Broken (9 page)

‘A coffee?' Hilda pulled up a grey and black sleeve to reveal a surprisingly feminine gold watch. She studied it.

‘Do you have to be somewhere?'

‘No, no. Just that I don't have coffee after two. Bladder's not what it used to be.'

‘Really?' Mattie paused, unsure of what to reply to this revelation.

‘But it's close enough.' Hilda smiled again. ‘Coffee would be most welcome, thank you. I'll just leave my mail at home. Give me five minutes.'

Mattie hurried back inside to put the kettle on, stunned that she'd even issued the invitation. It was very unlike her, and she was already doubting its wisdom. For all she knew, Hilda was a lonely old gossip who would now drop in unannounced at all hours. Or when Jake
was there. Opening up her horizons was one thing, but opening up her door was another. Nevertheless, it was done. So she moved all the party-plan paperwork off the table and placed it on top of the fridge, out of sight, before putting out her crystal creamer and sugar bowl together with some shortbread biscuits on a plate. Hilda knocked on the door just as Mattie was pushing the plunger down on the brew, so she called for her to come in.

‘Mirror image,' said Hilda from the lounge-room. She walked through into the kitchen, looking around with interest. ‘You are exact the opposite from me. Everything. How strange.'

‘Really?' said Mattie politely. She noted, with some amusement, that Hilda had obviously run a brush through her hair, which now curled up and away from her forehead in neat grey waves. Mattie poured coffee into two mugs and brought them over to the table, nodding at the sugar bowl and creamer as she put the mugs down and pulled a chair out for herself. ‘Milk? Sugar?'

‘No, thank you.' Hilda bent down slightly to read the sayings on the fridge. She read them silently and then sat down opposite Mattie, wrapping her hands around her mug as she continued her visual inspection. ‘Only just starting out, are you?'

‘Something like that.'

Hilda brought her curious gaze back. ‘Mattie. What sort of name is Mattie?'

‘It's short for Matilda.'

‘Ah. Mine is short for Hildegarde. What a mouthful, hey? My sister was Gertrude. And my brother is called Wolfgang.'

‘Are they German names?' asked Mattie.

‘
Gott
, no!' Hilda looked shocked. ‘Austrian! Viennese, to be exact.'

‘Oh, I see. Um, sorry' Mattie added the apology as Hilda was still looking at her askance. She realised that she probably should have guessed Hilda wasn't German; her accent didn't have that guttural depth unique to the Germans. Instead it had a melodious quality that reminded Mattie of
The Sound of Music
, with the last words of each sentence rising in an upwards inflection.

‘Emigrated fifty years ago,' continued Hilda proudly. ‘After the war.'

‘Did you come out by yourself?'

‘No. With my husband and our three children. They were only tiny then, of course.'

‘How long have you been here? In the unit?'

‘Let me see.' Hilda took a sip of coffee and thought about the question. ‘Just after my Ernest retired. We sold the house to our eldest son and his wife, and bought the unit. Must be about twelve years now.'

‘That's nice,' said Mattie, relieved that Hilda was part of a large family ‘I mean, selling your house to your son, so that it didn't pass out of the family.'

‘Yes, he is a sentimental one, that boy.' Hilda smiled affectionately. ‘Me, I do not much care. As long as I have somewhere to put my knick-knacks and the rain stays out, that is good enough for me.'

‘Is everyone here nice?' asked Mattie curiously. ‘Like, there's nobody who has noisy parties every weekend, is there?'

‘No, nothing like that,' Hilda laughed. ‘In fact, the only problems we have ever had was with this unit. Yours. Because it is the only rental. Before you, we had a pair of young fellows – nice to talk to but
Gott!
Did they have their music loud? Thump, thump, thump. All the time.'

‘How annoying.'

‘Well, there is worse,' said Hilda philosophically, taking another sip and regarding Mattie pensively over the rim of her mug. ‘What about you then? Is there a husband?'

‘A husband?' repeated Mattie, a bit stunned by the directness of the question.

‘You think I am being nosy,' stated Hilda with a rueful nod. Then she smiled across at Mattie, her black-button eyes all but disappearing between the creases of her face. ‘My husband is always saying I am. And he is right. So just tell me to keep my nose out if you like. I do not offend easily.'

‘That's okay' Mattie smiled back. ‘And, yes, there's a husband, but we're having a bit of a break at the moment. Sorting out some stuff.'

‘Ah.' Hilda put her head to one side and pursed her lips. ‘Not good?'

Mattie was saved from answering by the phone ringing. It was Jake, it had to be. Her eyes widened slightly with this realisation and she
wished fervently that she hadn't been so impulsive as to invite Hilda inside. But that wish paled against the relief that washed through her – relief that he wasn't holding a grudge, that things were back to normal and she could rid herself of the unease that framed each day whenever they weren't speaking. All this took only a second to flash through her mind and then Mattie smiled apologetically at Hilda as she stood and reached quickly for the wall-phone, leaning across the table and plucking the receiver from its cradle. ‘Hello?'

‘Can I speak to Mrs Hampton?'

Mattie's stomach plummeted at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. ‘Speaking.'

‘Hello, Mrs Hampton – or it's Matilda, isn't it? Look, this is Jan Mac-Farlane. I'm the district counsellor for your son's primary school. I was there today.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes, and . . . well, I've got a few concerns that I'd like to speak to you about.'

‘A few concerns?' repeated Mattie, her throat drying.

‘Mattie?' hissed Hilda, levering herself up with the aid of the table.

‘Excuse me one minute, will you?' Without waiting for an answer, Mattie put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Hilda. ‘Sorry about this. It's my son's school.'

‘Is everything all right?'

‘Sure. They just want to chat about a few things.'

‘I shall see myself out then.' Hilda picked up her mug and took it over to the sink where she rinsed it and placed it upside down on the draining board. ‘Nice to meet you, and thank you for the coffee.'

‘My pleasure.' Mattie watched the older woman go back out through the lounge-room and waited till she heard the front door close before removing her hand. ‘Sorry about that.'

‘Is this a bad time? I could call back later.'

‘No, now's fine. Um, you said you had concerns?'

‘Yes. Your son's teacher spoke to me about a few issues so I met with him today Max, that is. For a little one-on-one. And I found him quite . . . closed off. Is he always like that?'

‘Yes,' replied Mattie, relieved. ‘Always. That's just Max.'

‘But the problem is, Matilda, that I couldn't talk to him about his teacher's concerns because he was simply . . . well, uncooperative. Wouldn't discuss anything.'

‘I'm not surprised.' Mattie frowned. ‘Look, I don't want to be rude, but don't you need my permission to counsel my son?'

‘Oh no, I wasn't counselling him. Just an initial discussion. Nothing to worry about. If I felt the need for counselling, then of course I'd get in touch with you and we'd toss a few ideas around.'

‘Is that what you're doing now?' asked Mattie slowly.

‘Well . . . maybe. To be honest, Matilda, I'm not sure if Max needs anything because I couldn't talk to him. That's why I thought I'd call you.'

‘What were his teacher's concerns?'

‘Predominantly – unnecessary aggression.'

Mattie's eyes widened. ‘Aggression?'

‘Yes. Apparently Max has a tendency to lash out at times. Yesterday, for example.'

‘What happened yesterday?'

‘You don't know?' Jan MacFarlane fell silent for a moment before continuing. ‘I see. Well, perhaps you should ask Max for his detention slip when he gets home. You'll need to sign it anyway. I believe it's for Thursday afternoon.'

Mattie spoke tightly. ‘Could you just tell me what happened?'

‘Certainly. Apparently he got into a scuffle with another boy in the playground and a teacher had to intervene. She broke it up and sent them to opposite ends of the yard but Max wouldn't leave. The teacher had to hold him back until the other boy was out of sight. Then, when she let him go, he ran straight over to the other side and hunted this boy down. By the time the teacher got there, he had the child on the ground.'

‘Oh my god.'

‘Luckily the boy wasn't really hurt, otherwise the consequences could have been much worse. But, Matilda, when Max was taken inside to the principal's office, he cried so hard he had to be taken to the sick bay where he threw up.'

‘Oh my god,' repeated Mattie, feeling nauseous herself.

‘So you see, there're some legitimate concerns. And what I wanted to ask, if you don't mind, is whether there's anything going on at home that might be causing this behaviour?'

‘Oh.'

‘Like a death in the family? Maybe problems with a sibling? Anything you can tell me would help us try to get a handle on this. For Max's sake.'

‘Of course.' Mattie wiped her eyes roughly with the heel of her spare hand and tried to think. ‘Um, look, there
is
some stuff going on – but it's only temporary. Should be all sorted out within a month or so.'

‘I see.' Jan MacFarlane sounded doubtful.

‘Yes, it's just a matter of – well, we've just moved and there's the whole establishing routine and everything. It's all a bit unsettling. I'll talk to Max, make it easier.'

‘Perhaps we could make an appointment? Discuss things a bit more at length?'

‘Oh, that's not necessary,' replied Mattie, trying to sound breezy as she sat down again and wished that the lead weight in her belly would disappear. ‘Not yet anyway. I tell you what, you give me a month or so to sort it out and then, if you still think there's a problem, we'll talk more. Okay?'

‘Well, I wonder if it wouldn't be better to nip things in the bud, so to speak, try to get to the bottom –'

‘There's nothing to get to the bottom
of,'
said Mattie quickly. ‘Just a change in routine that Max needs to get used to. And I'm terribly grateful that you've let me know, because now I can give him a little extra attention. Help him adjust.'

‘Well, Matilda, if you think that –'

‘I do,' replied Mattie firmly.

‘All right then. If you really feel that's all it is, we'll give it some time. And I'll speak to you again in a month. Hopefully you're right and the situation's improved.'

‘Oh, it will have, I'm sure.'

‘Goodbye then. Thanks for your time.'

Mattie stood again to hang up the phone and then took a deep breath, letting it out with a rush. This was all she needed. The involvement of some idealistic counsellor who learnt all her lessons from a textbook and expected them to frame real life. And then, instead of adjusting the frame when it didn't fit, she would try to mould them, or label them. But things just weren't that simple. Unfortunately.

Mattie took another deep breath and tried to think things through without emotion. Unnecessary aggression. Her Max. But did one fight make for unnecessary aggression? Wasn't that a bit of overkill? Besides, there was no point jumping to conclusions until she actually heard what had
started
the fight. And it sounded like the school had dealt with it anyway. A detention was both punishment and deterrent, and Max would have that after-school time on Thursday afternoon to think about what he'd done. But with this thought, Mattie paled and flopped limply down into her seat. Thursday was Jake's day. Which meant he would need to be told about what happened. It also meant he would dole out his own punishment. Mattie chewed her lip worriedly, because Jake's punishments varied considerably according to what sort of day he'd experienced. Sometimes they could be so lax as to be laughable, yet at other times so authoritarian that it almost verged on – well, Jan MacFarlane probably wouldn't have approved.

But that woman's interest in Max was something she certainly wouldn't be sharing with Jake, because he'd be absolutely livid to think that their son had attracted the attention of a counselling service. And he'd probably hold Mattie responsible. Definitely. This was what people like Jan MacFarlane didn't take into account – that the ramifications of their efforts could cause more difficulties than the original issue itself. But if they ever did have their meeting, Mattie knew that she would never be able to explain this, because the woman would stare at her with such lack of understanding in her eyes that Mattie herself would become flustered. All she really wanted to say was, ‘Please just leave me alone. Please. I'm trying as hard as I can but it's not easy. In fact, it's like walking head-down into a strong wind. Every step is a huge effort and each time you relax, even just a trifle, you're driven backwards again. So I know you mean well and I know you think you're helping – but you're
not. You're just making it harder. Giving me one more obstacle to face, one more hurdle to climb over, one more problem to keep me awake at night. And I've already got more than enough.'

Mattie stood in the kitchen doorway watching the watchers. Both Max and Courtney were so engrossed in the television that they did not look up, even though their mother had been standing there for several minutes. Courtney was lying on the couch, her legs drawn up and her pyjama top buttoned crookedly so that one side was hitched sideways, showing a triangle of bare flesh. One arm dangled over the side of the couch, her fingers trailing along the carpet, and her hair was damp from her bath and plaited neatly, so that it would brush out easily the next day.