Broken (10 page)

On the floor, Max was spread across the beanbag as usual. He had pushed all the filling to one side so that he lay at an incline, with his back bowed inwardly in a manner achievable only by the young and flexible. Both elbows were bent, with his hands cupping his chin so that his neck continued the upward curve, and his hair was damp and unbrushed, cowlicking at the front and giving him a particularly vulnerable look. Mattie resisted the urge to tell him to sit straight, or brush his hair, or stay the way he was – forever. But it was hard, very hard, to reconcile what she was seeing here with the picture Jan MacFarlane had sketched this afternoon. He didn't
look
like a boy who would chase another down and then attack him. In fact, he didn't look aggressive at all. Just precious.

On the television, a cartoon cat leapt over a paling fence straight into an old-fashioned metal rubbish bin, which immediately fell to its side and rolled down the hill noisily Max's mouth twitched sideways, as if he was amused, and then settled back into its blank absorption. Mattie grimaced to herself. She'd been postponing this talk all afternoon, using all sorts of excuses to herself. First there had been Courtney, walking home with them, talking nineteen to the dozen about her day and what it had involved. Then there'd been the possibility that Jake might turn up, and then tea to prepare, and eat, and clean up after. Now, with both
children bathed and in their pyjamas, there were no excuses left. Half of her was desperate to find out more details, and the other half was equally desperate not to.

‘Max? Can you come here for a minute?'

Max glanced across at his mother distractedly and then his eyes sidled back to the television.

‘No, I need you away from the TV. We need to talk.'

‘Talk?' repeated Max suspiciously, flicking back to Mattie. ‘What about?'

‘Yeah, what about?' asked Courtney with interest, sitting up on the couch.

‘Just . . . things.' Mattie beckoned to Max. ‘And just Max. Come into my bedroom.'

Courtney jumped up. ‘Why can't I come too?'

‘Because it's private between Max and me. Sometimes you have private things that you just want to talk about, don't you? Well, this is the same.'

‘But Max doesn't mind if I come, do you, Max?'

‘Max doesn't get a choice,' said Mattie firmly ‘Now, you go on watching TV, Courtney, and Max, you come to my room. We won't be long.'

Max stood up reluctantly while his sister threw herself back down on the couch crossly, the bulge caused by her mismatched buttons sticking out so that now it looked like she had one premature breast. Mattie left the lounge-room and, without checking to see if Max was following, took the measured steps into her bedroom. There, she sat down on the end of her bed and waited.

Max came in slowly, standing just inside the doorway with his downcast eyes even darker and more unreadable than usual.

‘Close the door, Max.'

Mattie waited until he'd done so before patting the bed beside her. ‘Sit down. I'm not going to bite you. Now, I think you might know what this is about. Right?'

‘Maybe.' Max sat down next to her stiffly, staring at his hands as he fidgeted. ‘How'd you know?'

‘I was rung up at home today By a Mrs MacFarlane. Apparently she spoke to you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘But you didn't want to talk to her?'

‘That's right.'

‘Look, I'm not angry that you didn't want to talk to the woman. In fact, I sort of sympathise. I didn't really want to talk to her either.' Mattie smiled at Max, trying to get him to relax. ‘Didn't you like her?'

‘Dunno,' Max shrugged, then glanced across at his mother. ‘She's not family I don't want to talk about stuff to someone who's not family'

Mattie thought about all the ‘stuff Max could have talked about if he chose to, and paled. She had to ensure that didn't happen. ‘I totally understand. I suppose you felt like you'd be, well, sort of a traitor if you spoke about family things, did you?'

‘Yeah!' Max looked at her with surprise. ‘Exactly!'

‘Well, I think you're right.' Mattie chose her words carefully ‘It's like she's interfering, isn't it? That's how I felt too. And no-one can make you talk about things you don't want to. No-one. If they even try, you tell them to ring me, understand?'

‘Okay'

‘So that's one thing. But now we need to talk about the fight.' Mattie watched his face become defensive once more. ‘Look, I'm not cross. Well, actually, I
am
cross – but it's more that I want to find out what's going on. It just doesn't seem like you to be so . . .
nasty
. So let's start at the start. What happened?'

‘I dunno.' Max shrugged, his eyes darting away.

‘Not good enough. We can just sit here all night if you want to.'

‘I hate him,' said Max vehemently.

‘Okay that's a start. Who do you hate?'

‘Joshua Painter. He's a . . . a bastard.'

‘You know for a fact that his parents aren't married, do you?'

‘Huh?'

‘His parents. Because that's what bastard means – that your parents aren't married. Pretty stupid, isn't it?' Mattie waited for Max to nod before continuing. ‘But that's beside the point. The thing is, it's not a nice word and I don't want you using it. That's why we're sending you to school – to learn enough English so that you don't have to use bad
words to explain yourself. Only lazy people do that. Now, tell me why you hate Joshua Painter so much.'

‘Because he took my special Yu-Gi-Oh card. He really
did
, Mum, even though Mrs Gallagher doesn't believe me. He did.'

‘I believe you.' Mattie tucked one leg underneath herself so that she could face Max more comfortably ‘So that's what the fight was about? Your Yu-Gi-Oh card?'

‘My
special
one,' corrected Max intensely ‘And he was showing it to all these kids at lunchtime and I went over and said give it back. But he wouldn't.'

‘Look, Max, I understand that you were angry, but – you hit him. Over a card.'

‘He wouldn't give it back,' repeated Max in a mumble.

‘And when the teacher told you to go to the other side of the playground you refused to. And then you chased after him and hit him again. Is that right?'

‘I s'pose.'

‘Max, be honest, don't you think that was a little . . . extreme? Wouldn't you have been better off going to a teacher in the first place? Or even waiting till you got home and telling me? I'd have rung the school up for you, you know'

‘I s'pose.'

‘And now you've got a detention after school. Your first detention. Why didn't you give me the slip yesterday for me to sign?'

‘I dunno.'

‘And do you realise we'll have to tell Dad so that he knows you'll be late?' Mattie, who was watching Max carefully, noted the widening of his eyes even as he kept his gaze averted. ‘Would you like to ring him to explain?'

‘Me?' Max finally made eye contact, with a devastated look that tore at Mattie's heart. ‘Do I have to?'

‘I think you need to take responsibility, yes.'

‘Mum, please.' Max grabbed at her hand as the words bubbled out of him in a torrent. ‘Please don't make me. I won't ever do it again, I promise. You can do anything you like to me. Anything. But Dad'll be so
angry so . . . mad. Especially coz Joshua's a bit smaller than me – only a bit. But Dad always says don't hit people smaller and I did. Mummy, please.
Please
?'

Mattie waited till he wound down before picking up the small hand that had clutched at hers. ‘Okay listen. I went up to the school this afternoon and spoke to your principal before the bell. And I explained that we had a few things on and asked if he could give you the detention next Tuesday after school instead. And he agreed.'

‘Mum!' Max's face lit up as he took in the implications of this.

‘That's right. So your father doesn't have to know. But –' Mattie held up a hand as Max opened his mouth – ‘I'm warning you, if you ever,
ever
get into another fight like this again, you're on your own. So promise me never again, understood?'

Max nodded eagerly and threw himself against her chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly Mattie hugged him back, touched by his relief. And by her role as saviour, even though she was honest enough to acknowledge, with guilt nibbling at the edges of her pleasure, that she was playing dirty by using his fear of his father's disapproval to her own advantage. And it suddenly occurred to her that, if this was a competition, she was in the thick of it. And probably always had been.

 

M
attie's second pregnancy was so entirely different from her first that it was difficult to even think of it as the same condition. Instead, it was like an illness that ravaged her body, assaulting her with new side effects at every turn. From morning sickness that lasted a full six months, to fluid retention, to pre-eclampsia. In the last three months she even developed carpal tunnel syndrome, which forced her to sleep with her arms strapped into splints, so that she lay as if crucified, arms spread, eyes staring at the ceiling, with her belly growing ever larger by the week
.

She moved into the spare room halfway through the pregnancy, because the nights had become an endless stretch of restlessness during which the minutes slid past in slow motion, and Jake being next to her was just one more burden. She became slow, and dull, and depressed. Plodding through each day and doing just enough to survive. Weighted by gravity and fluid and unshed tears
.

Then it was over – eight weeks before it should have been. And Mattie would have given anything to have the pregnancy back, because suddenly she learnt what unbearable
really
meant. It was watching a tiny baby with transparent, blue-tinged skin struggle for life. It was not being able to hold her when she was in pain. And it was knowing of the risk that she could be lost simply because she had been born too soon
.

It was an accident – just one of those things. Mattie was standing on top of the kitchen step-stool, reaching awkwardly into the overhead cupboard for something or other. Max was in his highchair nearby, eating diced pears out of a yellow plastic bowl that had suction cups underneath to secure it to the tray. When she fell, catching one leg under the steps and carrying them down with her, she hit her head sharply against the stove corner and lost consciousness. And by the time she opened her eyes again, it was all over. The ambulance ride, the ruptured placenta, the emergency caesarean. She was the mother of a baby girl who was fighting for her life in the neo-natal nursery and things would never be the same again
.

T
he next few days passed quickly and well. The only dark spot was the fact that Jake did not drop by, and nor did he ring. Mattie herself picked up the phone time and again, only to rethink making the call, then returning the handset to its cradle. Nevertheless, the lack of contact weighed in the back of her mind, shading her days with continuing disquiet and more than a touch of reproach.

But everything else went surprisingly smoothly. On Wednesday afternoon, she had returned home from collecting the children to find, on the doorstep, a neat elastic-banded bundle of lilac party-plan invitations, several colourful product brochures with fold-out order forms and a friendly note from Sharon saying that she was sorry to have missed her. Mattie spent a very pleasant evening, with Courtney's ready assistance, examining the brochures and circling the items they would have really liked if they could have afforded them.

Then Mattie had been dreading Thursday, with the knowledge that after she said goodbye at the school, she would not be seeing her children again until Sunday. But as with many things, her expectations were actually worse than the deed. First she got involved in a rather interesting discussion with some other mothers who did Monday morning reading with her, regarding the positive and negative attributes of Miss Thomson, the prep teacher. Then she handed out invitations to her Whimsicalities party and fielded the immediate, and rather curious, questions about her change of address. This was followed by a pleasant
walk down to the shops where she posted off an invitation to Liz, complete with a carefully thought-out handwritten note that read:
Would love to catch up. If you can't make this, give me a ring and we'll arrange something else? Cheers, Mattie
. Before posting it Mattie had stood at the letterbox for several moments. Should she or shouldn't she? Would she look desperate after all this time? Finally, she took a deep breath and thrust the letter through the opening before she could analyse it further. And, as the letter disappeared with a flash of white, she had felt a surge of well-being, fuelled by the certainty that she had done the right thing.

Then, with that accomplished, she visited the supermarket to buy some decadent food for the weekend and dropped off the completed application at the community centre. Beryl, thrilled to see that she had followed through with her interest, had taken her on a tour of the centre and even lent her some handouts from the community service course so that Mattie could get a start on her required reading.

The smoothness of those few days were helped by a firm decision not to drink anymore while she was alone. After the ease with which she'd slipped into her maudlin state on the first night, she sensed that madness lay that way, biding its time with a sly smile. And alcohol invited it in. So she steered clear of her customary glass of scotch before tea, and her glass of wine during it, and fancied that she felt much better for it. And each night the children weren't there, Mattie went into their room to say goodnight. She touched each wall, for luck, and then kissed their pillows and closed the door. Then, in the morning, she would open the door again, just as if they were there. Even though she knew the routine was superstitious and made little sense, she was unwilling to take the risk of abandoning it, lest something happen to them.