by B M Carroll
‘Thanks. The difficult thing is that Daniel is not being cooperative. He doesn’t seem to want to be helped.’
There it is again. The tell-tale tightening around Tom’s mouth. The sense that he has to work hard to keep his true opinions to himself. This time he can’t seem to help himself. ‘There’s no point in locking the stable after the horse has bolted.’
‘Oh, Tom.’
‘It’s true.’ Her husband is unrepentant. ‘Daniel’s been given far too much freedom. Nothing good comes from kids his age being out late at night.’
‘How do you know he’s been out late? Have you seen him?’
Tom pauses before admitting, ‘I’ve come across him on my night patrol. At one of the parks with a group of boys. Obviously up to no good.’
Grace blinks. ‘You have? Why didn’t you say?’
‘I phoned Annabel straight away. She sent Jarrod to fetch him and specifically asked me not to mention it to you. Honestly, she seemed more concerned about keeping face than Daniel’s safety ... I presume, now that everything’s out in the open, it’s okay to tell you.’
Grace is lost for words. What was Annabel thinking? Why put Tom in such an awkward position? Why the secrecy? Did she think Grace would be judgemental, unsupportive or prone to gossip? Grace feels a familiar stab of hurt. All these years, and Annabel can still make her feel like this: as though she is inferior, a step behind; as though she is not worthy of trust.
‘When was this?’
‘About six weeks ago. The October school holidays.’
‘Did you speak to Daniel at the time?’
‘Just said a friendly hello. Asked him if he was going home soon.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Told me it was none of my effing business.’
Grace can picture the scene. Tom meaning well. Daniel being horrifically disrespectful. Tom not being impressed with Annabel’s handling of the matter. His dislike becoming more entrenched.
‘So you knew Daniel was dabbling with drugs?’
‘I could smell weed. I was hoping it was the friends, not Daniel, but that seemed unlikely.’
‘Did you tell Annabel that part? What they were actually doing at the park?’
‘I couldn’t accuse Daniel outright, but I told her what I smelt.’ Tom stands up abruptly and stretches. ‘Are you coming to bed?’
‘Not yet.’ Grace feels deeply unsettled. How could she not have known about this incident? ‘I have a few things to do.’
He leans down, kisses her on the forehead, and she wonders what other things her husband has not told her.
Grace has another nightmare about Katy Buckley. Tom and Katy have become a couple. She finds them entwined together in the park down the road. Katy’s hair and clothes are dishevelled. Tom’s eyes are cold.
‘What are you doing with her?’ Grace wails.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ he replies emotionlessly.
She pushes Katy as hard as she can. ‘Get away from him.’
Katy throws back her head and cackles.
Something tugs at her arm. There’s a voice in her ear. ‘Mummy, Mummy.’
Grace has to fight to surface from the dream. Katy’s cackling is mingling with ‘Mummy, Mummy’. She opens her eyes and sees a white face hovering over her. She almost screams. Then realises it’s Lauren.
‘I’m scared, Mummy. There’s someone outside my window.’
Grace glances at the digital clock next to the bed: 2 a.m.
‘It’s okay, honey. I had a nightmare too.’
‘It’s not a nightmare. It’s real.’
‘Oh, honey. It’s probably a possum. Or Mrs Vaughan’s cat.’
Mrs Vaughan lives down the street. Her cat seems to have free rein and its night-time antics are the bane of the neighbourhood.
‘I’m really scared ... Can you come?’
Grace groans as she hauls herself out of bed. This is usually Tom’s job. Lauren mustn’t have been able to rouse him tonight.
The curtains are wide open in her daughter’s bedroom, and Grace is alarmed when she sees that the window has been slid across.
‘Lauren, honey, why did you open the window?’
‘I was trying to see what was out there. I was trying to be brave.’
Tom and Grace have been talking to Lauren about ‘being brave’, about challenging herself in little ways, but this is far from what they intended. Lauren could have climbed out of the window and they would have been none the wiser. Even worse, someone passing on the street could have spotted the lapse in security and climbed in. Grace’s heart skips a beat. She pulls the window shut. It closes with a clang, causing both of them to jump.
‘Okay, honey. Hop back into bed.’
‘Don’t go. Please don’t go. There’s someone out there.’
‘Shush. You’re being silly.’ Grace gives her daughter a hug and is dismayed to feel her small body quivering with fear. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of, do you hear? There is nobody outside, not even that dratted cat ... But I’ll stay until you fall asleep.’
Lauren is satisfied with this. She climbs into bed and curls up on her side. Grace tucks the duvet around her and strokes her hair.
What is she going to do with this child? Is it foolish to hope she’ll outgrow the anxiety and develop into a confident young woman? What if these are the early signs of a lifelong debilitating condition? Is it time to see a GP or a psychologist? Why has she delayed? Is she as bad as Annabel, turning a blind eye to an obvious problem within her household?
If only money wasn’t such a problem. Paediatric psychologists don’t come cheap. Maybe Tom should stop being so damn nice and distribute more parking tickets; bringing in more revenue might make him eligible for promotion. Or maybe Grace should bite the bullet, compromise on her ideals about child-rearing, and return to the workforce sooner rather than later.
Lauren has fallen off to sleep, already snoring softly. Grace tiptoes back to her room. The nightmare comes rushing back as soon as her head hits the pillow. Tom and Katy writhing together on the grass. Logically, it should have been Tom and Annabel together in her subconscious. The two of them in cahoots, keeping secrets from her. No, she is being unfair and melodramatic. Annabel would have spoken instinctively, her prime concern protecting Daniel’s reputation. Tom just did as he was asked. He is not obliged to tell his wife every single thing that happens on patrol.
Grace’s mind has skipped elsewhere. Something’s jarring, not adding up. The yearbook entry that Annabel received. What were her exact words when they spoke about it on the phone?
There was something in there that nobody knows. Some trouble we’re having with Daniel.
Annabel lied, or else she simply forgot. Somebody did know about Daniel.
Tom knew.
24
ANNABEL
‘Annabel, is that you?’
It’s a man’s voice. Annabel takes a few moments to process that she’s being spoken to. She was lost in her thoughts, in her despair. The man is good-looking: light tan, longish brown-blond hair, green eyes from long ago.
‘It’s Zach,’ he prompts. ‘Zach Latham.’
Good grief. Zach Latham. Here. In the drug and alcohol centre.
Annabel blinks. Tries to compose herself. To pretend that everything is fine, like they’re meeting at the supermarket, or on the street, or anywhere less confronting than this waiting room with its beige walls and shattered lives.
‘Hello, Zach,’ she manages. ‘It’s been a while.’
Jarrod and Zach were good friends at school but their friendship petered away within months of the HSC exams. Jarrod was launched into parenthood, a world with broken sleep and dizzying levels of responsibility. Zach started a degree in computer technology, and that was the last they’d heard of him ... until Grace recently mentioned that he became a GP.
‘Do you work here?’ she asks, glancing around the waiting room, plastic chairs lining the perimeter, a handful of people –
hard faces, missing teeth – slouched in the chairs. In the half-hour she’s been sitting here – they obviously don’t run to schedule – various doctors and other professionals have emerged, looked down at the file in their hand, and called a name. Her name hasn’t been called. She’s dreading it being called. What can she say to these people? What will they say to her?
Zach shakes his head. ‘My wife works here, she’s one of the supervising doctors.’
What about you? What are you doing here? Zach doesn’t ask the question but it hangs between them.
Annabel decides to answer anyway. ‘I’m here because of my son—’ She loses it then, her voice breaking with tears. ‘He’s only sixteen.’
Zach sits down next to her. Puts a hand on her shoulder. Jerks his head in the direction of the treatment rooms. ‘Is he inside?’
‘No, he refused to come today. Insists he doesn’t need help.’ She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. There’s no point in crying. It’s not going to fix anything.
‘That’s common. Being uncooperative, I mean. You’re in the right place.’ Zach stands up again. ‘Look, I need to see Isabel quickly and then check on a patient who lives nearby. There’s a café a few doors down. Wait for me when your appointment is finished ... Unless you’re rushing off somewhere?’
It’s midday. Annabel doesn’t have to be anywhere until school pick-up at three.
‘The café,’ she agrees, her voice leaden.
Annabel is mildly curious about Zach’s wife and wonders if she’s the person she’ll be seeing today. But it’s a man who calls her name. He looks thin and malnourished, like he could be on drugs himself.
‘My name’s Patrick. I’m one of the counsellors here.’
She follows him to a small room that has similar décor to the waiting room: beige walls and cheap furniture. There’s a lingering odour that makes her question the personal hygiene of whoever was here before her.
‘Take a seat, Mrs Harris, and tell me why you’re here today.’
She sits down, positioning herself on the edge of the seat. ‘I’m here because of my son, Daniel ... He’s only sixteen.’
The exact same words she said to Zach, and once again she has to fight the urge to cry. Patrick begins to ask questions, writing down her answers with a pen that has its cap chewed. Daniel’s medical history, all the way back to his birth. His siblings and home life. His grades and attitude to school. His friendships and social life. When this all started. How it has escalated in recent months. She talks and talks and talks, and Patrick writes and writes and writes. Then, when she has told him everything there is to tell, her self-control cracks and she starts crying in loud gulping sobs.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ She is barely coherent.
Patrick slides a box of tissues across the table. ‘Don’t apologise. Take your time.’
She dabs her eyes, blows her nose and tries to pull herself together.
‘I don’t know what to do. I’m at a loss. My husband too. We’ve tried talking to Daniel, using reason and cold hard facts. We’ve tried being tough, punishing him, limiting his social activities. We’ve tried kindness and understanding, and – for a short while – turning a blind eye. We’ve tried everything, short of locking him up. You would think that getting beaten up would make him see sense, but there wasn’t a shred of self-reflection at the hospital. How do we get through to him? How can we make him stop taking drugs and tearing our family apart?’
Patrick rests his elbows on the scratched surface of the desk. ‘The truth is you can’t make Daniel do anything. It sounds like he’s not ready to give up. You can’t force him, however hard that is to accept.’
‘So what should we do? Sit and watch him ruin his life? Expect phone calls from the hospital or the police as a matter of course?’
‘In these circumstances, we sometimes recommend harm minimisation.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Reducing the harm Daniel can potentially do to himself. If he’s intent on using drugs, then at least making it safer.’
‘What’s safe about using drugs?’ she wails.
‘Nothing. But he can improve his chances by taking little amounts at a time. Being careful not to mix with other drugs or alcohol. Using around people he trusts, rather than being on his own ...’
‘You mean other drug addicts?’
Patrick’s voice is measured and calm: the opposite of hers. ‘Just because they’re drug users doesn’t mean they don’t look out for each other.’
He slides back his chair and opens one of the desk drawers. He puts some pamphlets down in front of her. She reads one of the titles: Safe Snorting. Safe Injecting. Safe Smoking.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she wails again. ‘It’s giving him advice on how to do it.’
Annabel leaves the small, airless room almost an hour after she entered it. The pamphlets are stuffed in her handbag – she can add them to her collection from the hospital – along with all the scrunched-up tissues she went through. The last thing she wants right now is a catch-up with Zach Latham. She wants to be alone, so she can cry and cry and cry, so she can empty herself of the disappointment, the helplessness and the severe frustration.
Vanity forces her into the bathroom before leaving the centre. Her face is blotchy, her eyes swollen. She looks old, broken, miserable. She finds some eyeliner and lipstick in her handbag and tries to do some repairs. Why bother? Surely, she’s not trying to impress Zach Latham?
The café is busy and noisy. Her eyes skim from table to table, hoping that Zach gave up waiting. No such luck. He’s over by the window, engrossed in his phone.
He stands up when he sees her approach, pulling out a seat for her. She doesn’t remember him being so gallant. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’
‘Sorry. It was a long session ... Not that we achieved much.’
‘The first meeting is often like that. They need to know a detailed history before they can give any advice.’
‘The young man being present would also be helpful.’
‘Yes.’ He smiles at her wry tone. ‘So what’s been happening? Is this problem a recent one?’
She relays everything for the second time in the day, adding more detail about the impact on Jarrod because he and Zach used to be close.
‘Jarrod is devastated. He has a great relationship with Jemma and Mia and desperately wants the same with Daniel. But Daniel acts like he hates us both. He has no work ethic, no desire for responsibility, no respect for rules or boundaries ... Jarrod can’t begin to understand him ...’
‘It’s a difficult age,’ Zach says sympathetically. ‘They see their parents as impediments to their freedom. They want to live their own lives, do their own thing, and don’t have the maturity to understand the value of rules.’
Annabel sips her coffee. It’s surprisingly good. ‘Do you see many teenagers in your practice?’
‘Some. Even the ones in their early twenties seem incredibly young and error prone. They’re still working things out ... aren’t we all?’
Annabel puts down her coffee cup too abruptly and it clatters against the saucer. ‘So, your wife is a doctor too?’
Not a very subtle change of subject, but she is drained from talking, and thinking, about Daniel.
‘A better doctor than I’ll ever be.’
There is genuine pride and love in Zach’s smile. Would Jarrod look like that at the mention of her name? And what expression would she adopt if someone asked her about Jarrod? She can’t even think about Jarrod without grimacing.
‘Where did you meet? How long have you been married?’
‘We met overseas, in South Sudan. Have you heard of Doctors Without Borders?’
‘Yes, of course. How interesting.’
He laughs. He has a nice laugh. Warm. Throaty. ‘Interesting is one way of describing it. It’s a great initiative – doctors coming together from all over the world to provide healthcare for those less fortunate. But
it was incredibly dangerous – the war going on around us, buildings getting blown to smithereens, rampant cholera and malaria. We settled back in Australia when Isabel became pregnant. Sudan is no place for bringing up a child.’
‘She’s Australian, too?’
‘Argentinian.’
‘How many children now?’
‘Carson is our only one ...’ Zach pauses briefly. ‘He has Down’s syndrome.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Carson is a joy to us. He surprises us every single day with his achievements. He competes in athletics and swimming, and he’s the school captain at his special-needs school. It’s all down to Izzy. She works in the drugs centre a few hours a day, and the rest of her time is spent supporting Carson. She’s determined that his disability is not going to hold him back.’
Hearing about Carson makes Annabel even more furious with Daniel, who is squandering away his talents and health. Every conversation and every thought seem to lead back to her son.
‘Are you going to the reunion?’ she asks, draining the last of her coffee.
‘Izzy persuaded me to. Are you?’
Annabel sighs. ‘I really don’t know. Neither Jarrod nor I want to leave Daniel unsupervised for any length of time.’
Zach shifts in his seat. ‘What do you make of the person who’s been sending the emails? You got one, didn’t you?’
‘Yes ... Did you?’
‘They left a note under my windscreen wiper. I don’t like the idea of them knowing where I park my car ... Are you worried about it?’
She laughs humorously. ‘Oh, Zach, my son is addicted to drugs. All I can think about and worry about is him. I’ve no brain space for the reunion, or the new yearbook, or whoever is behind this childish fucking prank.’
He glances out of the window. A group of high-school students are meandering along the footpath, sipping from drinks, jostling each other, laughing.
‘Do you think about school much?’ he asks quietly.
‘No, not really. Do you?’
‘Sometimes.’ He turns his gaze back to her. She is startled by the intensity in his grey-green eyes. ‘I think about Robbie. I often wonder what happened to him. I’m hoping he’ll be at the reunion. I want to shake his hand and say sorry.’