by Anne Buist
‘And then I think,’ said Malik, with absolute conviction, ‘that when I find who has done this, I will kill him.’
39
Natalie arranged to meet Liam at his choice of cocktail bar, rather than her local. The Everleigh was upstairs, on the grungy-hip Gertrude Street in Fitzroy, through a discreet doorway and up a staircase that led into a New York-style bar. Liam was sitting in one of the booths with a martini—and a lime soda for her.
‘How are James and Megan?’
‘Getting by.’ Liam was looking at her, trying to guess the answer.
‘And Lauren?’ She hoped he didn’t pick the tightness in her voice. Wondered what Lauren had told him about the flower-shop fiasco.
‘Still wishing she’d had two girls and that I hadn’t been the father of either of them.’
‘Well they’re the only children you’ll be having in the immediate future.’
Why was it that she could break things gently to patients but in her personal life she almost relished the impact of the unadorned truth? Declan would believe it was to protect herself against rejection. On this occasion, he’d have been right.
Liam took a breath, then a sip of his drink. ‘So, what are your plans?’ He didn’t appear to be—anything. Not angry, not disappointed, not surprised. And, thank Christ, not concerned for her either. Or if he was, smart enough not to show it.
‘I guess I’ll start negotiating the first-week sleepover. For the bean. Damian made it clear he would be pursuing parental rights.’
There was a long silence; they had both withdrawn so she had no hope of reading his thoughts, but he surprised her nevertheless.
‘Seems like I was right. He knew something we didn’t.’
Did he? A million to one…it happened, she supposed.
‘Your relationship with McBride. Any chance you’d like to have one?’
Any chance? She thought guiltily of Damian squeezing her hand over ice-creams. He would never trust her; didn’t get her like Liam did. And it wasn’t what she wanted. Did that matter? Wouldn’t it be better for the bean if she took the picket fence with Damian? It was probably the best option for her own mental health. Her mother had apparently come around to taking the safe option and was still happily married nearly thirty years later. It would be better for Liam and his children too. This isn’t just about you.
‘It’s not where I see it heading at the moment.’
Liam nodded, drained his drink. ‘Okay, then. So, no change.’
‘What do you mean?’ Natalie wondered if the stress was dulling her mind. ‘You made it very clear your support was DNA-dependant. Yours didn’t come up.’
Liam hesitated. ‘No, Natalie. I never said that. I said I would fulfil my obligations to the child were it mine—by which I meant financial, and in the role of father. A role not without its challenges as you know from recent times, but’—he looked briefly a little sad, or at least reflective—‘the most important thing I ever took on.’ He took a breath. ‘My offer to support you, see where our relationship went, was separate from the pregnancy and the identity of the father.’
It took a full twenty seconds before Natalie could find the words to respond. ‘You’d consider a relationship with someone who was pregnant to another man?’
‘I’ve done the considering.’ He looked directly at her. ‘I wanted it to be very clear that no child is a bargaining chip—not in my life. I didn’t think that was what you were doing when you said you thought I was the father, but given it was only one time—well, I wasn’t sure, okay? Seems I was right. Since we’ve been seeing each other, I believe you really did think the baby was mine. Just like I believe you wouldn’t have told Lauren about our affair. So again: let me be very clear. I said I was prepared to see where our relationship went, and I still am.’
Natalie didn’t trust herself to speak.
Liam brushed her hair off her cheek and kissed her forehead. ‘Think about it, okay? I want you to do what’s right for you. For your kid. God knows, being with me isn’t going to be easy.’
‘You got the result?’
Declan must have a sixth sense.
‘Yes. It…’ She didn’t want to talk about it, yet knew she needed to. ‘The bean’s…. Damian’s.’
‘I gather that isn’t what you were hoping for.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not taking charity from either of them.’
‘Either?’
Natalie rubbed her temple. ‘I don’t understand where he’s coming from. Liam’s said he’s happy to have a relationship, even though he isn’t the kid’s father; Damian has said he wants a relationship, but only if he is attached by DNA. But as everyone keeps telling me, this isn’t just about me. What’s best for the bean? What am I meant to do?’
‘Meant to do, Natalie? You know better than that.’
‘I don’t, that’s the trouble.’ The tremor in her voice frightened her. She took a breath, stared hard at Declan.
‘You know enough about good relationships,’ he said.
‘Then neither,’ Natalie said dully. ‘Neither of them trusts me. Can’t say I blame them.’
‘Trust can be earnt.’ Declan was using the fatherly tone he’d perfected; Natalie wondered what his kids thought of him as a dad. ‘But you first have to trust yourself. The relationship can only be right for the other person if it’s right for you as well.’
Jenna and Malik flashed through her mind. Chelsea and Chris’s neediness. Her mother and Craig. Need versus want. How much it was possible to compromise between the two—and what happened to the child in the middle?
‘I’m still angry at my mother for not telling me who my father is.’
Declan leaned in, so she could see his face clearly; kind eyes that revealed their concern about her. ‘Natalie, when you are managing several things, you need to decide which is the least important, or the one that can be put on hold—and let it go. You think your father’s identity is relevant now?’
‘Yes. It…it’s getting in the way. Me as a mother, me settling down…it’s like I can’t find myself until I know.’ Truth was, she felt paralysed in making decisions about Damian and Liam, and the feeling was eerily similar to that paralysis she felt when she woke from her nightmares.
Declan looked like he was wrestling with something. ‘Have you tried to think about it from your mother’s point of view? Why she made that decision?’
‘No,’ Natalie lied. She didn’t feel like defending her mother, even if intellectually her mother taking the safe option—Craig—made sense. She added, trying to bring the reality into focus, ‘It’s not like it matters. My father wasn’t around. He’s probably dead anyway.’
Declan’s eye twitched.
Natalie stopped short. ‘You know.’
Declan didn’t say anything. Had her mother told him something, all those years ago when Declan had first taken her into therapy at sixteen?
‘Did he abuse me? Did he have bipolar?’ Natalie added, thinking how much that mattered to her, despite never knowing him, despite everything. ‘They had a lot to deal with. Craig came to the rescue, we all lived happily ever after. I get it.’
‘As a child, being rescued by your real father was a fantasy, Natalie. Your mother had some practicalities to consider as well as what she—and you—wanted.’
Natalie shrugged, irritated that he was redirecting her. ‘I know—and Craig did a good job.’ Yet she had held on to the belief that men were unreliable all the same. Trust. Declan said trust in herself had to come before it could happen in a relationship. But she was running out of time. Liam wasn’t going to wait forever. ‘I know my mother won’t tell me,’ she said finally. ‘I’m guessing he had bipolar genes, he was apparently vertically challenged if my height is anything to go by; I’m my father’s daughter.’
‘And your mother’s. And your stepfather’s.’
‘And now I know who this one’s father is,’ said Natalie, looking down. She was still barely showing. ‘I need to work o
ut if he’s the only one that’s going to be around.’ Damian would be around for his child. But did she want Liam around for her? And in the mix: was it fair to him and his children?
‘You have a lot on your plate, Natalie. Everything need not be decided at once.’
Natalie couldn’t sleep. Lying looking at the ceiling she knew she should take more quetiapine but she needed to think. And she was afraid the nightmare would come again. She had been three years old when Craig came on the scene. So any abuse…any memories of her father…must predate that. She closed her eyes, tried to let herself slip back into the past, feel and hear the sounds of her childhood.
Zilch, zero and nothing.
Triggers? Natalie ran through normal childhood objects hoping something would take her back. A teddy bear had popped up in her dreams. She didn’t know if she’d ever even had one. Round and round the garden, like a… teddy bear. For a second he was there, the man she had thought of as her father. She could hear him, almost feel him. And it didn’t feel…bad. Did it? She thought of Declan’s explanation about how Chelsea would have, at the age of eight, compartmentalised the experiences. At three—more than thirty years ago—Natalie would have done more than that. The memories would be walled off. Maybe her mother was right, that it wouldn’t be good for anyone if she found the sealed compartment and opened it. Particularly now, when she had so much on her plate and the bean needed her to be strong.
But Natalie had never, ever run from anything. She threw off the bedclothes and went downstairs. The baby book had been abandoned somewhere among the journal articles. Bob stirred on his stand and looked at her curiously before announcing, ‘Let him go,’ and turning his back on her. She’d always thought that this particular saying of Bob’s was to do with Liam but maybe it was more aptly applied to her father. And she would let him go—when she knew what she was letting go of.
She flipped through the book. There were, she knew, no unidentified males in the photos. There were photos with her and her mother and Nan. One of her sitting by a cupboard covered in chocolate. She had found the Easter egg stash and was sharing the spoils with what might have been a soft toy; it was partially obscured. The cupboards were green. These, or maybe all that chocolate, made her feel a little nauseated.
She looked at the young version of herself, a child in a world she didn’t remember. Much younger than Chelsea, younger even than Chris. Had this infant told her mother something? Had her mother known intuitively, or caught her father in the act—one moment, changing all of their lives forever? Her mother marrying Mr Predictable while Natalie wasted her childhood—and beyond—looking for the father she had idealised instead of realising he was a monster?
Natalie pulled the chocolate photo out of its place and put it under the light. Among the half-unwrapped Easter eggs was a small brown soft toy. She was staring at the teddy bear with its one eye as her own baby, eighteen weeks into its gestation, gave its first definite kick. All she could think of was how fearful she was for both it and herself. She had no idea if that was about emotions from the past invading her current thoughts, or the uncertain future she was facing.
40
There was no problem filling in time when she couldn’t sleep. Twitter never died, nor the people on it, despite the encouragement of others. The Mark La Brooy fan club were tweeting about immigration (largely against) and hours earlier @KidsReallyMatter had been on an extended rant about her ex, thinly disguised as commentary on child support policy.
Kids Really Matter @KidsReallyMatter: Easy to hide income if you know how.
Liza R @lizar82: @KidsReallyMatter Then they have kids for weekend and spend big. Heroes while we’re struggling.
My Bitchin Rules @MyBitchinRules: @KidsReallyMatter @lizar82 You’re hanging with the wrong guys, ladies.
Liza R @lizar82: @MyBitchinRules F*K OFF.
Kids Really Matter @kidsreallymatter: @lizar82 Blocked.
In her head, Natalie wrote #GETALIFE. She was about to turn her phone off when another tweet popped up.
Kids Really Matter @KidsReallyMatter: So over work. Lauren, after finishing a report in the early hours? A nurse, home after a late shift?
Man Under Fire @ManUnderFire: Tell me about it. No support, pay is shit.
Someone else couldn’t sleep.
Liza R @lizar82: Don’t talk to me about no support.
Kids Really Matter @KidsReallyMatter: @lizar82 #PsychBitch still giving you grief?
What? Natalie felt her heart start pumping. Her fingers hovered over the icon with the feathered pen, itching to tap out a response. She hadn’t yet. Her profile still said zero tweets. But she just couldn’t let this go.
Liza R @lizar82: @KidsReallyMatter not about to trust anyone to help.
Kids Really Matter @KidsReallyMatter: @lizar82 particularly if her brain’s fried.
Brain fried: surely that meant the electroconvulsive therapy that had brought her out of her deep depression eight months ago. Natalie was typing before she thought. The rage that went through her was so strong she thought that the phone might break under the pressure of her fingers.
U will b FUCKING DISBARRED U’LL NEVER WORK AGAIN U BITCH HOW CAN U WORK AS A HEALTH PROFESSIONAL U HAVE NO ETHICS?
Then she did break the phone—hurled across the room and heard the crack as it hit the wall.
Breathe, she heard Declan tell her. A quetiapine. A hot chocolate. Anything. She’d ring the clinic tomorrow. Make sure they found out who it was. And then she really would make sure they never worked again. And if it was Lauren? She’d have a one-to-one chat. No holds barred. There would be more than flowers cascading down on the other woman.
The receptionist at the clinic where she had been treated was reluctant to put her through to the general manager until Natalie pulled the doctor card—and the possibility of a reporting to the Health Complaints Commissioner. He called her back within minutes.
Natalie had met Gavin Boreman but remembered little of him other than a moustache that belonged in a seventies porno. Now he listened to her rant—which included her assurance that his clinic wasn’t going to fucking get away with this just because they were private, as well as her promise to hold him accountable even if she had to chop off his balls and fry them for breakfast—without comment.
‘Well?’ she asked finally. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Doctor King, I doubt very much there is anything I can do about anything on social media. I have to believe my staff would not divulge anything confidential. I’ll send a memo around but I’m afraid that’s all I can do.’
He was probably right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She hung up while he was still talking. Put her head in her hands.
The powerlessness meant the rage had nowhere to go. Just made her restless and tense and feel like she wanted to punch something. All she wanted was a normal life…for just a little while. For the bean. And…for herself. She had to know she was going to be okay. Her child, relationship, job. It was why she had been taking her pills like such a good girl. And would keep doing so.
She silently prayed to a god she didn’t believe in: Let it be enough. And then went back to work.
‘I can’t get Chelsea out of the car.’ Jenna was standing in the waiting room, wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Pink on it and the red corduroy trousers.
The previous appointment had been cancelled. ‘No one to bring her,’ a man, presumably Stephen Radford, had told Beverley. Natalie had had to chase Jenna to reschedule.
‘What’s the point?’ Jenna had been irritable. ‘I agree with my parents—you found out enough for the court now.’
And Jenna had got what she wanted.
‘It’s not just about having someone to blame, Jenna,’ said Natalie. ‘This is about helping Chelsea deal with it.’
This was what appeared to clinch it—Chelsea obviously wasn’t coping.
‘She’s getting as impossible as Chris!’ Jenna looked slightly embarrassed as she said it. Or mayb
e it was just the awkwardness, given the last time they had spoken, Jenna had hung up on Natalie.
Natalie already knew that Jenna struggled to take charge, that in the face of opposition from her children she preferred to take the easy option rather than risk their anger. She wondered fleetingly how Jenna had stood up to Malik… the thought that followed was lost before she could grasp it, though she sensed it was an important one. Concentrate. She focused on Chelsea not getting out of the car. It may have been as much about her trust issues with Natalie as it was about her relationship with her mother.
‘How has she been?’ Natalie asked.
Jenna hesitated. ‘Okay.’
‘Really okay?’
‘No…but at least she’s not having to see Malik.’ Jenna paused. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry it took so long to get something concrete. There’s a lot she’s pretty confused about.’
‘Chelsea knows her own mind, I assure you.’ There was an edge of resentment. Natalie recognised it as Jenna’s moment of regression to when her own feelings hadn’t been acknowledged; having met Mickie, it made sense. But it was Jenna who had to take the initiative with Chelsea, and help her to recover and make sense of what had happened to her.
‘How do you think she’s feeling, Jenna?’
‘Pissed off at me.’
‘Because?’
‘Well, she didn’t want to come here for one thing.’
‘So why did you bring her?’
‘Because you…’ she stopped herself. ‘Because I want her to have any help she can get.’
‘Help to what?’
‘To manage…to not be scarred by all this.’
‘Because you feel guilty?’
‘I haven’t done anything. I’m the one protecting her.’
‘But you exposed…you didn’t save her from it happening.’ Natalie touched her lightly on the arm. ‘Jenna, I’m not blaming you. You’ve done all you could. But guilt isn’t about logic. It’s about the fact that you want the best for your child, want them never to hurt and never to have anything go wrong, and life isn’t like that.’