Fractured (23 page)

‘Now, come on. I don’t think that’s fair. We’re all devastated!’

‘Well, you don’t show it! It’s as if nothing’s happened. Everyone’s so worried about Anna, and her treatment, and her lawyers,
and her trial, and what she’s going to do … I don’t give a shit what happens to her!’ Tears simmered up and boiled over, scalding
her eyes and cheeks.
Breathe
, she told herself.
Calm down
. If she lost control, he’d win.

Jim put his hand on her knee. ‘Ursula. This isn’t the same, you know.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘The same? The same as what?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No I don’t, Jim! You think this is about something I did –
we
did? This is completely different! She was just a kid, I’ve never regretted that, never!’ She swatted at the tears. ‘You’re
wrong. This is about Anna and what she did. This has nothing to do with us. I can’t believe you’d even bring that up!’

‘Ursula …’

‘No, I’m not having this conversation. Thanks for spoiling another lovely evening!’ She stood up. ‘Why won’t you just let
me be?’

She ran out of the room before he had time to grab her hand. In the hallway, she hesitated for just a second, wondering if
he would come after her. She heard him sigh, then the squeak of the sofa
as he sat back down. She looked down the hallway at the closed bedroom doors. She had raised her family here, and now Tony’s
and Lisa’s rooms were used to store junk. She had always assumed that grandchildren would fill that space, but now … Would
Tony ever be able to have another child? Would Lisa?

She looked at the photos on the hallway table: graduation photos; Tony’s wedding; Jack’s beautiful plump face. She covered
her mouth with her hand to catch the sobs; she didn’t want Jim to hear her. She walked into the bathroom and started to run
a bath, then turned the radio on and closed the door while she cried.

* * *

The next morning, she crept out of bed while Jim was still snoring like a purring cat. She dressed quietly and left the house.
Her stomach churned; it had been a long time since she’d been to church. Her mother used to make her go to mass every Sunday
without fail, and sent her to a Catholic school to be taught by the nuns. She had kept it up for years as a grown woman. Why?
Had she really believed the stories? She was an intelligent woman, but it had taken a long time to see the hypocrisy, to realise
that the tenets of the church couldn’t tell you what was right for your own family. She still wore the gold crucifix around
her neck that her mother had given her on her confirmation. But for the past few weeks, that cross had been rubbing at her
skin, making her itch.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door of the church. It was cool inside, almost cold. There was no service on. The door creaked
closed behind her and she began to walk down the central aisle, her heels thudding on the wooden floor. Without thinking about
it she walked to the front of the church on her tiptoes, then slid into a pew on her right. Churches all smelled the same,
of musty wood, candle wax, and musky incense. She could taste the memory of the bitter metallic tang on her fingers from passing
round the offering plate.

Eleven years. That’s how long it had been since she was last here.

She had last come for strength, for guidance, but instead she’d realised that she could not do what the church demanded of
her. The church’s teachings had always propped her up, kept her on a straight knowable path, but when she had most needed
help, she had realised how rigid they were.

She stared at the iconic paintings on the wall, the motes floating in the red light shining through the stained glass, then
turned away again, looking at the altar. She muttered the Lord’s Prayer, her whispers echoing around the building. She felt
nothing. What did she expect to achieve by coming here? To erase what had been done in the past? To find out if she was being
punished?

The door creaked open behind her. She turned to see an old lady labouring down the aisle. Ursula nodded at her, then turned
around to face the front again. She wiped her cheeks and smoothed down her hair. Picking up her bag she walked back up the
aisle, smiling at the elderly woman as she passed her.

There was nothing for her here.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Anna stared at the back of the driver’s seat headrest as Scott drove towards the magistrates court. She clasped her hands
together to try to stop them shaking; it didn’t help so she unclasped them again and laid them flat on her knees, pressing
down to blot the sweat onto her stockings. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and she wore pale pink lip gloss. She
had agonised over her outfit: did she want to look nice and respectable? Or was it better to look crazy?

She inhaled, closed her eyes and let her head loll back onto the soft black leather of the seat. The new-car smell blended
with Scott’s expensive aftershave. When she was pregnant, even a trace of Tony’s aftershave had made her retch. She opened
her eyes again, swallowed, then pushed the button to open the window and let in some of the cool morning air.

‘Feeling OK?’ Scott asked from the front.

She cleared her throat. ‘Just a bit hot.’

‘Don’t worry, today’s just a formality. You don’t have to say anything – I’ll do all the talking.’

She nodded. But she was still shaking.

* * *

Anna had never been in a court before. She must have walked past this building a hundred times, but had never noticed what
it was or thought about what went on inside. And now hundreds
of other Sydneysiders were doing the same things that she used to do: hurrying to work, talking on their phones, sipping coffees.
If they looked up above them, as she did now, they would see the five-storey Georgian building, the colour of sand, with gold
detail and pointed turrets on top. Anna had never noticed how beautiful the building was – how beautiful most of the city
was – until she thought she’d never see it again.

Walking along the pavement next to Scott, buses spluttered and roared, taxi horns blared and pedestrian crossings beeped all
around them. Such ordinary sounds. Her eyes widened as they approached the front steps to the court. There were news crews
there with video cameras and microphones. Were they waiting for her?

She looked down at her feet and concentrated on each step, but what she really wanted to do was turn around and run. Scott
must have sensed her hesitation: he placed his hand in the small of her back until they were inside the court building.

In the courtroom, she didn’t dare look around in case her instincts took over and she fled. She was sure everyone seated behind
her in the public gallery could see her whole body trembling. The magistrate sat at the head of the courtroom behind a desk
diagonally in front of Anna, on her right. His complexion was ruddy. He read some papers while they all waited. When he began
to speak, she realised that her ears were ringing and the sounds around her were muffled. Her stomach churned. She focused
on Scott, who was sitting at a table opposite the magistrate, and didn’t take her eyes off him, in case the room spun away
and she fell from her seat. He stood up and said something to the magistrate about witnesses.

Witnesses? What witnesses? Had someone seen what had happened?

He sat down again. He nodded at Anna and smiled, but her face felt frozen.

She jumped as the magistrate’s voice boomed around the room. She managed to turn her head slowly to face him without falling
over, and concentrated hard so she could understand what he was saying.

‘The matter before me is committed to the Supreme Court of New South Wales, on a future date, yet to be decided.’

He had barely finished his statement when the legal teams stood up, and the people behind her began muttering and moving from
their seats. Was that it? While she was relieved it was over, she was terrified at now being one step closer to prison or
– worse – release.

* * *

Scott ushered her out of the court into a corridor, then into a small room. She sat down, legs shaking. He sat down opposite
her. ‘How are you doing?’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘As I said, it was nothing to worry about. The prosecution are happy with the charge of infanticide, which is good: they’re
accepting that you were mentally ill at the time. We just need to wait for the date now, then we can enter your plea.’

‘How long?’ Her voice caught; her throat was dry.

‘At least a couple of months. Plenty of time.’

She nodded again. Plenty of time for what? To wait for her life to be decided for her? To prepare herself for prison? To waste
away in a psychiatric hospital?

Scott put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Anna, it’ll be OK. I don’t think anyone wants to punish you.’

But what he didn’t understand was that Anna wanted to be punished.

‘Can you take me back now?’ Her head was buzzing and her body was so heavy now, so tired. ‘I want to go back.’

He stood up. ‘Of course. Come on.’

Outside on the street, the cameras were still there. She clenched her fists, but kept her eyes down and ignored the shouts
and questions from the reporters. As she and Scott walked along the pavement towards the car, her eyes were drawn to the left,
towards a figure standing against the wall of the building. Before even registering his face, she knew it was Tony. She hadn’t
seen him since the day she’d been charged. She tilted her head a little and
a smile started to spread across her face. Her body pulled towards him like a car left to drift through traffic.

‘Tony!’ she called.

He was leaning against the wall. His eyes were red.

‘You came!’ She stopped. Scott stopped too and took a step back to give them space.

Tony looked up briefly, then dropped his eyes again. He nodded.

‘I … You haven’t been …’

He shook his head. ‘Anna, not here.’

She looked around her; heat radiated from her face. ‘Can you come and see me, then? Please – I need to see you.’

‘I’ll try …’

She knew that he didn’t mean it: he wouldn’t try. He wanted to stop her making a scene, to make her go away. She knew him
too well; had he forgotten that? As she stared at him, the sounds around her faded away until it was just the two of them.
Just like on their wedding day. Then, too, the crowds, the noise, the frenzy had all disappeared and it was just them.

‘Tony,’ she whispered. ‘Please. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t …’

‘I am, I’m sorry!’ She could barely stop herself from shrieking.

He looked away from her with tears in his eyes, then she found herself walking forward again, or maybe he was walking away.
It didn’t really matter.

* * *

Back at the hospital, she crawled into bed fully dressed. For once, the nurses had let her go back to her room after lunch
rather than forcing her to endure group therapy. And they’d given her some extra medication. The room was bright; she thought
about getting up again to close the curtains. Instead, she pulled the blankets over her head and closed her eyes. It was stuffy
under the sheet; she enjoyed the feeling of being smothered and running out of oxygen. Her warm breath filled the pockets
of space around her face and she felt herself start to drift away.

There was a knock at the door.

She jolted awake, and it was all she could do not to cry. She just wanted some time to herself.

‘Anna!’ It was one of the male nurses. ‘There’s someone to see you. Are you awake?’

As if she could sleep with someone yelling two metres away from her.

‘Anna. Visitor. Do you want to see them or not?’

She opened her eyes. A visitor? Tony had come after all. She sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her
head spun; she cleared her throat. ‘Yes, please. Coming. I’m coming.’

‘In the common room.’

Anna felt her eyes close again, weighed down by the medication, but she raised her eyebrows, hoping that the muscles of her
forehead could help lift her eyelids. She stood up and shuffled towards the door.

* * *

Ursula sat on the edge of a saggy brown chair and tried not to breathe too deeply. The unmistakable smell of stale sweat and
smoke had soaked into the walls and furniture. She looked at her fingernails to avoid catching anyone’s eye. Even the nurse
who had shown her to this room looked suspect. What kind of professional had pierced eyebrows? She glanced around her. In
the centre of the room was a circle of mismatched chairs, with a space where the two seats that the nurse had dragged over
to the window had been. The walls were covered in poster paper with vividly coloured drawings, collages and poems. It was
more like a junior school classroom than an adult hospital. There was an old pool table in the far corner with shiny felt
and one leg resting on some folded-up napkins. There were no cues or balls; at least that was something. She didn’t like the
idea of dangerous patients having easy access to potential weapons. She wasn’t quite sure that it was safe in here: she had
already been approached by a man who asked her some frankly rude and personal questions before he was escorted away
by a nurse. She uncrossed her legs, crossed them the other way, then looked through her handbag.

She heard the creak of the door handle, and the door swung open. She looked up and stared as Anna staggered into the room.
Anna’s arms were stiff by her sides; she was walking like an old woman. Her black dress was crumpled: was that what she wore
to court this morning? Her loose hair was lank and tangled, her face was puffy. She didn’t look like the beautiful young woman
who had married her son. Ursula swallowed and thought about just saying hello and leaving again. No, there was something she
had to say. She realised she was still staring, so she fixed a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Anna walked towards her. She didn’t look surprised, or happy, as Ursula had expected; she looked disappointed. Ursula waited
until Anna sat down opposite her and the nurse walked away before she spoke.

‘How are you, Anna?’

Anna didn’t move. Her voice was quiet, slurred. ‘Fine. How are you?’

Ursula gave a businesslike nod. ‘I’m not doing too well, really. As you can imagine.’ She watched Anna’s face, saw her look
down, saw her bite her lip. Ursula sat up straighter, and spoke louder. ‘This won’t take long. I just have a few things to
say, then I’ll go.’ She hoped Anna couldn’t hear the trembling in her voice. She needed to keep calm, do this, then leave.

‘Is Tony here?’ Anna said in a small, hopeful voice.

‘Tony? No. Look, Anna …’ Ursula took a deep breath. ‘I think it’s best if you don’t see Tony for now.’

‘What?’ Anna looked straight at her, her eyes wide, confused.

Ursula looked away. She felt terrible saying it out loud, but she had thought about nothing else for days. She needed to protect
her own family, and herself. They needed to deal with their grief, and that couldn’t happen while everyone was so caught up
with Anna’s drama. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘but I think it’s best if you don’t see our family any more.’

Anna opened her mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. She slumped back in the chair and stared at her.

Ursula couldn’t meet Anna’s eyes. If she did, she might relent, might apologise for saying such a terrible thing to the woman
she had once thought of as her daughter. But she knew that this was the only way she could look after her own children.

She leaned down and picked up her leather bag from the floor. The shoulder strap slipped through her sweaty hand, so she bent
down again, then looked up, tears threatening to give her away. Anna was still just sitting there, staring. Couldn’t she even
think of something to say? Why didn’t she argue, plead, beg? Was Anna really that cold?

She shook her head. ‘How could you? Dear God, what kind of mother could kill her own child?’ Her voice broke and tears began
to fall. She stood up and stared at Anna, whose face had begun to quiver. Ursula’s face hardened.

‘Goodbye, Anna.’

She walked out without looking back.

* * *

Anna didn’t call out to Ursula, didn’t say anything. She just sat there, looking at the indent on the pilled brown chair where
her mother-in-law had sat only moments ago. She rubbed her hands over her face, pinching her cheeks, unable to believe what
she had just heard. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t make a sound.

Rachel appeared and sat in the empty seat. ‘Anna? What is it?’

She couldn’t form any thoughts, let alone speak them.

‘Do you want to tell me what she said?’ Rachel asked.

Anna shook her head, then somehow found the words. ‘Nothing I don’t deserve.’

As she said it, she knew it was true. What did she expect? That people would tell her it was OK, that they forgave her? That
she could go back to her normal life as if nothing had changed? Of course that couldn’t happen.

This was exactly what she deserved.

* * *

For the next few days, Anna did as she was asked: she took her medication, she answered Dr Morgan’s questions, and she ate
what they put in front of her. But she was thinking all the time. It wasn’t like before: her thoughts weren’t rushing around
in panic, nor were they slow and sluggish. Her thoughts were clear, and they were calm.

Dr Morgan was right: she was better now. The ECT, the tablets, the therapy; it had all done its job. She couldn’t really remember
being ill, but when she looked back she knew that she had been in a terrible way. The old Anna, her true self, was coming
back. But that didn’t change the fact that she had killed Jack.

Whenever she was alone, she thought about her future. The idea of going to prison didn’t bother her now; it was preferable
to going home. She knew what prisoners thought of child killers, but threats and beatings would be better than whispers and
gossip. However, Scott had told her that even if she was sent to jail, the maximum sentence she would get was twenty-five
years. Not life. One day she’d have to walk out, and what would she do then? She’d be over fifty. She’d have no friends, no
job, no relationships. No children. Tony didn’t want her; he wouldn’t wait for her. No one would ever trust a woman who’d
gone crazy and killed her child.