by Barker, Dawn
Tony nodded at the man standing just behind the doctor then turned his attention back to Dr Murray as the two men sat on the couch opposite him.
‘We’re the psychiatry team working in the main hospital here,’ Dr Murray went on. ‘We see patients when the medical team is worried that there may be a mental health issue affecting their physical health.’
‘They told me. But, look, I’ve been through this. You just have to take one look at her. She looks awful, she’s covered in cuts and bruises, she can’t talk. She’s not making this up, this isn’t all in her head.’
Dr Murray looked at him steadily. ‘No one is saying that your wife is making this up, not at all. We know that physical and mental health are closely linked: physical problems can cause emotional problems, and vice versa. We’re just here to see if we can help the medical team untangle the issues a bit.’ He paused. ‘I’ve also heard about your son. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you.’
Tony sat forward, suddenly furious. No one really wanted to help Anna; they just wanted to blame her. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The police, that doctor, everyone thinks she did this. I’m telling you now, you’re wrong! There’s just, just no …’ As quickly as it had come, his fury burned out, leaving smouldering disbelief.
Dr Murray leaned back on the sofa. ‘Please, calm down. That’s not the reason we’re here. This is a complex and difficult situation and that just needs a few different perspectives. What the police do is their issue: I’m here from a medical point of view. I have nothing to do with the police.’
Tony rubbed his face. ‘Look, I just want …’ He faltered. ‘I just want to know what happened to my baby … and I want Anna to be OK.’ He realised immediately that he’d spoken about Anna as an afterthought.
‘I do too.’ Dr Murray said nothing for a few moments while Tony composed himself, then started again, gently. ‘Does Anna have any history of mental health problems?’ At that, the nurse opened a pad of paper and clicked his pen.
Tony’s fists tightened and he clenched his teeth. ‘No! My God, I’ve been through this so many times, don’t you people talk to each other? No! Anna has never been depressed, she was not depressed, she was just tired and couldn’t sleep. She saw her GP two weeks ago, and she said Anna was fine. So no, this is not depression!’ He rested his head back on the sofa, exhausted. The doctor and nurse glanced at each other. Tony knew what they were thinking: they thought he was naive, that they knew Anna better than he – her own husband – did. And he knew that by being defensive, he was only convincing them in their belief that there was something wrong with her. ‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s just been … It’s been a long twenty-four hours.’
Dr Murray spoke calmly. ‘I understand, Tony. I know this is really hard for you. What we might do is go and see Anna now, see what we think, and come back and talk to you soon, OK?’
He nodded, but couldn’t look at them. He focused on a piece of lint on the arm of the sofa until they had left the room, then he closed his eyes.
When they returned fifteen minutes later, the nurse, Byrne, was holding papers in his hand. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said as he and Dr Murray sat down.
‘That’s fine,’ he replied, trying to read the words on the paperwork.
Dr Murray cleared his throat. ‘From the history that we have, and from what we can see, I am worried that Anna is very, very unwell. We need to get her out of the emergency department and admit her to the ward for more specialised care.’ He hesitated.
Tony knew what was coming next; there was no point fighting it. Suddenly, every muscle in his body ached and he could barely hold his head up.
Dr Murray continued, ‘And the most appropriate place is our psychiatry unit. Anna can’t make that decision for herself at the moment, so I’m going to admit her under the Mental Health Act.’
‘What?’ He had no idea what that meant. He felt like he was under attack, with a new assault being hurled at him every minute.
‘It means that I am making the decision for her, and if she were to try to leave, then I would have to stop her. I can do that because I believe she is suffering from a severe mental illness, and that mental illness means she is a danger to herself and others. Does that make sense?’
Tony pressed his fingertips into his temples and knew he owed it to Anna to at least try to protest. ‘She’s not dangerous. And look at her, she’s not going anywhere – she can barely move.’
Dr Murray continued as if he hadn’t heard. ‘On the ward, another psychiatrist will see her. And if they agree with me, Anna will stay there under the Mental Health Act until we make further decisions about her treatment.’
Byrne handed Tony the bundle of paperwork. ‘This explains everything in writing.’
He took it, then dropped it on the sofa next to him without looking at it. The decision had clearly already been made. ‘What about the police? They said something about an interview.’
‘I know,’ Dr Murray said. ‘Don’t worry, they can’t interview her until she’s better. She’ll be under our care and supervision until she’s well enough.’
He thought about the policeman guarding Anna’s door, the police at the beach, the police who might be going through his house at this very moment. They were hovering around, waiting to pounce. He hadn’t managed to keep Jack safe; he needed to try harder to protect Anna. Perhaps committing her to a psychiatric ward was the only way of keeping the police from her.
‘Do what you need to do,’ he said at last.
‘Great. We’ll just organise the bed and someone to take her up there.’ Dr Murray looked at Byrne, who nodded, leaning forward.
‘Tony, we’ll give you a call later when she’s settled in. Why don’t you go home and have a shower, something to eat, then come back and see her on the ward?’
Tony nodded slowly, realising he was still in his work clothes. He looked at his suit pants, and couldn’t believe that it was only yesterday that he’d kissed Jack goodbye and gone to work. Jack’s face flashed in front of him; suddenly he no longer cared what happened to Anna. He felt sick. ‘I think I will go now, for a little while. I’m sorry … I’ve got so many things to do.’
Dr Murray spoke softly. ‘Anna will be all right, Mr Patton, try not to worry. And I really am sorry about your son.’
The doctor and nurse stood up. Both of them shook Tony’s hand, then walked out. He pushed himself up from the couch to follow them. He left the room and closed the door behind him, but they had already disappeared.
CHAPTER TEN
The day after
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Anna lay still; her shoulder ached when she moved. She opened her eyes, just a little, just enough to tell her that she was in the same bare room. She kept her head steady but moved her eyes to the right and saw that the uneven pavers in the courtyard outside the window were illuminated by sunlight, although the high brick wall threw down a wedge of shadow. It must be the middle of the day. Was it the same day? She’d pretended to be asleep when they had wheeled her in here earlier. Someone had tried to give her some food, but she couldn’t risk eating anything; she didn’t know if she was safe. Could they be drugging her? Tony had been there, he’d held her hand, but that seemed a long time ago. Where was he now?
That policeman was still at the door, pretending to read the newspaper. He must know – must be a part of it. She heard a snap and jumped; the policeman had shaken the paper to straighten it, and was now folding it up on his lap. Footsteps were approaching, getting louder: someone was coming. She closed her eyes again and tried to breathe slowly. She silently pleaded with her limbs to stop shaking.
It was impossible to lie completely still when the voices were almost constant now, taunting her, jeering. Anna wanted to cry, but she had to be strong; it was the only way. There was another voice too, a woman’s, closer, clearer than the others. She opened her eyes, and through the slits of her eyelids saw in the doorway a small woman not much older
than herself. She had long brown hair loosely tied in a knot at the nape of her neck and wore glasses with dark frames. She looked down at the seated policeman, and then her heels began to clip across the vinyl. As the woman put her large tan handbag down on the floor near the wall, Anna saw the yellow fluorescent light glinting in her red nail polish. Her heart raced. She quickly closed her eyes again, wishing everyone would just leave her alone.
‘Good morning, Anna. Do you remember meeting me?’
She didn’t move. This woman was lying: they’d never met before. What was she trying to do?
‘I’m Dr Morgan, the psychiatrist looking after you.’
A psychiatrist? She started to breathe more quickly, anxiety flooding through her. Why had they sent a psychiatrist? Hadn’t they done enough? What were they planning?
‘I’m a medical doctor who specialises in looking after people who have had problems with their mood or feelings. Does that make sense?’
Her chin twitched involuntarily and she held her breath. Had the psychiatrist seen her move? Did this Dr Morgan know she was pretending to be asleep? She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut to stop the tears that were pooling behind them from spilling out.
‘Anna, do you understand?’
She felt the warm tickle of a tear run down her cheek, follow her jaw back towards her ear, then drip onto her collarbone. She couldn’t pretend any more; maybe it was safer to cooperate, maybe then they’d stay away from Tony and Jack. She heard the hollow sound of something dropping onto the bedside table next to her, and opened her eyes slowly, blinking as they adjusted to the light. Dr Morgan slid a box of tissues towards her. She didn’t reach for one.
Dr Morgan looked over at the policeman by the door and asked him to wait outside. When he had skulked away she went over and closed the door behind him. Anna’s heart pounded; this doctor must be in charge. While she was glad that the policeman had gone, it meant that they were alone now, without any witnesses. She blinked to clear the tears from her vision; she needed to see what was coming.
Dr Morgan pulled the policeman’s chair to the side of her bed, sat down and then nestled back as if it were a comfortable armchair. Anna forced herself to ignore the mumbles behind her and focus.
‘Anna, do you know why you’re here?’ the doctor asked.
Anna shook her head, certain that if she opened her mouth she’d scream.
Dr Morgan’s voice became soothing, soft. ‘Do you know where you are at the moment?’
If she spoke, things would just get worse.
‘You’re in hospital, in the psychiatric ward.’
Anna felt faint as panic rushed through her. She wanted to explain, to tell Dr Morgan that she had tried to make it right. She didn’t know what had happened, she had tried to do what they said, but obviously something had gone wrong.
Dr Morgan continued, ‘Do you know what day it is?’
The murmuring in the room behind her kept going, on and on, louder and louder, laughing and mocking. What did it matter what day it was? Anna needed the noise to stop, but Dr Morgan went on, just adding to the babble and confusion.
‘What about the time of day? Is it morning, afternoon, evening? Who is the prime minister?’
Anna’s body began to rock, and she couldn’t stop it. Her hands were tingling. Were Tony and Jack OK? They didn’t deserve this: it was all her fault. She wasn’t good enough for them, it was true, they were better off without her in their lives. Anna’s eyes filled with tears again and she turned her head away.
Dr Morgan urged her back. ‘Anna, it’s all right, there’s plenty of time. You’ve been very unwell. I’m going to see you every day and we’ll see how we go. If you need to talk in between times, let the nurses know and they can page me. Even if I’m not here, they can call me and I’ll talk to you by phone.’
Anna blinked hard. She wanted to believe that she could trust Dr Morgan, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have any choice but to play along, though, so she nodded slightly, flinching from the pain in her shoulder. There was nothing she could do.
Dr Morgan picked up her bag and left the room. Anna breathed out in relief and started to tremble. She thought about trying to stand up, to run, but then the policeman came back and took up his post by the door. She whimpered and curled up on her side.
She tried to count slowly in her head, and concentrated on tensing and relaxing each muscle as she had learned to do in yoga when she was pregnant. It used to work. She had loved those Saturday morning classes, feeling her baby prod and wriggle in her belly as she relaxed. Now, that seemed like someone else’s life; maybe it was.
Breathe in for two counts, out for four.
Her eyes stung. She begged sleep to take her away from this. What had happened to Tony? Where was Jack? Had they got to them after all?
Things were getting foggy, blurry in front of her eyes, but something sharp and persistent darted around at the edges. As the fog thickened, Anna listened to the noises around her: alarms beeping, the policeman sighing, the birds outside screeching. They blended into a horrible lullaby. No one could possibly hear her scream over that cacophony. No one was coming to rescue her. She was alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The day after
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Wendy hesitated at the top of the stairs, oblivious to the crowd tutting and muttering as they squeezed around her to reach the escalator down to the baggage collection area. The flight had been long. She had sat next to two burly blokes heading home to Sydney after a month on the mines. Small talk was difficult for her at the best of times, but this had been torture. They had asked why she was going to Sydney; she had told them that she was visiting her daughter. She was desperate to blurt out the truth in the hope that telling someone else would make it hurt less. And it did hurt, physically, in the depth of her chest, her head, her back. But she hadn’t said anything; she had put her headphones on as soon as they took off, and stared intently at the seatback television as the tiny plane on the screen made its way inch by inch across the Nullarbor to the east coast.
She walked forward onto the escalator. A young woman behind her stumbled and swore, but it barely registered. At the bottom, Wendy scanned the throng but couldn’t see Tony, so she stood still, unsure of what to do. She should have known this would happen; she should have made a plan, just in case. She wanted a cigarette. Her eyes filled with tears. Where was he?
Then she heard someone shout her name; her shoulders dropped in relief as Jim strode towards her, with Ursula following. Wendy’s lip started to quiver, and she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve as they approached.
‘Hi,’ was all she managed to utter before her face crumpled. She opened her arms and clutched Ursula. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t cry … I’m so, so sorry.’ She reached into her bag for some tissues, but could only find used ones, dried and clumped together. Ursula handed her a clean one.
Wendy took it with a nod. Ursula was crying too, though she made no noise. Wendy blew her nose. ‘Is there any more news?’
Ursula looked down. ‘No. Not since this morning.’
Jim cleared his throat and put his arm around her, steering her towards the baggage carousel. ‘Come on, let’s go get your bags. How was the flight?’
‘Long, horrible, the usual. We sat on the tarmac for about an hour before taking off.’ She managed to smile at Jim, grateful to him for asking a question that she knew how to answer. She liked him; Anna often said how lovely he was to her. That meant a lot to Wendy, who had always worried that not knowing her father might have damaged Anna in some way. There was no evidence of this, of course; Anna had done so well in her life and seemed to know exactly what she wanted. At the thought of her daughter, lying alone in hospital, her eyes filled again with tears.
‘You must be exhausted,’ Ursula said. ‘Travelling such a long way, on top of … this.’
Wendy shook her head. ‘I’m sure we all are.’
They had arrived at the carousel; the s
hrill alarm sounded as the conveyer belt began to move. Falling silent, all three of them stared at the luggage snaking past them. At last, she saw her suitcases and pointed them out. Jim took one in each hand.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He started to walk towards the exit while she and Ursula walked side-by-side behind him.
Wendy bit her lip. ‘My sister Pam’s calling a friend who lives in Sydney, to see if I can stay with her. I’m sorry, I just haven’t had time …’
Looking relieved to have something practical to discuss, Ursula spoke firmly. ‘Don’t worry, we’re sorting it out. Lisa’s spoken to Emily; she’s going to stay at her boyfriend’s for a while and you can stay in her apartment. She’s cleaning it up at the moment, so you’ll come back to ours for now and we’ll take you over later. We thought you’d like your own space rather than cramming in with us.’
Wendy nodded, grateful. She had known Emily since she and Anna were small, and she’d be much more comfortable there than with Ursula and Jim. Ursula had always intimidated her. She seemed so capable and Wendy worried that Anna compared the two of them and was disappointed in her own lot. Even today, when she must have been up all night, Ursula had managed to style her short dark hair and put on the burgundy lipstick she always wore. She wasn’t a thin woman, but she carried her weight well, unlike Wendy, who could never seem to hide the kilos that had crept on over the years. She was suddenly aware of how she must look after the flight: she should have put on some make-up, brushed her hair instead of scraping it back with her fingers into a ponytail. She had been meaning to book into the hairdresser to get her roots done for ages. Then she remembered the picture of Jack hanging on her wall at home. It didn’t matter what she looked like.
‘Great, thanks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put anyone out —’
‘It’s no problem. It’s the least of our worries. I just didn’t want to ask Tony – he probably needs his space. He might not even want to stay there now. I don’t know, it’s all so …’ Ursula turned away. Jim had stopped up ahead at the parking ticket machine. ‘Jim! Don’t use your credit card, I’ve got change.’ She turned back to Wendy and frowned. ‘He never uses coins, just leaves them in drawers or in his car. Then he complains when he needs them.’ She sped up, already taking her purse out of her handbag.