by Toni Pike
I paused for effect and cast my eyes around the beaming audience. That was when I saw him at the back, standing behind the last row of seats. Older and wrinkled, his long grey hair was dancing gently in the breeze. He glared at me with narrowed eyes.
It was Joshua Byrnes.
A cold hand grabbed my heart. I looked away, then coughed and glanced at my notes. There were two more pages but my voice vanished and my brain was swirling. My mouth opened but I was struck dumb.
I needed to think fast. “Excuse me,” I said and glanced at my notes but the words were swimming on the page and couldn’t be read.
I could see the looks of embarrassment and dismay in the sea of faces, and Joshua Byrnes was still staring at me.
Letitia stood up and walked over. She stood beside me and leaned towards the microphone. “I’m sorry – I’m afraid that Tyler has laryngitis this morning,” she said. “He’s had a cold and now he’s lost his voice.” She read my speech, as professional and polished as any trained performer. The smile stayed on my face as I looked around, searching for Joshua. But suddenly he had vanished.
I wondered if he was only a fantasy and I had been having an anxiety attack or even worse – a nervous breakdown. Joshua Byrnes had been released from jail and maybe he was already dead. The man at the back may have been a ghost who had come back to haunt me.
My voice returned and I thanked Letitia, filled with pride and gratitude. My natural urge was to run away and hide. We left straight after the ceremony, excusing ourselves because of my supposed illness and Letitia’s pregnancy. In the back seat of the limousine, I held her hands. “You were incredible, Letitia. No wonder everybody loves you.”
“What happened to you, darling?” she asked.
“I really don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head. “That’s never happened to me before, but I’m fine now.”
I could see the concern in her eyes. “Never mind, these things can happen to anybody. You’re probably just overtired. When we get home, you should relax for the rest of the day. Would you like the doctor to come over?”
She thought I might be starting to crack up. “No doctors, I’m fine.”
We spent the afternoon together and I held Letitia close to me, gently stroking her stomach and feeling the baby kicks under my fingertips.
Late in the afternoon I fell asleep and had a dream that Joshua was back to take his revenge. He was close enough to hurt me and tears rolled down my face like a small boy. Letitia prodded my arm to wake me up and when my eyes opened she was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Tyler, you need to wake up,” she said. “I just felt some pain.”
Letitia looked as white as the bed sheet.
My stomach plunged to the ground as I leapt out of bed. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I said. “The driver can take us to hospital and Ranjit will make sure they’re waiting for us.”
Any ordinary citizen would drive their own wife to hospital, but we had no other choice than to be driven in my official car with a police escort. We raced the six kilometres to Canberra Hospital and nurses rushed out, whisking Letitia to an examination room. Shortly after that we were taken to our own birthing suite that was set up almost like a bedroom. Two midwives helped us settle in and then the best obstetrician in Canberra, Dr Jason Heathcote-Brown, arrived wearing his usual white shirt and brightly patterned bowtie. His examination took forever and my head pounded as we waited for his verdict. If something was wrong then I knew that it was my fault, the punishment for my crimes.
He looked at us over the top of his horn-rimmed spectacles. “Two weeks early but this baby just seems to want to be born today,” he said. “There shouldn’t be any problems.”
I slumped my shoulders in relief.
The labour lasted eight hours and the press soon gathered outside, desperate for the slightest hint of news. It was unbearable to see Letitia suffering and memories of my own childhood returned through a hazy fog, reminding me of my own pain. Feelings of helplessness resurfaced, making me feel like the loneliest person in the world.
I stayed by her side for eight hours although Ranjit and other colleagues sent messages or phoned about urgent government business. The nurses were kind enough to bring me some dinner and then a late night pizza. Ranjit delivered three takeaway coffees to keep me awake.
The baby showed the first signs of appearing at midnight. The top of the tiny head became visible for the very first time with thick black hair under a coat of slime.
“I can see the baby, Letitia,” I cried as love overwhelmed me, telling me to do anything in the world, give up my life if needed to protect my baby.
“Stand back for a moment, please, Tyler,” said the doctor. “Just hold Letitia’s hand and help her through this final stage.”
I followed orders and the baby was born a few minutes later.
“Well?” asked Letitia.
“We have a little boy,” I said. Letitia smiled and cried as they handed her the baby, a perfect little boy with a thick head of dark hair, neat nose and lips and big eyes. After a while, when the medical staff had finished their work, we were left alone.
“Charlie Kevin Thompson,” she said. That was the name we’d already chosen: Charlie after Letitia’s father, and Kevin for Kevin Carmichael. I thought of the Carmichaels and how much they would have loved a grandchild.
I kissed them both and we gazed at our son, wondering how those hands and feet could be so small and how he could be so light. “He’s perfect,” I said.
“Just like you, and you were wonderful tonight. Our little boy is safe and well.”
“We’re a real family now and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Over the next two weeks there were articles about the new baby everywhere we turned, and the newspaper headlines were predictable.
A son for Tyler Thompson.
The Thompsons have a baby boy.
It’s a boy! Charlie Kevin Thompson.
We were so happy and everyone seemed so pleased for us. After three days, we brought Charlie home to The Lodge and for that journey I insisted on driving the car myself.
***
JOSHUA
Joshua settled into Queanbeyan, only a few minutes drive from the centre of Canberra. At the Queanbeyan Public Library he was able to check the media for the latest news about the Prime Minister. His digital scrapbook continued to grow and he enjoyed putting all his computer skills into practice.
He found some casual work at an Indian restaurant just near the boarding house, helping in the kitchen and then doing the cleaning at the end of the night. Ardee Chopra, the owner, was thrilled with his work. “Never seen it so spotless, Josh. That’s great for business. I hope you’re not thinking of leaving anytime soon. It’s so hard to keep good staff.”
“No way, I plan to stay here for a little while but sometimes I go away on a trip for a few days,” he replied.
“That’s okay, I’ll get my son to clean when you go away. He’s so lazy, though, it won’t be the same.”
***
TYLER
I had one week of paternity leave, a wonderful few days with my wife and baby. Those words filled me with so much pride that I kept repeating them and could hardly believe my good fortune. The household staff made a huge fuss and indulged us in every way they could so that we could spend all our time caring for little Charlie. I tried to do almost everything for the baby, bathing, dressing and changing nappies. Charlie had dark hair and eyes like me but with his mother’s facial structure. It amazed me how a tiny, helpless baby could be so fascinating and how long I could stare at him with a feeling of astonishment.
We received far too many baby gifts from friends and colleagues, nearly all the embassies and even from complete strangers. We donated many of them to charity, but there was one parcel that astounded me, postmarked from a town one hour north of Perth. Inside was a gift and letter that I read aloud to Letitia.
Dear Mr Thompson,
You probab
ly don’t remember me but I’m the truck driver who picked you up on the road all those years ago. Who would have thought, eh, that you would become Prime Minister? I’m retired now, and live in Lancelin, by the beach not far from Perth. I have a little snake museum in the garage, where I display my collection of toy snakes as well as a few real ones. Tourists come by occasionally. Drop in and see me if you’re ever passing by. I know you like snakes. Here is one for the baby, to play with when he is older.
Yours sincerely,
Dave Vidovich.
p.s. My wife passed away a few years ago. I also do a lot of fishing.
We opened the gift bag and, sure enough, there was a toy Children’s Python.
Letitia hugged me. “We’ll have to visit next time we’re near there, your friend sounds like he might be lonely.”
“I haven’t heard from him since that day he brought me to Quarry,” I replied, with no desire to revisit that moment in my life. The man with the snakes had scared me, but it was about time I thanked him for saving me that night, the lost boy in the desert – or so everyone thought. “Imagine if he’d taken me to some other town. My whole life might have been different. I’ll write him a thank you note on some official paper so he can show everyone.”
The next morning, Ranjit was frowning. His latest girlfriend, who worked in the Department of Agriculture, had rung fifteen times already that day, leaving tearful messages on his voicemail.
“I thought I really liked Katie, but last night I realised that I was already bored, so I suggested we split up. Besides, she’s too thin for me, not my type at all.”
“How long have you been going out?”
“Two weeks.”
“That’s a long time for you.”
“Too long. Now look what’s happened.” He showed me the list of messages.
“Send her a very polite text message saying that it’s all over, and if she keeps ringing after a couple of days then block her calls.”
“Good idea, boss.”
“Now, I just remembered something. Would you find out a few things about Children’s Pythons? I might need to talk to someone about them.”
“If you say so. We’re not going to eradicate them are we?”
“No, definitely not. I don’t think the Environment Party would be very pleased if I said that. I just have an old friend who’s an expert on snakes.”
Charlie was christened two month later at St Paul’s, Manuka, and then we had a private party at The Lodge with our closest relatives and friends, including Ranjit Perera, Doug Lapsley, and my old school friends, Brian Bertorelli and Gordon Tan.
Gordon was now a neurosurgeon and talked to me about problems with the hospital system. “The funding is cut back to such a degree that every department in the hospital acts as if they are under attack, fighting each other all the time, trying to protect their position and staff. We need more effective funding and to train more medical staff.”
We talked again for several hours the next day, and that made me determined to make some changes. With the Health Minister, I announced a major review to address improvements to health funding and the need for more doctors and nurses. I planned to visit several hospitals in Sydney and surrounding areas for preliminary discussions.
At the biggest hospital in western Sydney, I visited several patients and had a meeting with senior staff. Ideas flowed and I dared to think that the changes might lead to radical reforms. Leaving at five o’clock, I was filled to the brim with self-satisfaction. That was when my life plunged down a sinkhole that suddenly opened up beneath my feet. A small crowd had gathered outside the front door and I waved as I sauntered towards my car, stopping to chat to three elderly ladies.
“We think you’re wonderful, don’t we girls?” said one of them.
“That’s very nice of you,” I replied. “I do hope you’ll vote for us at the next election.”
“Of course we will,” said the second one, who was tall and plump.
“Are you visiting the hospital?”
“Our friend is having a hip replacement, and she had to wait six months for the surgery,” said the third, leaning on her walking frame.
“That’s what I’m here for, to find out how we can improve things.”
I looked up and tried to move on, but that’s when I saw him. Joshua Byrnes was standing away from the crowd, watching me with a grim expression. Like a coward, my natural urge was to run to the bulletproof limousine and ask the driver to flee.
Instead, I tried to appear calm, continuing to smile and wave as I strolled over and got in the back seat. We sped away and I exhaled in relief.
Over the next few weeks I visited three more hospitals: in central Sydney, Newcastle and Wagga, a town two hours away from Canberra.
Joshua Byrnes was always waiting for me when I left, staring at me from a distance. My performance deserved an Oscar. All day my mask stayed firmly in place as Tyler Thompson: confident, professional and charming, engaged in productive discussions. Behind the veneer was a grown man trembling in fear.
On each visit I took one more step on the staircase to high anxiety.
In Sydney I looked down at the ground as I walked to the car, but an irresistible force drew my eyes upwards. His eyebrows were furrowed, like my own father when he called me a liar.
In Newcastle he looked more menacing, screwing up his lips like an angry man about to burst with rage. In Wagga, his eyes were as wide as saucers.
The relief as we drove away only lasted for a few minutes as thoughts then began to hammer my brain.
Twenty-five years ago he had been the stranger who helped me, kind and gentle. Now he looked more terrifying than my own father. My security detail didn’t seem to notice him, as if he was invisible to everyone but me. Perhaps he really was a ghost who was there to haunt me.
If he was, then he might make an appearance at home, slam a door or make a strange sound. That’s what Brian Bertorelli said when we were kids trying to scare each other with ghost stories. At The Lodge when I heard the household staff make a noise as they went about their work I wondered if it was Joshua.
The worst times were at night. My routine was to work eighteen hours a day and sleep for about five hours. Now the worst time of day was the moment when I climbed into bed beside Letitia and heard her steady breathing while she slept. My eyelids were propped open as if they were stitched in place like a rag doll. Sleep finally overwhelmed me but then came nightmares about Joshua trying to kill me as I ran towards the police station.
Charlie grew more adorable every day. By the time he was three months old, we had taken thousands of photographs. But whenever I gazed at his image, my eyes wandered to the background looking to see if Joshua’s face was there. At night, when we turned out the lights, I wondered if my sanity was slipping away.
Chapter 13
With so much focus on the health system, it was not surprising that one freezing day in late August there was a rally outside Parliament House demanding more help for people with mental illness. Two hundred people gathered in the forecourt, holding placards and demanding to speak to the Prime Minister. Security guards and police were keeping them well back from the entrance.
Ranjit and I watched the demonstration on television in my office. A thin middle-aged man spoke to the crowd as he pulled at the wisps of hair poking out from under his beanie. “Everyone with a mental illness should be able to access treatment!” he cried.
“Yes – a fair go for everyone!” the crowd yelled back, shaking their placards up and down. The messages scrawled on them were clear:
Help for mental illness.
Action now!
We deserve treatment!
Stephanie Tandy, one of the more outspoken political journalists, approached one man at the back of the crowd and stuck the microphone in his face. My blood chilled when I saw that it was Joshua Byrnes. “Sir, what’s brought you here today?” she asked.
“I want to speak to the Prime Minister,” he replied, his
face devoid of expression.
“Do you live with someone who has a mental illness?” asked Stephanie.
“Yes, about ten people – we all live in a boarding house.”
I felt a pang of guilt. Because of me, he was staying in some sort of halfway house for desperate people. Perhaps he just wanted me to give him some help.
“I see, that must be very difficult for you,” said Stephanie, looking sympathetic.
A fat woman with a red face pushed in and spoke loudly into the microphone. “We’ve had enough of empty promises. Our young people can’t get the treatment they need because there aren’t enough clinics for long-term treatment. If you have a physical disease you can get some treatment, but for mental illness you only get treatment if you’re lucky.”
The journalist turned to her. “Thank you for that comment, could you tell me why you’ve come here today?”
Joshua suddenly grabbed hold of the microphone. “I have something else to say,” he snapped. “My father needed help but he was too afraid to ask.”
I tried to retain my professional veneer in front of Ranjit, despite my stomach churning in fear.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow and took a step back. “I’m sorry to hear that, thanks for talking to us,” she said, and headed towards some other people in the crowd.
Ranjit looked smug and patted me on the back. “Tyler, this is the perfect opportunity for you to announce your mental health measures. You need to speak to that crowd – great publicity.”
My head started to spin. “I can’t,” I said, almost stuttering.
He looked at me as if I was an alien. “Why not? You love impromptu speeches.”
“I have a family to think about now, don’t you realise that? Anything could happen out there.” I didn’t mention that the man I betrayed was there, keen to speak with me.
“The police will take care of that. This is one time when you can confront the protestors with something they’ll want to hear. Come on, I’ll go with you.”
He looked so determined that I let him lead me out there, adjust the microphone and stand beside me.
