by Anne Buist
Lyuba, Vesna’s mother, suffered after Vesna’s birth. She told Vesna she had a Romani curse on her; she was an uneducated woman and knew little else that could explain the horrors she had endured. But those horrors never left her, and Vesna’s bedtimes stories were more Grimm than fairytale. Vesna’s birth was physically difficult and afterwards Lyuba was unable to have more children. Part of the curse, she believed.
Vesna believed it too.
49
When she was excused from court Natalie walked out and kept walking. She was vaguely aware of Jacqueline Barrett calling, of the junior lawyer running after her, but she was out of the building and around the corner before she could be caught. She took gulps of air and found herself in a car park gasping, trying to control her breath. What the fuck had just happened? She felt electricity like a live current through her limbs, and her head buzzed. Fury boiled up inside her and she smashed her fist into the car park ticket machine.
‘Fuck.’ Her hand hurt, badly, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hit Liam or Tania or Jacqueline Barrett. But it was herself she wanted to hurt. Why the fuck hadn’t she taken the medication? She hit the machine again, this time hearing a knuckle crack. She could see one of the attendants tentatively approaching her.
‘Ah…are you okay?’
No she wasn’t okay. The entire fucking legal profession were plotting against her. No. She took a breath, assured the young man she was fine and returned to the street to hail a cab. She texted Barrett: she was unwell and wouldn’t be back.
Barrett tried ringing but Natalie let it go to voicemail. A minute later a text appeared. Tomorrow? She’d have liked to reply no, but for Georgia’s sake she couldn’t do that. At least tomorrow she’d be in better shape than she was now.
Okay.
She went home to the warehouse, took twice the usual dose of her antipsychotics and slept.
There were texts from Damian and Liam when she woke the next morning, as well as Barrett’s junior asking for clarification of her health state at 8 a.m. She was tempted to write fucked but conceded after a strong coffee that, while her head was foggy and she was still irritable, she felt less shaky than yesterday. Highs were great, usually. The irritable paranoid variety? Not so much so. And of course when she was really manic she got herself into trouble. She was getting better at picking the warning signs, but could still be sucked into the wonderful feeling of being invulnerable. If only that were the reality.
She wrote okay, had another coffee and took the tram into court.
‘Yesterday morning was a train wreck.’ Jacqueline didn’t mince words.
‘Can you recover ground?’ This wasn’t her problem, Natalie told herself. But even she didn’t believe it.
‘No problem. Long as Paul confesses to topping the kids, I’ll have her home for Christmas.’ The lines on Jacqueline’s face looked deeper etched than Natalie had noticed in the past. Whether she truly cared for Georgia or it was just about winning, Natalie didn’t know. But this mattered to Barrett too. ‘I left my paediatric experts until last, so there’s hope,’ she said a little less sarcastically. ‘And to be honest, Perkins was scraping the barrel going for the qualification thing.’ She smiled. ‘She actually lost the crying woman on the jury. She looked like she was going to jump over the gate and defend you.’
Natalie wanted to say she didn’t need defending, but this wasn’t the time.
‘So vulnerable is good,’ Barrett went on, ‘but say as little as possible.’
‘Perkins wouldn’t let me get a word out,’ Natalie said angrily, though part of her knew she was just doing her job. And doing it better than Natalie.
‘She was good.’ Jacqueline frowned. ‘But O’Shea is better. I can’t for the life of me understand why he didn’t take the lead.’
‘Because he was worried about the jury, probably.’
Barrett shook her head. ‘He can get a jury to eat out of his hand—women in particular.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Is there any history between you two?’
‘Previous case.’
‘I mean personal’
Natalie remained silent.
‘You know it’s considered unethical to examine anyone on the stand if there’s a relationship history?’
Of course. Liam would know that.
‘He hasn’t declared a conflict of interest,’ Barrett continued hopefully. ‘So if there is I could still…’
Natalie shook her head. ‘We are not in a relationship.’ No sense having their personal life splashed around, even if Lauren already knew about their affair. Liam had done the right thing by handing over to Tania, after all.
Jacqueline looked disappointed. She sighed and then went on to tell Natalie she had been able to put in two character witnesses the previous afternoon, which had brought the level of tension down. And the hearing hadn’t been delayed. ‘Which is just as well,’ she said. ‘Miller’s a stickler for time.’
That might have been true but he seemed genuine when he asked after her health, before reminding her she was still under oath. She had vowed not to look at Liam, but to her surprise he wasn’t even in attendance. No one else seemed to think this odd. She assumed he was needed elsewhere. Or was anxious that Jacqueline might go the ethics route and get a mistrial. She relaxed a little.
Tania started with Georgia’s self-harm, suggesting the cuts were so small and discreet that they would have gone unnoticed. Natalie smiled at her. She felt calmer than yesterday. Not her normal self exactly; but she wouldn’t lose it today. No matter what.
‘I suppose that is possible. She would have bled after intercourse at times; maybe they just pretended she was a virgin.’
Tania looked at her in shock. Some of the members of the jury looked likewise but at least two had to fight down giggles. The crying juror looked like she wanted to pump her fist in the air.
‘What if they rarely had sex?’ Tania persisted. ‘Or only in the dark?’
‘You’d have to ask Paul for his version of their sex life,’ said Natalie evenly. One of the jurors frowned, leaned forward. ‘My understanding from Georgia was that it was quite robust. If you’re talking hard evidence, they had sex at least four times we know of, and children aren’t usually conceived on a single occasion.’
Jacqueline got to ask the final question. ‘When Georgia was self-harming, would she have appeared well?’
‘No. She might have been able to hide her distress at times, and maybe from those who didn’t know her.’
‘But not from her husband?’
‘No, not from her husband.’
When she left the court she smiled at Georgia but the woman looked right through her. She paused, wanted to pat her shoulder, let her know she wasn’t completely alone, but was aware of the whole court watching her. Sympathy might make it worse rather than better for Georgia, so she kept walking.
Outside the air was cold and traffic noises drowned out her thoughts. She leaned against a parked car feeling sick. It was over. She had nothing on now until she returned to Yarra Bend in a couple of weeks. Plenty of time to settle her mental state.
‘What happened yesterday?’
She froze.
Liam. He had been waiting for her. He must have been in the foyer of the law court and seen her leave. He stopped when he saw her expression.
‘I was…briefly…not well.’
‘What sort of not well, Natalie?’
She straightened herself up. Liam had seen her on the border of full-blown mania, hadn’t known what it was, but hadn’t liked it. Then the Worm had sent him the records of her first admission. He had a pretty good idea. He hadn’t used it against her.
‘None of your business.’
‘Jaysus Natalie, I’m trying to help you.’
She felt her anger surge, felt her fists clenching. ‘Like you helped me when you came over last?’
Liam looked at her guiltily. ‘We need to talk.’ His hand went to her arm and she pulled away angrily.
‘Get your fuc
king hands off me.’
He stepped back, hands in the air. ‘Relax. I’ll buy you a coffee. Or something stronger if you like.’
‘I don’t want you buying me anything.’
Liam rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m sorry about my jibe. When I was leaving your place, I mean. I hadn’t realised I was still angry. At myself, not you.’
Natalie looked at him, steadied herself on the parked car. ‘I can’t have you in my life Liam.’
‘You seeing McBride?’ There was a tone she couldn’t quite pinpoint. If her mind hadn’t been so foggy she’d have said it was regret.
‘I’m needing to repeat myself: none of your business.’
He looked like he was going to step in and grab her but thought better of it. ‘Lauren and I were over the moment she knew about our affair.’ So she had thrown him out. Poor Liam. She wondered if he got to see his children, whether Lauren had turned them against their father. The only one they had, for better or worse.
There was an instant where he let his vulnerability show, but he closed it down quickly, and shrugged. ‘I moved out six months ago.’
She stared at him, overwhelmed with the implication of what he was trying to convey, then without saying anything turned and walked away.
She was only ten metres on when one of the parked car’s doors opened. Damian stepped out and leaned across the car, glancing to where Liam was still standing.
‘You okay?’
No, but she couldn’t talk about it.
‘You didn’t answer my calls or texts.’
‘Been busy.’
‘Preliminary tests say that Jasper and Frank are related.’
‘Ah. Guess that figures.’
Damian frowned. ‘Natalie, you can talk to me.’
‘Yeah?’ She looked back towards Liam, who hadn’t moved and whose expression was indecipherable.
‘I see.’ Damian’s mouth was in grim line. ‘I guess I’ll be going.’
She watched him get back in the car, and had already started walking before he drove off. She didn’t look back.
In the end she forced herself to see Declan and risked him telling her that it was too early to go back to work at Yarra Bend. Talking helped, as it always did, and when she left his rooms she felt more confident that she wasn’t on the verge of a full-on relapse.
‘You’re only a few months out from a major depressive episode,’ Declan reminded her. ‘Someone has tried to kill you, or warn you off at the very least.’
To say nothing of her personal life. But Declan was more interested in another matter.
‘What’s happening with Frank Moreton? Is he still debriefing with you?’
‘Truth is I’ve avoided meeting. Well, he cancelled one, I cancelled another.’
Declan sat still, pen poised. ‘Why?’
‘Why did Frank cancel? I don’t know, but I had lunch with his sister, which he might not have liked.’
‘His sister?’
Declan didn’t look happy; maybe it was Mala he had in therapy. But Frank was not her patient so boundary issues weren’t the same. There was no rule that said you couldn’t see a supervisor’s sister. Nor a peer’s. Natalie’s ‘debriefing’ of Frank, as Declan called it, was informal, friendly. She ate with Frank in restaurants. Her gut feeling was that Declan wouldn’t like that either.
‘Frank’s family think I’m wanting to follow in Alison’s footsteps. I can assure you I am not.’
Declan still didn’t look happy. ‘So why did you cancel?’ Now that was a more interesting question. No point giving a glib answer; he wouldn’t let her get away with it. ‘I don’t know.’
Declan leaned forward. ‘Before you get defensive, think on this for a moment. Carefully. You are in an awkward position with him. Confidant and peer, yet his junior. And you essentially work for him. You’re also single and attractive.’
She nodded, didn’t intend to let herself off the hook. But she didn’t answer.
Declan hesitated. ‘Does he intimidate you?’
Her eyes widened and she nearly gave her reflexive retort: No fucking way.
She caught herself. Declan was not diminishing her ability as a professional, or as a woman. She remembered Frank’s subtle looks of pleading, mingled with entitlement and assurance. It was the same fertile emotional ground that had nurtured Georgia and Paul’s relationship. She also thought of the gloss it had brought her to think she was smarter than Reeva—because then Frank would like and approve of her?
‘No,’ she said finally, her tone covering an uncertain territory of maybes. ‘However…’ She took a breath.
Declan watched as she organised her thoughts.
‘There is sense I have with him of being…I don’t quite know. Roped in? That it would be easy to please him, rather than telling him the hard stuff.’
‘And you want to please him?’
Did she? Yes, but when she’d cancelled the last appointment it was because part of her had rebelled. She recognised at a deep level her feet were in quicksand and she didn’t like the feeling.
‘Be careful, Natalie. And get him into therapy.’
Natalie walled herself up for the rest of the week, meditating by the sea. The media were engrossed in Georgia’s trial so she was able to follow it online. They largely ignored both Graves and herself, for which she was grateful, but wrote pages on the paediatric testimony. Justice Miller might not have let Liam’s dubious statisticians into his court room, but he had allowed Barrett’s experts, and she clearly had some convincing statisticians arguing Georgia’s case. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t wanted to focus on the murky grey psychiatric side of things.
‘So what are the chances of three children dying of SIDS in one family?’
‘It very clearly becomes more likely rather than less,’ Professor Larkins said. ‘One in a thousand. But then it’s more like one in a hundred after two or three. It simply suggests that there is a common underlying condition that we have been unable to detect.’
The journalists had been at least partly convinced. Only one picked up what the prosecution had highlighted: ‘Wasn’t the oldest child, Olivia, at nearly two, too old for SIDS?’
The arguments concluded at the end of the six-week trial and the jury was sent out to deliberate. It seemed it was going to be close. The final arguments for both sides were compelling. Jacqueline had pushed the notion of reasonable doubt and raised the tragedies of innocent women put in prison by false science and public opinion, rather than any actual evidence.
‘A woman who did well at school, who has had a ten-year marriage, who was a functioning member of society,’ Jacqueline was reported as saying in her final argument. ‘She had a rough start in life but she was resilient. She had skills, as you have heard. She worked in a caring profession, as a nurse. Yes, she had some personality traits that came out under stress—but I ask you all to look deep within. Don’t you all? Can you all honestly say you’ve never screamed at a child? Wanted to slap one? But it doesn’t mean we do.’
Natalie imagined the feeling in the courtroom would have taken a collective breath at this point. ‘Did she have to harm her children to get rid of these frustrations? No, of course not. No more than any of us do. She had an outlet—Facebook. And in darker moments—darker than you or I have ever known, perhaps—she hurt herself, rather than them.’
Liam had gone for the bruise on the older child’s nose—some evidence at least—and the Facebook entries that had suggested anger.
‘The defence experts say one in a hundred. But that refers to SIDS in infants, not a two-year-old child. Whether the chance is one in a hundred, one in a thousand or one in a trillion’—Justice Miller must have been glaring—‘it does not explain a two-year-old dying, let alone one with a bruise on her nose. When only her mother was there. No controlling husband, just Georgia Latimer. Georgia’s mother killed. Georgia killed. Narcissistic rage, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.’
Anger that Natalie’s diagnosis, as well as Gra
ves’ and Wadhwa’s, had explained. The same anger that underpinned dissociation and self-harm could also have caused her to kill.
There was nothing more she could do, so Natalie’s thoughts went to Frank, and what Declan had said about him. Did Declan know, or had he guessed something? Intimating perhaps that Frank was more than a simple narcissist; rather, a malignant one, situated at the end of the spectrum where the disorder blurred with psychopathy and the person, incapable of empathy, used others to their own end.
She doubted she could get Frank into therapy, but it wasn’t this that worried at her. She still owed Alison. Still had the pieces of a jigsaw in front of her and felt she was the only one who could put them together. Her own narcissism perhaps? Maybe, but Damian’s tools, the methods of law enforcement, were too crude for this puzzle. He needed her help.
She thought about the tyres and the fire bomb. Eliza or Jasper warning her off? She wondered how much danger she was in.
Bob, sensing her anxiety, kept telling her to call the cops. All it did was remind her that a real relationship, with someone she could confide in, was missing from her life.
She thought about Liam, reanalysed the night in her warehouse, their last meeting. Any way she looked at it he was still bad for her, and it didn’t matter if he was with his wife or not.
She’d blown it with Damian. As she always did, her life script. Her father left her with what Declan had suggested was a ‘narcissistic wound’: if her own father hadn’t loved her enough to stick around, then how could any other man ever love her? Easier to pick unavailable men, or reject them first.
Damian hadn’t been bad for her, but she’d been bad for him.
50
My childhood was one of bad magic and secrets. How does one deal with such a heritage when one is intelligent and educated? Psychiatry offered me a way of making sense of both my worlds without relying on tarot cards, conspiracy theories or pills. The life examined. I could, I suppose, have achieved the same through my own psychoanalysis. An hour a day, on a couch three to five times a week. I could have unloaded my guilty secrets and desires onto a therapist, and unravelled the complex interplay of my desire to be loved by my mother and her need to be cared for; my need to glow golden before Antonije and my fear that because I was not an artist I would never be good enough. And the unnamed pain and longing that occasionally caught me when I least expected.