More Than Us

by Dawn Barker

  ‘What?’ I heard him say. I slowly pushed the door open and spoke through the gap, keeping my eyes down.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I opened the door further and slowly walked in as he closed his lap top and took off his headphones. I sat on the end of his bed. ‘It’s really late.’

  He nodded. ‘I can’t sleep. I’m just watching a movie.’

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier. In the car. I’ve been thinking about what you said, and maybe you’re right. When Dad was your age, he wasn’t far off leaving school to play professional sport. There’s only a couple more years of school then you’ll be off to uni.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said quietly.

  I nodded, smoothing the blankets with my hand. ‘Yeah, maybe. If you want to. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I know you’re becoming older. But I still think of you as my little boy, and I worry about you.’ I looked up at him. ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So how about this? I’ll still look after the tablets – they’re strong and I need to keep hold of them. But if you promise me you will take them every morning, I won’t ask or hassle you, I’ll just leave them outside your room, and you will take them yourself. What do you think?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Cameron, you know how important it is for you to take them, yes?’

  ‘They make me too skinny,’ he mumbled, head down. ‘It’s hard for rugby.’

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Of course, he’d noticed that he’d lost his appetite and maybe a little bit of weight. But what was a bit of weight loss compared to being ill? I hadn’t thought he’d care. Tilly was always going on about her weight but that’s what girls do. But I supposed being skinny wasn’t good for a boy like Cameron, when all the other guys were trying to bulk up.

  ‘How about I ask your dad to take you to the gym with him to do some weights? Maybe get you some protein shakes and I’ll make you extra smoothies? I’ve seen how much better you are, Cameron, with the tablets. But if it keeps on being a problem, then we’ll talk to the doctor again, see if there’s a different one. What do you think?’

  ‘Okay,’ he mumbled, looking down at his hands. His cheeks were flushed. I reached out and touched his arms and had to trust that he would do the right thing.

  ‘Promise?’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Promise.’

  * * *

  I tried to trust Cameron and let him take some control. I brought his tablets to him on a little plate and left them outside his door with his glass of orange juice first thing, and they disappeared. But nothing changed, and I knew he was lying to me. A mother’s instincts are always right. A mother bear doesn’t just let her cubs figure things out for themselves when the risks are immense; she watches them every moment, ready to clamp onto the scruff of their necks and drag them back home to safety if they’re in danger. So, I had to break my promise.

  * * *

  He could have thought of a better hiding place. Flushed them down the toilet maybe, or put them in the bin outside, but then again, he hated the smell of the sun-warmed old rubbish and the thought of touching a redback when he put his fingers under the rim of the lid.

  Really, Cameron, I thought as I opened his desk drawer and saw a little white pill roll towards me, and, when I felt in the back corner of the drawer, there were dozens, of both his antidepressant and his ADHD capsules. You’re smarter than this.

  I held the pills in my hand and sat down on his bed. This is what our relationship had come to. Him lying to me; me checking up on him because in my bones, in the marrow where a mother’s instincts sit, I knew that something was wrong.

  I called Dr Davidson again and said it was urgent. She called me back. The kids were at home, but they were only too happy to lock themselves away in their rooms when I went out into the garden to take the call, shouting to them that it was a work call. I told her what had happened. As I waited for her to speak, I pulled some dead leaves off the lemon tree and dropped them into the vegetable patch, overgrown with twiggy parsley that had gone to seed.

  ‘Is he still eating and sleeping?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, yes, he’s eating better than he was on them. I don’t think he’s sleeping so well, his light was on late last night, after I went to bed. He seems tired.’

  ‘Are you sleeping?’

  I froze for a moment, and then realised that I had begun to cry. I wiped quickly at my eyes and gathered myself. ‘A little.’

  Her voice was calm and quiet. ‘Do you have any concerns that he might have thoughts of self-harm?’

  ‘No, no.’ That had never been a symptom of Cameron’s – thank God. But I knew why she was asking and what she was going to say next.

  ‘The problem is, Emily, that we can’t force him to take medication, unless he’s a risk to himself or—’

  ‘Others. I know. I know that! But why do I have to wait until my son is about to jump in front of a train before I can help him? You know as well as I do that he’s not well. He’s been doing so much better on the tablets, and I know it won’t change who he is and he’s always going to have… challenges… but at least he’d been vaguely happy, going to school, not tortured!’ I kicked at a lump of some yucca that had put down roots after being blown into our yard.

  ‘I know, Emily. I know. But what can we do? Force him to swallow tablets he doesn’t want to? All we can do is keep trying to persuade him, and let him know we’re there for him.’

  ‘When he gets like this he can’t be persuaded.’

  ‘He was before, Emily. He did take them of his own accord, remember? Can you bring him in to see me tomorrow, I’ve got a spot at 3.30?’

  ‘I can’t tell him that I was snooping in his room.’ I glanced back towards the house.

  ‘You don’t have to. Let’s just go down the path that we’ve noticed that he doesn’t seem so well, give him a chance to explain. There might be a simple reason for this. Can I ask about—’

  ‘His dad? Best not to. We’ll come in tomorrow afternoon.’

  I hung up the phone and as Dr Davidson went back to her own family, who would never have any problems like this, I walked back down the garden to my own. I couldn’t wait for Cameron to make that decision. A good mother doesn’t let their children go. She knows when her child is in danger, and she does everything she can to keep him safe.

  * * *

  It was as easy as getting two spoons, putting the antidepressant between them and crushing it until it became a powder. The stimulant was easier: I just opened up the little capsule, poured the powder out and mixed it all up together. I mixed them in his juice, next to the couple of pills that he would hide in his drawer. He always drank the juice. I wondered if he’d notice the taste – he was so sensitive about things like that – but he never did. I suspected he knew, and he was happy for me to do it, to save face. Sometimes it’s harder to admit that you’ve been wrong, and to go along with the pretence. Dr Davidson must have known what I was doing too; she must have seen the steady improvement in him. I knew that when he got better, Cameron would agree that it had been the right thing to do.

  Twenty-Two

  Emily

  ‘I’ve done something awful, Ceecee.’

  Ceecee’s eyes widened and she pushed my glass of wine nearer to me. She’d picked up Tilly with her daughter, Ruby, from orchestra after school and taken her back to her place. The girls were upstairs supposedly doing their homework but no doubt taking selfies or sending messages to boys. I caught myself as I had that thought; I loved that she was upstairs with a friend pretending to be doing her homework. That’s what normal, healthy, teenage kids do, isn’t it? If only Cameron was hanging out with his friends, sending messages to girls. Paul was picking him up from school for some father-son time, which probably meant they were back at home with Cameron sitting in his room and Paul reading a pamphlet or finding a new thing to reject.

  ‘What? Tell me?’ She was frowning.

 
‘It’s about Cameron’s medication.’

  She sipped her wine and nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s stopped taking it.’

  ‘Oh no, why?’

  ‘Who knows? Because he can.’ I sighed and picked up a crumb from the granite bench top. ‘I’m being unfair. I know he doesn’t like the side effects. But he’d been getting so much better.’

  ‘So, what’s the awful thing that you’ve done?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I haven’t told anyone this. I crushed up his tablet and put it in his juice.’

  Ceecee laughed; I stared at her, my heart racing. This wasn’t what I’d expected her to do. ‘What’s funny?’ I said, making myself smile.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Emily, I don’t mean to laugh. Is that all? It’s just like telling your kids that the worm tablets are chocolate. Who cares?’

  ‘These aren’t just worming tablets though, they’re psychostimulants. And he’s growing up, it should be his decision,’ I said, feebly.

  ‘Oh, what rubbish.’ She waved her hand in the air. ‘You’re his mother, he’s a child and he’s ill. They’re prescribed by a doctor. What else are you meant to do? And as he gets better, you’ll be able to tell him because then he’ll be able to see what a difference it’s made and make the right decision.’

  ‘I haven’t told Paul yet.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Ceecee, you know what he’s like… He’s getting worse, you know, the more time he spends at this centre surrendering himself to higher powers or contemplations or whatever.’

  ‘Sounds a bit bizarre, Em.’

  ‘Oh God, it bloody is!’ I laughed. ‘I can’t quite believe that I’m sitting here telling you I’m tricking my kid into taking medication and my husband has turned into some freak. It’s like a bad soap opera.’ I smiled but my eyes were wet.

  She frowned at me.

  I took a sip of my wine to give myself a moment. I had tried to find out more about Phoenix. There was hardly anything online, but I had found a forum where some people who had left it spoke about how much money they’d given the organisation, about how they’d been pressured to recruit more people to join, and the hypocrisies they’d seen with the group taking money from people to fund lifestyles that seemed to rely very heavily on modern conveniences: holidays, boats, expensive clothes and houses. I was uneasy about it all but didn’t know how to tackle it with Paul. ‘I don’t know, really, it all sounds like nonsense to me. Not that being healthy is nonsense, but it’s taking it too far, and there’s something about the money involved that makes me worry. He doesn’t talk much to me about it; he knows what I’d say. But on the other hand, it works, you know? He’s looking well, he’s not gambling, he’s working again, earning money and he seems happy.’

  ‘But are you?

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Of course.’ I looked down.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s changed. And I know he had to change, or something did – we were so close to being ruined. But I suppose part of what I loved about him was his edge, you know, the fun and the risk taking. That was Paul. And now I’m married to a vegan, teetotal, anti-TV, anti-internet hippy. Me!’ I laughed as I picked up the bottle of wine and topped up our glasses. ‘God, I need another glass, we can’t have it in the house anymore.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘Who would have imagined? Can’t imagine you ever putting that in your list of wants in a man.’

  My cheeks burned; it must have been the alcohol. I had hoped this was just a phase, and that after he’d been out of Treetops for a while, he’d relax a little bit. But the opposite had happened, and doubts started to creep into my mind about our future. My skin tingled, and this time I knew it was the shame of thinking like that. Paul was my husband. But he was so different to how he’d been before that I didn’t know how we could build a life around him.

  ‘You don’t think Paul would understand, if you told him about the medication?’

  I shook my head quickly. ‘Not a chance. I tried bringing it up and he shot me down.’ I put my hand into the shape of a gun in the air. ‘He got all worked up about our brains being poisoned by medicine and how doctors are just part of the problem and don’t know what they’re talking about. Honestly, he’d be furious.’

  Ceecee hesitated, wiping at a drop of wine on the bench top. ‘Emily, are you sure Paul is okay? He’s not, I don’t know, ill? This all sounds pretty crazy.’

  I rubbed my face. ‘I guess it does.’

  Ceecee spoke quietly. ‘Does Paul need to know about Cam’s medication?’

  I sipped my wine again and pictured Cameron, how he was when he was on the medication, when everything was just calm, and even if he wasn’t swinging from the roof in glee, he had relaxed. I was not willing to go back to the way things were. ‘No. I don’t see why Paul needs to know. Not yet.’

  ‘Okay, here’s my two cents, for what it’s worth. You are Cameron’s mum and it’s you who has dealt with him day in day out. You know what’s best. You must trust yourself. If it was me, I wouldn’t give it another thought.’

  And so, I didn’t.

  * * *

  I was more nervous about going to dinner with Damian now than I had been when I first met him almost three years ago, when he had first offered Paul the job. So much had happened in that time. I had lunch with his wife, Shona, once or twice before Paul went to rehab, but it had always felt awkward and forced as we had little in common except for our husbands’ jobs. And, after he came out, I was too busy. Yes, I could have made time, but I felt ashamed that she and Damian knew more about my husband’s problems than I did. At least I’d had a couple of glasses of wine at Ceecee’s this afternoon to relax me, because there would be none at the dinner.

  Paul seemed relaxed about tonight at least. He hummed as he dressed and after we’d said goodbye to the kids and babysitter, he tapped his fingers in time to the classical music CD he’d put on as he drove.

  I was determined to make an effort tonight. After talking with Ceecee, I still couldn’t shake the guilt about not telling Paul about the medication, never mind the fact that I was also deceiving Cameron. Her words about Paul’s ideas sounding crazy still echoed through me, but if this was his life now, I had to try to meet him half way.

  I hadn’t been to Damian’s home before, but of course, Paul had. We drove up to the gates of a beautiful, white art deco house. My eyes widened.

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Look at those views of the harbour. You can even see the Opera House over there.’

  ‘Wait until you see them from the balconies.’

  I followed Paul to the front door, which opened before we’d even knocked. Damian greeted us with a big smile. He wore a pale pink polo shirt and navy chinos, and grey deck shoes, and his hair, as always, looked thick and glossy. A small white dog yapped around his ankles until he shooed it away with his feet. He shook Paul’s hand, then clasped both my shoulders and kissed me on each cheek. ‘You look beautiful, Emily. Welcome, please.’ He stepped back. ‘Please come in.’

  We weren’t late, but already the others were there, and looked settled. I had the sense of turning up to a surprise party. I blushed as everyone stood up and started to greet us. It was the same group that I’d first met at that dinner at the casino: Lucas and Amina, and Tim and Sam. Shona appeared from beside me and surprised me with a warm hug. I handed her the flowers I’d brought, a bunch of Australian natives, and blushed even more as she gushed over them. I wished I was handing over a bottle of champagne that we could open. It felt strange; I don’t think I’d ever been to a gathering in someone’s house where we didn’t start with an alcoholic drink. I scolded myself. My husband was a recovering addict, and he had told me that Damian was, too. And the others, all those in Phoenix, had been addicted to something or had some problems. It was selfish of me to crave a drink; I could cope for one evening.

  With a glass of sparkling water, with a slice of lemo
n, in my hand, we sat outside on the balcony. The views were magnificent, looking out over the harbour as dusk set in over Sydney. Below us, in the terraced garden, there was a swimming pool and wooden deck. No wonder Paul envied Damian so much: this house would have cost millions of dollars.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ I directed to Damian and Shona, as we all sat down on the balcony.

  ‘Oh,’ Shona waved a hand in the air. ‘We’ve had it for ages, way before the property boom.’

  ‘Lucky.’ I smiled, although I knew that even before Sydney’s house prices began to rise exponentially, this house would never have been inexpensive.

  ‘Not luck. Hard work, that’s what got us here. We’ve got high hopes for Paul – and you,’ Damian said. ‘He’s a hard worker, just like I was.’

  ‘He is,’ I nodded, realising how true it was, although I resented their assumption that I was envious of their house. Maybe I was being too sensitive; I was envious of this house. But Damian was right: for all Paul’s faults, he always gave one hundred per cent to everything he did. He had never been lazy, or even content with what he had. While it had frustrated me at times, I knew it gave him the drive to always strive for excellence. Would he be content with a house like this? I wasn’t sure that he would ever be satisfied, but perhaps that was why I loved him. I felt heat in my cheeks; I did love him.

  ‘We’re very proud of him,’ Lucas said, sitting forward.