Fractured (18 page)

He stood up and stamped on his cigarette, then threw open the screen door. He wrenched at the handle of the back door, and
heard the satisfying metallic clash as it closed behind him. He paused for a second, waiting for Wendy to follow him, but
she stayed where she was, sitting on her own with the dog.

Friday, 28 August 2009

Tony stared out of the window of his office, watching the rain run down the glass. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet, but it
was dark. He could see the blurred lights from the ferries crossing the harbour below him, but otherwise it was like being
in the middle of a cloud. He liked the way the battering sound of the rain soaked up the noise around him. He leaned back
in his chair and put his hands behind his head. The warmth of the room made him drowsy. He hadn’t been able to sleep much
last night; every time he had turned over or stirred, Anna had been awake. He didn’t know why: Jack had slept quite well,
only waking twice during the night, but Anna had been restless and tense, which in turn had meant that he couldn’t relax.

He yawned, then sat up straight and reached for the phone on his desk. He picked up the receiver, then hesitated. When he
called her just before lunch, Anna had said she was fine. She was going to lie down if she got a chance; she might be sleeping
now. He put the receiver down. She needed her rest; he wouldn’t disturb her. He’d leave soon, and they could go out for dinner
tonight.

There was a knock at his door, and he looked up to see Neesha, one of the secretaries. She smiled. ‘You coming for a drink?
We’re going to have it in the boardroom tonight, too wet out there.’

Tony looked at his watch. It would be awful on the roads now, in that weather. He smiled back. ‘Yeah, OK, just one. I’ll be
there soon.’

By the time he drove out of the underground car park, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The six o’clock news came on the radio.
‘Shit.’ He hadn’t meant to stay so long; Anna would be angry. He
took some chewing gum out of the glove box to hide the beer on his breath. Looking up at the endless stream of red tail-lights
ahead of him he groaned: the traffic seemed to be conspiring against him.

When he finally walked into the house, Anna was on the couch in her pyjamas and her old pink fluffy dressing-gown watching
the news. Jack was asleep in his bassinette on the floor. Anna’s face was blotchy and wet; she didn’t even glance at him as
he walked in.

‘Anna, what is it?’ He dropped his bag and hurried over to her.

She didn’t move her eyes from the television. She smiled as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and then the damp
sleeve of her gown. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s just the news. It’s so sad.’

‘Babe, the news is always sad.’ Tony walked over to the couch and massaged her shoulders as he stood behind her.

‘There was an accident on the M5. A whole family killed, just the grandma survived.’ Her voice quivered and her eyes filled
with tears. ‘I was worried, you were late …’

‘Oh no.’ Tony walked around the couch to sit next to her. He shouldn’t have stayed for that drink. ‘I’m sorry I was late.
I should have called you.’

‘No, I’m just being silly. It’s fine.’

‘Why don’t you go and have a shower? I’ll look after the little man. Take your time. Then we’ll go to Roma for some pasta.’

Anna smiled wearily, pushed herself up off the couch and walked out of the room. Tony took a beer out of the fridge and unscrewed
the top, then sighed as he sank onto the couch. He looked at Jack, fast asleep with his eyes flittering behind his eyelids.
Anna seemed all right. They’d have a quiet dinner, a glass of wine, and an early night, and then maybe they’d both have a
good sleep. They needed it.

When Anna came back, she was wearing jeans and a silk blouse. The blouse stuck to her shoulders where her wet hair dripped
onto it, but Tony didn’t say anything. He was relieved to see her looking more like her old self. He missed their life before
Jack; the past four weeks had been hard, but he knew it was just an adjustment. Soon, they’d have their life back: a different
life, but a happy one.
He picked Jack up from the bassinette, then ushered Anna out of the house.

* * *

He cradled Jack in one arm and sipped at his glass of pinot while they waited for their main course to arrive. He’d thought
that Anna was OK but here, in the restaurant, he could see there was something not quite right about her: she was talking
and smiling, but Tony wasn’t convinced. She tore small pieces off her garlic bread and rolled it into tiny balls while she
listened to him. When her pasta arrived, she pushed it around her plate with her fork, but barely ate anything.

‘You’re not hungry? You usually love carbonara!’

She twirled her spaghetti. ‘I had a big lunch.’

He raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t seen Anna eat a proper meal in days. Why was she lying to him? Was she worried about her
weight? Jack was asleep; Tony put him in the pram next to their table. ‘Don’t get upset with me, but there’s something I need
to say.’ He paused. ‘I’m worried about you, babe.’

She didn’t look up; she kept twisting her fork. ‘There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m just tired.’

‘Jack’s sleeping a bit better now, though. He was up, what, twice last night?’

She dropped her fork and pushed her plate away. ‘You’re not the one who has to wake up, get out of bed, feed him, change his
nappy, resettle him. You hear him twice and then you roll over and go back to sleep! I end up fully awake, then I have to
try and wind down again.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare tell me this is easy!’

Tony reached for her hand across the table, shocked at her outburst. Anna rarely got angry; she tended to cry or worry, but
she had never before looked at him with such contempt. He didn’t think he’d said anything to make her that agitated. ‘Sorry,
babe. I’m just worried. I know you haven’t been sleeping well.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Why don’t you get your mum to come over and help out? You know she’s desperate to meet Jack. She’d love to come, I’m sure.
Or my mum could come over during the day.’

Anna glared at him. ‘I don’t want anyone! That will make it worse. It’ll be more work for me, someone to entertain and talk
to. There’s nothing they can do – there’s nothing anyone can do.’

‘They could help with cooking and go to the shops for you …’

‘You can do that, Tony.’ Anna’s anger seemed to drain away and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Please, I don’t want anyone to
see me like this. I’m fine. Please don’t tell them.’ Her voice shook.

He sighed. ‘All right. Well, I want you to rest this weekend, yes? You need to let me help you. Promise me you’ll do nothing:
no tidying, no cooking, no cleaning. Just sleep when you can and feed him when you need to. Don’t even get out of bed.’

‘But there are things that need to be done, Tony! We need clean clothes —’

‘Anna, stop! I’ll do it.’ Tony took another deep breath. He had to bring it up. ‘You don’t think you might be depressed, do
you?’

‘No!’ she said, tears welling up again. ‘Don’t try to turn this into an illness, a problem with me. I’m not depressed, I’m
just exhausted! You try surviving on one or two hours’ sleep for weeks on end!’

‘OK, OK …’ He raised his hands. He had expected Anna to react like that, but he’d needed to say it, to make her consider it.
‘I’m sorry, babe. I’m just worried. I have one condition then, and there’s no arguing: I want you to go to the doctor and
get checked out. Just tell her how you’re feeling and see what she says. She’ll probably say everything’s normal, but I want
to make sure. Will you do that?’

Anna didn’t look at him; she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, ‘Fine.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her and took her hand again. ‘I just want you to be OK. Let’s get some gelato takeaway and go home,
eh?’

She nodded. Letting go of her hand, he poured himself the last of the wine and took a big gulp. He was relieved that she’d
agreed to see her doctor, someone who would see new mums all
the time and would know what was normal. And Anna was right; this probably
was
normal. She would be fine.

* * *

Anna had to drive home from the restaurant. Tony seemed to enjoy the fact that he was always the one who was allowed to drink.
First it had been the pregnancy, now the breastfeeding. He assumed he could drink as much as he wanted and she would drive.
And she did, of course. She opened the window, hoping the fresh air would wake her up a bit and blow away the smell of alcohol
from Tony. Jack was fast asleep in his capsule in the back; if Tony had been sober, she’d have made him drive around the block
all night with him and give her a break.

Back at home, she tiptoed down the hallway carrying the baby capsule, then put it gently on the floor of Jack’s bedroom. It
wasn’t worth risking waking him to transfer him into his bassinette. She left the door ajar and went into her bedroom to get
undressed, then walked through to the bathroom in her underwear. For a moment she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked
so bloated, and her breasts bulged out of the huge maternity bra. Her skin was terrible, and her eyes were circled by dark
shadows. She turned away and started to brush her teeth; it was better not to look.

The bathroom door opened; Tony came in and put his arms around her from behind. She froze. He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort
as he kissed the back of her neck. She could feel his rough stubble and smell the stale red wine and garlic on his hot breath.
She spat the toothpaste in the sink, then wriggled out of his embrace and turned to face him. ‘Tony …’

‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her.

She moved her head to the side, ‘No, I don’t.’

‘You do. I love your new figure.’ His hand wandered towards her breasts.

‘Tony!’ She pushed him away as he bent down to kiss her chest. ‘Please, the doctor said six weeks.’

‘We can just —’

‘No, Tony, no. Please …’ She saw the hurt in his eyes. Couldn’t he understand that all she wanted was some peace? Some time
alone? ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so tired.’

‘It’s OK.’ he said. He grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed paste onto it and started brushing his teeth.

Anna watched him until he was finished, then put her hand on his arm. ‘I’ll just be a few minutes. You get into bed.’

He walked out, and she closed the bathroom door behind him. She listened to his footsteps moving down the hall towards their
bedroom, turned the shower on full and sat down on the cold floor tiles, letting herself sob. It felt as if Tony was just
one more person putting demands on her. Her body was no longer her own: her breasts were for feeding, and her skin and hair
and nails were all weakened by her hormones. Everyone seemed to want something from her, and she gave everything she had.
Where was
her
time? All she did was wait: wait for Jack to wake up, wait for Tony to come home, wait for the weekend. There was nothing
to look forward to, no end in sight.

This was her life now.

She let her nose run; the tears streamed until her face hurt. Would Tony be asleep yet? She stood up and turned off the shower,
then splashed her face with cold water from the sink. She brushed her hair, put on her pyjamas, and walked along the hall.

To her relief, Tony was snoring softly. She switched off the light and got into bed. Maybe he was right about her being depressed.
Was it normal to feel like this? She was sure it would pass; it had to get easier. The first six weeks were the hardest, that’s
what she had read. A part of her didn’t want to go to the doctor and give Tony the satisfaction of being right; she didn’t
want this to be her problem. It was like when they were trying to get pregnant: Tony was so happy to know that it wasn’t his
fault. If she was depressed, it let him off the hook. The truth was that if he was at home more, if he helped her, then she
wouldn’t be in this situation. Other dads took weeks off work, but not Tony: work was too busy. Anna wanted to let him know
just how hard it was, that he couldn’t expect to
go to work drinks and out to dinner and still have the same life as he did before. Everything had changed.

Tony was snoring louder now. She picked up her pillow and the baby monitor and went to sleep in the spare room.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed in the same mindless fatigue and Anna felt her energy continue to drain away. On Monday morning,
Tony brought her breakfast in bed while she fed Jack. She thanked him, then forced herself to eat, aware that he was pretending
not to watch. She washed each mouthful of stodgy cold toast down with tea, trying not to gag. When Tony was out of the room,
she fed the crusts to Jessie, who sat on the floor next to the bed looking up at her hopefully.

If she didn’t do it now, she never would. She reached for her mobile on the bedside table and called the general practice.
Dr Fraser was very busy, the receptionist said. There were no appointments until Wednesday. Was it urgent?

‘No,’ Anna replied. ‘It’s not urgent.’

Monday, 28 September 2009

Anna fumbled for the white cord next to her bed, and followed it with her fingers until she found the panel of buttons. Her
eyes were too heavy to open. Anyway, the light would give her a headache, and she didn’t want to see the yellowing bruises
on her arms and legs again. From a distance, it looked like a child had touched her with mustard-coloured finger paint. She
didn’t know why she’d bothered fighting as they jabbed the needle into her thigh; if she’d known how the medication would
make her feel, she’d have gladly consented. The medication let her sleep; sleep let her forget. This sensation, when the sedation
wore off, was far more painful.

Her fingers found the large circular button and pressed it hard. She heard the click as it engaged, but nothing else. She
tried again, and again. Finally, she heard footsteps outside her room, and she slumped back in the bed.

‘Good morning, Anna.’ It was Rachel’s voice.

She swore under her breath; she’d hoped it would be someone she didn’t know. Then she had more chance of getting what she
wanted.

Rachel walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open. ‘I think it’s about time we got you up and out of bed, don’t
you?’

Anna opened her eyes slightly and squinted. ‘I need another tablet.’ Her voice was croaky.

‘What for?’

‘Sleep. I can’t sleep …’

‘You’ve been doing nothing but sleeping, Anna. Anyway, it’s after nine, it’s not time for sleeping now.’ Rachel picked up
the blanket that was crumpled at the bottom of the bed and began folding it. ‘And those tablets are only to be used if you’re
anxious and agitated.’ She draped the blanket over the chair, then walked to the end of the bed and picked up Anna’s medication
chart. She frowned.

‘You’ve had the maximum dose anyway. The night nurses gave you plenty of medication. I want you to get up and have a shower
and something to eat. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep at night if you sleep all day.’

‘I
am
anxious and agitated. I feel horrible – please?’ She began to cry.

‘I know that it’s tempting to keep yourself knocked out, but this is real life, and it’ll still be here whenever you wake
up, it’s not going to go away.’

‘I know!’ Why did she keep stating the obvious? She wasn’t in charge. Anna opened her eyes fully and yellow flashes bounced
around her field of vision. The light made her head pound. ‘I don’t feel well.’

Rachel cupped her elbow in one hand and rested her chin in the other. ‘You’ll feel better if you get some food and fluids
into you, and some fresh air.’

‘I don’t want to! Call Dr Morgan. You don’t understand. Please, call her.’ He chest tightened; she couldn’t get enough air.
She tried to sit up and breathe more deeply, but it felt as though someone was crushing her.

‘Anna, calm down. Slow your breathing – Anna, breathe with me.’ The nurse began counting in a monotonous, calm voice. Anna
tried to concentrate, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling, and her mouth was getting drier. The room began to spin.

She felt as though she was drifting, spiralling up, but Rachel put her hand on her arm, anchoring her, like someone grabbing
the string of a balloon before it floated away. She didn’t want anyone to pull her back.

She tried again. ‘Please, can you call Dr Morgan? She’ll give me something else.’

There was a timid tap at the door. Anna looked over and saw her mother peering round the doorframe. She was holding a plastic
bag that Anna knew would be full of magazines, chocolates and energy drinks for her.

‘Mum!’ she started crying again. Her mum cared about her; she cared so much that Anna felt terrible and undeserving.

Wendy dropped the bag at the door and ran over. She sat next to Anna on the bed and hugged her. Anna breathed deeply, smelling
the cheap perfume that Wendy had worn since Anna was a little girl. It was the most comforting smell she knew.

‘Mum,’ she sobbed. ‘I feel horrible.’

‘Shh.’ Wendy stroked her hair. ‘I know, I know darling …’

Rachel got up and muttered something to Wendy, who nodded, and then the nurse left them alone.

Anna waited until she could talk without gasping. ‘I saw them.’

Wendy stroked the hair from Anna’s forehead. ‘Who, darling?’

‘The police. They were outside, talking to Dr Morgan.’

‘I’m sure they weren’t —’

‘They were!’ Even though they weren’t in uniform, Anna was certain they were policemen.

Wendy bit her lip and looked down.

‘Mum, see, you know!’

‘Oh Anna, I don’t know anything.’

‘Well, why were they here?’

‘They still need to talk to you.’

‘Why? I don’t know anything, I don’t remember anything.’ Anna’s voice was getting higher and higher. She didn’t want to talk
to the police; she thought that as long as she was in here, in a crazy ward, they’d leave her alone. Jack was gone; what good
would it do to talk to her? What could she tell them that would bring him back?

Wendy pulled Anna towards her and hugged her. ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember anything. You’ll just need to tell
them what you can, just be honest.’

She pulled away. ‘Honest? Not you too. I know what everyone else thinks, you know. Even Tony … He can’t bear to see me.’ She
looked away from her mum, towards the picture of Jack.

‘Tony’s just upset, darling. Just give him some time.’

‘Have they spoken to you?’

‘Who?’

‘The police!’

‘Yes. Of course they have, and I told them that you could never do this, that it would never cross your mind —’

She swallowed, forcing herself to voice her worst fear. ‘But what if it did, Mum? What if it did cross my mind and I can’t
remember? I must have done something. I’m locked up in here with all these crazy people, they’re giving me electric shocks
…’ She suddenly felt the weight returning to her chest as the reality of it all set in. This was no dream, no story. This
was her life, and her family. Jack was dead.

The room started to spin as an overwhelming wave of uncertainty swept over her. She would never hurt her boy. Her Jack. The
police thought she’d killed her son.

Had she?

‘Darling, you’ve been sick, so sick …’

She looked Wendy in the eye, then spoke quietly, trying to make sense of it all. ‘How could you not tell me?’

‘Tell you?’

‘About Jack! Everyone knew, but no one told me, for days and days. I thought he was okay, I just thought he couldn’t visit.’

Wendy’s face went pale. ‘You were too sick …’

‘You and Tony just left me here, locked up, in this place! And I couldn’t even go to his funeral. How could you, Mum?’

Wendy tried to take Anna’s hands. ‘Calm down. The doctors – I wanted you there, but —’

‘Don’t blame everyone else! You’re my mum. Imagine if I died and you weren’t allowed to come to my funeral!’

‘Anna, I’m sorry!’

Wendy tried to take her hands again, but she turned on her side, pulled her legs up to her chest, and wept. Her fury dissipated,
replaced by shame. Shame at what she might have done. Shame at what she was putting her family through. She could hear Wendy
crying behind her. Anna wanted to tell her to be quiet, to leave her alone. But she said nothing, and Wendy waited there,
as Anna knew she would. Gradually, the heaving in her chest settled and she turned onto her back and looked at her mum.

‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘You’ve had postnatal psychosis, but Dr Morgan said —’

She shook her head. ‘No, no, no. I mean … what’s wrong with me? What kind of a mother … could do this?’

Wendy’s eyes widened. She could only shake her head as the tears rolled down her face.

Anna stared up at the ceiling. Wendy leaned over and pulled her into a tight hug. Anna clutched onto her like a child, as
though her mother had come to save her, to wake her from a nightmare. But she knew her mother was powerless to make this better,
that she couldn’t promise her that everything would be all right.

* * *

Tony saw the grey ball coming towards him; he had to move immediately to get out of its way. He clenched the racquet in his
hand with his arm raised just above shoulder height, midway between response and surrender. Time sped up; he felt the sting
as the ball hit him under his arm, hard, on his ribs. He dropped the racquet and clutched his chest, pain radiating across
his torso.

‘That was uncalled for!’

‘Sorry, mate!’ Sean tried not to laugh. ‘You asked for that. You’ve got to be quick!’

He bent down and picked up his racquet. The pain was subsiding and in its place was the buzz of adrenalin; it felt good. He
twirled the racquet around again in his hand then wiped his forehead with his wristband. ‘OK, I’ll get you this time …’

They lined up to face the peeling red tape on the wall. Sean lifted the ball in his left hand, preparing to serve, and Tony
bounced from foot to foot, ready. Suddenly, his phone rang. Sean stopped. ‘Do you need to get that?’

‘Yeah. Sorry, hold on.’ He ran to his bag at the back of the court and rummaged around for his phone. ‘Yes, hello?’ He was
panting.

‘Is that Tony?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Tony, it’s Dr Morgan, from the hospital.’

Tony felt a now-familiar burst of anxiety mixed with resentment. ‘Oh, hi, I’ve been meaning to call you …’ He turned to Sean
and pointed to the phone. Sean nodded, put down his racquet and ball, and picked up his water bottle.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your day. Is this a good time?’

‘Yes, it’s fine. What’s wrong?’

‘I wanted to give you a quick update. I’ve just spoken to the police. Wendy was just here, so I’ve let her know too, but I
wanted to tell you myself …’

He closed his eyes. Every nerve in his body jumped to attention. His mouth was parched, filled with a taste of dry dust and
stale sweat, so familiar from his memories of the school gym. It had been a few days since he’d heard from the police; he
had hoped that maybe, just maybe, they would leave her alone. ‘Yes?’

‘Well, as you know, the police still need to interview Anna. I think she’s well enough now.’

‘Well enough? To be interviewed? You’ve got to be joking!’

‘She’s come a long way – I’m not saying she’s back to normal, but I can’t keep the police away from her any more. We’ve stopped
the ECT, she’s eating and drinking, and there’s no sign she’s still paranoid or hearing voices.’

He crouched down on his haunches. ‘So what did the police say?’

‘They want to take her to the station tomorrow morning to interview her.’

Tony thought of his own interview, the way the detectives had tried to manipulate him into giving them the answers they wanted,
and he knew that Anna couldn’t cope with that. She would never question authority; the way she was now, she would be so easily
bullied into telling them what they wanted to hear. He felt dizzy; he ran his free hand across his forehead. ‘Shit. Does Anna
know?’

‘Yes. I told her just before I called you. She asked me to contact you.’

‘OK.’ He didn’t know what else to say.

Dr Morgan continued, ‘Tony, it’s not my place to say this, and she’ll get someone from legal aid, but have you thought about
getting her a lawyer?’

‘No, I …’ A lawyer? He rocked back and sat on the ground. Why hadn’t he organised a lawyer? Jesus, what had he been thinking?
That was something he could do for her, something practical, something helpful. ‘I will, though, I will.’

‘As I said, it’s not my place, but I think that in the circumstances …’

‘Yes.’ He got to his feet. ‘Yes, thanks. I’ll get onto it now. Dr Morgan?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

He put his phone back in his bag. It was too hot in here; he needed some fresh air. How could they be interviewing Anna already?
Jesus, she’d be terrified. She wouldn’t even walk on the grass if there was a sign telling her not to; this would be a nightmare
for her.

Sean walked up to him. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘It’s the police – they want to interview Anna. Shit.’ Tony scraped his fingers through his damp hair. ‘Look, sorry, I need
to go, I’ve got to sort things out, a lawyer …’

‘Of course. Let’s get out of here.’

Tony zipped his racquet back into the plastic cover and picked up his bag, already thinking about who he could call. He hurried
out of the sports centre to his car on the street outside, waved goodbye to Sean, and drove home. Why had he left it so late?

As he drove, his eyes were drawn again and again to the glove box. The letter was still in there. He didn’t know what to do
with
it: it might help Anna, but it could also make things far worse for her. He wished he’d never seen it.

He pulled into the car park of a fast food restaurant. Before he could stop himself he leaned over to the glove box and retrieved
the envelope, then unfastened his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. Walking over to a large grey wheelie bin, he lifted
the lid, holding the envelope in his trembling hand. He looked at the cardboard burger cartons and paper packets full of old
chips, then back at his hand. He couldn’t do it. He let the lid of the bin fall closed again, went back to the car and put
the letter back in the glove box.

* * *

The next morning, he and Wendy arrived at the hospital just after nine.

He was nervous. He told himself to trust Anna. As much as he had tried to disconnect himself from her, they were still inextricably
bonded.

They walked in silence towards the car park exit, and out into the grounds of the hospital. Dry leaves swirled and crackled
around their feet in the breeze. He could smell Wendy’s hairspray and perfume and it made him feel a little sick.

The receptionist at the front desk of the mental health unit stood up as soon as she saw them and unlocked the security door
without saying a word. Tony went through first then held the door open for Wendy; as it closed behind them, he saw the broad
backs of the detectives who had interviewed him, Hill and Kaminsky. They stood inside the nurses’ station, enclosed by glass
and more security doors. Dr Morgan was there too, looking up at Detective Hill and nodding. He wished he could hear what they
were saying.