by B M Carroll
An old conversation plays back in her head.
‘Throwing away all the privileges they’ve been given. No respect for themselves, their families or society. Sucking up police and medical resources. It’s a crime.’
‘They can’t help it, Tom.’
‘It’s self-inflicted. A mockery of all the poor kids who don’t have a home or good health. It drives me insane.’
There’s no doubt he would have been furious to find Daniel in the park smoking weed. But was he infuriated enough to send that email? Did Annabel’s hush-hush approach prompt him to go to such extremes?
‘Mum, I need help.’ It’s Tahlia. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, chewing the top of her pen. Her teacher has been piling on home-work, in an attempt to prepare the class for high school next year. Poppy is sitting opposite, industriously colouring in one of her own creations. ‘It’s algebra. It’s so hard.’
Grace’s brain is muddled enough as it is. She sighs and sits down next to her oldest. Pulls across the workbook so she can read the question. Suddenly, she can see herself doing this alone: helping with homework and school projects, ferrying the children to parties and sport, putting them to bed at night. She can actually see herself as a single parent. Now she’s panicking. Jumping to all sorts of crazy conclusions.
‘Look, all you have to do is move this figure over to the opposite side of the equation. Do you know what happens when you move it across?’
‘It becomes negative.’
‘Exactly.’
Grace leaves Tahlia to it and goes to check on Lauren. The bedroom door is closed. She knocks and sticks her head inside.
‘What’re you up to in here?’
‘Reading my book. We had library today.’
What would happen to Lauren if she and Tom were to split up? Lauren adores her father. She trusts him, even more than she trusts Grace. He’s the preferred parent when she’s scared or upset. He’s the one who can talk her around, calm her down. Trust is such a big thing for Lauren; it would be heartbreaking to see it broken.
Next Grace checks on Billy, who’s playing Lego in the playroom-cum-study. Billy is the most like Tom. Same physique: shortish, stocky, that proud tilt to his head. How would it feel with Tom gone and still seeing his image in her youngest child? Would some of the children eventually choose to live with their father? She must stop catastrophising like this. There is no proof. All she has is a niggle. And the knowledge that if Tom is indeed responsible, she’ll never be able to feel the same way about him. Their marriage will be over.
Grace sits down at the home computer while Billy constructs his Lego uncomfortably close to her feet. She opens her inbox, deletes some junk mail, then sorts the messages by sender. There are half a dozen messages from Katy, most of which are addressed to the entire year group, with all the individual email addresses plain to see.
Did she leave her inbox open on the computer? Would it have been that easy for Tom? It’s not as if she’s security conscious; she’s never had anything to hide from her husband or he from her. Tom’s email account is linked to hers. She switches accounts and it asks for a password. She types Grace123, which has been Tom’s password for as long as she can remember. Password incorrect.
She hears the front door open and shut again.
‘I’m home,’ her husband calls out cheerily.
Billy drops the Lego and sprints to greet his father. Lauren will have dropped her book and rushed to meet him too. Tahlia and Poppy are getting too old for the rock-star reception, but they’ll happily succumb to Tom’s bear hugs when he eventually makes it to the kitchen.
Grace closes down the screen. Stands up slowly. Composes herself.
How can she face him?
Stop. You’re acting crazy. You know this man. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.
Except when it comes to being righteous. At times, zealously so.
She walks into the kitchen, smiling brightly. She plans her route so that she’s giving him a wide berth. There’s no opportunity for him to pull her close for a kiss or hug.
‘I haven’t even started dinner. There’s time for a shower, if you want.’
‘Is that a polite way of telling me I’m sweaty?’
She tries to return his grin. Her face hurts from the effort.
He heads towards the bedroom, whistling. Lauren returns to her book and Billy to his Lego. Tahlia is doggedly working through the algebra: her persistence will get her far in high school. Poppy is bent over her colouring, frowning with concentration. Tom’s keys and phone are where he left them on the kitchen counter. Is there enough time? She picks up his phone, shielding it from Tahlia and Poppy’s line of sight. The screen is still open, as are his emails. She scrolls down. Nothing untoward. She goes to his sent messages. Nothing there either. Of course, there wouldn’t be. The fake yearbook entries were sent from a different email account. She checks his internet history: breaking news; sports results; an online menu for a restaurant. Then she checks his text messages. Mostly to work colleagues and herself. Squeaky clean.
She puts the phone back down where she found it and tries to gather her wits. Dinner. What’s on tonight’s menu?
She’s half-heartedly chopping vegetables when Tom reappears. Hair glistening. Smelling of aftershave. Wearing a favourite old T-shirt. Her heart constricts. She’s not sure if it’s from love or grief.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ he asks, nodding towards the chopping board.
He is a good man. She knows this in her heart. She chose a good man; she has reminded herself of this fact every day since they’ve been together.
‘Can you have a look over Tahlia’s algebra?’
Why doesn’t she ask him outright? Did you send that email to Annabel? And then to me and all the others so it wouldn’t be obvious?
She can’t. She can’t ask the question. This is her family at stake. Everything she holds dear. She has been smug. About her cosy little family and perfect husband. Now it could all implode. She would never think of him in the same way again. Never.
Tom was there, right next to her on the couch, the night Katy phoned, fresh with panic and terror. But he’d been out earlier in the evening, on his usual patrol, and Katy said she couldn’t be sure when the note had been slipped under her door.
There’s no proof. None whatsoever. Only a horrible niggle. The very same niggle she had about that scumbag ex-boyfriend and chose to ignore.
28
ANNABEL
Annabel is in Daniel’s room when there’s a loud knock on the front door. She has been checking his drawers and other potential hiding places. She doesn’t exactly know what she’s looking for: syringes, suspicious-looking tablets or maybe another bong? She can’t find anything. She suspects it’s because he’s become better at hiding the evidence.
She hurries down the stairs and whips open the door, expecting it to be a parcel delivery or perhaps a neighbour. Instead she finds two police officers standing on her doorstep.
‘Mrs Harris?’
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Is it Daniel? She can’t bring herself to ask. She’s not brave enough. He should be at school – it’s not yet lunchtime – but that’s no guarantee of anything these days. One of the officers is female and the other male. They don’t look much older than Jemma.
‘Mrs Harris?’ the female checks again.
‘Yes. Please tell me what’s happened.’ Resignation underscores the panic in her voice.
‘I’m Constable Jaegar and this is Constable Walsh ... It’s about your husband.’
Annabel is momentarily stunned. She was so sure it was Daniel. Now her brain is scrambling, struggling to change direction. Jarrod? How can it be Jarrod? Her mouth is open but no words are coming out. Has Jarrod been in an accident in the van? Or had an electric shock from some dodgy wiring? It wouldn’t be the first time.
‘Your husband has been in an altercation.’ The constable’s voice is both soft and grave. ‘He’s been taken to Northern Beach
es Hospital. He’s in a serious condition.’
Serious condition: does that mean his life is at risk? No, they would say ‘critical condition’ if that was the case, wouldn’t they? But what does ‘serious’ actually mean? Does he have broken bones? Is he conscious? And what does the police officer mean by an ‘altercation’? Has Jarrod hit someone, been in a fight?
Annabel can’t think straight. She has so many questions to ask and yet all that comes out of her mouth is, ‘Oh my God.’
Think. Think. The hospital. She must go there. Handbag and car keys.
‘We can drive you to the hospital, Mrs Harris,’ the female offers gently. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock.’
It’s tempting. But how will she get back in time for school pick-up if she doesn’t have the car? After school there’s ballet, and after that music lessons. Then it hits her. Jarrod’s in a serious condition. There will be no school pick-up or music or ballet lessons today.
‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice cracking. ‘I just need a minute to get my stuff.’
She runs into the rear of the house, looks around wildly, before spotting her handbag on the floor. She picks it up, flies out to the hall, only to remember that the back door needs locking. Then realises she has no shoes on. And that her phone is upstairs in Daniel’s room. With each delay, she becomes more and more frantic.
Finally, she’s in the back of the police car and they’re on the way. She takes deep breaths and tries to clear her head. She texts one of the school mums to see if she can help with Mia after school. Then she texts Daniel to let him know the house will be empty when he gets home. It’s a struggle to find the right words. She doesn’t want to unduly alarm him. He’s erratic enough as it is.
Dad is in hospital. I am on my way there now. Try not to worry. I’ll text you when I have news.
Now Jemma. Her timetable is patchy; there’s a good chance she’ll be able to answer her phone. Annabel visualises her oldest daughter, walking through the university campus, wearing one of those long flowy skirts she favours. Jemma doesn’t answer and Annabel resorts to another text, with slightly more detail than the one to Daniel.
Jarrod’s parents are next on the list. His father, Bernard, is distraught and has a thousand questions she can’t answer. Was it an argument about money owing for a job? Has someone been charged by the police?
Annabel is still talking to Bernard when they pull up outside the hospital.
‘Look, we’re here now ... I’ll phone you back when I find out what’s going on.’
Accident and Emergency has a handful of waiting people and a sleepy air. Maybe this is the aftermath of a busy period, a lull before everything becomes hectic again.
‘You’ll need to report to the triage desk,’ the female police officer says. Her colleague has stayed in the car. ‘We’ll be back in touch when Jarrod is able to talk and tell us what happened.’
She departs before Annabel has the chance to thank her for her kindness.
Annabel is required to fill in some paperwork at the desk. Her handwriting is all over the place. Her trembling fingers struggle to extract her Medicare and health insurance cards from her wallet. Her phone rings as the triage nurse takes her through to the treatment rooms.
‘We discourage the use of phones in this part of the hospital,’ the nurse says kindly.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbles, turning the phone off. ‘It’s my daughter. She’ll be beside herself.’
‘Things like this are hard on the kids,’ the nurse concurs.
Another image of Jemma, her face creased with worry, tears threatening her clear grey eyes. Then Daniel, vulnerability breaking through his façade of loathing. Finally, Mia. Sitting dreamily in class, doodling in her book instead of listening to the teacher. Sweet Mia. Daddy’s girl. She’ll be hit the hardest.
The nurse has stopped at one of the curtained cubicles. There’s a gap for them to walk through and Annabel sees another nurse bending over the patient in the bed, shielding him from view.
‘This is Annabel, Jarrod’s wife,’ the triage nurse announces to her colleague. Then she squeezes Annabel’s shoulder. ‘Good luck.’
Annabel will never forget that first view of her husband. The dark swollen eyelids. The puffed-up lips, leading her to suspect that he has lost some teeth. The left side of his head, where the hair is matted with blood. But the worst thing by far is his utter lack of response. He does not lift or turn his head on her arrival. He does not smile or grimace or do anything that Jarrod would normally do by way of greeting. He could be dead.
‘Oh my God.’ Annabel can feel her legs going from under her. ‘Oh my God. What have they done to you?’
The A&E nurse catches her and guides her to the visitor’s seat. ‘Here, take the weight off your feet. Deep breaths now. Deep breaths. That’s it, love ...’ She has a northern English accent and a capable air. ‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it? I bet you’ve seen him look a lot better than this.’
The deep breathing works. Annabel comes back to herself. The nurse’s face is close to her own. Concerned. Kind.
‘Was he unconscious when he came in?’
She nods. ‘There’s some swelling on the brain that we’re concerned about.’
Swelling on the brain. What does that actually mean? What’s the bottom line here? How is she to summarise this for Jemma, Daniel, Mia, Jarrod’s parents and everyone else?
‘Is my husband going to be okay? Is he going to wake up? Will he be the same when he wakes up?’
‘His vital signs are positive. Heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, all good ... He has some fractures on his face and the left eye socket, but it’s mainly the swelling we’re worried about. A small bleed showed up on the MRI. We’re moving him to ICU shortly and he’ll be monitored very carefully. Dr Chan will come and see you. He’ll be able to tell you more than me.’
Annabel takes another despairing look at her husband, his bloody distorted face, his lifeless form under the blankets, the tubes and various machines he has been connected to. The nurse goes back to what she was doing when Annabel came in. Rolling back his eyelids. Shining a torch into his eyes. Checking his pupils? Annabel scrapes her seat closer. Leans across to take his limp hand in hers. There’s blood creased on the skin of his hand and underneath his fingernails. She can only assume it’s his own blood, not someone else’s.
‘Who did this to you?’ she whispers. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’
29
MELISSA
‘What have you done? Are you insane?’ Henry is furious. Melissa’s husband is usually mild-mannered to a fault. ‘What about your long hours? Who’s going to take care of it?’
The puppy, the cause of Henry’s consternation, has wiggled out of her arms and is bounding around the rug. Floppy ears, tan-coloured fluffy coat, brown human-like eyes. From the corner of his vision, he catches sight of the tip of his tail, and barks. Melissa laughs. He lunges, trying to catch it, resulting in circles of dizzying speed. It’s hilarious and adorable but Henry is too busy ranting to notice.
‘It will ruin the apartment. Chew everything it can get its teeth into. Pee on your carpet.’
The puppy has had a few ‘accidents’ since she brought him home yesterday. On the tiles, luckily, and easy enough to clean up.
‘Why didn’t you consult me?’ Henry whines.
Finally, she deigns to answer him. ‘You don’t even live here. Why on earth would I consult you?’
He is visibly hurt and she feels guilty. The idea of the puppy was to bring joy and some welcome unpredictability, not to be the cause of more arguments.
She tries to explain further. ‘Look, Cassie’s friend is a breeder. Someone was due to buy PJ.’ This is what she decided to name the dog after making a long list of potential names and trying them out as the puppy darted around her feet last night. ‘They’d paid a deposit, but there was an illness in the family and they couldn’t take him after all.’
‘Buy why should you need to be involv
ed? Doesn’t the breeder have a waiting list?’
‘Because Cassie thought I needed a dog.’
‘How is Cassie such an expert on what you need? Last time I checked, she was in human resources, not psychology.’
It’s tempting to answer his sarcasm with more of her own. She tries honesty instead. ‘Cassie’s my friend, she knows how much I’ve been struggling ... I need something to change, Henry. And this is definitely outside my comfort zone.’
‘You’re not even a dog person,’ he points out.
True. Melissa has never been one to seek out dogs for cuddles. But there has been a loneliness in her life, an emptiness, and something living and breathing – and furry – seemed like a way to fill it. Definitely better than re-establishing a relationship with Jarrod Harris. Their messages have progressed from brief and jokey to lengthy and more serious. Jarrod has indicated that things are tough at home. Melissa admitted that she and Henry are at a crossroads. She hasn’t answered Jarrod’s last message, a text sent two days ago: Want to meet up for a drink?
‘Jesus Christ, he’s peeing on your floor.’
This is also true, Melissa establishes as she follows Henry’s horrified gaze.
‘It’s no big deal. I just lift him up when he does that and take him outside to the loo.’
Melissa scoops up the dog, holding him in front of her so she doesn’t get caught by the wee.
‘You’re leaving a trail,’ Henry points out unhelpfully.
‘Clean it up, then.’
Out on the balcony, Melissa deposits PJ on the ‘loo’ (a piece of synthetic grass on top of a waste container) even though they both know there is nothing left to come out. He gives her hand a lick. She gives his head a scratch.
