Who We Were

by B M Carroll

  What appals him the most is the thought of Carson being subjected to the same kind of treatment, his clunky movements and speech providing comic material for some smart-arse kid. Zach now understands the irreparable hurt that can be inflicted by mockery, especially when it’s targeted at something that can’t be controlled. One minute, Robbie would be walking to his locker. The next he’d be on the floor, body shaking violently, saliva frothing from his mouth, urine spreading across the crotch of his school shorts.

  ‘What’s the other thing you need to tell me?’

  Zach stalls. Does he really need to tell her? He’s vacillated since last night, changing his mind every five minutes.

  Tell her. You should have told her years ago.

  Don’t. She’ll never trust you again.

  Izzy is strong and incredibly forgiving. She can recover.

  Some things can’t be recovered from.

  His wife is his closest confidante. This confession is long, long overdue. He has hated himself, for the deception as much as the act itself. His relief at getting it off his chest is almost as great as his shame.

  Nobody knows. Whoever wrote this note can’t know about this.

  A few people know. And they could have told others. When someone says they want to kill you, doesn’t it make sense to be fully honest?

  ‘It happened about a month after Carson’s birth. I tried to be strong, like you were, but every time someone looked at him or said something ... I guess I underestimated how it would impact our family and friends. Their pity derailed me ... You remember I had a medical conference around then?’

  Her expression hardens. She’s guessed. Bed-hopping is common at these conferences. If you’re the cheating type.

  He forces himself to go on. ‘I cried and cried that weekend. All the tears I felt I couldn’t shed in front of you. I couldn’t understand it ... Why was I so deeply affected by the change in expression every time someone peeked into his pram? It wasn’t as though I was scared of having a disabled child. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t adjusted my expectations ... But every one of those pitying glances broke something in me. I got drunk on the second night of the conference. Outrageously drunk. And I was unfaithful to you ...’

  Silence. He searches her face, her eyes, for the disgust, for the hurt, but she’s unreadable: everything about her is closed off.

  ‘Who? Who did you sleep with? Do I know her?’ Her accent is the only clue to her feelings: it always becomes stronger when she’s upset. Even though she has never been the kind of woman to scream or act out, Zach would welcome a torrent of abuse or even a slap across the face. He deserves it.

  ‘No. She was from Melbourne. I’ve never seen her since. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘And you think the person who sent this note – Robbie – knows about this affair?’

  It was a one-night stand, hardly an affair, but correcting her would not serve any purpose. ‘I honestly don’t think so ... But I’ve wanted to tell you since the moment it happened. The secret has been eating away at me. This might seem a strange time to tell you but I want full disclosure, no more secrets, so I never have to disappoint you like this again.’

  He needs her. With her by his side, he is a good man, a compassionate man, a loving man. Without her, he can be cruel, selfish, ugly. She knows this. She knows that she has been transformative for him.

  ‘You will take this note and its ...’ She pauses while she searches for the correct word. ‘Its ... threats ... to the police tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. I will.’

  Zach has no idea what the police will make of it. Maybe it needs to be combined with the other messages to see the full picture. He has phoned Katy to let her know. He should call Annabel too.

  ‘I need time to think about this.’ Izzy turns around and throws a pillow at him. ‘You can sleep on the sofa tonight.’

  Tears blur his eyes. As a young man, he never cried. It was Izzy who taught him it was okay.

  ‘I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m not worthy of you.’

  She replies by turning off the bedside lamp.

  34

  ANNABEL

  Annabel wakes dozens of times during the night. Every time a nurse comes in, a shadowy figure at the end of Jarrod’s bed updating his charts. The times when his monitors beep, and she wakes with a jolt of terror, certain that he has stopped breathing or is going into cardiac arrest. Then the usual hospital noises: the squeal of trollies as they pass outside, the trill of the phone at the ICU reception desk, and intermittent sirens, as ambulances arrive with new emergencies.

  At 7 a.m., as the hospital bustles into full operation, she folds away her pull-out bed for the third consecutive morning.

  ‘Don’t feel you have to stay here,’ the nurses have said gently. ‘We’ll call you if something changes.’

  But she doesn’t want to go home to sleep in a bed without Jarrod. She wants to be by his side for this ordeal. She owes it to him.

  ‘It’s time you woke up,’ she says, kissing his cheek. ‘I haven’t been this tired since Jemma was a newborn.’

  Unfortunately, waking up is not within his control. He’s in a drug-induced coma. Yesterday, they shaved some of his hair and drilled a hole in his skull to drain the fluid. Just looking at that vulnerable patch of white scalp is enough to make her cry.

  She leaves to use the bathroom, taking her toiletries and a change of clothes with her. The morning sun streams through the bathroom window, and the mirror is unforgiving. Blue-black circles around her eyes. Dark roots coming through her hair. Beneath the carnage, she can see a new hard-fought wisdom. The last few days have given her clarity. About Daniel: she and Jarrod have been divided, blaming each other instead of pulling together. About the business: Jarrod has been killing himself keeping up with its demands, and she has punished rather than supported him.

  Her thoughts keep returning to the night she told him she was pregnant. They were on ‘a break’ at the time. They’d had numerous breaks, kissed and dated other people, before finding themselves drawn back together again. But that particular split lasted eight weeks, longer than any of the others. Jarrod began dating Melissa, and Annabel see-sawed between being quietly heartbroken and violently jealous. She was in denial about what was happening to her body, passing off the nausea as a stomach bug, attributing her missing periods to stress, blaming everything – illogically – on Melissa.

  She was four months’ gone before she confronted the truth, and Jarrod. They stayed up all night. Crying. Consoling. Blaming. Beseeching. Finally, coming together. It was far from ideal but they’d do the best they could. Jarrod would split with Melissa and commit to Annabel and their unborn baby. And here they are. Twenty years and three children later. A home and mortgage, a thriving business, and a drug-addicted son. When she thinks back to ‘that night’, the overriding image is of herself and Jarrod holding hands. Gripping each other, bracing for the onslaught of their parents’ wrath and a future neither of them had imagined. They had unity and not much else. Somewhere along the line, they’ve lost that unity.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says to her reflection, to him. ‘We’ll get it back. I promise.’

  Later in the day, carrying through with her resolve to be more supportive, Annabel takes Jarrod’s phone and leaves the sterile confines of the hospital room. ICU is strictly technology free, which is why she hasn’t attended to the growing number of unanswered voice and text messages on his phone. She sits on one of the benches outside the main foyer.

  ‘My husband has been in an accident ... I know, I apologise ... Have you got a pen and paper handy?’

  She returns the calls and texts one by one, apologising for the inconvenience and providing the number of another electrician whom Jarrod is friendly with. Until she comes across a message that has nothing to do with the business.

  Sorry I haven’t been in touch. This is the reason why. His name is PJ.

  Jealousy rears up Annabel’s throat. PJ, going by the photo, is a very young
puppy; Mia would go wild for him. But why is Melissa sending this photograph to Jarrod? What does she mean about not being ‘in touch’? There appear to be no earlier messages between the two. Has Jarrod deleted them? Is this a renewed friendship or something more threatening?

  Annabel takes a moment to gather herself. She can’t deal with this right now. Doesn’t have the emotional capacity, the brain space or the strength. She’ll ask Jarrod for an explanation when he is well enough. For now, she has no choice but to trust him. That doesn’t stop her from wanting to gouge Melissa’s eyes out.

  She takes a deep breath, rallies herself. Picks up the phone again, this time to call home. Jemma answers; she’s taken some time off university to help out.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’ Her voice is girlish. She sounds barely older than Mia. ‘How’s Dad doing?’

  ‘They’re still worried about the swelling. They’ve popped in a tube to drain the fluid.’

  Annabel is being deliberately casual. The tube was not something that was ‘popped in’; surgery was required, a hole drilled, the catheter placed in the ventricle and then tunnelled under his skin to his abdomen, where the extra fluid is to be absorbed.

  ‘When are they going to wake him up?’

  ‘As soon as they get the intracranial pressure within a normal range.’

  Annabel has tried to press the consultant for specifics. She has been told that every brain injury is different.

  ‘We don’t predict too far ahead,’ Dr Chan said. ‘We see what each day brings.’

  It’s been especially hard for the children. Allowed into ICU for one brief visit. Seeing their father in that battered comatose state. Shepherded away before they had the chance to get their bearings or process how they felt. Their ongoing questions met with vagueness that makes them even more upset.

  ‘How are things there?’ Annabel asks. ‘Everyone arrive home from school in one piece?’

  She has barely been home since the accident. A couple of hours here and there to pack fresh clothes, have a proper shower and instruct Jemma on what groceries to buy.

  ‘Mia needs some stuff signed by you for the end-of-year excursion. I’ve put the paperwork on the hall table.’

  ‘And Daniel?’

  ‘Ah ... Daniel isn’t home yet.’

  Annabel closes her eyes. It’s Friday, isn’t it? It’s hard to keep track in the hospital. Days and nights meld into each other. Yes, definitely Friday. He’s probably at a friend’s house.

  ‘Can you find out who he’s with?’

  This is not strictly fair: making Jemma the policeman. But Daniel responds to his older sister better than to anyone else.

  ‘Okay ... Mia’s here. She wants to talk to you.’

  Jemma hands over the phone and Annabel is greeted with a breathless gush of information: the upcoming excursion at school, and how everyone got kept back for ten minutes at lunchtime just because a few were being noisy. Any moment now Mia will remember her father. It’s like her brain needs to unload the day’s minutiae before she can contemplate the unfathomable.

  ‘Is Daddy getting better? Can I come and see him again?’

  ‘Yes, he’s getting better. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.’

  ‘Will he be awake?’

  ‘I’m not sure ... The doctor says we have to wait and see.’

  ‘I’ve drawn him a picture.’

  Annabel smiles. Jarrod is often presented with Mia’s prolific well-meant art. ‘Daddy will love that.’

  She finishes the call, stands up too quickly and has to grip the bench to counteract a spell of dizziness. It’s catching up with her. The all-consuming worry about if there’ll be any long-term damage to Jarrod’s health. The stress of not knowing what to expect, today, tomorrow, next week. The broken sleep on the uncomfortable pull-out bed. She missed lunch, deterred by the queues at the café. It should be quieter there now. Some food might make her feel better. She’s on her way inside when someone grabs her by the arm roughly.

  ‘Annabel!’

  It takes a moment or two to recognise that it’s Zach. He looks more dishevelled than when they last met. Bleary eyes. At least a day’s worth of stubble. She shakes his hand off her. He rushes in with an apology.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to manhandle you. I’ve been trying to call you—’

  This is true. Annabel has seen some missed calls and a text asking her to phone. But whatever Zach wants to talk about is not a priority right now.

  ‘Jarrod’s been ill. A work accident.’ She keeps saying that: an accident. But it wasn’t, was it? It was an attack, an assault.

  Zach is immediately sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. What happened?’

  Annabel tries to tell him but the words get stuck, clogging her throat, forming a painful lump. The only sound that gets through is a sob.

  He takes her by the arm, gently this time. ‘Let’s get you a coffee and some food. I bet you haven’t eaten.’

  She allows him to guide her to a seat in the café, allows him to buy her food, which he orders at the counter without asking what she wants. Tears stream down her face, her veneer of coping cracked by his concern. She’s been yearning for sympathy these last few days. From the kind yet too-busy-to-stop nurses. From Jarrod’s parents, who’ve been leaning on her rather than the other way around.

  Zach returns with a skinny white coffee – he must have remembered her order from when they bumped into each other at the drugs centre – and a toasted sandwich. It’s exactly what she needs and within minutes she feels better. Able to properly speak again. Hold her composure. She tells him the bare facts of the last few days. Jarrod being found unconscious at a deserted warehouse in Warriewood. The security guard who came across him and probably saved his life. The police knocking on her door and turning her world upside down. He asks more questions than she’s prepared for.

  ‘Have the police told you anything about their investigation?’

  ‘How do they know it’s a disgruntled client? Is there specific evidence?’

  ‘What if it’s the person who’s been sending us these messages?’

  Zach seems paranoid. Reassessing his bloodshot eyes and oddly dishevelled appearance, it strikes Annabel that she hardly knows this man.

  ‘There was nothing threatening about the email I got,’ she says carefully.

  He reaches into his pocket. Takes out a folded sheet of paper.

  ‘Read this ... I’d appreciate your opinion.’

  Annabel takes it from him. Notices that it’s a photocopy. Reads the text with increasing alarm.

  Circling your throat with my hands ... plunging a knife into your skin ...

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Her hand flies to her mouth. ‘This is frightening. Have you shown it to the police?’

  Zach nods. ‘They have the original note and are checking it for fingerprints. I spoke with a detective at Manly but he was pretty sceptical. Asked me dozens of questions about my movements that day and gave the strong impression that he thought I’d put the note there myself.’ He shrugs. ‘I’d probably react the same way if someone came into my clinic acting paranoid. The fact is that a lot of these kinds of complaints are prompted by mental illness. It’s pretty obvious that the detective isn’t going to look for a culprit until my story checks out.’

  Annabel is incredulous. ‘You’re a GP, Zach. Surely he can assume that you’re mentally stable?’

  Zach laughs. ‘GPs work in a high-pressure environment and can snap, just like anyone else. Going back to the note, it’s not against the law to have a fantasy. Nobody’s threatened me with a weapon or demanded money. But now you’re telling me that Jarrod’s been beaten up, I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection.’

  Annabel’s phone beeps before she has the chance to answer. It’s a text from Jemma.

  Daniel’s with Liam. Okay?

  Annabel’s heart sinks. It’s not okay. Liam is a drug friend. Oh God, as if she doesn’t have enough on her plate.

  ‘I’m
so sorry, Zach. It’s my daughter. I need to call her about something urgent.’

  ‘Of course.’ They stand up simultaneously. He reaches across to kiss her cheek. The gesture feels overly intimate. ‘Take care of yourself. Remember to eat. And let me know what happens with Jarrod.’

  ‘I will,’ she promises. She pauses before she walks away. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  He looks resigned. ‘Confront Robbie. It has to be him ... Maybe an apology will make him stop.’

  35

  KATY

  ‘Don’t confront him,’ Katy says. ‘Mike doesn’t recommend it.’

  It’s Monday-morning recess. The bell will go in five minutes. Katy has no time to beat around the bush.

  ‘Who the hell is Mike?’ Zach exclaims on the other end of the line.

  ‘Brigette’s husband.’

  ‘Dead Brigette?’

  Zach used to be like this at school. Inappropriately sardonic. Shockingly insensitive.

  ‘Show some respect, Zach,’ she says, using her teacher tone. ‘Brigette left behind a little boy and a lot of people who cared about her.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Brigette, I’m just confused about why her husband is offering his opinion.’

  Katy supposes that’s fair enough. ‘I’ve told Mike about what’s going on. He works in security, knows all about surveillance techniques, and even the type of personality that would do something like this.’

  ‘Someone with a grudge,’ Zach supplies.

  ‘Yes, someone who’s held a grudge for a long, long time. And, going by your latest note, someone who at least thinks about being violent.’

  One thing has become blatantly clear: the reunion must be cancelled. Katy will send out a message when she gets home tonight. She notices some female students heading towards the toilet block, checking over their shoulders, looking like they’re up to no good. She’s about to tell Zach she has to go when he suggests, ‘Why don’t you come with me? Might be better if there are two of us.’