else would understand the implications .’
Grace is instantly more alert. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
Tom catches her eye and mouths, What’s wrong?
‘Someone slipped a note under my door. This is what it says .’ Katy’s voice trembles as she reads the note. ‘How did this person get inside the apartment block? How do they know where I live?’
; Grace thinks for a moment. ‘I would imagine they slipped inside while someone else was exiting. Didn’t you include your address for RSVPs?’
‘Oh, God, yes. Stupid me. My email was all that was really needed.’
‘You weren’t to know ... You did nothing I wouldn’t do.’
‘What am I meant to make of the boyfriend comment? Whoever this is obviously knows that I live alone. I’m so creeped out ...’
Poor Katy. Grace remembers those few hours of crippling fear when she thought someone had been in her house and taken the photo from the fridge.
‘Do you have anyone who can come over and stay with you?’
‘Jim, one of my neighbours, came around and checked all the rooms with me. Gave me some reassurance that there’s nobody actually in here. But I’m scared, Grace. This person was at my door. What if they’re still around, lurking in the building somewhere, waiting their chance?’
‘Do you want Tom to come over?’
Tom’s eyebrows shoot up. Grace ignores him.
Katy’s laugh sounds strangulated. ‘I haven’t even met Tom.’
‘There’s always a first time.’
‘Thank you, but no. I just needed to tell you. Because you get it. When Jim looked at the note, he couldn’t see the menace in it. I’m much calmer now that we’ve spoken.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want Tom to call around?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘How about the police?’
‘It’s not a crime to put a note under someone’s door . Is it?’
‘Assuming the person doesn’t live in your apartment block, then they were trespassing at the very least ... Look, Tom knows a lot of police officers through work. I’ll ask him to talk it over with one of them, see what they say.’
