‘No, Jason. No hamburgers tonight. Maybe we’ll have them again Friday night. Okay?’
‘Not okay.’ He stamped his foot to emphasise his opinion on the matter.
Adam, who was standing in the doorway to the living room, tried to intervene. ‘It’s okay, Dad, you’ll like meatloaf. Mum makes a great one.’
Jason brushed past his son into the living room. ‘I want hamburgers. Love hamburgers.’ And then, plaintively, from the other room. ‘Not fair.’
Brooke and Adam looked at each other.
‘He’s like a kid sometimes, isn’t he, Mum?’
Brooke almost burst into tears, but somehow she managed not to. Out of the mouths of babes…‘Yes, love, he is. But he can’t help it, you know. That’s why we have to be patient until he’s better.’
‘Yeah, but we can’t always let him have his own way, can we?’
She smiled at the commonsense of her eldest child. ‘No, we can’t.’
‘I want hamburgers. I want hamburgers!’ The chant went on in the living room.
They heard a thud, and then another thud, followed by a crash as something fell to the floor.
Brooke preceded Adam into the living room. A pile of magazines, which usually sat on the coffee table, was strewn all over the floor, and scattered across the timber floor lay shards of ceramics. Two of her precious figurines were missing from the mantelpiece.
His mouth tight with frustration, Jason picked up another figurine. He held it in his left hand, between his index finger and thumb. Staring challengingly at Brooke, he repeated, ‘I want hamburgers.’
Brooke bit her lip. The figurine he held so casually was one of her favourites. ‘Jason, put that back where you got it from, please.’
Jason didn’t move.
‘You can smash every figurine if you must, but you are not having hamburgers tonight,’ she said firmly. What it cost her to say that he would never know. ‘It would make me very sad if you did.’ She let that sink in and then said, ‘When I say we are not having hamburgers, we are not having hamburgers. Do you understand?’
Jason stared at her for what seemed like minutes. He frowned bitterly and his mouth was pursed in a determined line, like that of a recalcitrant child. ‘No hamburgers?’ He gave her one last appealing look.
‘Not tonight.’ She waited, hardly daring to breathe. He was an adult, but since the accident often he didn’t act in an adult manner. Even children needed to know the rules, who made them and that they had to be adhered to.
He came towards her, the figurine held out in front of him. Suddenly he grinned boyishly at her. ‘Okay. Meatloaf tonight. I like meatloaf.’ And then, very gently, he handed her the crockery figure.
That night as Brooke lay in bed, with Jason sleeping soundly beside her, try as she might, sleep would not come to her. She needed it. She didn’t want to think about today, about all the tomorrows either, but the much-needed oblivion proved elusive. The scene before dinner…had it been like looking through a window to the future, she wondered?
She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself, hoping that the action would bring her some comfort. It didn’t. In the darkness she listened to her husband’s breathing, deep and even, and could feel his body warmth radiating towards hers. She sighed as a tear slipped down each cheek onto the pillow. So much was different now. When he’d come home her hopes had been high that he would recover quickly and fully. But sometimes, as with tonight’s scene, the doubts would creep in.
What if he didn’t return to being the man he had once been? She clenched her fists under the covers. No! She wasn’t going to let her thoughts go down that road. He would get better. He had to, for everyone’s sake.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Wes, I don’t…I mean…I’m not comfortable with you and Hugh doing this.’
Brooke’s tone was cool as she turned away from him to look out the kitchen window to check on Jason. He was feeding scraps to the chooks and had a bowl tucked under his arm for collecting the eggs. She smiled at the picture. In his plaid shirt, faded blue jeans and mud-encrusted gumboots, he looked like a typical farmer.
‘It’s your pride that doesn’t want it,’ Wes replied with his usual frankness. ‘And don’t tell me that finances aren’t tight. You don’t have to be Einstein to work out the incomings and outgoings in the d’Winters household.’ He let that sink in, then added, ‘You’re paying John too much; you could be keeping more for yourself. I’ve heard that you’ve lost a few patients, too.’
‘It’s normal for a new doctor to lose some of the old patients,’ she said, her excuse coming back quickly. ‘Also, as far as John’s fee goes, he wouldn’t come here for less. He knew the money being offered to locums, so I had no choice but to pay what he knew he could get elsewhere and,’ she added, ‘it wouldn’t be right to cheat him.’
‘Okay.’ Wes accepted her reason then got back to the main topic. ‘It’s time the town and the people around Bindi Creek showed their gratitude for what the d’Winters family has done for the place. Think about it: this town was dying until you two settled here. Jason’s medical practice revitalised the place, and you organised the community medical centre, not to mention successfully negotiated with the bank when it closed the branch. And what about the drugs education program for parents and schoolchildren you initiated through the Cowra Chamber of Commerce? As well, think of the times Jason didn’t take fees for his services,’ he went on, reminding her. ‘The people owe you two a lot, so where’s the harm in the town holding a benefit night to show their appreciation?’
‘It’s embarrassing. We’re not exactly hard up; we’re,’ she paused, searched for the right word, ‘coping.’
‘Oh, Brooke.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What’s a little embarrassment?’ Now there was laughter in his tone. ‘I’m sure Jason and the kids won’t be embarrassed, just you.’
‘I’ve never accepted charity before,’ she argued, her cheeks flushed at the thought of it. But even as she said the words she knew how pointless it was to argue with him. Once Wes Sinclair made up his mind about something, that was that. And if she was dead honest and put her pride aside, yes, they could do with whatever money was raised. The bills kept coming in and she was juggling which ones to pay and which ones to leave till next month, like thousands of country people did on a regular basis. The cottage roof had sprung a leak in three places and needed urgent repairs before next winter and, while she was making a modest income from her naturopathy, it didn’t stretch to keeping them in the black, even with the rent from their semi in Newtown.
‘Everyone wants to help in some way. Hugh plans to make it a grand night. We’ll have a monster raffle, there’ll be entertainment and a barbecue. Mannie at the hotel has donated the grog, and the Fasanellas the food.’ He touched her shoulder and turned her around to face him, his tone more gentle now. ‘Let the people of Bindi Creek show how much they care for the d’Winters family.’
He just managed to hide his shock at the tears in her eyes. Without thinking what he was doing, he pulled her against his chest and stroked her back comfortingly. ‘There, there; it’s going to be all right, Brooke.’
They sprang apart, almost guiltily, when Jason came in the back door with his basin of eggs.
‘I’m gonna make scrambled eggs for breakfast,’ Jason told them, ignoring the fact that they’d been hugging each other as if it was of no interest to him one way or another. He promptly went to one of the cupboards and took out a frying pan.
‘He likes to cook,’ Brooke informed Wes with a wry smile. ‘He makes a terrible mess when he does, but most of the time he tries to clean it up.’
Wes nodded understandingly. ‘I’d better be off. I’m driving to Dubbo to look at some stock I want to purchase to improve the herd. Bye, Jason.’
‘G’bye, Wes,’ said Jason offhandedly as he concentrated on his eggs.
Wes and Brooke walked down the hall to the front door. Wes opened it wide and then looked at her. ‘So, you
give the benefit night your blessing?’
She sighed. ‘I guess so.’
‘Oh, before I forget, Fleece and Drew will come tomorrow to mind the kids while you take Jason to that specialist in Goulburn. It’s one of those pupil-free days.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
‘Bye then.’
There were a hundred things he could have thought about but, as Wes walked to his car, all he remembered was how marvellous it had been to hold her in his arms, if only for half a minute or so. The feel of her, her touch, how she smelled. She used a brand of hair shampoo that smelled like apples and it was wonderful. His senses had burst into life to the point that he could hardly stand it. Wanting her was driving him slowly and irrevocably crazy.
When he thought about it, Jason had been home for a while now and he’d seen no evidence of affection from him towards Brooke, which wasn’t like the old Jason. He frowned to himself. Maybe the accident had damaged more than his memory and his intellect. Maybe he was no longer sexually inclined.
Somehow, and he knew he was being selfish in thinking it, the possibility of that being so pleased him. Too many nights, over too many years, he’d lain awake at Sindalee, torturing himself by imagining Brooke and Jason making love. He pulled the car door open and almost hurled himself into the driver’s seat. Brooke was an affectionate woman; she was always hugging her children, and his children too. How was she going to react if Jason wasn’t emotionally and physically responsive? His hand reached forward to turn the ignition on. He didn’t want to, he mustn’t, think about that.
Two weeks later the d’Winters benefit night swelled the afternoon and night-time population of Bindi Creek to over four hundred people. Coloured lights lit up the street stalls which lined both sides of Tyrell Road. All manner of goods were sold, the profits from which were donated to the benefit. A stage was erected outside the Imperial Hotel and a parade of country and western bands and singers played while adults, teenagers and children danced in the street. The traditional chocolate wheel was a great success, too.
Brooke was astonished and flattered by the enormous turn-out and the many sympathetic and friendly comments made to her during the evening. It was gratifying to know that people could show their appreciation. The real reason behind the benefit night was beyond Jason’s comprehension, but she saw that he and the children enjoyed the event and all the attention they received.
The next morning, after the takings had been counted, Wes brought Brooke and Jason d’Winters over ten thousand dollars—enough to pay off their mortgage with a little left over for emergencies.
Brooke sat at the kitchen table with her diary open to the current day. It was hard to believe that eight months had passed since Jason’s accident. The psychiatrist Jason had been referred to by the neurologist, had suggested that every day she write about Jason’s mood swings and behavioural patterns, and whether the medication he currently took was effective. Thumbing back through the days and the months, she could see a pattern emerging. Few of the changes were for the better.
He had come home from hospital in late August. By November he’d put on ten kilos in weight because his ruling passion—his only passion, it seemed—was eating. His medication had been changed several times to try to curb his appetite, but nothing worked. Compounded by a reduction in physical activity over the months, he continued to gain weight. However, his weight gain was the least of their problems. At first he had been enthusiastic about doing chores, helping around the cottage and looking after the animals, but this had eventually lost its appeal to him.
As well as horses for the children and the chook run, more animals had been added to their three-and-a-half-hectare property. In the past, Brooke would have been firm and said no to any more. She hadn’t, now, because she saw them as a substitute point of affection for the lack of attention Jason was giving the children. The change had been gradual, over the eight months, and the sad truth was that he no longer seemed interested in what they did or even able to comprehend fully that he was their father.
The children now had pet rabbits, Sammy and Velvet, ensconced in a hutch Wes had made for them. Sheridan had a goat named Nan for milk, because she had developed an intolerance to cow’s milk, and as Adam’s interest in anything to do with the land grew, they’d ‘inherited’ a black sheep, Ivory, when a neighbour had sold up and moved to Queensland. While she encouraged the children to do the basic chores with the animals, she had hoped he’d show an interest in their mini Noah’s Ark, because he had so much free time. That hadn’t happened.
In January she’d written three times that month: ‘Jason loses his temper over nothing.’ His mood swings, his temper, his inability to cope—sometimes with the simplest things, such as making school lunches, answering the phone and taking messages—was becoming more apparent. And he was developing painful headaches. The neurologist couldn’t pin down the cause to anything more specific than another result of the accident. He’d suffered several skull fractures and there had been considerable soft tissue damage to the head and neck, so little could be done except to medicate him for the pain when the headaches occurred. Yes, everything Brooke had written was documented evidence of what the specialists had said would happen. She had mentally and emotionally fought every day against acknowledging it because she preferred to believe that love and time could heal all. But her diary proved that that wasn’t happening. Even the experts admitted that his was a fairly rapid decline from the condition in which he’d left hospital.
She wrote a summation of today’s events in her neat handwriting, then closed the diary. What was she going to do? All at once the tension bubbled up and, in a lapse of self-control, she burst into tears. Everything that was happening was so unfair—to her, to the family, and especially to Jason. He had been a wonderful man, a caring man with intelligence and humour…and now practically everything other than the physical bulk of him had been extinguished. The spiritual, the essence of what had made Jason the man he was, was continuing to disintegrate, and she had come to mourn this loss and would continue to do so into the future.
She opened the diary to re-read what she had just written: ‘In a fit of pique, Jason smacked Adam for no reason other than that he was slow to get to his chair at dinnertime.’ It was the second instance of her husband taking out his frustration on the children. She had tried to talk to him about it, but the glazed, faraway look in his eyes had been evidence that comprehension was beyond him.
The twins and even Sheridan, who was wise beyond her years, had taken to avoiding contact with their father whenever possible. They stayed out of doors if the weather was reasonable, and only came in for meals, to do homework, and when it was time for bed. This meant that she also saw little of them. She mopped up the tears, took a sip of coffee and tried to look on the bright side. Huh! What was the bright side? At the moment she couldn’t find one. Life was becoming a daily grind with her having to act as a buffer between Jason and the kids. Much of the time he was like a kid himself, vying with his own children for her attention, and wanting to be cuddled after she had scolded him for something. And the worst part was that while she might think it bad now, as time passed, she knew the situation would only worsen.
She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, trying to pull herself out of the self-pitying mood she had sunk into. Other people had it much worse than the d’Winters family, but somehow that thought didn’t give her much comfort.
What had happened to the love between them, the feelings she’d been so sure would never die? It had all but crumbled to leave only a sense of duty, of doing the right thing, of keeping the family together. For months she had refused to think about it. However, the truth was, and she couldn’t deny it any longer, her feelings for Jason had withered for lack of nourishment. She sniffed back a new flood of tears that threatened to engulf her. Oh, she had tried hard for that not to happen by remembering the happy times they had shared, by trying to be patient and have faith that he would recover. But
since he apparently wasn’t capable of that depth of feeling any more, with the increasing lack of response from him she had finally had to accept the situation and had become an emotional vacuum. All the love, the wanting to cherish and be cherished, was gone—like the real Jason.
However, on a day-to-day basis she was sure it appeared to most that the d’Winters were coping, that their lives had settled into a satisfactory routine. The only people who knew differently were Wes and Jean. They were too close to the family not to see that Brooke’s nerves were frayed, that the children weren’t happy and that Jason’s condition was deteriorating.
So what are you going to do about it? The question popped into her head.
How many times had she gone over the options she believed the family had? If they moved to Sydney and lived in Newtown, there would be a better chance of building a more lucrative naturopathy practice, one that could financially support the family. It would take time and hard work to build up the practice, but it was feasible. If they stayed in Bindi Creek there was virtually no chance of her business becoming self-supporting. Which meant she would remain dependent on having a locum run Jason’s practice. Another option was to move from Bindi Creek to Cowra and hope to build a successful practice there. That plan of action was more preferable than returning to Sydney, but the major problem, no matter where she moved or what she did, was caring for Jason.
The time wasn’t far off when he would need someone with him on a semipermanent basis when the family wasn’t around to monitor what he was doing, and to give him occupational and recreational therapy. At present she couldn’t afford to have someone do that. Her thoughts harked back to the last time Wes had been over. They had argued heatedly about Jason and how the problem could be resolved. Wes had talked, albeit with great reluctance, about him being institutionalised, his logic being that Jason’s temper tantrums and the increased frequency of the headaches that made him do things he couldn’t remember doing would worsen. He had posed the question to her: how long would it be before he injured himself or someone else?
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