by Anne Buist
Pearl Salter @PearlS: Psychs easy to fool for one hour a week—out of 168. Mothers see the other 167. #SaveOurKids
The insider was back:
Liza R@lizar82: Good article but why don’t you tell us Professor testified that ‘father’ is a psychopath? #PsychBitch way less qualified.
And My Bitchin Rules @MyBitchinRules, was back too, replying to Liza R: Stepfather, psycho, Muslim. 3 strikes but they give him the kids. Average white guy (me) has to fight for 3 years for weekends.
Apart from Liza R—who could be anyone from the court clerk to Winona’s best friend’s cousin’s workmate—the tweeters seemed to know little about the case in question—it had just set them off on airing their own grievances.
‘Do you follow this sh…stuff?’ Natalie went in search of Beverley who was busying herself sorting files.
‘It keeps me in touch,’ said Beverley, not looking at her. ‘I like to know what’s happening.’
This wasn’t the sort of happening Natalie had any interest in. ‘It’s all bullshit.’
‘You get a lot of that too,’ Beverley conceded.
Natalie was grateful that the College and the Medical Board were even less likely than her to be following Twitter.
‘Feel free to reply on my behalf,’ said Natalie. She thought of all the people involved in the Essa case. With the possible exception of Wadhwa they were just trying to do their best in an imperfect world. Even if Jenna had fabricated a story, she had done so—at least in part—to protect her children.
‘What exactly do you think I should say?’ Beverley paused from her filing.
‘That they should all get a life,’ said Natalie. She turned off her phone. But the sense of outrage stayed with her all day.
24
Royal Commission work had taken Liam to the country for several days. ‘I’m over curry and pub food.’ He was on his hands-free as he drove back along the freeway. ‘I’ll pick you up; let’s eat out.’
That meant his local French bistro, France-Soir, near his apartment on the other side of town, where they were served by lean Frenchmen, skilled multi-taskers with accents nearly as sexy as Liam’s. They delivered the best French onion soup and fries she’d ever eaten.
‘Aren’t you meant to have a steak with the fries?’ Liam asked.
‘Nope. This bean must be vegetarian. I’m all kale and Brussels sprouts now.’
Liam looked at her. ‘You doing okay?’
‘Better than you; you look like you haven’t slept in the last three days.’ She took a breath. ‘I had the blood test today. They’re just waiting on you.’
She’d run out of excuses; when she admitted it was fear that was stopping her, she had gone straight to the pathology lab.
Liam poured himself another glass of red. He’d ordered a bottle and had already demolished half. ‘Your boyfriend already done his?’
‘Damian. He texted me to say he had.’
Liam nodded, took a slug. ‘He seems to think there’s more chance it’s his than you do.’
‘Wishful thinking. He said he had been told he and his wife had a chance of one in a million without intervention.’
Liam looked at her. ‘He’s in love with you, you know.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘He came to see me.’
Natalie stared. ‘He…? And you didn’t tell me?’
Liam shrugged. ‘It was just before I went away.’
Natalie crossed her arms. Waited.
‘He just wanted to make a point.’
‘And that point was?’
‘That children are better off with their parents.’
Jesus. ‘Let’s just wait until the result, okay? Then we can get on…Just get the test, Liam.’
Liam nodded. Neither of them needed any extra grief.
‘How was the hearing?’ Natalie asked.
‘These stories…’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
Liam thought he was tough. But hearing stories of abuse in graphic detail, one after another, took a different sort of toughness. And expertise. The legal profession was being thrown into this without the benefit of her training—and without having someone like Declan to debrief them. But Liam did have her. This was what they did well together—their work, their passions, bouncing everything off each other.
‘Tell me about them.’
Liam shook his head. ‘Aren’t pregnant women meant to be wrapped in cottonwool?’
Natalie laughed. ‘Do you think pregnancy is going to give me a personality change?’
‘I’d rather drown the memory of them than talk about it.’
‘Like your dad?’
Liam stilled. Put his glass down. ‘I am not my father.’
‘No. But you’re too busy being tough to allow yourself to be human.’
Liam swilled the wine in his glass. ‘Not sure that talking helps. I know it’s what you do, but…’ He shrugged. ‘Michael has agreed to testify, which is great. But every time he talks about what was done to him…seems to make him more vulnerable. Like he just relives the pain.’
‘That may be in part because it’s been bottled up for years and years. And because it happened when he was a child, stole his innocence. You bottling it up…’ Natalie shrugged. ‘You’ll explode. Booze kills you in all sorts of ways, not just the way it made your father die in your eyes.’
‘This what it’s like being on your couch?’
‘Truth hurts. And it will hurt Michael too. Retraumatising him before it liberates him and helps him move on. Has he got supports?’
‘His parents are dead. Has a sister, some friends through the survivor-support organisation.’
‘Encourage him to use them.’
Liam nodded. ‘Exercise is meant to help, isn’t it?’
‘Help what? Stress? Yes.’
Liam grinned. ‘Good. I know what I need instead of talk.’
From the look, Natalie didn’t think they’d be waiting around for dessert.
But it turned out there were more urgent matters to deal with. James, Liam’s son, was sitting on his doorstep waiting for them when they got back. He looked like he’d had a growth spurt that his weight had yet to catch up with.
Liam hesitated but only for a fraction of a second. ‘Hey mate, what’s up?’
James looked miserable. When he saw them—or rather, Natalie—his expression turned to defiance. He looked at his dad. ‘I want to move in with you.’
25
Natalie realised quickly that she wasn’t wanted, and moved to listen from the next room.
James had kick-started his teenage years with O’Shea flair. Lauren had caught the boy drinking, hadn’t been impressed with James’s arguments about why he should be allowed to and read him the riot act. Liam, after talking to Lauren on the phone, hadn’t been any happier than her. James and his friends had raided the liquor cabinet and one of them had thrown up everywhere.
Natalie’s mind wandered as she waited for Liam to resolve the issue with James. She pulled out her phone and fired up Twitter. She did need to know. Not like Beverley, to ‘stay in touch with the world’; she needed to know what these idiots were saying about her. About Malik.
#SaveOurKids was still going strong. Did Beverley tweet under her own name? Natalie did a search and couldn’t find her. She did a search for #PsychBitch and any chance of sleep, already looking unlikely, vanished. Eighty-two tweets.
Kevin R Moor @kevinrmoor: abusive parents need to be sterilised, stop wasting taxpayers money on this shit #PsychBitch.
Jamie Z @easyzee: #PsychBitch medication made me zombie.
Kids Really Matter @KidsReallyMatter: Most psychiatrists madder than their patients #PsychBitch.
‘PsychBitch’ seemed to be any and every female mental health professional who’d made a decision that their patient disagreed with. Wasn’t exactly uncommon in her field. Nothing about Natalie—yet it was unsettling.
It was after midnight before Liam came to bed.
‘So, is he going to stay here for a while?’
‘Probably better he lets her cool off for a few days. But I’m not around enough after school for him to live here, and given the drinking issue—Jesus, he’s only thirteen—he needs some supervision. Not that Lauren is any better at that—she’s going to get her mother to be there after school for next week.’ He slipped in under the sheets. ‘And she couldn’t resist a like father like son comment.’
Ouch.
‘At least…’ He stopped himself.
‘At least what?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘At least what, Liam?’
Liam sighed. ‘At least James is unlikely to risk any further drama by telling Lauren you’re here.’
Natalie watched the shadows on the ceiling. She was wide awake and doubted she’d sleep anyway. ‘You need to keep the issue of Lauren and you separate from you and your children.’
‘I don’t need a lecture. Lauren’s already given me one for the night.’ Liam was tired, irritable.
Natalie knew she should leave it alone, but suddenly the whole avoidance of talking about their relationship, tiptoeing around Lauren—it just wasn’t okay.
‘So your plan is to hide me? Like you’re still married to Lauren, just living apart?’
‘Don’t be stupid. It’s just…I need to sort out the money, the access, everything first.’
‘Actually, you’re right,’ Natalie said quietly. She got out of bed and started to get dressed.
‘Natalie, for Christ’s sake get back into bed.’
She ignored him.
‘Natalie, it’s late. We both need to sleep.’
‘And I will, Liam. At my place.’ Natalie turned to him, surprised at how calm she felt. ‘I’d like to be able to help, even if it was just supporting you, but I can’t. I really, really don’t want to come between you and your kids. But I can barely help myself at the moment, and that’s who I need to put first. Me and the bean.’
She wasn’t really angry at him, just tired. ‘You probably don’t want my advice, but James came to you because he respects you. He needs a role model who is true to himself. Be calm and rational with Lauren, but don’t give away part of yourself—because that’s just as likely to lose the kids as it is to keep them.’
She kissed him, and stepped back quickly before he could stop her. ‘I think we need to wait until things are sorted out before we see each other again. I mean really sorted out. Get your test—I’ll ring you when I get the result.’
He was calling her back, and as she left the building he was on the balcony, towel around his waist saying he’d drive her, but she was already flagging down a taxi and heading back to the only life she felt comfortable with. The one where she relied on herself and no one else.
26
Natalie texted Declan late morning: Need to talk. Will be there 6pm. He hadn’t replied but she knew his last patient was always five o’clock. Which meant he’d be done by 5.50, and sure enough, at 5.51 a thirty-something woman in an elegant suit walked out with her head lowered.
Declan’s look of surprise told her he hadn’t seen her text.
‘I’ll only be five minutes,’ said Natalie, still winded from cycling up the Northcote hill, dodging the trams.
Declan nodded, looking a little put out. It wasn’t ‘her day’. He ran his hands through his hair.
‘Would you like a tea? I’m rather in need of one,’ he said.
Natalie used the time to suck in some deep breaths, wondering for the first time if she really would have to get a car. A family sedan with a baby capsule. As she paced the room, Declan’s notepad caught her eye. She went closer, stared at it.
‘Why do you have my mother’s number on your pad?’ she blurted out as soon as Declan came in, a cup of tea in each hand.
Declan put his cup down, sat, waved for her to take the one he had made for her, waited until she did.
‘Your mother rang me. She left a message and asked me to call her back.’
Natalie stared at him. ‘What the…? Jesus, Declan, I’m an adult. I don’t need my mother checking up on me.’ She thought of her last conversation with Jan, the messages on her phone she’d ignored.
‘Why do you think she rang?’ said Declan.
‘I don’t have to think. I know. Doesn’t mean it’s your business.’ Natalie felt the familiar anger rising inside her, the anger between herself and her mother that she couldn’t ever seem to rid herself of. Declan watched and waited. ‘She’s worried because I’m pregnant and she doesn’t know if I’ll cope, okay? She’s upset I let loose again about my father and may think I’m manic. Overall? Probably hoping you’ll talk me out of this pregnancy.’
‘I suspect she knows you well enough to know no one has ever talked you out of anything that you wanted to do. Assuming you want to do it.’
Natalie ignored the implied question. ‘Were you planning on ringing her back?’ There were boundaries he’d be crossing if he did that without her permission.
Declan took a sip of tea. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Ignore her. No, better still, tell her about boundaries and confidentiality and to mind her own business. I’m old enough to look after myself and she’s got no right going behind my back. And you’ve got no business talking to her.’
‘I wouldn’t speak to her about you without your knowledge and permission.’ Declan’s calm authority remained the one reliable thing in her life.
Natalie shrugged. It was her mother who’d asked the hospital to call Declan in to see her when she was in rehab—angry and depressed—at sixteen.
‘Okay. Tell her I’m fine.’ She gave a hint of a smile. ‘Will be fine.’
Declan nodded. ‘Did you want to see me because of the altercation with her?’
‘No.’ Well, maybe it was one of the reasons. Along with Liam and her messed-up life, another dream that had left her feeling guilty, the tweets, Chelsea and…just too much on her mind. She couldn’t wait another week to talk to Declan.
‘Take a look at this.’ Natalie pulled out Mark La Brooy’s article. ‘I’m about to be caught in La Brooy and Okeke’s crossfire.’
‘This,’ said Declan after a few moments, ‘is about agendas you have no control over.’
She explained about the tweets—after explaining what Twitter was. Declan looked a little out of his depth. ‘Surely it will blow over? It doesn’t sound like it is actually anything about you.’
‘But it’s…like it’s bad enough having Jenna and Malik’s life in the public arena in court. But this is…well it’s like whole lives are being judged by people who bring their own agendas and no knowledge.’ Natalie was pacing around the room. ‘It’s pulling everything down to some lowest common denominator. Worse than reality TV. How can you make an argument in 140 characters?’
‘You can’t, Natalie. Let it go. Focus on what’s really important.’
He was right of course, but it didn’t make her feel any better. It was the unfairness, the hiding behind Twitter handles that incensed her most. At least Okeke and La Brooy were up-front about who they were and what they stood for.
‘I’m seeing Chelsea, individually—your idea as I recall.’ Natalie sat down. ‘Tomorrow. And I need you there. I want real hands-on supervision.’
Declan had his hands clasped in front of him. ‘You don’t think I might need a little more notice?’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. So tell me what to do. And when to make the next appointment. I want you there on the other side of the screen. Two heads are better than one—and I can’t afford to mess this up.’
‘Have some tea.’
Right. Tea.
‘I owned up about the conflict of interest but it did more harm than good—any points Malik had scored were taken away and now I’m on Jenna’s blacklist.’
‘Your magistrate sounds like a seasoned and balanced professional,’ said Declan. ‘Let her do her job. And you do yours.’
27
Jenna’s smile was tight when Natalie came to collect Chelsea from the waiting room. Malik and his mother were picking Chelsea up afterwards—organised by Protective Services—which probably wasn’t helping Jenna’s demeanour.
‘Hi Chelsea,’ said Natalie, after briefly acknowledging Jenna. ‘We’re going up to my colleague’s office because that’s where all the fun stuff is, but I need to talk to your mum first. Do you mind waiting here? Beverley will get you anything you need.’
Beverley—remarkably demure in an ice-blue dress that resembled a bonbon—smiled from her desk. Jenna followed Natalie reluctantly, taking an upright seat.
‘Jenna, whatever you have or haven’t told me is in the past,’ said Natalie, looking directly at her. ‘I want to help Chelsea. Help her adjust to not living with her dad, find out if she is being abused.’ Or if you made it up. ‘I—we—need to do what’s right for her.’
There was a long moment of silence and Natalie wasn’t sure that Jenna was going to reply. In the end, she said in a tight voice, ‘I’m her mother. I know what’s right for her.’
Natalie could see the anger—but just maybe there was also some pain and anxiety.
‘I get that,’ said Natalie, ‘but you’re dealing with your own stuff. It’s pretty hard to know what’s best for someone else when you maybe aren’t all that sure what’s best for yourself. Think of how difficult Chris is being, struggling with the adjustment.’ Jenna stared in silence. Natalie tried again. ‘I could see that Chelsea really wanted to please you. That means that she’ll sometimes do things that she thinks you want.’
For a moment Jenna looked confused.
‘Can you remember back to when you were eight or nine? Can you think of any time when you wanted your mother or father to do something and they wouldn’t and you weren’t able to tell them?’
Jenna’s expression glazed over but Natalie pushed on. ‘Like maybe a birthday and you wanted a doll and they gave you a book? A time when you knew you couldn’t just tell them because it might upset them?’
Natalie was about to give up when Jenna, in a soft voice, said, ‘Yes.’