Mia quietly closed the door of the interview room and slipped behind the small table while Jack and Sharon mutely sat in the armchairs opposite and looked at her as though waiting for the punchline of a lengthy joke.
‘Rachel is quite the pocket rocket, isn’t she?’ Mia smiled, attracting reciprocal grins from Jack and Sharon.
Sharon snorted softly, then nodded. ‘Yes. She’s a worry is our Rachel.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mia asked. Jack’s instant frown and the slight squirm in his seat made it obvious that this was a taboo subject as far as he was concerned.
On the other hand, Sharon appeared anxious to elaborate. She leaned forward. ‘Well, she’s sort of an enigma. She is exceptionally bright and seems to have everything going for her. But she withdraws into herself at times. Teenagers are prone to mood swings, so it may be nothing. All the same, it is perplexing.’ She hesitated and cleared her throat. ‘Then there are other times when she seems to really zone out. Her eyes glaze over, the whole enchilada … although not for long,’ she added briefly, holding up one hand. ‘I’d say only seconds. I put it down to her being bored, or her mind simply wandering off … we all get like that sometimes. I’ve spoken to Annie Hooper … she doesn’t seem worried. And it certainly hasn’t affected Rachel’s school performance. She’s strong academically and socially … won’t let anyone push her around. Rachel’s the type who will always stand up for herself, and for other kids who are younger or weaker than she is, too, for that matter.’
‘So what’s your take on what happened last night, then?’ Mia asked, trying to ignore Jack’s impatient squirming, the sound as he scratched the side of his cheek like an agitated dog. His face turning to stone, he suddenly leaned forward.
‘She was just being reckless,’ he interceded. ‘She needs a good talking to, that’s all. She won’t do it again because she’s smart enough to work out what is good for her.’
‘It’s not that simple, Jack,’ Sharon said, shaking her head. ‘Kids don’t put themselves at risk by drinking and taking drugs alone like Rachel did, unless something is really bothering them.’
Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘That’s rubbish, Sharon. You think any kid who does something a little out of the ordinary, who experiments with new behaviour, is being abused. Mollycoddling her will only weaken her resilience … it’s counterproductive and totally unnecessary.’
‘Is that right, Sharon?’ Mia said, noting Sharon’s frown. ‘That you think Rachel is being abused, I mean?’
‘Oh, no,’ Sharon said, physically recoiling. ‘I don’t think that at all. There has been gossip about Peter Hooper’s childhood, but it’s so old it’s probably Chinese whispers. And Rachel did go through a bed-wetting stage during her lower primary years, but lots of kids do that for no particular reason as well. I just posed the possibility to Jack once, that’s all. ’ She rubbed her bottom lip and peered down at the carpet, seemingly deep in thought.
‘What sort of Chinese whispers,’ Mia asked.
Jack tutted and shook his head. ‘Here we go again,’ he murmured rolling his eyes and crossing one leg over the other.
‘Oh, you know …’ Sharon said gently slapping him on the thigh. ‘Bits and pieces that don’t hang well enough together to make sense … like four children with two fathers and one mother … a family suicide … sexual abuse that could never be proven.’
‘Has Rachel ever spoken about these rumours?’
‘No. Neither did Tim during the years I taught him. And, of course, because he’s only seven, Ben shows no awareness or interest in such things. Small towns are their own worst enemy, Mia. Lies become truths and truths become distorted. It’s all swings and roundabouts.’
‘And it has no bearing on the present,’ Jack snapped, his eyes boring into Sharon’s. ‘Regardless of what happened to her father, Rachel is a brilliant young horsewoman and an exceptional student. If she hangs onto her successes she’ll get through this with flying colours. The last thing she needs is everyone fussing around her and inventing problems.’
‘Well, I don’t agree,’ Sharon said, lifting her eyebrows at Jack. She turned to Mia. ‘I shall certainly be keeping an eye on her from now on.’
Mia could have hugged Sharon Carmichael, such was her relief at knowing that Rachel would be going home with at least one mindful adult to watch over her.
Jack tutted like a disgruntled soothsayer as he took the cue from Mia and brought himself to his feet. Sharon followed him to the door, then stopped and turned to Mia. ‘Annie and Peter will be pleased to have her home. Annie is a real mother hen. She worries when her chicks are not safely tucked under her wings.’ She smiled before her expression turned suddenly serious. ‘Dr Sandhurst, I wonder if I could ask a favour on Rachel’s behalf. She desperately wants to study medicine and I am certain she is capable. But her parents are insistent they can’t afford the university fees; that she should marry a farmer, or at least continue to work the family farm as her vocation. Although Rachel doesn’t say much, I get the impression that her inability to make her own life choices is causing her a lot of grief.’ She shrugged. ‘You seem to be someone who could help — and you obviously care about Rachel. Just saying …’
The curious questions Rachel had earlier fired at Mia now made sense. ‘Sure. I’ll keep it in mind,’ Mia said, pleased for Rachel that she obviously had Sharon Carmichael well and truly ensconsed in her corner.
It was well after 4.00pm by the time Mia plodded down the concrete steps into the car park. The flash and beep from her car as she pointed the remote always gave her a discernible burst of joy because it meant she was on her way home. On this particular occasion she also realised she had not had time all day to think about her own family. Tossing her bag onto the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel and turning the key in the ignition, she resolved to ring Adam after dinner. In the meantime, she thought, there was a more irksome task to be dealt with. She rummaged through her bag, dug out her phone and slipped it into the hands-free carrier. She eventually found the number and dialled, the rings at the other end echoing through the car as she emerged from the car park into the fading light.
‘Leila Anderson,’ a voice answered as Mia accelerated onto the street, still shining with evidence of the day’s persistent early-spring showers.
‘Hello, Leila, it’s Mia Sandhurst,’ she said, pulling up at the traffic lights, the indicator clicking like a metronome as she waited for a young couple with a pram to saunter across the pedestrian crossing before she could turn left.
‘Hello, Mia.’ Leila’s voice registered surprise. And there was something else that was indecipherable in her tone as well.
‘I’m really sorry to intrude on your Sunday, but Eric isn’t responding to my calls. I’m a little worried. Have you heard from him?’
A brief silence was followed by hesitant, deliberate intonations — the type of response one would expect from a witness on the stand in a courtroom, or someone giving evidence to a Royal Commission. ‘Well, no … not really. Only a few emails with attached reports and letters he wanted me to type.’
‘Has he called you?’ Mia asked, her concerns curdling to suspicion, purely due to Leila’s obvious wavering.
‘No … no calls. Look, I’m sure he’s fine, Mia. He has a pretty packed schedule this trip.’
Mia turned into her street, the energetic, almost cheerful clicking of the indictor at odds with the anxiety, edged with anger, that swirled in her gut. Of course, it was Leila’s job to protect her boss, but it was not her place to shield him from his wife. ‘Mm, that’s part of the problem, I think. I didn’t get his schedule for this trip. I wonder if you would email me a copy, please.’
There was another awkward pause before Leila said, ‘Sure. I don’t see why not. And if I do hear from Eric, I’ll have him call you.’
‘Excellent — thanks, Leila. Enjoy the rest of your day. And sorry again for disturbing you, but I feel so much better now we have spoken …
&n
bsp; ‘… not,’ Mia said through clenched teeth, stabbing the end button and accelerating into her undercroft. Within seconds, she was pounding her way up the stairs and charging through the back door into her kitchen, ignoring the beep from within her bag, which signalled the arrival of a text to pour herself a large glass of chilled white wine.
Soothed by a few velvet sips, Mia slammed her palm onto the gas fire, bringing its flames to life with a deep puff, shoved a section of pre-cooked Peking duck into the oven and made an Asian salad, then took a long hot shower. Rummaging to the back of her wardrobe she dragged out her comfort clothes — elephant-sized track pants and an equally large windcheater. She relished their sense of freedom and warmth and padded in bare feet back to the kitchen where aromas of cooked duck filled the space and teased her appetite.
It was when she was taking the first sip of her second glass of wine that she remembered the text message and lifted her phone to see that there were actually two messages awaiting her.
The first was from Maggie Malloy: Rachel’s cardiac tests clear. Still refusing to engage with psych. Will be discharged tomorrow in the am. Have reported my concerns to Child Welfare.
Mia’s brow furrowed. ‘Oh no, Rachel. What is really happening in your life? Should we be worried or should we simply leave you alone?’ She resolved to visit Rachel one last time tomorrow, before she was discharged from hospital.
The second message was from Eric: Singapore deal successful. Sorry haven’t been able to return calls. Will be home Tuesday, but have another appointment that evening so no plans pls. E.
His blisteringly terse tone seemed misplaced and unwarranted, especially after days of silence. ‘How astounding, Eric, that you have chosen to message me less than one hour after I phoned your secretary. What is going on?’ she muttered, her appetite immediately leaving her.
CHAPTER SIX
Breakfast trolleys inched along the ward’s stretched corridor. The rumbling wheels and tinkling crockery repeatedly stopped and started as staff in blue uniforms and hairnets carried breakfast trays into the rooms branching off either side, only to emerge seconds later to put their backs once again into pushing the towering trolleys to the next room.
Mia moved as quickly as her red runners would take her, past the stationary trolleys steeped in aromas of toast and coffee and on towards Rachel’s room. ‘Please be there, Rachel,’ she murmured, given that only minutes before the Nursing Manager had said on the phone that Rachel’s discharge papers were complete and she was packing for home.
Mia stopped outside Room 7, knocked on the open door and stepped in to see Rachel’s back bent over the bed. Her long dark hair, now shiny clean, fell forward as she reached for individual items of clothing and toiletries amongst those spread over the blue-checked bedspread and packed them carefully into a large, colourfully-striped carryall — the type of bag that surplus stores sold for a couple of dollars.
Tim faced the door and silently watched his sister, the view of treetops and blue sky outside the window behind him filling the room with light and mild rays of sunshine. He looked up at Mia, his generous smile immediately lighting up his face. Rachel turned with an expectant look, which instantly hardened the moment she saw her visitor.
‘G’day, Dr Sandhurst,’ Tim said.
‘I hear you’re leaving us,’ Mia said to Rachel in a voice that sounded falsely cheery even to her. Rachel wordlessly turned back to her packing.
‘Rach? What do you say?’ Tim’s puzzled frown drew Mia’s further attention to his baby-round face, so like his mother’s, apart from the strong jaw. Unlike his siblings, who had inherited Peter’s dark colouring, Tim’s hair and skin had the russet fairness of Annie’s.
A sharp rap drew everyone’s attention to the small woman at the door, her brown curls flattened under a hairnet. ‘Catering. Do you want breakfast?’ she sang.
‘No, thanks, I’m going home,’ Rachel murmured, turning again to her packing.
‘You know why I’m here don’t you, Rachel?’ Mia said. ‘Other than to say goodbye of course.’
Although Rachel’s back was turned and she remained steadfastly silent, Mia knew from the stiffness of the girl’s movements that she had gained Rachel’s full attention.
‘Maggie Malloy and I are very worried about you, Rachel,’ she said. ‘Please visit your GP about your injuries. And you should lighten your load — talk to a counsellor about what is bothering you.’ She moderated her tone just a little. ‘Mrs Carmichael tells me you could go to medical school. Dealing with any bad stuff now will help free you up for your studies.’ Mindful of the possibility that information about Rachel’s injuries may be new to Tim, Mia decided she could not care less. Let them fire me for breach of confidentiality, she thought. His mother should have told him, anyway. There’s simply too much secrecy thriving in this family.
Rachel stopped packing and turned to face Mia with narrowed eyes, clearly a nonverbal admonishment for what she had just disclosed in front of Tim. Mia was pleased. At least it may spark a conversation on the topic. Unless, of course, there is nothing to worry about, as Rachel claims, and I’ve thrown a hand grenade, she countered in a moment of self-doubt. Then, determined, Mia delved into the pocket of her scrubs, withdrew a business card and handed it to Rachel. ‘If you want me to help you get into med school give me a call,’ Mia said. Rachel locked eyes with her at last for the briefest of moments before she turned, dropped the card into her striped bag and zipped it closed.
Mia handed more cards to Tim. ‘For you and your parents,’ she said. ‘You should ring me if you need to.’ She hoped Tim understood the implication of her words. ‘Take care, Rachel,’ she chimed as she left with her gut sinking like an anchor in sludge.
By the time she had taken a few steps from Rachel’s room, Mia’s despair had soured to fist-balling anger. She raised her chin and marched along the suddenly claustrophobic corridors towards the Emergency treatment area, her pace increasing as she pondered how everyone, including herself, was placidly accepting Rachel’s insidious silence simply because it seemed to be the path of least resistance. The easy way out.
Then, of course, there was Eric, no longer silent, but now oozing an eye-wateringly selfish form of arrogance, lacking in any care or consideration. Aware of an old colleague approaching and about to pass her in the narrow passage, she forced a smile and continued on her way, anxious at that moment to avoid even the most cursory of social interactions. Moments later, spotting an old man a few metres ahead who struggled to retrieve his walking stick from where it had fallen on the tiles, his body stiff and twisted from age and disability, she rolled her eyes and sighed, considering whether she should ignore him. Sail past as though she had not noticed.
‘Here, let me get that for you,’ she said, retrieving his cane and handing it to him. He thanked her, his dentured grin radiating relief and gratitude. And a degree of exasperation left her.
But not fully. Not until she had made her way almost to the end of the promenade and caught a glimpse ahead of a familiar pinstriped suit, its owner’s dark hair flecked with grey catching the sun that spilled in through the glass wall. ‘Declan,’ she called joyously, quickening her pace through mote-filled rays of sunshine. ‘Hey, Declan.’
He stopped, his self-possessed grin spreading as he turned. ‘Hello, Mia darling,’ he said once she reached him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and squeezed. ‘Would that be yerself then, Mia Sandhurst?’ he said, the greeting he invariably gave whenever they met.
She glanced at her watch. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ I could do with a sounding board.
He studied her face with sage-like concentration, then gently took her elbow. ‘C’mon. For the next 15 minutes, I’m all yours.’
The hospital canteen rattled and echoed like a stadium, but it was warm and it was accessible and the coffee was reasonable. Mia watched Declan stir the froth of his latte until it dissolved into coffee.
‘How have you been?’ she asked, aware s
he felt curiously inhibited now she and Declan were face to face.
‘Busy,’ he replied, licking his spoon and placing it on the saucer. ‘Most of my new referrals are coming from outside the hospital. I’m going to have to talk to the Intake Committee about additional resources.’
She took a sip of coffee and swallowed. ‘Well, I almost added to your turmoil yesterday,’ she said.
‘Is tat so?’ he replied, breaking into his boyish smile and Irish brogue.
She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Yes. Rachel Hooper, a 15 year old girl was admitted Sunday morning for alcohol and drug overdose.’ Mia relayed the story of Rachel’s injuries and the teen’s curious explanation, and the way Mia now personally found herself torn between Maggie Malloy’s adamant stance that Rachel was indeed being abused and Annie Hooper’s apparent ambivalence. His eyes widened when she related how Rachel had slipped into an altered state of consciousness and then out again. Once she had conveyed the entire story, she shrugged and added: ‘Anyway, it’s now a moot point. Rachel has been discharged without receiving proper treatment or police action.’
‘You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Yes, but in my more rational moments I realise we have done as much as we can. The extent of her injuries is growing hazier by the hour. I guess that’s what worries me.’
Declan sighed and lifted his dark eyebrows. ‘She’ll be back, Mia … mark my words.’ His blue eyes smiled sadly at her over the rim of his cup before his phone signalled a text message.
What Matters Most Page 5