‘Was there anything else you liked about me?’ I prodded again.
‘Nuh.’
‘Really?’
‘No, nothing.’
As I write this chapter an email notification from Phil lights up my screen—the subject: What attracted me to you.
‘Besides your athletic legs, it was your blond hair that flew on the slightest breeze and your big blue eyes . . . like a doll. I never had the guts to talk to you but that’s how I saw you before we met.’
He wrote that after we met: ‘It was your quietness, almost aloofness that intrigued me. I found out that those character traits didn’t come from arrogance or confidence but a lack of those qualities. You had a great sense of humour but because of your lack of confidence it was kept under wraps. As we got to know each other, it came out more. I’d never met a girl who liked poetry. You read it and wrote it—usually dark. You introduced me to Kahlil Gibran. You had a great capacity to love and when it came my way, it was powerful and deep. I had not felt such love before. It distracted me from most things around me and that’s when I fell in love with you.’
‘Good enough,’ I replied by email.
It was during one of our break-ups when he called to ask me out for dinner. I was living with a girlfriend in a two-bedroom flat in Kirribilli. I had just arrived home from an arduous hockey game with older girls from North Sydney. I was covered in mud and bruises. I said yes and threw myself under the shower.
He turned up at seven and we walked to a romantic French restaurant around the corner. Several years later it was renamed and rejigged into a girlie, lap-sitting, burlesque eatery of questionable distinction.
That night, during dessert, he said he never wanted to be separated from me again and asked me to marry him.
The following year, wearing the ivory satin and lace dress my grandmother had made for my mother’s wedding, I made Phil a promise to love him until the day I die.
Eighteen months into our marriage Ben was born, followed by Christopher twenty-one months later, then Nic another twenty-one months after that. Three boys under four. Immediately after delivering Nic, I tried to get off the high delivery bed but a severe leg cramp forced me to lie back down. While I grimaced in agony, Phil was smiling, humming to the tune of My Three Sons.
It was a hectic time, raising three boys mostly on my own and trying to hold on to my freelance career. I was generally exhausted, especially during the numerous bouts of teething, colds and flu and ear infections. But my love for them was so powerful it hurt. When Ben was a baby I couldn’t imagine being able to love another child as much as him.
When Jim died, Ben didn’t understand why I cried at night.
I cried deep and hard for my baby brother. My parents received the same advice as I would eighteen years later—‘At least you have other children.’ His death made me fear losing my only son. Phil and I agreed to have another child. I went off the contraceptive pill, thinking it might take six months to fall pregnant, but Christopher was conceived straight away, as if he couldn’t wait or feared we may change our minds. Ten days late and weighing a little over four kilos, he was forced into this world through induction and forceps.
Twelve months later I fell pregnant with Nic unexpectedly. Although the thought crossed our minds at the time that we were both tired and feared we couldn’t afford a third child, Phil and I both cried and hugged each other when it was decided we would definitely keep our baby. I had visions of Ben and Christopher sitting under the Christmas tree with a vacant space between them, like someone no longer in favour being cut from a photograph. Nic arrived in a hurry, weighing over four and a half kilos. From the beginning he was anxious to get into life.
Although they all had similar features they had very different personalities, but they were all kind and loving and polite. On one of our home videos Christopher demanded more soap.
‘Cricket, you should say, may I have more soap, please,’ Ben chastised.
‘May I have some more soap, please, Mama,’ Christopher duly obeyed.
Ben was soft and patient with his two baby brothers. He would unbutton Christopher’s shirts before he was able to do it himself and always undressed Nic for the nightly bath. One video captured Ben and Christopher practising tackles in our small lounge room and then Nic, at one, and unaware he was being watched, climbing up onto the kitchen bench trying to work out how voices came out of the radio. Pan back to the lounge room and Christopher had just performed a drop-knee tackle on Ben. Ben rolled away in agony; Christopher hugged him and apologised.
During that same period when Christopher was four, he was at Little Nippers on a Sunday morning with his best friend Laurie who was trying to puncture a bluebottle which had washed up on the shore. Christopher was yelling at him not to kill it.
‘Don’t pop it, don’t pop it,’ he screamed at Laurie.
When Laurie continued, Christopher pushed him hard enough for him to fall into the surf.
‘Don’t do it! Never,’ Christopher said with tears in his eyes.
‘Never, never.’
We have many happy videos of our young sons but up until recently, I haven’t been able to watch them. I was locked into the bad times, the sad memories. I was frightened that if I saw Christopher alive, I’d lose my mind. Phil had encouraged me for years to watch them and when I finally did, he sat with me and held my hand as I laughed at their antics and marvelled at their beauty and innocence. He held me tight as I wept while watching Christopher hug me and whisper something in my ear.
This was our happy, hectic, funny, adventurous, beautiful family.
I read them books, I taught them songs, colours and the alphabet.
Phil taught them honesty and decency and how to tackle around the knees. We loved them with physical and emotional abandon.
Ben loved to wrap his arms around my neck and kiss me hard on the cheek, Nic liked to rub noses, and Christopher would grab my cheeks and rub his lips over mine and say ‘moochie, moochie’. Nic loved Superman, Cricket loved Batman and Ben loved Robin.
Of course they grew into robust teenagers but their intrinsic, sweet, kind and caring natures stayed with them. That was until Ben at sixteen got depression, followed closely by Christopher and Nic.
That’s when my happy, hectic, funny, adventurous, beautiful family fell apart.
From Christopher’s diary: November 22nd, 2001
Half-way up the hill I see the Past
Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights,
A city in the twilight dim and vast,
With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights,
And hear above me on the autumnal blast
The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
chapter 16
In the weeks following the funeral, I went back to the headland every day looking for answers. To even begin to understand why Christopher died I had to find out what happened that night. It would take me months to piece most of it together.
Ray, a gentle, robust policeman with a brief smile and eyes which had seen too much, was willing to help me. He was the officer in charge and had been there on August 29th.
It was a warm, September day—lunchtime. Ray drove me to Avalon Beach, parked his police car by the surf club and helped me across the sand. Mothers and their toddlers sat on beach towels eating fish and chips, young women oiled flawless skin and suntanned surfers with waxed boards waited at the water’s edge for the tide to turn.
We were a spectacle, Ray in his uniform, I in jeans, as their gazes followed us to the ocean pool. We walked around the safety fence and Ray knelt, inviting me to join him. I stared at the hard rock surface looking for any traces of blood but there was nothing; it was just a rock which had been moulded over the centuries by an often tempestuous sea. Little black crabs darted out of the chiselled holes and, spying unwanted guests, scurried back to safety. I looked up at the sheer cliff face, the jagged ledges carpeted with
tussocks of brown grass. Clumps of asparagus fern and seaside daisies sprouted indiscriminately through the cracks in the rock and at the very top, a lone gum tree struggled on a thin and shaky trunk battling against the raging coastal elements.
‘Has that floodlight always been there?’ I asked Ray.
He shook his head and hesitated.
‘No. The council erected it after . . .’ He paused then sighed. ‘A few weeks ago.’
‘Because of Christopher?’
He nodded. ‘Hopefully it will save others,’ he whispered.
He gazed at me deeply as he gently shook his head from side to side.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wrapping his big, blue policeman’s arm around my shoulders. And then I cried and he pulled me to him, holding me tightly until my body stilled.
‘Where did it happen? Exactly.’
Ray pointed to a ledge 10 metres above our heads then down to the rock where we were standing. I sat down. Ray hovered over me, his body bent, his arms like wings encircling a newly hatched fledgling. We stayed there for a while, frozen statues lost in thought.
Then he lifted me and guided me back along the beach to the car park, to the spot where the ambulance had been parked. I looked out to the ocean where Christopher used to surf. The board riders had paddled out behind a set of bulging waves and at the water’s edge, two small children squealed as pools of foam broke over their toes. They ran back to their sand holes and threw themselves in, scattering sand in every direction. Their mother smiled as she tried to slap their squirming bodies with sunscreen. My skin bristled with envy. How I wished I was her. At the end of this day, she’d pack up her picnic, towels, buckets and spades and her children. She’d bathe them then make tacos. All warm and soft and smelling of lavender, she’d read them a story, maybe even ‘Elfie’, then kiss and cuddle them while she wrapped them into bed for the night. Tomorrow would be another day. She’d wake, like I used to, full of hope and fun and plans. Every day would be just like this one, every year marked off with a new achievement, another birthday, the Easter bunny and Santa. Their heights would be measured with a pencil line behind the kitchen door, their weight by the number of piggyback rides she could endure.
That’s how it was meant to be. That’s how it was for Phil and me.
Every morning and one by one, wearing their favourite ‘jammies’, their little chubby bodies would shuffle down the hall. With matted hair and rubbing sleep from their eyes, they’d dive onto the couch for a quick cuddle before breakfast. Ben and Christopher would wrestle while Nic ‘helped’ in the kitchen. I couldn’t have known then that this perfect life would fall apart, that mental illness would all but destroy my family. We had three beautiful, healthy, happy, intelligent boys who would grow up to be beautiful, happy, healthy, successful adults. Ben wanted to be a fireman; Christopher, a famous rugby player; Nic, an ‘animal fixer’ (veterinarian).
How I wish I could go back twelve years, stare madness in the face and banish it from our home. Perhaps I should have asked its name, befriended it, calmed and cajoled it, invited it in for dinner.
Maybe that’s why madness didn’t care. I left it out in the dark, hungry, lonely and cold.
chapter 17
Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it, you can never get it back.
HARVEY MACKAY, AUTHOR AND BUSINESS LEADER
One hour. One long hour to save Christopher’s life. But we weren’t given the chance. At the end of that hour, it would be too late.
In her statement to the police, Ally said: ‘Chris stayed with me on most occasions since January [2002]. He told me he suffered depression and anxiety. He took tablets every day to ease his anxiety. In the last two weeks, Chris stayed at my place every night. In March, a friend of his committed suicide and Chris found this very difficult to deal with. He spoke about suicide. Sometimes he was opposed to it and then he would change his mind. On August 29th, we spent the day together. We watched a video but he got upset because he was alone for a short time. He hated being alone. Chris was writing a letter. I thought it was for me but he told me it was for his psychologist who told him to write his feelings down. I don’t know where this letter went.’
I don’t know what else Christopher did on the day of his death.
I know that after he was with Ally he was alone until he went to rugby training with Jack. They were late and were berated by the coach who ordered extra sprints after training. That night, while we were at Nic’s school play, Christopher came home and changed then drove to Jack’s house for a barbecue. I know he ate a steak and sausage and the autopsy report showed that he drank enough to give him a mid-range blood alcohol reading of 0.145.
A few friends had dropped in, including Ally. Sometime after ten o’clock, Christopher and Ally fought and she went home with her mother. Christopher left Jack’s house without saying goodbye.
At about 10:25, Jack went to look for him and noticed his car was gone. He sent Ally a text message asking if Christopher was with her.
She replied, ‘No, why?’
‘Because he’s left my house and I don’t know where he is. I’m worried.’
Shortly after, Christopher’s close friend Emma messaged Ally:
‘I’m so worried about Chris. He’s at south Avalon headland and he’s talking about suicide.’
Ally relayed this to Jack. Jack then messaged Christopher.
Taken from police statements:
AUGUST 29TH, 2002. 10:30 P.M.
‘Where are you?’ Jack’s message read.
‘At Avalon headland. It’s good to know you care. Love you bro,’ Christopher messaged back. And then Christopher’s phone went dead. Panicked, Jack rode his bike from his house down the hill to the beach headland a kilometre away.
10:40 P.M.
A frightened Ally ran up to the main house to get her mother and sister. They drove together to the headland.
Jack arrived at the beach and saw Christopher’s car facing east with all four doors wide open and the keys in the ignition. But he couldn’t find Christopher. A few minutes later, Jack saw him walking back from the base of the cliff to the grassed area near the top of the precipice. He ran to him.
‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ Jack said. ‘You scared me. I love you, mate.’
He hugged Christopher who was ‘agitated and highly distressed’. They walked to his car. Christopher hit the passenger side external mirror with his arm then threw it off the cliff.
‘I kept asking him what was wrong but he just kept saying “nothing”,’ Jack stated.
Then Ally and her family joined them. Her mother and sister were told to wait in the car while Ally went to Christopher.
‘He was crying and distressed,’ she stated. ‘I hugged him.’
Ally recalled that Christopher kept repeating: ‘I hate everything.’
‘I don’t think you understand how many people love you and look up to you,’ she told him.
He then said he had to find his phone and started to walk down the hill. Ally asked Jack what had happened to his phone.
‘He threw it off the cliff instead of himself,’ Jack told her.
10:45 P.M.
Jack got a torch out of Christopher’s car to go and look for the mirror.
11–11:20 P.M.
While Jack continued to look for the mirror, Christopher and Ally walked down the hill to the picnic tables. They were joined by Ally’s mother and sister and shortly after by Jack. Ally then told her mother and sister to go home, which they did. Christopher gave Ally his phone which was missing the keypad and the back cover. She turned it on and received a message but couldn’t read it because the front cover was missing. She put his SIM card into her phone to read the message.
I never found out who the message was from or what it said.
Ally asked him if he wanted to talk about how he felt. He said, ‘It’s unexplainable, no one will e
ver understand.’
She said she and Jack were hugging him when Christopher suddenly decided to go and look for the missing parts of his phone He walked off by himself down to the bottom of the headland with the torch.
‘We weren’t worried about him because we were at the bottom of the headland and he had calmed down heaps,’ she stated.
11:25 P.M.
Christopher had been gone for five minutes when Jack and Ally decided to check on him.
Ally: ‘We walked down the edge of the beach towards the swimming pool. Above the pool, about two-thirds of the way up the cliff, I saw the torch moving and I could also see the outline of Chris climbing upwards. We were on the pool side of the fence and I yelled out, “Chris, what are you doing?” He kept climbing.’
Jack: ‘I couldn’t really see Chris, just the movement of the torch. I yelled out his name then looked at Ally.’
11:30 P.M.
Jack: ‘As I looked up I saw Chris falling from the top of the cliff and it looked like his body rolled a couple of times as he was coming down. I saw him land right in front of us but on the opposite side of the fence. We ran around and I called 000 for an ambulance. I also called Chris’s parents. When I got there he was already unconscious and he was lying on the rocks on his back facing upwards. I could see some blood on his face and also a pool of blood under his head.’
Ally: ‘All of a sudden I saw Chris falling backwards off the cliff. I think part of him hit the cliff on the way down. He landed directly in front of where we were standing behind the fence. As I ran around to the other side I dialled 000. Jack called Chris’s parents. I told Jack to give me his jumper and I placed it under Chris’s head. I saw that he had blood running from his ears, mouth and head. I called my mum and said, “Get down here, Chris has fallen.”
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