Blame (12 page)

‘I don't know why. I just don't know. I went to get the post. I didn't think. I was only going to get the post.'

‘But it was Saturday, Anna,' says Walt quietly. ‘The post doesn't come on Saturday.'

‘I know that, Detective. I know that, Walt,' says Anna, emphasising the T at the end of his name. ‘I hadn't managed to get out to the post box for a couple of days, and those circulars come all the time, you know. I went out to get whatever was in there. How hard can it be to walk down the front path of your house to the stupid chicken-shaped post box and get your mail?

‘There have been moments over the last few years when I've forgotten exactly who Maya is and simply treated her like any other seven-year-old, or ten-year-old, or eleven-year-old child. I forget to be vigilant, to be afraid, and to watch.

‘One day, when she was about five, I was standing in the kitchen and she was watching her space video and I was making lunch for her, and I looked over and she turned to look at me and gave me this little smile; so little, it almost wasn't a smile, but to me, it was like a small gift, and I wanted to touch her so much, I went over and put my arms around her. It was stupid of me but, for a moment, I forgot that she hated to be touched like that. She went ballistic. She
started screaming and throwing things, and eventually she picked up a small plastic chair and threw it at the television, cracking the screen. It was only a hug, such a small thing, but it was the wrong thing to do and I forgot.

‘That's what happened. I forgot. I wanted to clear out the mail box. I didn't know that Caro would be coming around the corner, on her way to visit me. She liked to do that. She's always liked to do that. The first time she just popped in, I was so embarrassed. I'd only known her for a few months, and I'd only invited her over when I was able to make sure that the house was tidy and that I looked like a normal mother with a normal child. She turned up one evening, and the whole house was in complete chaos because Maya had a cold, and even with her sleep machine and her DVD player, she still wouldn't settle. The doorbell rang, and I thought it was Keith and that he'd forgotten his key. I think it must have been close to the time he came home. “Thank God,” I said out loud because I really needed some time out. I hadn't even made it out of my pyjamas. That's okay when you have a newborn but not when your child is nearly sixteen months old. I opened the door, and Caro was standing on the doorstep holding a cake box. I was holding Maya, who was screaming, and I had no idea what to say to her.

‘“Bad day?” she said.

‘“The very worst,” I said.

‘“Geoff offered to take care of dinner and bath time tonight so I can have a break. I found a new bakery last week and they're famous for their mud cakes.”

‘“The house . . .” I said.

‘“Fuck that, just give her to me, and have a quick shower or something. I don't care about the mess.”

‘“She'll just scream,” I said, and Caro laughed. “I think I can handle Miss Maya. Screaming doesn't frighten me.”

‘I knew that day we would be friends forever; I mean, I thought I knew it. She held Maya, and I heard Maya screaming but I didn't care. I can still remember how good that shower felt. I stood right under the hot water and blocked everything out. After I got out of the shower, Keith came home and he offered to drive Maya around. He had a CD of the static noise that she liked, and between that and the movement of the car, he hoped he could get her to sleep. Caro and I ate two slices of cake each. I was so happy to simply be able to sit still. By the time Keith returned with Maya, who was sleeping, I felt like I could go on again, like I could handle the night to come and all the days after that. I felt like she had saved me. Again. I felt like she had saved me again.'

‘She sounds like a great friend,' says Cynthia.

‘She is,' says Anna. ‘I mean, she was. I didn't know she'd be coming around the corner. I didn't know she would have been drinking. I didn't know that leaving the front door open would lead me here. How could I have known? How could I possibly have known?'

‘Mrs Harman's test results haven't come back yet. We don't know that she'd had too much to drink. She may very well have been below the legal limit,' says Walt.

‘Caro was drunk. If she hadn't been drunk, she would have stopped. Even if it was dusk, she would have stopped. She would have seen Maya. She would have seen her! The speed limit in that street is like it is everywhere else, fifty kilometres an hour, and she would have seen her and stopped if she wasn't out of her mind. I don't care what your tests say. I am so tired of saying this, so tired of talking about this. I just want to be left alone!'

‘Anna, please don't upset yourself,' says Cynthia in her quiet ‘stop the person about to jump' voice. Anna feels an irrational flash of anger. She sees herself picking up the chair she is sitting on and smashing it over the table.

‘Don't upset myself. Don't upset myself,' she says, hearing her voice rise. ‘Whatever you do, Anna, don't upset yourself. Yes, I know. I need to remain calm. I need to be calm and quiet, and grieve politely.

‘Do you know that at the funeral—well, after the funeral—we were all standing outside and everyone was coming up to tell me how very sorry they were, and a flock of white doves flew over the church. Everyone looked up. It was such a beautiful day; a perfect day. It was warm, but not too hot, like it is today, and for some reason, I could smell sunscreen in the air—I don't know why. My mother-in-law was standing next to me when the doves flew over. She was dressed in red because, she said, Maya loved red. I was all in black. “Why bother with what colour she loved?” I thought when Estelle told me why she'd chosen her dress. “Oh, look, Anna,” she said when she saw the doves, “it's a
sign, a message from Maya. She wants you to know she's at peace.”

‘I started laughing. It was so absurd. “Maya wouldn't have sent me a message,” I said to Estelle. “She could barely speak. How would she have known what a white dove symbolises?” Estelle didn't say anything when I said that but she had this look . . . this look on her face, like she was seeing me for the first time and didn't like what she saw. I stared right back at her until she turned around and went to find Keith, no doubt to tell him she thought his wife was crazy.

‘I upset her. I keep upsetting people because I don't listen to their platitudes and then act like they've made me understand what happened. I call people on the shit they sprout and no one likes that.

‘It's all bullshit. There's nothing anyone can say to make it better. When someone dies after they've had a chance to live their life, to be an adult and get married, and have children and grandchildren, then you can say, “She lived a good life, she's at peace now,” but you can't say that about an eleven-year-old child. There's nothing you can say about the death of an eleven-year-old that could make it easier to bear. Keith gets angry at me when I say that. “Everyone's only trying to be kind,” he simpers at me. But I don't care about everyone else. I don't have the energy to accept people's sympathy.

‘In the car on the way home from the funeral, we passed a church down the road from our church; a bride and groom
were getting into a limousine, and I knew instantly that the doves were for them. I don't know who gets married on a Tuesday afternoon but there they were, off to begin their new lives. I was so jealous of them, my mouth filled with bile. I had to hold my hand across my lips because I was afraid I'd throw up in the car.

‘Why did I leave the door open? That's such a good question, Detective. I'm sure I haven't thought about it or been asked it before.

‘It's ridiculous I should have to be here. Ridiculous and cruel!'

Walt leans over and grabs Anna's hand. He squeezes harder than he needs to, making her focus on the slight pain he's causing and making her relax a little.

‘Maya liked to be held tightly,' she says. ‘I could never squeeze her hard enough but Keith could. It's a sensory thing with autistic children. If I tried to stroke Maya's hair, she'd pull away, but if Keith held her really tightly, she relaxed. She would wait for him at the end of every day. She knew that when the sun was setting in winter, he'd be home soon, and eventually I could explain the idea of time to her a little on her iPad. She knew what a six looked like and she knew that Keith came home at six, and she'd wait by the door and he'd come in and then fold her into this intense hug, and they would both just stand like that for about five minutes. I had to hold her tightly if she was having a tantrum but it wasn't the same thing.'

Anna is quiet for a moment as she remembers watching
her daughter and her husband. She is ashamed to recall her feelings of jealousy about their relationship. About the ease with which Maya seemed to relate to Keith, when she felt she had to fight for even the slightest acknowledgement of her existence. A smile from Maya would make her day but they were few and far between and mostly, mostly, it was all just one long battle, exacerbated by Maya getting bigger and lashing out at her. Anna knows that under the sleeves of her rosebud-print dress there are a few fading bruises left over from Maya's last major tantrum, and when they are gone, there will be nothing left at all.

Once Maya was diagnosed, once all the doctors had confirmed it and there was no other way to see things, Keith accepted it and then set out to become the poster parent of an autistic child.

It was a huge shift and difficult for Anna to accept. Even though she knew there was something wrong with her daughter and she kept pressing Keith to acknowledge what was being said about her, she also, secretly, clung to the hope that his denials offered. There was always a chance that Keith was right and there was nothing wrong with Maya.

‘I don't want to be here,' says Anna.

‘I know,' says Walt, and she knows he thinks she means in the interview room, ‘and, believe me, I know it's not the best time for this conversation, but an accident like this has to be investigated, especially when there are two conflicting accounts, and the closer we are to when the incident
happened, the more likely you are to recall the details. I know how hard you're finding this, Anna. I do know. Why don't we take a five-minute break and I'll get some food sent in?'

‘Yes, fine. Fine, fine, fine,' says Anna. She is so tired, bone tired, dead tired. ‘I would like to go to the bathroom and maybe call Keith, just so he knows that I'm going to be here for a little longer.'

‘Follow me, Anna, I'll show you where the bathroom is,' says Cynthia, and Anna knots her hands together. She would like to scratch her eyes out.

‘Oh, thanks, but I know where it is. I used it when I arrived.' She is lying, but she knows she can find the bathroom alone and the thought of having to make awkward conversation with Cynthia is too much to endure. ‘I won't be long. Should I leave the door open?' She tries to keep her voice light—
nothing to see here
.

‘Yes, thanks, but I'd prefer it if Cynthia could walk you over there.'

‘I'm not under arrest, am I?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Then can I just get a few minutes to myself?'

‘Sure you can, absolutely . . . take all the time you need.'

‘Thanks.'

Anna walks out of the room, then turns around quickly to ask if she can go outside and get some fresh air. Through the slightly open door, she sees Cynthia lean forward and squeeze Walt's wrist. She watches as he closes his eyes a
little. It is a small gesture but so intimate that Anna doesn't want to interrupt, feels almost ashamed to have seen it. She knows she should walk away and give them some privacy but she hovers outside for a moment and watches Walt lean back in his chair, letting his shoulders sag a little.

‘What's your feeling on this?' Anna hears him say to Cynthia.

‘I'm not sure,' she says.

‘Meaning?'

‘I don't know. I wasn't there on the night, so you'd probably be in a better position to judge, but I find her a little strange.'

‘Strange how?'

‘Difficult to explain but I'm finding her a little distant.'

‘Distant? I wouldn't say that. I think she's really emotional.'

‘I know it seems that way, Walt, but even through her tears and her anger I'm still sensing a wall. She's hiding something.'

‘About the accident?'

‘About the accident, about how she really feels, I don't know.'

‘Explain what you mean, Cynthia.'

‘Maybe it's because I'm a mother that I can sense something. I'm sorry; I don't know how to make you understand.'

‘Can you try?' says Walt.

In the corridor, Anna glances around her quickly to see if anyone is watching her but she is alone. She can feel her heart begin to beat faster.

‘This is going to sound a little weird,' says Cynthia, ‘but I think if it were me, all I would want to do right now is remember how wonderful my kid was. Maybe she's been doing that with her family but it doesn't sound like it.'

Through the slight crack in the almost-closed door, Anna watches Walt shake his head. ‘That's right,' she thinks, ‘she doesn't know what she's saying. Tell her she doesn't know what she's saying.'

‘I don't quite understand,' he says.

‘Do you remember that woman whose teenage son got himself killed speeding in a stolen car?'

‘He killed his passenger as well didn't he? I remember, it was last month,' says Walt.

‘Yes. I talked to the mother when she came in, and even though it was obvious to everyone that her kid had turned into a real drop kick . . . she didn't see it. He hadn't been to school for months and was dealing drugs around the neighbourhood, and she knew all this about him but all she could talk about was what a good kid he'd been. She kept telling us about how he wanted to play the saxophone and how he used to tell her jokes. She knew he was no angel but he was still perfect in her eyes.'