Fractured (30 page)

Friday, 15 January 2010

After Anna had picked at her fish and chips and stared at the television for a polite length of time, she yawned loudly and
stretched her arms above her head. The day had left her completely ragged; every joint, muscle, bone ached with fatigue. But
it wasn’t the judge’s words that kept replaying in her mind; it was Ursula’s.

She got up. ‘Mum, thanks for today, and, you know, for everything.’

‘You don’t need to thank me.’

‘Yes I do.’ Anna went over to Wendy, hugged her and said goodnight.

In her bedroom, she changed into a pair of pyjamas, turned out the light and got into bed. This morning, she had expected
that she’d be in a prison bunk by now, but instead she was free. She started to shake. Could she be trusted? What if they
were wrong to say she was better, that she wasn’t a danger to anyone?

As the minutes and hours passed, she heard her mum turn off the television, put the plates and cups in the dishwasher, then
brush her teeth and go to bed. Anna had hoped that the silence would make it easier to sleep, but it only amplified her thoughts.
Not so long ago, she would have done anything for a full night’s sleep, but now she’d give anything to hear Jack cry for her.
She wanted him to scream and she wanted to go to him and cuddle him until he was calm, and see his little face feeding from
her breast and gazing at her with his half-closed eyes. She could hear him now, if she listened hard enough. His cries got
louder. She pulled back
the blanket and got out of bed, then made her way out into the hallway. She walked down to Jack’s room, and opened the door.

In the dark, Anna could just make out the silhouette of the cot on her left, with the mobile above it swirling in the draught
from the door. The change table was still against the wall on her right, along with the rocking chair with its bright blue
and red cushions; the small chest of drawers was in front of her, under the window. The curtains were closed, but harsh yellow
light from the streetlight squeezed through the gap between them and seared a sharp line across the room. She didn’t turn
on the lamp that sat on top of the drawers. Instead, she closed the door softly behind her and sat with her back against it,
allowing her eyes to get used to the dimness.

She remembered a line she’d read once at university:
In every nursery there are ghosts
. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, she looked around the room. Was Jack still here? Could the faint movement of
the mobile be caused by his breath? That small tickle on her bare foot – was it his touch? But as much as she willed Jack
to come to her, she knew that he wouldn’t. There were no ghosts here. Just a small room, the barest and emptiest room she’d
ever seen.

She slowly stood up, braver now, and touched the wooden frame of the cot. The mattress was bare, with the flannelette sheets
and blanket clean and neatly folded at one end. She leaned over the frame and inhaled. Nothing – only washing powder. She
moved to the window and opened the top drawer of the chest. Some tiny blue bodysuits, and miniature socks, also blue. They
were all folded neatly, but not in the way she folded them. Who had done this? She tried the bottom drawer – muslin wraps,
spare blankets, towels, all folded up wrongly too. Quicker now, she touched everything in the room, searching for him. Her
eyes blurred with tears as she looked under the drawers, then under the cot for something that might have fallen unnoticed,
something that hadn’t been washed clean of memories. But there was nothing. He was gone.

The grief hit her hard, punched her and kicked her and held her down. Her whole body was under attack, and she lay there on
the floor and surrendered to it, with no strength left to fight it. It felt as though her bones were breaking, not just her
heart.

Anna had no idea how long she lay there, sobbing quietly for her son. At some point she heaved herself up onto all fours.
Her head pounded, her eyes smarted, her chest burned. With one last effort, she held onto the cot and pulled herself up, first
to her knees, and then onto her feet, and clambered over the rail. She curled herself up like the first ultrasound pictures
of Jack and rested her head on the soft fleecy blankets. With her knees up against her chest, her head bowed, she fitted perfectly
within the small space. She closed her eyes, and she dreamed.

* * *

When she woke, Wendy opened the blinds of the spare room and was surprised to see that it was bright outside. She had slept
so well; it was one of those nights when she was sure that she had barely moved once she fell asleep. She rubbed at her face
and looked at her watch; it was almost 9 a.m. She felt rested for the first time in months. The current of dread that had
been drifting around in her belly was gone. Anna was home for good.

She hadn’t heard Anna get up, but hoped she’d had a good sleep too; she deserved some rest. She tiptoed past Anna’s room and
went to the front door to get the paper, then went into the kitchen. She took a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge and
poured two glasses. Leaving her own glass on the bench top, she went back down the hall.

Anna’s bedroom door was ajar. She inched it open and peered in, then stared in shock. The bed was empty. Wendy’s heart pounded.
She should never have let her sleep alone; what had she been thinking? After everything Anna had been through yesterday, what
if …? But if she’d gone off in the car, Wendy would have woken up, surely? Her hands were shaking, she put the glass down
on Anna’s chest of drawers before she spilled it, and looked around the room. The bed linen was pulled back, so Anna must
have slept
in it at some point. Her clothes from yesterday were draped over the chair. Wendy put her hand on the mattress; it was cold.

‘No, no, no …’ she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. When would this be over?

She ran along the hall to check the bathroom, then the living area, but they were empty. Rushing outside, she saw the car
was still in the driveway, so she came back and stood in the hall. She didn’t know where else Anna could be. She hesitated
outside Jack’s door, which was still closed. No one went in there any more. She swallowed, then grabbed the handle and opened
the door. Her eyes widened: Anna was curled up in the cot. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘Anna, what are you doing?’

Anna jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice and struggled to sit up. She moved her neck slowly as if in pain. ‘Mum. I …’

Wendy took a step back across the threshold of the door. ‘I was worried – your door was open when I got up but you weren’t
there. I … I was looking for you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘No, Mum, it’s fine. I couldn’t sleep.’

Wendy looked at her, and nodded. Even though her behaviour was bizarre, Anna didn’t look unwell. She wanted to call Dr Morgan,
but she knew she had to trust Anna; there were no rules for grieving, and she had so much to grieve for.

Anna brushed her hair off her face and smoothed down her pyjama top, then smiled. ‘I think I’ll go and have a shower now.
I’d love a cup of tea if you’re making once.’

Wendy didn’t smile back. She spoke softly. ‘OK, love. I’ll make you some tea and toast.’ She glanced again at the cot, then
turned around, walked out and closed the door behind her.

Wendy hummed loudly in the kitchen while she listened out for Anna. She heard her go into the bathroom and turn on the shower,
then go into her bedroom. Wendy put two slices of bread in the toaster and poured hot water into the teapot. As Anna walked
in, she was spreading the toast with butter and Vegemite.

‘Here you go,’ she said, and smiled.

Anna took the plate, then sat on the couch and put her breakfast on the coffee table. She stood up again and unrolled the
newspaper from the cling wrap. Wendy opened her mouth to speak – after bringing it in this morning she had forgotten to hide
it – but it was too late. She took a deep breath, then got the milk out of the fridge to finish making the tea.

She walked over to Anna with her mug and one of her tablets. Anna held the paper open and stared at a page. As Wendy approached,
she quickly closed the paper, folded it in half and threw it on the couch beside her. She turned and took the pill and the
tea. Wendy watched while she put it in her mouth and washed it down.

She put her hand on Anna’s shoulder. ‘You OK, love?’

Anna bit into a piece of toast. ‘Yeah.’

‘Are you sure? We need to go and see Dr Morgan on Monday anyway; do you want me to check if she’ll see you today?’

‘No, Mum, I’m fine.’

Wendy sighed.

Anna looked up at her and put her hand on top of Wendy’s. ‘I promise I’m OK, Mum.’

Wendy wasn’t convinced. She sounded OK, she sounded good actually. But the cot …

‘So, what have you got planned for today, Mum?’

She moved around to sit on the armchair. ‘Nothing, love. Did you want to do anything?’

Anna shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember what I used to do, before … It’s different now. I kept thinking that I might,
you know, not be here very long. What did I do before?’

‘Well, I suppose you used to go to work during the week, and catch up on things on the weekends. Then your day was filled
up with looking after … the baby.’ Wendy’s cheeks reddened. ‘Sorry …’

Anna looked down. ‘Mum, it’s all right. You can say his name.’

‘Sorry, love. I can’t seem to say anything that doesn’t relate to – doesn’t remind me of – Jack.’ Wendy forced herself to
smile. ‘You should just take it easy for a while anyway, you’ve been through a lot.’

Anna nodded, and gazed out towards the back garden. Wendy waited, but Anna just kept staring.

‘Anna?’

‘I’m just thinking, Mum, I’ve got so much to sort out. I don’t know what’s happening with the house, with work. I don’t think
the school will want me to teach again.’ She blinked hard and Wendy knew she was barely holding back her tears. ‘Tony …’

Wendy pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying. She gave herself a moment, then took a deep breath and stood
up. ‘Well, you need to eat. Come on, finish your breakfast.’

Anna nodded and took another bite of her toast. Wendy busied herself in the kitchen. It was the only way she knew how to help
right now.

Saturday, 16 January 2010

Tony stretched out his arms when he woke, then rotated his wrists until the ache in his neck and shoulders had eased. His
throat was raw from crying after the sentencing, but he also had a sense of calm: this nightmare was almost over.

He linked his hands and put them behind his head on the pillow. He wondered if Anna had managed to sleep, and whether she
was awake yet. He should have called her yesterday. Lisa had already told him about his mum having a go at her, so he’d spent
the evening with Sean, going home only when he knew his parents would be in bed so he wouldn’t have to deal with his mum.
And then he’d convinced himself it was too late to call her.

He sighed and reached for the glass of water on the floor beside the bed. The house was quiet; his parents must have gone
out. He eased himself out of bed, then opened his bedroom door. He called out, but there was no answer. He dressed quickly.
There was something he needed to do, and he needed to do it alone.

* * *

He didn’t want to think about where he was driving to, so he just drove. He left the bright suburban streets behind for the
shady, winding roads to the cliffs. He could hear the wind rushing to keep up with him, and felt it rocking the car as though
it was trying to force its way in and stop him, turn him back. But soon enough, he was there. The car crunched to a stop in
the empty dirt car park.

He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked out over the ocean. It was rough out there today; there was no one
surfing. The waves below him pounded and clapped, dragging anything they could reach back out to sea with them. He hesitated
slightly, then put his head down and took off along the path to his left. He stumbled on the tree roots stretching through
the sandy scrub but kept going until he reached the place he was looking for. He stopped, and stood still. This was where
they had found her. He looked down the cliff to the craggy outcrop of rocks.

That was where they had found him.

He sat down on a flat rock ledge at the top of the cliff. The cold spray seeped through his jeans. He brought his knees up
to his chest and circled them with his arms. What was he going to do now? He had thought – no, hoped – that some sort of catharsis
would happen here, that something would release him. But he felt nothing.

He hadn’t brought anything with him; he should have some flowers or something. He stretched his legs out and patted his pockets,
then took out his wallet and looked through it. He didn’t even have a picture of Jack in there. His vision blurred with tears.
He should have paid the damn money for the photographer in the maternity ward. Anna had said it was too expensive, and he
had thought they’d have all the time in the world to take photos of Jack.

Tony wiped away a tear, then took out an old photo of Anna that he’d kept in his wallet for years. The colours had faded,
but it didn’t matter. He remembered the light in her eyes as she smiled and laughed. She was so happy then: that was the Anna
that he had married.

He tried to imagine what she had been thinking and feeling when she came here four months ago. Yesterday he’d listened to
the judge detail every event of that day, and every theory about what had happened, but it was too far removed from the Anna
he knew. The facts didn’t help him to understand what had really made his Anna so sad, so desperate.

Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the rock, glad to feel the crunch of pain. He put his head in his hands and clutched
his damp hair with his fingers. ‘Fuck!’ he yelled. ‘Fuck!’

What had
he
been thinking? He’d known something wasn’t right, but he just kept going to work as though it was all normal, assuming she
would cope like she always had, as if work was more important than his wife and baby. And it was too late now. He was too
late. He shook his head. What was the point of being here now? He should have been here with Anna and Jack when it mattered;
maybe then he could have helped them.

He shivered, despite the sun. His clothes were damp from the saltwater mist that showered over him as the waves broke below.
His hands and feet were numb, as was he. The small photo of Anna was still clutched in his hand. He looked at it again, then
laid it on the rock next to him. He stood up slowly and walked away, leaving the photograph behind. He didn’t believe in God,
but he did believe that among the memories that swirled around these ancient cliffs in the ocean winds were those of a tiny
baby, and that Jack knew, somehow, that his mother loved him.