The Missing Pieces of Sophie McCarthy

by B M Carroll

  Davy stands up and brushes some grass off his jeans before speaking. ‘You’re right, it’s not fair these lads lost their dad. But it wouldn’t be fair either if I let young Callum here get away with things because of that. Respect, rules and love – that’s what they need at this age. You can trust me with them.’

  And with that he ambles back to the bench, where he begins to pack up the stray cones and balls into the kit bag.

  ‘Who owns this?’ he asks, holding up an abandoned drink bottle.

  ‘Me!’ One of the boys jumps up to claim it.

  The children and parents, who were all watching the scene with open mouths, suddenly remember that the game is over and it’s time to go home and resume the rest of their weekend activities.

  Chloe hooks her arm through mine. ‘Let’s go for a coffee.’

  22

  Jasmin

  Mum takes Hannah to the café down the road. She keeps Hannah’s arm hooked through hers until we get inside. It’s busy, mainly with the soccer crowd. I recognize some kids from the team we just played. They’re grinning and laughing, and you can tell just by looking at their faces that they won. ‘Jubilant’ is the word that describes them.

  ‘Hannah and I will sit at this table,’ Mum says. ‘Why don’t you kids sit over there?’

  They obviously want to have a private conversation, one that we can’t hear. Anyway, the tables are really small so it makes sense that we sit apart.

  Mum goes to the counter and orders for everyone: coffees for her and Hannah, and strawberry milkshakes for us.

  ‘When did your dad die?’ I hope the boys don’t mind me asking. Only it would be stupid to ignore it after what just happened with their mum and Davy.

  ‘Last year,’ Finn mutters. ‘In September.’

  Everyone thinks that Finn is the nicer twin because Callum looks angry most of the time. I would be angry, too, if my dad went and died. Maybe their dad had cancer. That happened to one of the girls at my last school. Her mum got cancer in term one and lost all her hair in term two. By term four she was dead. All the mums made dinners for the family. Then there was another mum who got injured in a car crash. She was in hospital for a long time, but she didn’t die. The mums made dinners for that family too. Dinner times could be a bit weird, thinking of those other families eating the exact same food as us, imagining how it would feel to have your mum dead or paralysed.

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘He got a virus.’

  ‘It must have been a really bad virus.’

  ‘It was … It made his heart stop beating.’

  I’d better check with Daddy to make sure he doesn’t have any viruses and his heart is OK. I’ll ask him later, when he comes to pick me up. Daddy went home after the match because he had something to do this afternoon. He’s coming back to get me at four and I’m staying the night with him and Sophie.

  ‘Was your dad fit?’ For some reason I look at Callum. Maybe because he doesn’t talk enough.

  ‘Yeah,’ he answers. ‘Dad used to play soccer at the weekends, on Saturday afternoons. We always went to watch him.’

  I don’t like the sound of this virus at all. My dad is really fit, but that’s obviously no guarantee.

  I can’t think of anything else to say. I don’t have a lot in common with the twins, other than soccer. They’re always getting time-out tickets at school and having to do extra laps at soccer training. I prefer kids who don’t break the rules. But it’s harder not to like them now that I know what’s happened to their family. My dad isn’t dead, but I know exactly how it feels to have him missing. Not seeing him in the morning when I come downstairs. Not chatting with him at dinner time. Not saying goodnight to him.

  ‘My dad doesn’t live with us,’ I offer, hoping this will make them feel better.

  ‘Where does he live?’ Callum asks, after taking a loud slurp from his milkshake. His table manners aren’t very good. My mum would glare at me if I made a noise like that.

  ‘He lives with his girlfriend. My mum is very sad about it. She cries nearly every night.’

  ‘Our mum cries a lot too,’ Finn says.

  The three of us look over at the mums. Their heads are bent close, and they look like they’re having a Really Serious Discussion. Mum has her arm around Hannah’s shoulders.

  ‘Do you have two bedrooms? One at each house?’ Callum’s being more talkative now. It’s funny how he says nothing at first.

  Some kids at school have two bedrooms. They spend one half of the week with their mum and the other half with their dad. Or they stay with their dad at the weekend. Their homework and their sports uniform always seem to get left behind in the wrong place.

  ‘I’m staying tonight for the first time ever. I don’t want to go … My dad’s girlfriend doesn’t even like me.’

  If Mum could hear me she’d tell me that’s not true, that it’s me who doesn’t like Sophie, not the other way round. Mum and Dad were standing very close together at the match. I kept looking at the two of them, hoping they would suddenly realize that they loved each other again, and that Dad’s arm would curl right around Mum’s waist, the way it used to, and Mum’s head would tilt back to rest on his shoulder. Then Mum went over to stand with Hannah, and I felt like bursting into tears, which was really stupid, but I couldn’t help it.

  Callum is grinning. ‘How can you tell she doesn’t like you?’

  I shrug. ‘She always looks either really, really bored or really, really annoyed.’

  He laughs. ‘All grown-ups look like that … Anyway, I bet your dad will spoil you tonight … You’ll get lots of treats and stay up late, watching telly. Nathan Finnerty’s dad lets him go to bed whenever he wants.’

  ‘Nah, my dad’s strict about bedtime and I’m not allowed lollies or fizzy drinks when I’m with him … My dad’s in the army.’ I’m proud that Daddy’s in the army and keeps people safe. The only thing I don’t like about the army is how we had to move house all the time.

  ‘Really?’ Callum looks impressed, which makes me even prouder.

  ‘Yeah. He’s a captain. He’s the boss of lots of soldiers!’

  ‘Wow. I’d like to be a soldier when I grow up.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Finn.

  There’s another silence. The boys have finished their milkshakes. I’m trying to make mine last.

  ‘I wish you got to play today,’ I say to Callum. ‘We wouldn’t have lost as badly. You’re our best defender.’

  He looks pleased. ‘Yeah, well, no one is going to get past me next week.’

  Everyone will be happier next week. Especially me.

  I won’t have to worry about staying with Dad and Sophie because it’ll be Mum’s turn to have me. Sophie won’t be annoyed because of my bad sleeping (I already know she’s going to get really annoyed). I don’t want to go. I don’t want to stay in Sophie’s house. Maybe she will tease Daddy the way Mum used to. Maybe they will kiss in front of me. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. I don’t want to go. But Mum says I have to. She has to share me with Daddy. I bet she wants a night off from me. She is exhausted from me.

  ‘Yeah, bring on next week,’ I say.

  23

  Aidan

  I didn’t have high expectations for tonight: new bedroom, new house, an entirely new dynamic, combined with Jasmin’s sleeping history. Hey, it would’ve been stupid to expect anything but a challenging bedtime, and that’s precisely how it’s playing out.

  ‘Is this normal?’ Sophie asks, after I order Jasmin back to bed for the third time.

  ‘Normal for her … Chloe has been taking her to see a psychologist in the city, but they don’t appear to be making much headway.’

  ‘Is it anxiety?’ Sophie presses. ‘Is she worried about something? School? Some kid who’s being mean to her? You and me?’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to be overly worried about anything, that’s the perplexing thing.’

  ‘Maybe she’s picked up on the tension about the court date?’

&nbs
p; I have taken great care not to discuss the court date around Jasmin. I’ve every intention of being upfront with her, when the date is closer, but I can’t see the point in worrying her now.

  ‘I’m pretty sure she hasn’t overheard anything … besides, this sleeping problem has been going on long before any of that.’

  ‘A mystery, then,’ Sophie says.

  I slip my arm around her shoulders. ‘Thanks for being so good about this.’

  She shoots me a smile. ‘Will I put the documentary back on?’

  ‘Yeah, do,’ I say, even though I suspect that it’s only a matter of minutes before we’re interrupted again.

  Chloe, like me, didn’t have high expectations for tonight.

  ‘Maybe we’re not ready for this,’ she said, when I came to pick Jasmin up.

  ‘We’ve got to do it sometime … And don’t tell me you don’t need the break, Chlo.’

  She looked worn out. She was wearing a floaty green top that seemed to suck the colour from her face. Her feet were bare, as they often are, her toenails painted an interesting shade of orange. Sophie doesn’t paint her toenails. Maybe she thinks it’s frivolous, or maybe having to bend right over to reach them is painful for her. Sophie tends to avoid colour in her clothes too, while Chloe’s mantra is, the brighter the better. I usually try to avoid making comparisons like this.

  ‘Will you text me to let me know when she’s fallen asleep?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘That’s not a good idea. You need to let go … Hey, try not to think of us at all.’

  Jasmin emerged from her bedroom with her backpack. She came towards us, showing a distinct lack of enthusiasm, which I tried not to take personally.

  ‘Come on, darling,’ Chloe urged. ‘Daddy’s been waiting. Give me a kiss. Be good now.’

  She was trying to be brave, and this made me want to give her a hug, but of course that was out of the question. Jasmin and I headed for the bus stop, and Chloe, a forlorn figure standing in the doorway, waved us off. I knew she would cry her eyes out as soon as the front door was shut behind her, when she was on her own.

  Jasmin’s natural chattiness eventually reasserted itself on the bus. Back at the house I showed her the spare room, and then we went to the park to do some penalty practice. Dinner was home-made burgers, and after that the three of us sat down and watched a PG movie. It felt strange – the dynamics between Jasmin and Sophie and me – but that was to be expected, and I would go so far as to say that everything had gone relatively well. Until bedtime, of course. The real test.

  There’s a thump, indicating that she has got out of bed again. Sophie sighs. Within moments Jasmin is standing in front of us, obscuring our view of the TV.

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Move out of the way, please. We’re watching something …’

  She takes a token step to the side. ‘I can’t sleep, Daddy. I need help.’

  ‘Jasmin, I told you that you were on your last chance, and if you got out of bed again you would have no screen time tomorrow. I was really clear with you …’

  I’m following Chloe’s directions here.

  ‘Three warnings,’ she said earlier. ‘Then one day of lost technology for every single time she gets out of bed.’

  Apparently the psychologist – after a few interesting weeks experimenting with Jasmin’s diet – has moved on to behaviour, and having a closer look at how Jasmin reacts to consequences. This is old ground. Consequences were the first thing we tried when this problem started, but they had no impact at all. No matter what we took away from Jasmin (play dates, sports, technology) or what punishments we imposed (chores around the house, time-outs, extra schoolwork), it made no damn difference at all. Chloe knows this too, but she pointed out that those initial consequences might not have been imposed early enough in the night – when we were all still thinking rationally – and that they should be cumulative.

  ‘That’s not fair, Daddy,’ Jasmin implores. ‘Please don’t take away my screen time. Please, please …’

  ‘You were warned, Jazzie. That’s the end of it.’

  ‘But Daddy, I can’t sleep. It’s not fair. I can’t sleep. And now I have no TV or iPad tomorrow …’

  She’s crying now, really crying, and it’s a sad sight because she is too old to be behaving like this. Sophie looks completely horrified. OK, so I didn’t have high expectations for tonight, but a small part of me secretly hoped that the combination of the new environment and her wanting to save face with Sophie would have a positive impact and keep her in bed long enough to fall asleep.

  ‘Stop it, Jasmin. You got three warnings. There’s no negotiating here. No technology tomorrow. And if you get out of bed again, you’ll have no technology the day after that. So think twice before you throw back those covers …’

  ‘But Daddy … I can’t sleep. You have to help me.’ It’s as though she’s in another zone and didn’t hear a word I just said. And this is why consequences don’t work … She’s not rational when she gets like this.

  ‘Jasmin! Back to bed. Now.’

  I’m deliberately keeping my eyes averted from Sophie. I can’t expect her to take on this problem.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Jasmin shouts, her eyes wild, her arms and legs fidgeting like crazy. ‘I can’t help it. I’m sorry.’

  There is obviously no way my daughter is going to return to bed of her own accord. I don’t know if it’s the fact that she’s so worked up she can’t listen to reason, or that her willpower is in fact stronger than mine and her mother’s, but nothing will budge her when she gets like this.

  ‘Come on, I’ll go with you this time. But that’s it, Jasmin. I’ve had enough for one night.’

  We’re not meant to do this, escort her back to her bedroom, but after all my years in the army I know a losing battle when I see one.

  The atmosphere is tense by the time I get back to Sophie. I have no sooner sat down when there’s another thump.

  Sophie stands up. ‘This is exhausting … I’m going to bed.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ is all I can say.

  Jasmin gets up five more times and has lost a full week of technology before I give in and lie next to her on the bed.

  She’s distraught. Sobbing, shaking, saying sorry over and over again.

  ‘It’s all right, Jazzie.’ I put my arms around her and hold her tight. ‘It’s all right. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Go to sleep now.’

  But it’s easier said than done, getting this child to sleep. I know what Sophie is thinking. That Jasmin is doing this for attention. Or perhaps because she’s clingy and wants me or her mother close. If that’s the case, then why isn’t she asleep by now, having got what she supposedly wanted? Instead, it takes a good half-hour for her to wind down, to stop jerking and twisting and to stay still for any length of time. Once or twice, I think she’s almost there, then she jumps in my arms again, fighting until the very end. Damn it, Jasmin, you’ll be the undoing of me. I’m a captain in the Australian Defence Force, in charge of the daily activities, emotional welfare, qualifications and fitness of a hundred and twenty grown men. Some of them have drinking problems, marital issues, depression, post-traumatic stress … you name it. I deal with all their problems. I lead them and train them and discipline them when needed. So why is a nine-year-old girl, my own daughter, so difficult to fathom, to resolve, to get to conform?

  As a baby, she would sleep within moments of being cradled in my arms. I remember the day she was christened, the service in the barracks chapel, the christening font an old First World War helmet mounted on a stand. Jasmin slept through it all. She grimaced a little when the water was poured on her head but didn’t wake. We laughed, Chloe and me. We were already imagining the other babies we would have – at least another two or three of them – who might be christened in that same chapel, over that same metal helmet.

  Where did we go wrong? How did that sleepy baby turn into this girl who has somehow lost the art of falling asleep? Was it all the moving
around we did, all those different beds and bedrooms and houses? Or maybe it’s a symptom of Jasmin being an only child, and Chloe and I are being obtuse by not recognizing that this problem – at some complex level that is hidden by Jasmin’s outwardly sociable nature – is an extreme form of clinginess.

  Finally she’s asleep, and the twitching and jerking has eased. I could extract myself now, tiptoe from the room, and get into bed with Sophie. I know I shouldn’t stay here with her – both Sophie and Chloe would disapprove – but still I do exactly that.

  I’m sorry for leaving you, Jazzie. I’m so sorry. I’ve made things worse by not being there. We will fix this problem. We will. I promise you.

  24

  Sophie

  I tried really hard to be understanding, but seriously! A nine-year-old behaving like that? Up half the night, screaming and crying, running rings around her mother and father, and now me? It’s downright ridiculous. Aidan stayed with Jasmin all night. Then we started Sunday morning with an argument, a hissed exchange in our bedroom so that Jasmin, who was awake and reading in the spare room, wouldn’t hear.

  ‘You slept with her … How on earth does that help things?’

  ‘She was upset, Sophie. That was as bad as I’ve ever seen her, and it took ages to calm her down. I risked waking her if I left the room. I don’t think any of us could face the whole saga starting all over again.’

  Aidan looked awful: pale, tired, stressed.

  ‘I think you’re handling this all wrong.’

  ‘And what would you do differently?’ he asked, with a touch of sarcasm, which – given my sabotaged Saturday night – I did not appreciate.

  ‘I think you should put a lock on her bedroom door. That’s what I think.’

  To me, it seemed like the obvious fix, but Aidan looked aghast.

  ‘Lock her up?’

  ‘Lock her in.’

  ‘That’s cruel, Sophie.’

  ‘What’s cruel is that you and Chloe allow her to get away with this behaviour …’ Aidan’s face darkened. Perhaps I had gone too far. ‘Come on,’ I said, using a nicer tone. ‘It’s not as though her bedroom is a prison cell. She’s got a nice bed, books to read, her things around her. A lock would just stop her from opening the door and proceeding to upset everyone else’s night, that’s all. It seems pretty reasonable to me.’