by Anne Buist
‘A zoo car, perhaps?’ asked Malik.
‘The tiger is going away,’ said Chris. A few minutes later he had a train running around the track, tiger onboard, shouting in delight.
The two looked like an advertisement for fatherhood. Natalie’s stomach clenched. What she knew about fatherhood hadn’t come from experience but from textbooks: reciprocity, joy, positive expectations…and she’d seen Malik put up appropriate boundaries. Maybe Malik was acting, but Chris was three. Even if he knew he was being watched, he wouldn’t know which boxes he was meant to be ticking—and he seemed to be ticking them all. Malik was providing to Chris what his father had perhaps given to him before he died—a stable, caring role model who was helping him build his self-esteem. It went against every ounce of Natalie’s intuition to believe that he could do this for one child and abuse another.
But Chelsea was a girl. And he hadn’t been there when she was a baby. Was that enough to make the difference?
When it was time to clean up, Malik remained in the chair, encouraging like a cheerleader. Chris completed the entire task then grabbed his father’s hand to drag him out—and on to their next adventure.
14
‘I couldn’t fault him.’ Natalie was feeling frustrated.
Declan scratched the bridge of his nose where skin was peeling; he’d been bushwalking and must have forgotten the sunblock. ‘Maybe that’s because he’s doing a good job.’
‘With Chris, he is.’
Natalie thought back to the contrast in how the two parents had handled him. Took a sip of tea—English Breakfast today.
‘Chris isn’t the problem—with the right parenting, he can settle quickly. His behaviours are a response to his mother. Jenna seems frightened of Chris; she certainly isn’t taking an adult role. He picks that up, and he’s scared too, because when she’s around there seems to be no adult in the room. And rather than be good—perhaps like his sister was—he does the boy thing and acts out of control.’
‘Which Jenna interprets as anger.’
Natalie nodded. ‘Her own father was—is—the patriarch, and she let Malik run things when they first got together. But she’s grown a lot, I think. Malik couldn’t cope with her need for independence, and she couldn’t cope with either him or Chris trying to boss her around.’ Natalie frowned. ‘She did stand up to Malik though, and left him.’ Albeit with some histrionics.
‘She may fear that if she takes charge with Chris he won’t love her.’
‘That fits—she felt that when he said he hated her, he really meant it. Which upset her. Her fear of not being loved didn’t keep her with Malik, though. I wonder why not?’ Natalie could see Declan was going to wait for her to make sense of it. He took a bite of the homemade ginger biscuits that were on offer—Natalie had already had two.
‘Okay, possibly it did,’ Natalie continued, ‘but something shifted; and that something has to be that she needed above all to protect her child.’
Not all women in similar circumstances had been able to do what Jenna had; too often they turned a blind eye, consciously or subconsciously. Natalie had been involved in one case where the mother had stood by her husband even after he had fathered a child with their daughter. In the face of DNA proof, the mother had chosen to see her daughter as some kind of temptress. At fourteen.
Whatever shortcomings Jenna had in managing Chris, she made up for it with her willingness to protect her daughter.
‘You don’t think she’s lying about the abuse?’
‘Not deliberately. But that doesn’t mean she’s right. Sixty–forty as to whether there’s a basis or not. Jenna’s complicated; obsessional…but with some borderline and histrionic features too. I wondered if she might be a little jealous of Chelsea’s relationship with Malik.’
Declan rotated his glasses around in one hand. ‘It would fit with the sense of the hysteric in Jenna. What was her relationship with her father like?’
‘Better than with her mother; he took her to things, a bit like Malik seems to have done with Chelsea. But I sense it wasn’t close. Maybe he was the unemotional patriarch type, or maybe just because he was away a lot—probably to escape the alcoholic wife. He’s still involved, trying to support her.’
‘You’re seeing both parents with Chelsea as well?’
‘Yes, though I’m not sure what I’ll get out of it. Eight-year-olds aren’t exactly my strong suit.’
‘You’re not assessing Chelsea, rather her relationship with her parents. Just look for how comfortable she is with them. Their willingness to let her talk. A sense of the dynamics. Whether Jenna is prompting or pushing her in one direction, Malik in the other.’
‘I have nothing on Malik that suggests he’s abusive. I’ve heard him get angry at Jenna, but that’s hardly diagnostic. His father…died young. He suffered with PTSD. Ama—Malik’s mother—saw the father as weak.’
‘So Malik has a need to prove himself?
‘Probably, though he says all the right things. It makes sense of why he liked Jenna needing him. But I have no evidence that he’s so invested in the need for domination he could justify the abuse of a child. And he was very credible when he said he didn’t.’
Declan looked at her over his glasses. ‘Credible because it is the truth? Or because he’s a psychopath?’
Natalie closed her eyes, tried to relive what it felt like to be with Malik.
Around one per cent of the population could be classified as psychopaths. Often intelligent, frequently charming. Usually good liars. They weren’t all obviously cold-hearted—the more successful ones had learnt to read others’ cues and feelings in order to use them more effectively. In the past, she had been alerted by a sixth sense, a feeling that something was a little off.
Could Malik have fooled her? She was sure she’d seen some genuine emotion. But then psychopaths did feel emotions—just not for other people.
‘At times, he was kind of pathetic,’ said Natalie. ‘He whines when things don’t go his way.’
Declan took a biscuit. ‘You don’t have to like him for him to be innocent.’
‘There’s a bit of “poor me” about him at times. I think Jenna becoming more assertive and confident undermines his sense of self—and fragile narcissism would fit with an abuser profile. The “all about me” and no regard for his children’s needs and fears.’ Maybe his dad was weak—like father like son.
‘Does anything in his background meet criteria for narcissism or psychopathy?’
‘Not really,’ Natalie said, partly wishing it had. She liked pieces to fit together and this jigsaw was more like she had two different puzzles mixed up together. ‘I pushed his mother as hard as I could. She’s obviously going to try and make him look good but short of calling Egypt she’s the only person I can check with. The only thing was a not-great relationship history—only one former girlfriend back in Egypt. I had the sense he may have got paranoid about her too. He certainly crossed the line as far as I’m concerned in checking Jenna’s phone records and watching her at work.’ She thought of Okeke. ‘I wonder how much is cultural?’
‘You’re not assessing his culture—you’re only assessing whether he is a good enough parent for this culture.’ He walked over to his bookcase, and went straight to a volume on child psychiatry. ‘Winnicott says it best, though Jude Cassidy has a nice way with words too.’ He looked up. ‘I’m here for you, and you’re worth it. Which is to say, does the parent you’re assessing see their child’s individual needs and provide them with unconditional love and support? This is independent of gender, race and age.’
Did either Malik or Jenna, really? Wasn’t there too much of their own relationship, their own issues getting in the way? A thought of the bean flashed into her mind, and she shook her head. She couldn’t let her shit get in the way.
‘How about the intrusive checking, monitoring—evidence for insecurity and need to control? Not the sort of thing that you’d want in a father,’ Natalie said.
�
�But how do you know he would do that with a daughter? And is it really enough to stop access?’
If that was the standard, half the parents she saw wouldn’t get to see their children.
Declan patted her hand. ‘You aren’t Solomon, Natalie. Let the judge make the decision—just give her what you see and don’t see, and an evaluation of the risks.’
Natalie had gone out on a limb before for her patients, at the risk of breaching ethical guidelines or even the law. She had a sinking feeling that this case might push her to do it again.
She thought of Jenna’s plea: how could she possibly let Malik have Chelsea if there was any risk?
‘And Natalie?’ Declan looked pensive, usually not a good sign. She waited. ‘Have you seen your mother yet?’
Natalie stifled a retort. She knew Declan had her welfare in mind, and was concerned she wasn’t adequately supported. But her family—her business.
She took a breath. ‘No, but I will.’ Eventually.
Liam turned up late to the Saturday gig at the Halfpenny. Saturday was his son James’s sports day: the kid was in his second year of high school and seemed to be aiming for the Olympic decathlon if the number of his after-school activities was any indication. On top of soccer and cricket, depending on the season.
Natalie quashed the resentment. Liam was a great dad, and if he wasn’t asking after the bean, that was okay for the moment. She didn’t want any man sticking around with her because of a baby. But she needed to fight for its right to have a dad. She couldn’t help but want something better for her own child than she’d had.
Liam was smiling at her, and she winked and sashayed her butt as she sang. There was only a small crowd but it was an enthusiastic one. A guy up the front yelled, ‘I’ll have a bit of that, luv.’ She laughed and called back: ‘In your dreams,’ in between verses. She was feeling good.
After the last set, she found Liam at the main bar.
‘You still going to do that with a belly?’
‘Any business of yours?’
Liam shrugged, turned back to his drink. She could tell from the way his eyes dropped at the corners that this wasn’t his first whiskey of the evening. He smelled of booze and cigarettes.
‘You been working?’
‘Tania’s been helping me put together one of the Royal Commission cases they’ve recommended prosecuting.’
The pert Tania Perkins, his co-counsel. He was sounding more stressed than she’d ever seen him before. Was it that he was essentially doing two jobs? Or Tania?
‘Tania smoke, does she?’
‘Tania?’ He frowned. ‘No. Jealous?’
‘Should she be?’ They both turned to look at who was speaking. Neither of them had seen Damian approach. His expression gave nothing away—apart from a possible desire to flatten Liam.
Shit. When she’d told Damian she wasn’t in a relationship with Liam it had been true. Now, less so. Liam’s mask was in place, the slightly amused expression he wore as he ripped people to shreds in court.
‘Good to see you’re still on water,’ said Damian.
Natalie stiffened. ‘I haven’t had the test yet.’ She was past ten weeks now.
‘Amnio, right?’ Damian was looking at Liam as he spoke.
‘I think technology has improved lately,’ said Liam. Natalie hadn’t discussed it with Liam, but wasn’t surprised he knew it was all down to a blood test. Damn men and their pissing contests.
‘I’ll send you the information,’ said Natalie, grabbing her jacket. ‘You’ll need to give some blood.’ Natalie waved goodbye to Vince, who had clearly overheard the exchange. He was watching them as if he was wondering how much it would cost to have a hit man knock off both Liam and Damian.
Liam caught up with her by the time she turned into her laneway.
‘So, who’s the smoker?’ Natalie asked without looking at him.
‘Lauren. She says I drove her back to it.’
‘Ah.’ He was seeing Lauren? Didn’t they just hand the kids over like batons? Natalie vaguely recalled Liam had been trying to get his ex-wife to sit down and sort some of the details out. ‘How did it go?’
‘Great. If negotiating with Medusa is your idea of fun. Think you’ve got one thing sorted and she comes from a totally different, illogical angle.’
‘You did marry her.’
Liam looked miserable. Shrugged. Work was getting him down, but the more Natalie was seeing him, the more she thought the problems on the home front were the root cause of his stress. Lauren might not ever have been the sort of wife that put his slippers out for him but, until Natalie, they’d found a way of making their lives work.
Natalie felt a fresh wave of guilt. As much as she wanted him she wondered, if she could go back in time, whether she would have done things differently. Would they be able to find a way to make it work together? For him, her, his kids—including the bean. They reached her warehouse and Liam poured himself a whiskey while she got herself another water.
‘Any progress with the kid arrangements?’
‘No.’ Liam paused, couldn’t bring his eyes to meet hers. ‘She knows—suspects—I’m seeing you.’
‘And?’
‘To paraphrase: “Let her anywhere near the kids and I’ll tie you up in court for the next ten years.”’
‘Can she do that?’
‘Over money? Probably. Custody? Maybe. Her lawyer has already sent me a list of blatantly ridiculous requests. Doesn’t seem to have heard of no-fault divorce.’ Liam swallowed some more whiskey. ‘She’s going to turn the kids against me.’
‘They’re teenagers, or near enough. They aren’t stupid. They can work it out for themselves.’
‘Before they’re thirty?’
Natalie didn’t answer that—she still had father issues at thirty-four.
Liam changed the subject. ‘I spent most of the day talking to one of the witnesses for the commission.’ He downed a slug. ‘Or at least we hope he will be. He can help us put away a schoolteacher who’s been abusing kids for years—but it’s all down to him. The other victims are either dead by car accidents and suicide or too alcohol or drug affected to be any use. Or they’re unwilling to testify. Without Michael’s testimony the guy gets to keep hurting kids. But he’s one of yours, I’m afraid.’
Natalie raised an eyebrow. ‘I take it you mean he has a psychiatric illness. The witness or the teacher?’
‘Witness. Been in and out of hospitals since he was a teen. You’re going to tell me that was caused by the abuse, right?’
‘More than likely.’
Liam ran his hand through his hair. ‘I don’t get it. He was in a home. Got beaten regularly. Not great—you know from my background how not great I really think that is—’
Natalie knew about Liam’s da’. The Irish stereotype: get drunk; beat the wife and any kids that got in the way; repeat.
‘It’s just that…’ Liam struggled for words; unusual for him. ‘I got beaten and I got through it. Sure, it had an effect on me but not…Well, Michael can barely hold a conversation without bursting into tears.’
‘For one thing, Michael isn’t you,’ said Natalie. ‘We all come into the world with vulnerabilities, and if you’re lucky, some resilience—kind of depends then what type of shit goes down. What family are there for you. Roll of the dice stuff. If you’re unlucky, you encounter what you are least equipped to deal with at the most vulnerable time.
‘Trauma as a kid can have a really toxic effect. You haven’t formed yet, you haven’t worked out who you are. Your stress levels spike easily and that actually makes chemical changes in the brain. Kind of a psychic scar with a physical basis. But it doesn’t just make you anxious or depressed, the way it would if it happened as an adult—like with the war veterans. It actually shapes your personality—who you are, how you think, how you behave.’
Liam looked into his glass, probably hoping it would refill itself.
‘The other thing in the mix,’ Natalie added, ‘
is who does the abuse, how often, and the severity—it all plays a part. And whether your mother stood around and let it happen.’ She thought of Chelsea. A father figure as the sexual abuser, someone who was trusted, and who was there in the home where the child needed to regroup and feel totally safe, was the worst of the options. Mother excepted.
Family abuse created toxic relationships and mistrust for the rest of the child’s life. Jenna had at least got Malik out of the home, but the sense of home itself would have been ruptured.
‘Sexual abuse,’ added Natalie, ‘adds an extra twist to the betrayal—and is even harder for a child to make sense of. It can distort all their future intimate relationships.’
‘So why was your boyfriend there tonight?’
Christ almighty, had he been listening to anything she had said? Was this what he’d been stewing over? ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Keeping his options open I suppose.’
We were good together, he’d said. Should she have waited until the test before letting Liam back in her life? Seemed only she was sure the baby was his—though Damian couldn’t really have much hope the one in a million chance would come through. She’d burnt her bridges with him now.
Liam rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. ‘Think his preference would have been to deck me.’
Natalie suddenly just didn’t want to deal with this; she had enough of her own problems without the men in her life behaving like adolescents.
‘I need to borrow your car.’
Liam looked up. ‘The Lotus?’
‘If you have another car I don’t know about then I’ll take that. I need to go to Sunday lunch with my family tomorrow.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You can join me if you don’t trust my driving.’
She watched Liam wrestle with the answer. ‘Do you want me to come?’
‘All I asked for was the car,’ Natalie said. Wondering even before she had finished why she couldn’t just say yes.
15
Natalie had managed to avoid the family Sunday lunch for most of the year while she was in hospital with depression and then living down the coast recuperating. She’d been back over a month now; as Declan had reminded her, she couldn’t delay it any longer. At least in the Lotus the drive out to Warrandyte, on the outskirts of Melbourne’s east, was kind of fun—although if there were speed cameras on the freeway, the car’s owner was not going to thank her.