by B M Carroll
Her eyes remain downcast. ‘They didn’t pay out.’
There are a number of reasons this could happen. Non-disclosure of a known condition. Alcohol or drug use. Dangerous or illegal activities.
Which one was it, Hannah?
I’m on the verge of asking. She’s on the verge of telling me. Then the moment is over and she has turned to leave, hopefully to finish off the product report.
43
Dee
Richard has lost weight. His suit jacket looks baggy and the trousers are practically falling down. This time last year, I would’ve teased him if he’d put on something so obviously ill-fitting. But my husband is a tenser, surlier man than this time last year, and I don’t think he’d be amused.
‘Maybe you should wear your grey one instead,’ I suggest tactfully.
I haven’t given any thought to what I’ll wear myself. It is a sombre matter, a sentencing hearing such as this. We’ve been told to expect some graphic photographs and potentially upsetting medical reports. We’ve been told, repeatedly, that it’s unlikely Aidan will be incarcerated, and yet it is disturbingly evident that this is what Richard is holding out for, pinning all his hopes on. I’m blue in the face from talking to him, from trying to make him see sense.
I spoke to Jacob on Sunday. Told him how concerned I was about his father.
‘The last twelve months have had an enormous impact on him. The shock, the grief, the readjustment … He isn’t the same man.’
There was a tell-tale pause before Jacob asked, ‘Do you think I should come down for the hearing?’
This was exactly what I wanted him to ask. ‘It would be wonderful if you could … Can you get the time off?’
‘It’s not easy. There’s a lot on next week, and I haven’t really given adequate notice.’ His excuses came embarrassingly easily. ‘How long will it take?’
‘A couple of hours. But we don’t know the exact start time. Depends how the hearing before us goes.’
‘Pity. If you were first up, I might get away with taking only a half-day. As it is …’
Then I had to ask myself if it was worth the hassle with Jacob’s work. I want my entire family present, supporting each other, but at the same time the hearing is nothing more than a formality: we’re not expecting any surprises.
‘What will we do about Dad?’
‘Oh, Jacob, I’m worried about him, you know that. But I’m sure the hearing will be a turning point and he’ll start to improve. Don’t say a word, but I’ve been looking at a little get-away for us. North Queensland, I think. Somewhere that’s tranquil and beautiful, somewhere he can reset himself, get back on track.’
‘Sounds like a good idea, Mum. I’ll see what I can do about getting off work, but don’t expect too much.’
‘You can only try,’ I said, forgiving him already because I knew, as did he, that he wouldn’t be there.
Richard isn’t the only one I’m worried about. Sophie looked positively ill when she called round yesterday: deathly pale, haggard in the face, purplish shadows under her eyes. She’d been at a Fair Work Commission hearing earlier in the week, and it had obviously taken a lot out of her. Apparently the employee involved – Jane someone – had resigned of her own free will and had later regretted her impulsiveness, claiming that the resignation was coerced due to sustained bullying.
‘Nonsense,’ Richard said.
‘A total waste of time and energy,’ Sophie agreed, pulling out a chair to sit down on. Because I was watching her closely I noticed how she winced at the movement, her mouth emitting a soundless gasp, her eyes momentarily shutting. ‘But I still had to go up on that witness stand and defend myself. It was exhausting. Physically and emotionally.’
The hearing was emphatically decided in Sophie’s favour, which was good news. I listened in as she recounted further details to Richard, something about a funeral and some sort of misunderstanding. I was relieved that Sophie’s name had been cleared but found myself wondering about this woman, Jane, and her side of the story. Then I felt that traitorous niggle again. The same one I had when we sat in the headmistress’s office all those years ago.
I come back to the present as Richard re-emerges from the bedroom in the grey suit.
‘That’s much better,’ I say cheerfully, even though the difference is only very slight.
Three more days to go. Like everyone involved, I just want to get it over with. Richard will buck up as soon as it’s behind us, as soon as he realizes that not even a court of law is on his side. A small holiday, a few days away together, will help get him back to his old self.
Aidan
‘Jazzie, Daddy is going to court tomorrow, and the judge is going to decide my punishment for crashing into Sophie’s car.’
The three of us are sitting around the weathered table on the deck, and the setting has strong echoes of the night when I told Jasmin that I was going to move out. It’s even possible that we’re sitting in the exact same positions, with me at the head of the table, Jasmin to my left and Chloe to my right. Just like then, Jasmin’s eyes instantly fill with tears.
‘Is the judge going to send you to jail?’ Her question ends in a wail.
Those watery brown eyes are demanding honesty and nothing less. ‘There’s a very small chance I’ll have to go to prison. But only if I get a really strict judge.’
‘But you’ve said sorry.’
I lean across to hug her, calm her down.
‘Yes, I have. I’ve said sorry to Sophie and to the police and to everyone who has been affected by my careless driving. And hopefully the judge will be happy with my apology.’
It takes some time to reassure her, to curb the tears and deal with the hiccupped questions (Can you Skype from prison? Will you have a telly? Will you share your room with someone else? Can you take any of your things with you? How long can visitors stay?). Finally, she runs out of things to ask and slumps in her seat.
‘Time to go upstairs and start getting ready for bed,’ Chloe interjects. She sounds incredibly tired, as though she’s yearning for bed herself.
Jasmin goes without a murmur, and then I embark on my second big task for the night. The envelope is in the inside pocket of my jacket. I place it on the table between us.
‘What’s that?’ Chloe asks warily.
‘Bank details. My computer login and passwords. Some phone numbers, including Jack’s. And I’ve organized a Power of Attorney.’
I have a similar envelope for Sophie, which I’ll give to her when I get home.
Chloe makes a yelping sound. ‘You don’t seriously think …’
‘Hey now, of course I don’t. This is all precautionary … There’s something else, Chlo, something I need to tell you, to be honest about, in case we’re not going to see each other for a while, or be in the position to talk privately …’
She’s wary again. ‘What?’
Last night’s dream had me digging frantically in the debris of a freshly bombed building. A baby’s wail, faint, heartbreakingly vulnerable, could be heard beneath the mounds of shattered stone, timber and roof tiles. My hands were cut to shreds, my arms ached, but I continued to fling the rubble to either side of me. But the hole I was digging with my bare hands kept filling up again. The baby’s cries got fainter and fainter until I could hear nothing at all. When I woke my body was drenched with sweat and dread and sadness.
‘The embryos, our babies … They’re constantly on my mind. I want you to know that.’
‘Me too,’ Chloe says.
‘When this is over, I think we should go for a drink, or out for dinner, to talk it through some more, to make sure we do the right thing and make a decision we can both live with.’
Her smile is shaky. ‘It’s a date …’
Jasmin, dressed in very cute Dalmatian-print pyjamas, reappears in record time.
‘Right, young lady.’ My chair scrapes the deck as I push it back. ‘Let’s get to work.’
I briefly rest my hand on Chl
oe’s shoulder as I pass. She takes a sharp, surprised breath. Then Jasmin and I go inside, get down on the floor and begin lifting ourselves up and down to my count.
Jasmin
I’m really, really scared. Daddy might go to jail for a few months. It’s not fair. Daddy is not a bad person. He doesn’t belong in jail. There are lots of bad and mean people in there who might hurt him. And he’ll be lonely, because we’re only allowed really short visits.
Dad tucks me in and kisses me goodnight. I pretend, for his sake, that I’ve gone straight to sleep, but as soon as I hear the front door – about half an hour later – I go downstairs.
‘I can’t sleep. I’m too worried.’
Mum doesn’t look surprised to see me. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying, like me.
‘Back to bed now, Jasmin. Daddy doesn’t want you to worry.’
I go back upstairs, climb into bed and try really hard to lie still. My body is all twitchy and it’s really soon before I’m up again.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I need some help.’
She gives me a tired, unenthusiastic look. ‘Some extra push-ups, then. Come on, me too.’
We do fifteen extra push-ups, I go to the toilet and then I go back to bed. Amelia’s mum is taking me to school in the morning. Should I tell her what’s happening? Should I tell my other friends? What about Mrs Stanley? What if I get teased? What if people think my dad’s a real criminal, when all he did was make a mistake? That’s mean of me, thinking of myself when I should be thinking about Daddy.
I’m feeling ashamed and upset when I go downstairs again.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m really, really sorry. I’m just wondering if I should tell Mrs Stanley?’
Mum sighs. ‘Let’s see what happens first. Let’s say nothing and hope for the best. Happy with that plan?’
‘OK … What time is it?’
Mum’s sigh is louder. ‘Getting stressed about the time doesn’t help, Jasmin.’
Back into bed. The blankets are annoying my toes. I move my foot around, trying to get comfortable. I am not sleepy. Not one little bit. I’m alert. I like that word. It sounds the same as what it means.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I really can’t sleep tonight. My brain is wide awake.’
I’m expecting her to get really cross now. Because I’ve been up four times. This is my worst night in ages.
But she doesn’t get cross. ‘I’m worried about tomorrow too, Jazz. Come on, I’ll take you up.’
Mum lies on the bed next to me and hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe.
I don’t want to go to Amelia’s in the morning. I want to go to the court, to see what happens. No, I don’t want to go to the court, because what if Daddy gets a Really Strict Judge? I’m really, really, really scared that he’ll go to jail. I’m petrified. I’m frantic. I wish I could delete the accident, make it go away.
‘Shush,’ Mum whispers every time I jerk.
She keeps holding me really, really tight until we fall asleep together.
44
Sophie
We’re here. We’re finally here, at the finish line. I catch Aidan’s eye and give him a nervous smile. The last few weeks have been unbearably tense.
The magistrate enters the court room and everyone stands. He’s a grandfatherly type: portly, balding, a gentle face. He doesn’t seem the sort to send anyone to prison, least of all Aidan.
Ford, Aidan’s lawyer, introduces himself. ‘Your Honour, a plea has been entered on an earlier occasion and the matter is to proceed to sentence.’
‘Indeed, it is,’ the magistrate says. ‘Are there any additional documents?’
There are a surprising number of additional documents. The police approach the bench with the agreed facts and some further medical reports, and the defence hand up some character references. Silence (tense and strangely devoid of the soft coughs, sniffs and sighs which are the usual waiting sounds) descends while the magistrate reads the paperwork. I try to catch Aidan’s eye again, but he is staring straight ahead, sombre and upright in his army uniform.
‘Does Mr Ford wish to be heard?’ the magistrate asks.
Mr Ford does wish to be heard. He launches into a well-rehearsed speech, focusing on what he calls the subjective facts. Aidan’s lawyer is confident, articulate and very persuasive; Aidan is in good hands. While he listens, the magistrate looks around the room, studying the faces before him and no doubt matching them to the relevant names. His eyes seem to linger on Chloe before finally turning to me.
Ford is now talking about mitigating factors, something I am familiar with from the insurance industry. ‘On the morning in question, Captain Ryan and his wife were on their way to an appointment at a fertility clinic, where Mrs Ryan was scheduled to be inseminated with a thawed embryo …’
What? I believed they’d been on their way to a routine doctor’s appointment. Why am I finding this out now? I frown at Aidan, but he isn’t looking my way. Chloe wipes her face with her hand. Is she fucking crying? Seriously?
‘I’d like to draw Your Honour’s attention to the psychiatric assessment submitted to the bench,’ Ford continues, and I tell myself that the reason they were in the car is irrelevant. I must concentrate on what Ford is saying. ‘Captain Ryan was suffering from stress on a number of fronts: he and his wife’s fertility problems, concerns for his daughter, who has trouble sleeping, and of course flashbacks of certain traumatic, job-related incidents.’
Ford sits down and then the police make their submissions, putting an emphasis on the gravity of the injuries. ‘The various medical reports describe the injuries in graphic detail: the chest bone was ripped apart, the lungs punctured, various ribs were broken … but the worst effect has been the nerve damage. Unfortunately, nerves don’t heal as well as bones do, and the full impact can be hard for everyone here today to grasp, because we can’t see it. By all accounts, Miss McCarthy has spent the last year in a great deal of pain.’
The magistrate nods sympathetically. He obviously understands the insidious nature of invisible, everyday pain that is virtually non-existent to everyone but the sufferer. ‘Does Miss McCarthy have a victim impact statement she can read to the court?’
The police sergeant looks uncomfortable. ‘Your Honour, Miss McCarthy has asked me to point out that the victim impact statement was written several months ago, and doesn’t reflect her changed personal circumstances …’
The magistrate clears his throat. ‘Yes, indeed. Miss McCarthy is now in a relationship with Captain Ryan.’ There is a worrying note of incredulousness in his tone. Chloe actually flinches at this point. ‘But I still believe it beneficial for Miss McCarthy to read the statement aloud to the court.’
Dad, who hasn’t been in my direct line of view, gives me an encouraging smile when I stand up to speak. Someone from the prosecution table hands me a copy of the statement. Somebody muffles a cough. It’s the only sound in the court room.
‘Every morning, even before I open my eyes, I feel pain. Even though many of my injuries have essentially healed, it is now clear that the residual pain is never going to go away, and that my life is never going to be quite the same, and that I will never go back to the way I was.’ My voice is assured and remarkably clear. Everyone seems to be listening intently. ‘What was I before the accident? Well, I was healthy. I was fit. I had a demanding job that I loved and could throw myself into. I was a young woman who didn’t know what it felt like to be in constant pain, who didn’t realize how debilitating pain can be, how it can lead you to the very depths of depression and affect not only your physical abilities but your mind too, which is worse, really. This accident has taken so much away from me. My confidence, my fitness, my relationship at the time, not to mention my career, which I can’t pursue with nearly the same vigour as I used to.’ I stop, glance at the magistrate, then across at the defence table, to Aidan. Our eyes meet for what feels like a long time. ‘Your Honour, a lot has happened since I wrote this statement. I now know that Captain Ryan i
s not a negligent person – in fact, he is quite the opposite. I can also attest to the remorse he feels for what happened that day, and how he has done everything he practically can to make up for it. In my opinion, Captain Ryan has suffered too. Just like me, he will never be the same again. If I am dogged by pain for the rest of my life, he will be dogged by guilt … And I know this fact for certain: if Your Honour sentences Captain Ryan to the maximum penalties, it will only hurt me even further. Thank you.’
I have another brief glimpse of Mum and Dad as I sit back down again. Mum is dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Dad looks livid. He wants Aidan to suffer. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth: he wants the punishment to match the injury. But, seriously, what did he expect? I love Aidan. Of course I’m going to plead for leniency. Dad is delusional to think otherwise.
The police sergeant makes his concluding remarks. ‘Your Honour, we believe that the seriousness of the offence warrants a custodial sentence … The range of penalties being imposed by the courts for cases like this are clearly inadequate and fail to reflect the long-term effects of the injuries sustained … Leniency should not be afforded on the basis of the offender’s good character …’
It’s the prosecution’s job to call for a custodial sentence. Just because it’s called for doesn’t mean it will be given. Aidan and I must keep calm. Hopefully the magistrate is a reasonable man.
The magistrate looks down at his notes for a few long moments. When he looks up again, his gaze fixes on Aidan. ‘The offender, Captain Aidan Patrick Ryan, is presented for sentence, having pleaded guilty to the following charges: For that he, on 18 May 2017, at Randwick, did negligently drive a motor vehicle on Anzac Parade, thereby causing grievous bodily harm to Sophie Elizabeth McCarthy. The prosecution is brought under section 117(1) (b) of the Road Transport Act 2013, which provides, relevantly, for present purposes: a person must not drive a motor vehicle negligently on a road or road-related area. Maximum penalty, if the driving occasions grievous bodily harm, twenty penalty units, or imprisonment for nine months, or both.’