by Margaret Way
Reef herons were large birds with long necks, long pointed bills, and the familiar long legs. Graceful plumes adorned the necks of these birds, the breasts and backs, revealing they were into the breeding season. She knew they wouldn’t dance for her like the fabulous blue cranes of the Outback, but she took great pleasure in observing them. They looked about a few brief moments like a couple of tourists taking in their surroundings, and then they took off over the water. Unlike the brolgas, they didn’t unfold wide beautiful wings and tuck up their long legs. Their heads retracted and they flew off, long legs extended.
A yacht, pretty as a picture, sailed in the distance. For a moment she was back in time on another yacht, much bigger and much faster. Matrix belonged to Blaine. She and Uncle Robert had been invited to go sailing for the day. She was seventeen. She remembered the occasion as a halcyon voyage. She hoarded her memories like a miser hoarded his gold. Blaine had always been in her life. In those days he had been involved with Selma, though she hadn’t been with them on that day. No Selma to spoil it. Had anyone asked her at that point of her life if she had a hidden crush on Blaine Forrester, she would have burst out, mortified, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She would have been lying.
The sea today was incredibly calm, sheltered as it was by the Great Barrier Reef, a continuous rampart, as hard as sandstone, that ran from New Guinea, and well over a thousand miles down the coast of Queensland. There was no surf—unlike the glorious stretch of beaches, one after the other, known as the Gold Coast south of Brisbane with Surfers Paradise, Broadbeach, Mermaid Beach, Miami, Burleigh Heads, Currumbin through Tugun to Coolangatta. Mallory had surfed them all, over the years. So too the beautiful Sunshine Coast to the north of the city. Earlier in the day she had taken a long walk along the white sand, unblemished save for her footprints, making for the bend of the deserted cove with its collection of pewter-grey boulders.
Conditions were very humid, the heat a mirage. An electrical storm had been forecast for late afternoon. Storms would build up as the monsoon season began to close in. Mallory had collected a few pretty rose bubble shells and red helmets for Ivy, then revived herself with a refreshing dip. A couple of weeks had gone by since she had lost her uncle. She had broken out of the worst delirium of grief, but she missed him terribly; the whole idea of his being there for her. He had loved her so very much, but unthinkingly he had left her with problems.
Top of the list, the Cartwrights.
Jessica had obeyed orders as well she might. Word was that she was away on one of her rainforest jaunts, staying with her friends in their jungle hideout.
Though Mallory hadn’t felt up to it, she had pushed herself to organise a meeting between Margery and Harry Cartwright and their grandchild and their way-too-long ignored daughter-in-law.
“I can’t be there,” Jason had told her firmly as though she were about to insist on his presence. She hadn’t pushed it, not even bothering with a “that’s a shame.” It was enough to have the Cartwrights meet Ivy and her mother.
* * *
The long-postponed meeting went so well it warmed the heart. Dot had served a delicious afternoon tea, which always acted as an excellent social lubricant; Mallory had made sure the conversation flowed with Ivy acting as her funny little sidekick. Ivy had much of the entertainer in her. Mallory had to wonder where it came from. Certainly not from her aunt Jessica.
Kathy, though she sat there smiling, for the most part remained silent. Margery Cartwright had assured Mallory beforehand she and Harry, who was rapidly losing his once fine head of hair and had grown quite paunchy—would Jason become like that?—had every intention of being kind to Kathy.
“These family arguments do no good at all.”
Mallory had to admit to feelings of concern at the slight rash that bloomed on Ivy’s cheeks. Even Margery made a comment.
“Mummy said it’s heat rash.” Ivy touched a little hand to her cheek.
It isn’t.
The initial constraint had broken down quickly. This was a child the Cartwrights knew. Their own blood. She was the image of her father. Jessica less so, though it was Jessica who appeared to be the one most fallen from grace. It only took one member of a family to do tremendous damage.
The afternoon tea party broke up with Margery issuing an invitation to Kathy to visit them at any time and please, please, bring “our lovely little Ivy,” she clucked in delight.
Mallory stood back, watching with satisfaction as Margery embraced her daughter-in-law upon departure. Both had tears in their eyes. Ivy’s little arms did their best to gather the two even closer. Harry Cartwright had watched on with a gentle smile on his face.
* * *
Mallory waited until her body was almost dry. Her face and limbs felt gritty with salt and sand. A hand to her sea-soaked hair told her it had turned into a wild mane. She would have to shampoo it. Blaine was coming over that night. She had been leaning on him heavily these past weeks. She had asked him to stay the night. She didn’t want to be on her own. She wanted Blaine with her.
She had spent quite a bit of time considering how life would be for her if she stayed. She could open a practice here in the North. She knew she could make a go of it. The big issues that affected family life were the same everywhere. It gave her great satisfaction to know she was helping Kathy and Ivy. What had started out as obligation had become a rewarding experience. She’d had short conversations with Jason, always about Ivy or the farm. She recognised from his wounded expression he hadn’t shaken off his belief he was still madly in love with her.
But then love was a form of madness, wasn’t it?
She was heading up the rock steps from the beach to the clifftop, breathless, broken out in a sweat, panting from exertion. In the savage heat, the effort came close to the final assault on Everest. Finally she reached the top. She heard the wail first, loud enough to make a deaf woman do a double take. Next, she sighted Kathy running like a wild creature that had escaped the confines of its cage.
“Kathy, Kathy, I’m here.” She cupped her hands to shout.
It had to be admitted Kathy could act a little crazily. Mallory began to pray, unsure there was anyone up there paying the slightest attention. Could Jessica have returned and the two had had a terrible fight?
It took a moment before Kathy could hear Mallory’s shout above her own caterwauling. She changed direction, racing back towards Mallory, throwing herself into Mallory’s arms, like a bigger version of Ivy. “It’s . . . Ivy,” she gasped. Her breath was coming in spurts like a tap under pressure. “The . . . school . . . rang. She’s . . . had a . . . a seizure. She’s been taken to . . . hospital. I . . . hafta . . . get there. Jason . . . has the ute.”
Mallory’s training kicked in. With a firm arm around Kathy’s waist, she managed to keep Kathy’s hysteria in check. She turned them towards the house, launching into a string of relevant questions. “Ivy’s not epileptic? She hasn’t experienced febrile convulsions at any previous time, say with an infection or the flu? No family history of convulsions?”
“No, no!” Kathy’s hazel eyes were as huge as saucers. “Ivy’s never had a fit, even when she’s been sick with a high temperature,” Kathy sobbed. “Oh, God, Mallory, what am I to do? If I don’t have Ivy, I have no one to love or anyone to love me.”
Mallory bowed to that. “Try to keep focused, Kathy,” she urged. “You’re not on your own, so calm down. Ivy could have caught some bug. This is the tropics, after all. Something going around at the school?”
Kathy didn’t answer. She was making fidgety little movements with the fingers of both hands like she was playing an imaginary piano.
“I’ll just throw some clothes on, then we’ll get going,” Mallory said, not that Kathy was paying much attention. She was so psyched out she was hardly registering anything.
No time for a shower, much less a shampoo. She pulled on the first things that came to hand: a cotton shirt with a pair of culottes, sneakers on her feet. Sh
e tried to arrange her hair only it resisted so wildly, she had to leave it in a mop.
As she threw on her clothes, her mind was running through the multiple causes for a seizure in a child six and under. Six was a bit late for a febrile convulsion. Ivy may have been exposed to some chemical substance. Inhaling the strong smell of glue perhaps in an art class at school? But surely a trained teacher would have been aware of the potential dangers?
When they arrived at the hospital they found Ivy propped up in bed, looking as fragile as a porcelain doll. “I don’t remember a thing,” she told them in a smiley vague sort of way.
“Don’t you, sweetheart?” Mallory’s soft heart smote her. “Do you remember attending an art class this morning?” she asked, bending over the child.
Ivy put her curly head to one side. “Can’t remember, Mally. I don’t t-h-i-n-k so.”
On the opposite side of the bed, Kathy took her child’s hand, looking across to Mallory. “Don’t bother her now, Mallory.” Kathy’s tone was hoarse from all the yelling.
“Of course not. But Ivy will remember.” Did that sound like a warning? Mallory was feeling very unsettled at that point. Could Kathy lack commitment to keeping her child alive? No. She couldn’t accept it. There was nothing deeply disturbing in Kathy’s aura. Besides, she had seen with her own eyes how much Kathy loved her daughter. So what secret was Kathy sitting on?
* * *
The seizure, they were told, had been more like a petit mal attack, but the school hadn’t been taking any chances. Ivy Cartwright had a history of mystery illnesses. Everyone knew that. A lot of people had their theories as to why. People had always been quick to judge Kathy and her dysfunctional family.
While Kathy smothered her child in kisses, Mallory walked outside into the corridor to speak to the doctor in charge. Dr. Marisa Farnsworth wasn’t at all as Mallory had pictured: tall, slim, and patrician. Marisa Farnsworth in reality was no oil painting. Well into her forties, she was a solid size 18, not fat, but with a shelf-like derriere; marmalade hair, matching brows and eyelashes. She gave an instant impression of no-nonsense competence. Apparently she was anxious to speak to Mallory because she took Mallory by the arm much in the manner of a co-conspirator. “Why don’t we walk a little way?” she invited, propelling Mallory along the corridor.
Staff passed on their right, turning curious eyes on them. Mallory was aware she looked a bit on the wild side with her voluminous mane of beach hair. Even the doctor was staring at her when she thought Mallory wasn’t looking.
“Have you been able to isolate a cause?” Mallory asked, catching the doctor staring.
“May I speak plainly?” Dr. Farnsworth flushed slightly.
“Plainly makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Just the answer Dr. Farnsworth sought. Plus assurances. “I would like what I have to say to be kept confidential.”
Mallory’s reply was brisk. “You have my word.”
“You’re a child psychologist, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my practice is in Brisbane.”
“Dr. Moorehouse speaks very highly of you,” she said as though speaking highly of someone was no easy thing to do. “He’s told me you had some concerns about Ivy?”
“Ivy’s parents work at Moonglade Plantation Farm. My uncle Robert owned it. Now the estate has passed to me.”
“Forgive me.” The good doctor showed her sympathy. “I should have offered my condolences. I only met your uncle once, at a fundraiser for the hospital. I found him a delightful man. I’m a great fan of his books. He did autograph one for me at a later date, and gave it to Ted to bring to me. I could see your uncle in his charming detective.”
“I did too.” Mallory smiled through the tug on her heart. “Something is troubling you, Dr. Farnsworth?”
The doctor’s orange eyebrows puckered. “Marisa, please.”
“Mallory. Are you thinking that Ivy could be the victim of Munchausen by proxy? Not that the country is awash with the condition.”
Marisa Farnsworth groaned without any visible movement of her lips. “I’m not convinced of it, but I admit to an increasing level of concern. The disorder is always in one’s mind when a mother presents a child on a frequent basis. Kathy Cartwright appears to be unstable, poor girl. I know a little of her background.”
“So you think the mother might be somehow harming the child.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Hard to ignore, don’t you think? She fits all the criteria. It’s the classic plea for attention. We have no idea at the moment what caused Ivy’s seizure. From all accounts it was mild. She doesn’t have a high temperature, so it wasn’t febrile. She doesn’t suffer from childhood migraines either, which could be a pointer to something serious.”
“And she has never presented before with a seizure.”
Marisa vigorously shook her head. “This is the first time. I’ve run an EEG, so we can rule out epilepsy. I’ve run blood tests. Nothing of significance we could pick up there. She’s a bit anaemic, but nothing too worrying. A problem eater, I understand, which could explain a lot. She’s underweight, as is her mother. Her skin tone isn’t good. The mother doesn’t look well either. I don’t know what the child is being given—if anything at all—but I do strongly believe something is not right. After today it’s a source of concern. If Mrs. Cartwright is making her child ill, she has to be stopped. Am I right in thinking you share my concerns? Mrs. Cartwright seems such a sad woman. You have to wonder if she’s starving herself. I’ve never sighted the father, by the way.”
The doctor was staring at Mallory with a marked glint of curiosity in her eyes. “I’ll speak to him,” Mallory said, with no thought of making the doctor privy to the whole story. “So what happens now?”
Marisa Farnsworth heaved such a sigh it bounced the stethoscope on her chest. “I would move quickly if I could only be sure. Terrible thing to accuse a mother of harming her child. Once I call in Child Welfare!” She threw up her hands, leaving Mallory to judge. “No need to tell you the consequences.”
“She couldn’t have inhaled glue at an art class?” Mallory put forth a theory. “She says she doesn’t remember. She’s still dazed.”
“Well yes, but goodness, the school wouldn’t have anything that strong near the children. They would all be painting together. Ivy is the only one in her class affected.”
“Then all we can do is keep watch,” Mallory said. “I’ll speak to Kathy and Jason this evening when Jason finishes work. Kathy had to call on me as Jason was out on farm business. When do you intend to let Ivy go home? Might be a good idea to keep her in today for observation.”
That bothered Dr. Farnsworth. “It was my intention.”
“Of course!” Mallory responded instantly, as clearly she was meant to do. “It’s comforting to know Ivy is in such good hands.”
“It seems to me Ivy Cartwright is far less familiar with loving attention than she is with frequent bouts of sickness,” Dr. Farnsworth said, more than ever determined to sort it out. “I could say the same for Ivy’s mother.”
What chance did Ivy have of staying alive? Anxiety was becoming a real fear. The chilling aspect was the abused often carried abuse forward. Kathy Burch had been an abused child. Kathy was leading an insecure, painful life. She had discovered the way to get attention was to bring her sick child into hospital. At such times she had exhibited intense anxiety. A battery of tests had put obvious fears to rest. Serious consideration had to be given to Munchausen by proxy whether she believed in Kathy’s innocence or not.
* * *
They were halfway out the door of the hospital when they encountered Blaine coming up the short flight of steps at a clip. He addressed Mallory. “I heard Ivy had a seizure at school. Is she okay?”
“Who told you?” Kathy appeared to undergo a personality switch. She sounded as though she wanted to pick a fight.
With Blaine Forrester of all people?
“She’s fine, Blaine.”
Mallory cut Kathy off. “I’ve spoken to Dr. Farnsworth. Ivy’s in for observation today. Kathy and I will pick her up in the morning.”
“I reckon they’re blaming me.” Kathy continued with her bizarre belligerence.
“Not true, Kathy. Do please calm down.”
“They’re watchin’ me, I know.” Kathy was shaking all over.
“Let’s go to the car,” Blaine said in a detached tone.
In the parking lot Mallory helped Kathy into the passenger seat, even assisting her to put on her seat belt as if she were a child. Kathy was unravelling, morphing into a kind of sullen defensiveness which could present a bit of a problem.
“I’ll just have a word with Blaine, Kathy,” Mallory said, looking down into her aggrieved, tear-stained face. “Won’t be long. When we get home we’ll have a nice cup of tea.”
“Okay,” said Kathy, looking like she had the weight of the entire world on her thin shoulders.
People who don’t believe in anything believe in a nice cup of tea.
“Is Kathy in any way schizophrenic?” Blaine asked. “There’s a lot of talk about her, you know.”
Mallory met his electric gaze. Kathy’s sudden mood swing had taken her by surprise as well. “There always was talk about the Burch family. Kathy is extremely upset. Dr. Farnsworth thinks—”
“Don’t tell me the Munchausen thing?” he said shortly. “Kathy’s identity was shaped by her dysfunctional home life.”
“People from dysfunctional families can and do remake their lives,” Mallory pointed out. “I’m still trying to get myself together. If Jessica were around I’d say Jessica might have slipped Ivy a few drops of one of her mystery potions. She fancies herself as some kind of authority on rainforest plants and fungi. Only Jessica has an alibi. She’s out of town.”
“The devil she is!” he said, explosively. “I saw her in town this morning.”