Medea's Curse (7 page)

‘The lie score does suggest we need to treat what she says with a certain amount
of scepticism does it not?’ Natalie replied. The test was designed to catch people
trying to fake symptoms. In over five hundred dull, repetitive questions, even smart
fakers were caught. ‘Besides, I haven’t ever seen any other personality. My reading
suggests that though the diagnostic criteria state there must be at least two distinct
and enduring personalities that take control less than five per cent of those said
to have it actually fit this description.’

There was a moment when it seemed everyone was holding their breath, but before Wadhwa
could open his mouth, Corinne spoke up, glaring at Natalie as she did.

‘Dr King, could it be that she decompensates and that these other personalities come
out with Professor Wadhwa because he is male?’ Corinne, prior to the MBA, had been
a psychiatric nurse. She didn’t often use this knowledge, but management-speak wasn’t
going to cover the current situation.

‘I guess it’s possible,’ Natalie conceded reluctantly. Her registrar spent more time
with Georgia than Natalie did, and hadn’t seen any different personalities. But she
was female too. ‘I’m not convinced I see anything other than her putting on an act.’

‘Is it possible that being a woman makes you less sympathetic?’ said Corinne.

Natalie was too startled to be worried by Wadhwa’s smug expression. ‘Because she
killed her children and the maternal part of me can’t forgive her for that?’

Corinne nodded.

‘Maybe.’ Actually Natalie was convinced the maternal part of her was either deeply
buried or had never developed. Still, dealing with women who killed their children
raised a range of feelings. When she first took on Amber, she’d experienced surges
of irrational anger. It had taken several sessions with Declan to work through and
redirect her feelings of anger at her own mother from a long time ago.

‘It might be good for you to keep working with her,’ Corinne suggested to Natalie.

‘I would be most happy to,’ said Wadhwa. ‘My research
into Dissociative identity
will be most beneficial—’

‘Exactly why you can’t work with her,’ Corinne said. ‘Include her in your research
by all means, Professor Wadhwa, but if she gets bail, and she may well, the condition
of the court is likely to be that she continues to see a therapist. Natalie would
be better placed.’

Wadhwa looked no happier about this than Natalie felt. At best, she felt ambivalence
towards Georgia. There was none of the sympathy she had for Amber. At least it gave
her a chance to both discredit Wadhwa’s diagnosis and to understand Georgia better.
Natalie could hang a label from the manual on her, but that wasn’t the same as deep
understanding. She had assessed other women who had killed their children; Georgia
was different.

Natalie acknowledged Corinne’s curt nod, a vote of confidence from the manager, even
if she hadn’t won all the points in the round against Wadhwa.

‘You clearly have a problem with Georgia,’ Declan said, crossing his legs and leaning
forward.

‘I think my diagnosis is spot on, even if Wadhwa—’

‘You know I’m not referring to your diagnosis or your problem with Wadhwa, Natalie.’

Natalie had known Declan Ryan since she was sixteen. A long stay in the orthopaedic
ward, then rehab, meant she’d been a captive audience—but determined all the same
not to talk to him. She had put him into the category of ‘boring old people’, always
immaculately dressed with a manner that bordered on ponderous. It was one of the
few times that her first impressions had been proved wrong.

Early in the relationship Declan had delivered his précis of her psychopathology.
‘You can spend the rest of your
life punishing your mother and yourself if you want
to,’ he concluded. ‘Your choice.’

She had been stunned. All she could say was
fuck
.

The relationship had since gone from strength to strength. He’d had two of his own
teenagers at the time, so probably had lots of practice with bad behaviour. Years
later, after an incident in her intern year, she had agreed, under instruction from
the Medical Board, to see him again. They had been meeting weekly for nearly seven
years. At least she was down to one medication now, and she no longer required blood
tests. Declan had taken some convincing on this.

They were in Declan’s Northcote office in the front room of a renovated workers cottage,
where they met most Tuesday evenings. It was tastefully, if heavily, furnished, with
rugs and original prints, a bust of Freud on a pedestal and one of Mahler on a small
table. His patients used the couch; a restored antique upholstered in dark blue velvet
with gold brocade and ornately carved wood at one end.

Natalie sat back in an armchair sipping a glass of wine. Sharing a drink differentiated
her from his patients, but they met in his office, not in the living room at the
back where he would have entertained friends. He always offered her wine, allowing
her to make her own choice—in this case, drinking while taking medication. He would
usually offer her a second glass: her part in the game was to refuse, showing she
was in control.

Declan had become a crucial part of surviving the stress her work generated, both
a sounding board and a sanity check.

Right now, she was on edge. The resurfacing of Amber’s case sat between them, a reprimand
waiting to happen. But
for the moment they were on the relatively safe ground of
her relationship with Georgia.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me about your countertransference.’

‘I just don’t like her,’ Natalie said, aware that her reply was too superficial to
address his question. Her reactions to the patient that stemmed from her own issues
needed to be understood so they didn’t interfere in the therapy. ‘She makes my skin
crawl.’

‘Which Amber never did.’

‘No. I was angry for a while, but I always liked her. Mostly I felt sorry for her.’
And still wanted to help her if she could, not that she could share that with Declan.

‘So? What’s different about Georgia?’

‘She’s cold, distant. There’s an incongruence between her words and affect, something
I can’t pinpoint. And she’s arrogant.’

‘Ah.’

Natalie tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

‘She’s challenging you, refusing to play patient or fit into a slot.’

‘I guess.’

‘Don’t you like your patients to respect you? At the very least make some acknowledgment
of all those years you studied?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Think about Lindy Chamberlain,’ said Declan.

‘Mother convicted for not crying.’ When she had actually been defending against the
pain. ‘Okay, okay. I promise to keep an open mind. If I see her; she might not get
bail.’

They talked about Jessie and then, with five minutes left, Declan leaned forward
in his chair again. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s worrying you?’

Shit. She shifted in the chair. Could she just tell him a part of it? The whole thing
with Liam was making her tense and not just because of the link to Amber and Travis,
or Kay Long’s take on the events.

She gave him an edited version of the case with no mention of the connection to Amber.
She had been asked by the O.P.P. for an opinion on a missing child case—and her attraction
to the prosecutor was affecting her judgment. She didn’t mention Liam’s name in case
Declan recognised it. Nor did she want the Irish interpretation that would follow.

Declan had seen her courthouse confrontation with Travis on a current affairs segment
called ‘Mothers Who Kill’. He had been unimpressed.

‘You
assaulted the Crown Prosecutor.
You’re lucky you aren’t facing a charge.’

‘He grabbed me before I saw who it was. Anyway, it’s completely unreasonable that
Amber is getting all the blame.’

Declan’s facial crevices had deepened even further. He took a deep breath and ran
his hand through his sparse grey hair. ‘You’re a psychiatrist Natalie, not a policewoman—and
definitely not a vigilante. Amber is your patient, not Travis. Our job is to help
our patients confront the dilemmas of their daily existence, not smash through them
ourselves.’

‘I just told him what Amber hadn’t been able to.’

‘And how was that going to help her?’

He had a point. It hadn’t helped Amber; on the contrary, it disqualified Natalie
from giving evidence that might have helped her.

‘Your lithium level was only 0.3,’ Declan had said, as he threw the test results
from her GP on the table in front of her. ‘You know that isn’t adequate to keep your
mood stable.’

She still didn’t think she’d been high. Not that high anyway. Someone needed to care
for the desperate and powerless people she saw; too often none of them had ever had
anyone stick up for them.

‘You’re a good psychiatrist Natalie, but only when you’re well. The Medical Board
has made me responsible for that and as much as I’m on your side, you know I’ll report
you if you put your patients in jeopardy.’

‘How can I put Amber in jeopardy when I care more about her than anyone else in her
medical or legal team?’

‘That’s precisely why,’ said Declan. ‘You’re too close to this; it’s affecting your
objectivity. You’re making exceptions for her. She has her own friends; let them
accost Travis. If she knows you’re prepared to cross boundaries, then you’re no longer
someone she can respect and trust. Psychiatrists that cross boundaries get sucked
into their patients’ repeating traumas and risk responding how their abusers did.
Your role is to reflect back their problem and see a different answer; you can’t
do that if you’re immersed in the drama. You need to stay away from her. Am I making
myself clear?’

He could report her if she didn’t abide by his decision. And that would put her licence
to practise at risk. It was the last time he had mentioned the issue of her medication
compliance—another marker, like the single glass of wine, of their relationship.
But it still sat between them.

‘So,’ she asked now, ‘should I go to Welbury or not?’

Declan sat in silence for a moment, hands clasped together and index fingers raised
at his lips. ‘Let me get this clear,’ he said. ‘You are interested in the case, that’s
what you’re telling me?’

Natalie nodded.

‘You’re available?’

More or less.

‘So the downside is that you might give in to lust?’

‘That’s the upside, too.’

‘Not concerned that he’s married?’

Natalie shrugged. ‘So he’s a louse. If he isn’t cheating with me he will be with
someone else. I don’t mean his wife any harm but really, that should be his problem,
not mine.’

‘What’s
your
problem then?’ Declan put a hand up to stop her speaking. ‘If you listen
to what you’re saying, you’ve told me you don’t want a relationship. Am I right?’
His look was unwavering.

‘A commitment? Absolutely not.’

‘He’s married, so it seems unlikely he wants that sort of relationship either. Right?’

‘Definitely a screw-around type.’

‘Then I say again, what’s your problem?’

‘So I should go for it?’

Declan laughed. ‘That isn’t what I said. I suggest you examine why you didn’t pursue
the opportunity on Saturday evening.’

Natalie was more interested in the immediate options than any reflection. A one-night
stand could be fun. She needed to get him out of her system. Trouble was, she hadn’t
given Declan the whole story; Liam was the complication. The motivation was in part
Chloe; but primarily, it was Amber.

‘I’ll come on two conditions.’

‘And it’d be a good morning to you too, Dr King,’ said Liam, laying on the accent
with a laugh. God it was sexy.

‘First, your office pays for a room for me.’

There was silence then a low chuckle. ‘Never in question. The second condition?’

‘That you ride down with me.’

The silence was longer this time. The chuckle was the same. ‘Do I need to bring a
helmet?’

Chapter 8

Natalie picked him up on the corner of Gertrude and Smith, a block away from where
she lived. He was out of the wind, leaning against the wall of a Turkish takeaway
and wearing a leather jacket that was more about fashion than protection, a bag slung
over his shoulder. She threw him her spare helmet.

‘All you need in that backpack?’

‘I’m sure I can lay my hands on anything else I require,’ said Liam, proceeding to
put his hands around her hips as he sat behind her with little space in between.
Natalie opened the throttle.

The travel method made escaping Melbourne easier and more bearable. By the time they
were on the Princes Highway heading southeast towards Gippsland, they’d left most
of the traffic behind and she relaxed into the rhythm of the ride. She loved that
there was no conversation or music, that it was just the bike, the road and the wind.

On this occasion there was also a very sexy man holding on, probably tighter than
he needed to. She didn’t think it was because he was scared.

After escaping the suburban sprawl, they rode through
farming country. A little more
than two hours after starting out they reached the outskirts of Welbury and Liam
directed her to a two-storey weatherboard guesthouse with a return veranda surrounded
by a large well-kept garden. It could have been found in any Victorian country town,
and gave no hint of the more rundown neighbourhoods beyond. Natalie was still wondering
how to deal with her inconvenient attraction to the man; not being in a motel might
be the deciding factor. Somehow screwing a married man would be seedier in a motel.

Liam took off his helmet and grinned. ‘That wasn’t quite what I’d imagined when I
thought of getting up close and personal, but it was a great ride.’

Natalie ignored him.

‘See you downstairs in fifteen minutes,’ said Liam as they took separate keys. She
lingered after he’d left and spoke to the owner, a man sufficiently round and full
of bonhomie to play Santa Claus, even if the beard was more grey than white.