Sticks and Stones

by Ilsa Evans

‘Absolutely unbelievable. I’ve got a good mind to write to the attorney-general.’

  ‘Yes. Look, Hannah, I’m really tired. I think I’ll have an early night. I’ll give you a ring Wednesday night and let you know how it all went. Okay?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. And I’ll ring Diana, make a new appointment.’

  Maddie said her goodbyes and hung up with a burgeoning sense of relief. There was something intensely exasperating about Hannah’s perpetual railing against the system. It wasn’t that Maddie didn’t agree, she most certainly did, but being eternally incensed by the shortcomings didn’t alter the fact they were there. And that this was the framework within which she had to work if she had any chance of ensuring that Jake’s win last week was only a brief instalment, rather than an eight-month sentence. Or beyond.

  EIGHTEEN

  Maddie stared at the poster behind the lawyer’s desk, at the cartoon female standing atop a cliff with her hair blowing in the wind. The caption read Women With Altitude. For some reason the poster soothed her, perhaps because she had been expecting, without quite realising it, a lawyer who was a little more flamboyantly feminist. Whatever that was. Maybe short spiky hair, or flowing multilayered clothing, or even a couple of badges that proclaimed strong political beliefs. So she had been rather taken aback to meet Robyn, who was a mousey blonde dressed conservatively in a tunic dress with a low-slung belt and black tights. Sans badges. The poster, however, went a little way to balancing out expectations with reality.

  Nor had the legal centre been quite what she pictured. Rather substantial renovations must have been undertaken since Jenny’s visit as there was now little evidence that it had once been a house. While still not the glossy walnut and glass of Diana Le Gassick’s rooms, the centre was functionally and tastefully corporate. The main difference lay in the racks of leaflets that adorned the waiting-room walls, showcasing a range of community-related information and initiatives.

  Maddie looked across at Robyn, talking busily on the phone. She was a woman whose pallet had been limited to shades of beige. Even her eyes were an unremarkable light brown while her eyebrows were barely visible, giving her a perpetual look of surprise which had been a little disconcerting throughout Maddie’s rambling explanation of her situation. As if sensing she was being examined, Robyn glanced over and made an apologetic face as she continued talking. On a crowded bookshelf behind was a framed photograph of her family. Husband, two young girls; all three of them redheads to varying degrees. A stack of files had been pushed in beside the photograph so that it had been forced unnaturally upright and looked like it might topple forward. Next to these, for some reason, was a torch.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Robyn put the phone down and picked up her pen, quickly reading over what she had written earlier. She tapped the pen lightly on her desk. ‘So where were we? Parental alienation, that’s right. What a crock.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’m not saying you don’t have extreme cases where one parent has malicious intent to alienate the child against the other parent, but they’re pretty few and far between. Most of them are just ignorance and bitterness and a desperate need of decent parenting skills. Being made to understand that playing tug of war with the kids is really, really bad for them.’

  ‘But I don’t think I did that. Not really,’ replied Maddie, stung.

  ‘I’m not talking about you. The cases where there’s been abuse are a whole other ball game.’ Robyn tapped her pen again and frowned. ‘Some bloke in America actually made this into a syndrome. How ridiculous is that? Parental Alienation Syndrome. So a perpetrator can use that to discredit his victim and pathologise what is really very healthy behaviour – the desire to protect one’s offspring. Make out like she’s the one with the problem.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is . . .’ Maddie paused, hoping Robyn would fill the gap.

  ‘That it’s rubbish. The syndrome part of it has been largely discredited, but it still sometimes gets brought up like it’s a legitimate disorder with a specific set of symptoms. But that can be dealt with.’

  ‘It can?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Robyn airily. She glanced down at her papers. ‘I mean basically what they’re saying is that you alienated the children by removing them from contact with their father for six years. And that’s true as far as it goes. But what you need to concentrate on is establishing your motives. The ongoing violence and intimidation. Ignore the alienation stuff, because that’s putting the cart before the horse. Do you see what I mean?’

  ‘You’re saying if I can prove why I left, then the other stuff doesn’t matter so much.’

  ‘That would be the plan. You need to get hold of that neighbour for starters.’

  Maddie nodded slowly. ‘One time the police came around and although I didn’t lay charges, they made sure he left. And the police-woman knew, I could tell, she kept staring at me and trying to give me advice.’

  ‘Terrific! Contact the police station, see if they wrote a report. And you mentioned that one of his sisters came to court with him. I gather from that he has other sisters, so where were they? Was there a reason they weren’t there? Perhaps they’ve fallen out? It’s not such a long shot as you might think as most abusive guys find it very difficult to maintain good family relationships. Actually he’s doing well to still have his mother onside. Anyway it’s worth a couple of phone calls. You need all the ammunition you can get.’ Robyn tossed the pen down onto the desk where it bounced once and then rolled across. She sat back in her seat. ‘The issue here is that although the law is supposed to prioritise the best interests of the child, it sees these as being primarily met by having a meaningful relationship with both parents. Which is all hunky-dory,’ Robyn paused, leaning even further back, ‘unless one of the parents is abusive.’

  Maddie stared at the pen, lying crookedly not far from her hand. ‘Like with me.’

  ‘Yes. And although the law also makes provision for this, in reality there is a strong reluctance in the courts to reduce contact even where there is ample evidence of violence. It’s a little like the rights of the child to know both parents have been hijacked by the rights of the father.’

  ‘Or the mother,’ said Maddie, wanting to appear fair. ‘Sometimes women are violent too.’

  Robyn rolled her eyes and then shook her head, clearly irritated. ‘Oh, Maddie. Don’t fall for that. We women are so bloody desperate to appear rational and nonbiased that we always chuck on this stupid addendum about women being violent too. The fact is that every reputable bit of research indicates that eighty-five to ninety-five per cent of intimate partner violence involves a male perpetrator and a female victim. It’s a gender issue, pure and simple. Power and control. And if we fool ourselves into thinking it’s a relationship issue, we’re never going to solve anything.’

  Maddie stared at her, taken aback by her sudden vehemence.

  ‘God, sorry.’ Robyn’s face cleared as she read Maddie’s. She held up a hand apologetically. ‘I’m afraid that whole thing about women being violent too is my weak spot. But it’s the message I’m mad at, not you. It’s like this other furphy about women making up allegations of abuse or violence in court cases so that they can get custody. They did a survey a year or so ago where half of the community believed that was true! Yet it hardly ever happens!’ Her voice rose and then she grinned, at herself. ‘There I go again. What I mean is that such cases are seriously rare, yet people believe they are relatively common. And some magistrates seem to think so too.’

  ‘But why do people think it’s common if it’s not?’

  Robyn shrugged. ‘A range of reasons. Media, for starters. For instance there was another piece of research a few years back that compared headlines for intimate partner homicides over a couple of months and found the word “murder” was only used for the single case where there was a female perpetrator. In all the other cases, about ten I think, where the guy did away with his female partner, the word “murder” wasn’t used. Oh, an
d by the way, down the track when the female went to trial, it came out that she didn’t do it at all!’

  ‘Wow,’ said Maddie, unable to think of anything else to say. She felt a little stunned.

  ‘And I’m doing it again!’ Robyn gave a short laugh and rocked forward in her chair. ‘Sorry, Maddie. I’m not always like this, promise. I’ll get off my soapbox now.’

  ‘No, that’s okay.’ Maddie shook her head, meaning it. ‘I’m actually glad you’re . . .’

  ‘Obsessive?’

  ‘I was going to say passionate,’ Maddie smiled. ‘But whatever works.’ Robyn grinned back and then her face turned serious once more. ‘The thing is, though, that this stuff matters. It has a huge impact on the community. And that’s where we all reside: perps, victims, lawyers, report writers, even magistrates. And I can tell you I’d have a lot more spare time on my hands if it wasn’t for the level of ignorance that exists within the judicial system.’

  ‘You mean with magistrates?’

  ‘I mean with the whole lot. I’d settle for just a greater understanding of the dynamics of family violence, and how a guy can look good in a suit and still be a bastard at home. How some of these guys love the system, and actually use it to perpetuate the abuse. And how violence against a partner should be taken as a pretty damn good indicator of severe limitations as a parent. Whether or not he hits the kids too. The courts seem to see violence against the woman as a totally separate entity. So that a guy can still be a good parent even if he jumps up and down on her face once the kids are in bed.’ Robyn sighed and then ran a hand through her hair roughly, as if needing to punish something. Tufts of beige-blonde stood up on end and then slowly collapsed back into line. ‘Okay, I’m focused now. The first thing you need to do is apply for a variation of orders. As soon as possible.’

  ‘I thought . . . that is, don’t you do that?’

  ‘Certainly, if you want to use us?’ Robyn looked at her questioningly. ‘In which case you need to let your other lawyer know and arrange to have your file sent over. And I’d say you’ll qualify for legal aid so we can apply for that and see how we go, though it’s touch and go these days. But most importantly, we need to apply for the variation ASAP.’

  ‘What about the ICL guy? About him not even seeing the kids?’

  ‘Unfortunately that’s not terribly unusual. But we can use that to push for the variation. You can say that the children’s wishes weren’t properly taken into account.’

  ‘Which they weren’t,’ said Maddie with a fresh surge of anger.

  ‘No, they weren’t,’ agreed Robyn readily. ‘And it sounds like your son will attest to that. What about your daughter? Does she have a preference where she lives?’

  Maddie’s eyes automatically flicked over to the framed photograph behind Robyn, at the two redheaded girls standing on either side of their father. She blinked, and dragged her gaze back. ‘I honestly don’t know. She was always a bit of daddy’s girl. And also more,’ Maddie paused, and then went ahead, ‘more easily bribed.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I’m not saying that she’s greedy or anything,’ said Maddie quickly, needing to explain. ‘It’s just that she likes . . . things.’

  ‘Maddie, it’s fine. I know exactly what you mean. I’ve got a ten year old and a fifteen year old of my own. And they’re acquisitive little buggers.’

  ‘But I’ll get a chance to talk to her on the weekend. Find out where she stands.’

  ‘Good.’ Robyn made a note on her pad and then looked up again. ‘Now, exactly how dangerous do you think he is? Honestly?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Maddie paused, stumped. And she was staring up at his face, mute with terror, her head pulled back in the curve of his arm. His skin looked ruddy, flushed with fury, and he was talking, but she couldn’t understand a word. Just the thick cadence of his voice, and the occasional obscenity that dripped with hatred. She grunted as tears filmed her eyes. And now his arm began to tighten like a vice, ribbons of taut muscle standing out against smooth skin. Slowly at first, and then faster. Until bolts of pain cascaded through her skull like fireworks exploding.

  ‘Would he hurt the kids?’

  Maddie blinked, and then shook her head firmly. ‘Never. Not intentionally, that is.’

  Robyn tapped her pen. ‘I think your other lawyer had it right though. We should go for supervised visitation, at least in the short term. Mind you, I doubt we’ll get it. Even if he leapt up and started choking you in court, we probably wouldn’t get it. But it’s worth a shot. Now what’re your plans about the property?’

  ‘Property?’

  ‘It’s going to be awkward because of the six-year absence, in terms of bank accounts et cetera. But you definitely have a claim on the house for starters. My advice would be to apply for that with the variation. Make life a little easier for yourself.’

  ‘But would that mean he’d have to sell the house?’

  ‘What if it does?’ Robyn cocked her head, regarding Maddie pensively. ‘The chances are he’ll probably just pay you off, but if he can’t, then that’s his problem. Given he’s had years to sort things out to his advantage, I’m guessing he’ll come out of this substantially better than you. He hasn’t had to pay child support for starters. So you’re living in a rental while he’s got two houses, one down there and the rental up here. And he can still afford impromptu holidays to Seaworld. You don’t need to worry about him, Maddie, you need to worry about you.’

  Maddie nodded, because she knew it was true. But she also knew that nothing would be more guaranteed to anger Jake than a property application. And the thought of his reaction sent nerves dancing fitfully within her gut. She reached out and straightened Robyn’s pen, aligning it with the edge of her desk calendar.

  ‘You can think about it for a few days,’ Robyn smiled sympathetically, as if she knew the issues. ‘In the meantime fill out a financial statement so we can get rolling on the legal aid. Oh, and they’ll most likely slap a caveat on the house anyway, so that you make a contribution also.’ The smile stretched further at Maddie’s expression. ‘I’ll give you a leaflet to look through, and we can discuss it further next week. Before we file the application. Okay?’

  Maddie nodded again, gratefully this time. ‘Okay.’

  Robyn’s phone rang, vibrating the handset against the desk. She frowned as she picked it up, dragging her barely visible eyebrows downwards, and quickly launched into a heated discussion about someone who had just contravened a court order. Maddie glanced over at the writing pad, trying to decipher what Robyn had written about her case. Looking for a word like solid or even slamdunk. But from this angle it was just a series of squiggles. Legal hieroglyphics.

  ‘No, that’s not acceptable,’ snapped Robyn angrily. ‘There’s always some half-assed reason. But it’s all part of a pattern and frankly, Chris, I’ve had enough.’

  Maddie glanced away, over towards Robyn’s bookshelf with the family photo. The older girl strongly resembled her mother, despite the red hair, but the younger one was very attractive. Deep auburn hair and porcelain skin, emerald-green eyes. She also looked like she had a strong, vivacious personality and Maddie thought that she and Ashley would get along well. Both of them like a fizzy drink: effervescent, sparkling.

  ‘Fuck that,’ said Robyn suddenly, harshly. Immediately grimacing at Maddie apologetically as she continued. ‘I gave in last time and look what happens? Two weeks and he’s already back to his old tricks. Face it, the guy’s an arsehole.’

  Maddie dragged her eyes away again. Beside the bookshelf, on the wall, were several framed certificates. Some for membership of legal associations and others with qualifications. Robyna Leslie. Bachelor of Arts/Law. Maddie peered closer, reading, and then sat back and blurred her eyes slightly, replacing Robyn’s name with her own. She thought about returning to university, and then the different sort of impact she could have with a law degree. Helping women just like her negotiate the legal maze without being victimised further. For
ced into an adversarial system that only prolonged and legitimised the abuse. Madeline Anne McCourt. Bachelor of Arts/Law.

  The enormity of this concept, and her own effrontery for even considering it, dried her mouth. She swallowed and then ran her tongue around the inside of her lips. Picturing Jake’s face when she graduated. Black gown flapping in the wind, one hand holding onto her hat. With a broad, red-lipped smile that didn’t just speak of happiness, but shouted it. Because she would be about to take all the bad things that had happened to her and transform them into good. Use them to rebuild her future.

  Maddie’s mobile phone rang, breaking into the daydream. She grinned at herself, and her ridiculousness, as she scrabbled the phone from her bag and pressed Talk. Checking that Robyn was still engaged; exchanging brisk, rueful smiles. There were several metallic clicks before she could answer and then an elderly woman’s voice echoed down the line.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’

  ‘Hello?’ repeated Maddie, frowning. She got up and walked across to the doorway, pressing a finger against her other ear.

  ‘Hello? Is this Mattie? Am I speaking to Mattie?’

  ‘Yes. Who is this?’

  ‘It is Hilda! Hilda Kaltenbrunner!’

  Maddie’s eyes widened. ‘Hilda?’

  ‘That is right!’ Hilda’s voice came through clearly now, the undulating Austrian accent unmistakable. ‘My daughter-in-law gave me your number, she said you had rung. But we have been away, you see, on a cruise. Down the Danube.’

  ‘With Ernest?’ asked Maddie. Hilda had been her next-door neigh-bour after she had first left Jake, during that shaky, muddy period when she thought they could still make it, even as everything escalated out of control. Hilda was one of the reasons she had survived.

  ‘Yes, with Ernest of course. Doing nothing but complain about this, about that.’ Hilda put on a singsong, whiny voice. ‘The weather is too hot, the weather is too cold. My bed is too hard, my bed is too soft. I tell him he needs to visit the three bears. Then he would be just right.’