Fractured (28 page)

Thursday, 14 January 2010

Anna stared at her meal. Fresh pasta, homemade pesto, sun-dried tomatoes and green olives. Emily had made it all, then brought
it over to Anna’s house with a bottle of Tasmanian pinot. Her last supper.

She twirled a piece of fettuccine around her fork and put it in her mouth, but it didn’t taste of anything. It seemed to take
forever to chew; she took a mouthful of wine to wash down the rubbery ball of pasta. She wanted to keep drinking the alcohol,
get drunk and pass out until the morning. But she couldn’t risk losing control tomorrow. She was teetering on the edge as
it was.

Wendy and Emily were talking about the neighbours, the gossip magazines and the weather. Anything but tomorrow. She tried
to follow the conversation and nod at appropriate times but she didn’t want to talk about which Hollywood star was in rehab.
They were trying so hard that Anna felt like weeping.

She watched her mum laugh at something Emily said. It was too loud to fool anyone. Wendy hadn’t touched her pasta either.
How would her mum cope tomorrow?

As soon as she thought it was polite to do so, Anna gathered up the plates.

‘I brought chocolate cake,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll just —’

She shook her head. ‘Not for me. I’m tired.’ She put the plates on the kitchen bench and walked over to hug Emily. ‘Thanks
for coming, Em. I really appreciate it. And thanks for dinner – I’m sorry I couldn’t eat much.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Emily had tears in her eyes. ‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll be there tomorrow, and we’ll be able to have a
proper dinner very soon. It’ll be OK, I know it will.’

She tried to smile, then turned to Wendy. ‘’Night, Mum.’ Her voice started to break; she cleared her throat.

Wendy reached out her hand. ‘Goodnight.’

She squeezed her mum’s hand. She wanted to hug her, but didn’t trust herself to be able to let go. She looked again at her
best friend, and her mum, then ran out of the room.

* * *

The next morning, Anna was wide awake when Wendy knocked on her door and brought in a bowl of porridge and a glass of orange
juice. Even though she hadn’t slept at all, Anna was calm. There was nothing she could do now. She forced herself to eat,
wishing that her mum had made this kind of breakfast when Anna was at school instead of leaving her money to get something
from the bakery on the way. There must have been times when she cooked for her, or at least sat with her while they ate cereal
together, but Anna didn’t remember those days. Most of her memories were of Wendy being too depressed to get out of bed. She
scolded herself; her mum was here for her now.

Everyone else in Sydney was having breakfast. They’d be getting ready for work, or for school, or to take their toddlers to
swimming lessons. Anna was going to the Supreme Court to be sentenced for infanticide.

She managed to finish her breakfast and take her tablet, then went to have a shower, just as she always did. She dried herself
with a big clean white towel, and started to dress. From her wardrobe she took out her pale blue shirt, still in the plastic
sleeve from the drycleaner. Anna held the hanger in one hand and tried to remove the plastic, but it stuck to her fingers.
She shook her arm until it fluttered to the floor, then stamped on it with her stockinged feet. Her breathing quickened and
became shallow; she was hot, itchy. She scratched at her arms and stomach, unable to stop, and started to cry.

‘Anna!’ Wendy opened the door and rushed in. ‘What’s going on?’

She shook her head, wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t get the bloody shirt out.’

Wendy put her hand on Anna’s shoulder and gently guided her back towards the bed, then sat her down. She picked up the shirt
and folded it over her arm. ‘We’ve got plenty of time. You take as long as you need – I’ll go and iron this again for you.’

Anna looked up, tears spilling down her face. ‘Thanks. I’ll be all right in a minute.’

Wendy walked out, closing the door behind her. Anna let herself cry. She cried because she felt sorry for herself and she
didn’t want to go to jail. She cried because she was scared and lonely. She cried for how much she had hurt her family. She
cried for everything she had lost: her past, her dreams, her future.

Her baby.

Then she walked back into the bathroom, blew her nose and washed her face. She took a deep breath and started to put on her
make-up. And, just for a moment, she saw herself in the mirror – not a patient, not a prisoner, just Anna.

But the make-up would wash off. She had no idea what was left underneath.

* * *

Tony sat on the back steps sipping a cup of coffee. He knew he shouldn’t: he already felt shaky and sick, but he hadn’t slept
at all and he wasn’t sure he could make it through a day in court without some caffeine. Jessie ran up to him with her ball
in her mouth, dropped it at his feet and looked up at him with a doggy grin. Winston, his parents’ dog, hung back. He kicked
the tennis ball and the dogs chased after it.

He went back inside. Jim was reading the paper in the kitchen, already in his suit pants and shirt. He looked up at Tony and
nodded. ‘You OK?’

He shrugged. ‘Yep.’

‘Your mother’s in there ironing your shirt.’

Why did she always interfere? ‘I told her I’d do it.’

He walked through to the laundry. Ursula stood at the ironing board in her dressing-gown. Her hair and make-up were done.
She barely looked up. ‘This material is so bloody hard to get the creases out of; by the time I do one side, the other side’s
all crushed again.’

‘It’s fine, Mum, just leave it.’

‘I’m almost done …’

‘Mum, leave it!’ He stepped towards her.

Ursula picked up the iron, turned it upright and slammed it down on the board. ‘I’m just trying to help, Anthony!’

‘I know you are, Mum. Sorry …’ He picked up the shirt. ‘Thanks for doing this.’

Ursula spoke softly. ‘You’d better get dressed, we have to go soon.’

He tried to smile. ‘Are you going like that?’

She looked down and seemed surprised at the sight of her dressing-gown. ‘Oh, I’ll just get changed. I bet your father’s dillydallying
—’

‘He’s ready, Mum.’ Tony walked out of the laundry. ‘I’ll be five minutes.’

In his old bedroom, he put his suit on. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and swayed
at the memory of the last time he wore it. He should have bought a new one, should have thrown this one out after the funeral.
He could just wear work pants, and the shirt, but it seemed too casual for a day like today. This would be the last time he
would wear this suit, he decided. When he came home from court, it was going in the bin.

He wondered what Anna was doing now, whether she was dressed, whether she had managed to sleep, or eat anything. She would
be so scared, so alone. He closed his eyes as his hands began to shake. He clenched and unclenched his fists but the tremor
was still there. His stomach churned; he shouldn’t have had that coffee. He looked away from the mirror, took a deep breath,
then opened the door.

It was time to go.

Monday, 14 September 2009

Tony woke up with his pulse racing, and knew immediately that something was wrong. He held his breath, but couldn’t hear anything.
Jack wasn’t crying. What had woken him?

He turned his head towards the other side of the bed where Anna should be. It was empty, cold. He turned back and checked
the time: 4 a.m.

Clenching his fist he thumped it hard on the mattress. He switched on the lamp beside the bed, blinked until his eyes adjusted
to the light, then gulped down some water from the glass on the bedside cabinet. This wasn’t what he’d imagined parenthood
would be like. He wished he could just switch off the light again, pretend he hadn’t noticed Anna was gone, and go back to
sleep. But he was wide awake now and knew it would be yet another day of worry and exhaustion on top of being flat out at
work. He waited for a moment, hoping Anna would come back, then threw off the cotton blanket and stormed out of the bedroom.

He walked down the corridor towards the living area. There were no lights on, though the darkness was washed with a faint
pink tinge that told him sunrise wasn’t too far away. He switched on the light; Anna wasn’t in the kitchen or living room.
He switched it off again, then walked back towards Jack’s room. The door was ajar and a faint glow from the night-light trickled
out into the hallway. He tiptoed towards it and then paused, just outside.

He could hear Anna whispering, ‘I’m so sorry, Jack, you don’t deserve this, I’m so sorry …’

His eyes widened. What the hell was she talking about?

He pushed the door open. Anna was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the cot, tears falling down her face. Jack was
asleep on his back with his head turned away from her, towards the wall. His arms were raised next to his head, bent at the
elbows, palms up in surrender. His brow was furrowed, his eyes tight in concentration and his little mouth slightly open.

Tony took a deep breath to try to calm himself. ‘Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Anna, come back to bed …’

She glanced up at him, shook her head, then turned back to look at Jack.

He walked in and crouched down next to her, then took her hands. She looked at him, then stood up as if she was hypnotised.
Tony kept hold of one of her hands as he led her out, closed Jack’s door, and took her back to the bedroom.

He sat her on the bed and rubbed her back. He felt sick now. His anger had been replaced by something far more malevolent:
fear. ‘Anna, what’s wrong?’

She looked at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated, then bit her lip and shook her head quickly.

‘Please, tell me what’s going on,’ he begged.

‘Don’t, Tony.’

‘Don’t what? You’re scaring me!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be stupid, don’t apologise!’ Acid surged up his throat. What was going on? Was she sleepwalking?

‘I’m sorry, Tony. I love you. You deserve better. It’s all my fault.’

‘What’s your fault, Anna? What are you talking about? You haven’t done anything wrong …’ His voice faltered and tears welled
up in his eyes.

Anna looked at him, then reeled back. ‘See, look what I’ve done now. You’re sad, and it’s all my —’

He grabbed her hands again as if to prevent her from retreating further into herself. ‘Stop this! You haven’t done anything!’

She looked away. ‘You’re wrong, Tony,’ she said in a flat voice. ‘It’s all my fault.’

‘It’s not, Anna. You haven’t done anything wrong. Oh babe, come here.’ He tried to pull her towards him but she was immovable.
He didn’t take his eyes off her; she was still, and she stared at the window, even though the blinds were closed.

Suddenly she whipped her head to the side and stared into the corner of the room with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Tony
heard her breath quicken, and he turned his head too, to see what she was looking at. There was nothing there. Anna mumbled
something.

‘I didn’t hear you, Anna. What did you say?’

She looked at him, shook her head, then looked at the corner again.

‘What are you staring at?’ he said. His mouth was dry. Something was very wrong. ‘Talk to me.’

She turned to him. He had never seen her look so frightened. ‘I’m just so sorry …’

He pulled her towards him and this time she leaned into him. He held her until her breathing had slowed, then managed to get
her to lie down on the bed. Her eyes closed. He kissed her cheek, smoothed back her hair and got into bed beside her, holding
her hand while her breathing deepened. He didn’t dare close his eyes.

At six-thirty, the alarm shrieked. Anna was still, lying on her side, but Tony knew she wasn’t asleep. He turned off the alarm
then rolled towards her and put his hand on her shoulder. Her back went rigid, so he took it away again. He thought about
moving over in the bed towards her, wrapping his arms around her and just holding her, but he could tell she didn’t want him
to. Her hair was tangled at the back of her head, damp with sweat. He leaned over and kissed it, then got up and quietly left
the room.

After he had eaten and showered, Tony called his mum. He had one meeting at work that morning that he had to go to, and then
he’d come straight back. He’d call Dr Fraser as soon as the
practice opened and make an appointment. This time he’d take Anna there himself.

Jack was grizzling. He picked him up, changed his nappy, then walked into the bedroom. Anna was fast asleep. He took Jack
through to the kitchen, defrosted the last bag of frozen breast milk in the microwave and fed him. He laid Jack down in his
cot again while he got ready for work, then went back to the bedroom with some breakfast for Anna.

‘Anna?’ he whispered.

She moved her head reluctantly. ‘Mmm?’

‘I’ve got to go into work, just for an hour or two. I’ve fed Jack – he’s back in bed, he’ll be fine there. Mum’s coming over
soon.’

Anna sat up. ‘No! Tell her not to come, please. It’s OK, I’m OK!’

He swallowed, then spoke calmly. ‘Anna. You’re not well. I’m worried about you. The tablets aren’t working; we’ll go and see
Dr Fraser later, all right?’

Anna was silent. She looked at him, opened her mouth as if to say something, then lay back down on her back and closed her
eyes. Tony went to walk towards her, but stopped himself. He wasn’t sure he could hold his ground if she begged him.

‘Bye, Anna,’ he said. ‘It’ll be OK, I promise.’

She didn’t reply. He looked at his watch; his mum would be here soon. He left the door ajar, went back into Jack’s room and
kissed him goodbye.

And then he walked out.

Friday, 15 January 2010

Anna looked at the ground and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without falling while the crowd buffeted
her. On her left-hand side, Scott gripped her elbow. Chloe, a younger lawyer, scurried behind them, pulling a black bag on
wheels, like a suitcase. She glanced up at Scott’s face: his head was held high and he had the confident look of a celebrity
on a red carpet. Someone shoved a fluffy grey microphone in her face and Anna instinctively ducked, but she managed to stop
herself from screaming in fright. A man ran alongside them with a video camera on his shoulder. She wished she’d brought something
to cover her face with, like she’d seen other people do on the news. Or at least worn her hair loose so she could bow her
head and hide.

‘Anna! Anna!’

Without thinking she looked up, assuming it was someone she knew. But it was just another reporter. Anger surged through her.
How dare they use her first name? Who were these people?

She could see doors in front of her now, and walked quicker until she was almost running. Someone held them open and she stumbled
inside. She was shaking. The frenzy faded as the doors closed softly behind them. Inside it was cool, almost cold; she had
goosebumps. They were in a large lobby with high ceilings and muted cream walls. It was quiet, like a library, the sort of
place where you whisper and walk on tiptoes.

‘Well done,’ Scott said, and Chloe smiled at her.

Two security guards loomed in front of her; she froze. Was this what her life was going to be like now? She looked at Scott,
unsure of what was happening: he greeted the guards, then turned to Anna. ‘After you.’

She realised she was supposed to put her bag on the conveyor belt in front of her and walk through the metal detector, just
like she was catching a flight. Did she need to take her shoes off? She looked up at one of the guards and started to bend
down.

He smiled at her, avuncular. ‘No, love, that’s OK.’

She walked through with her pulse racing. Did they know who she was, what she’d done? No alarms sounded. At the other end
she held her arms out as another guard swept a handheld metal detector around her body. In front of her was a big television
screen on the wall with a list of the day’s cases.

There it was.
Court 2: Crown v Patton
.

* * *

Anna was led into the dock on the left-hand side of the courtroom. She focused only on staying upright, fearful that her legs
would collapse, but she could tell that the room was full and everyone was looking at her. She felt herself blushing; she
didn’t know what to do with her face. Should she smile? Look straight ahead as if she hadn’t seen them? Or would that make
her look more guilty? Anna almost laughed at herself: in a case like hers, were there degrees of guilt? She had pleaded guilty;
that was that. Whether she
looked
more or less guilty didn’t change the fact that in the law, it was one or the other. Not guilty. Guilty.

She sat down and looked straight ahead at a blue leather chair behind a large desk. It must be where the judge would sit.
In front of it, an elderly woman held her fingers poised above some kind of typewriter, ready to transcribe what was said.
Scott and Chloe sat near Anna, at one end of a long table.

She kept her head still but turned her eyes as far as she could to see who was in the court. There were reporters: young men
and women who leaned back in their chairs holding notebooks with pens pushed through the rings at the top. One guy had his
pen balanced behind his ear and was chewing gum; he looked completely relaxed, even bored. It was clearly just another day
at work for him. She was determined not to cry. It wasn’t his fault she was here; it was her own.

On the other side of the centre aisle, in the seats at the back right-hand corner of the room, were some more familiar faces.
Emily gave her a tense smile and a wave. Wendy sat next to Emily, a wad of tissues clenched in her hand. Anna moved her head
a fraction more to the right, so she could see the rows behind Emily and Wendy, and she couldn’t help but smile in relief.
Tony was there. Ursula sat next to him with her arms folded. Next to her was Jim, then Lisa. For just a brief moment, she
thought that her mother-in-law was smiling at her, but she wasn’t: it was a grimace of disgust. Anna swallowed then looked
back at Tony. He sat forward in his chair with his back very straight and stared at the wall behind the judge’s desk. She
knew he’d be bouncing his leg up and down, the way he always did when he was stressed. She held her gaze on him. His eyes
flickered towards her, then he smiled, just a little. Anna couldn’t look away; she wanted to saturate herself with this picture
of him. But his attention had moved now back to the front of the room. A hush had fallen over the court. Anna turned around
again and watched the judge walk in, carrying a sheaf of papers in which her future had already been written.

* * *

Tony put his hands flat on his knees to steady them. In his peripheral vision, he saw the side of Anna’s pale face; he could
tell she was biting the inside of her cheek. He wished he could hold her hand and tell her to be strong; he knew she could
get through this. In a couple of hours, this would be over; there was no way she’d go to prison. Surely anyone could see that
she’d been punished enough.

The judge looked exactly as he’d expected: thick-necked, grey-haired, stern. His voice was quiet and low, but there was no
doubt
that every single person in the court was listening to every word. Tony began to feel strangely disconnected: his ears were
filled with a hypnotic buzzing and the judge’s voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater.

‘Anna Margaret Patton has pleaded guilty before me to one count of infanticide, an offence under section 22A of the Crimes
Act 1900, punishable by a maximum of twenty-five years’ imprisonment.’

Tony held his breath and watched Anna. She didn’t move at all, didn’t even blink. He wiped his upper lip and forced himself
to exhale as the judge continued.

‘The Crown has accepted the plea on the basis that at the time of the act, Mrs Patton was suffering from a severe mental illness
as a result of childbirth.’

Tony tapped his knuckles on his teeth as the judge kept talking. The legal jargon couldn’t make him forget they were talking
about his son and his wife. Jack and Anna. He bit the knuckle of his middle finger to keep himself focused.

The judge looked up from his notes and straight at Anna. ‘Today I am to sentence her for the crime of infanticide.’

* * *

Anna felt as if the room was spinning around her. She reminded herself to breathe. There was a pain in the back of her head
as though someone was twisting a screwdriver into it. Her whole body was rigid. She shifted her weight a little, then heard
the flap of someone turning over a page in their notebook. Her face flushed. What were they doing, watching every move and
writing it down? Did they think she was reacting appropriately? She turned her head further towards the front of the room
so the reporters couldn’t see her face, then leaned back into the chair, wishing her body could disappear into it.

The judge was reading aloud from the pages of statements and submissions in front of him, every one about her. Her entire
life and future were condensed into those papers. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

‘At 12.20 p.m. on 14 September 2009, Anna’s husband, Anthony Patton, called Rose Bay police station to report that she and
their six-week-old baby, Jack, were missing. He was concerned about her mental state. At approximately 1.30 p.m., police received
a call from Mr Mark Stone, a local surfer, who, after hearing screams, had found Mrs Patton lying on some rocks just over
the edge of a cliff.’

Anna covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to hear this; she couldn’t hear this. She tried to think of something
else, another sound to drown out the story. The flapping of Jessie’s ears when she shook herself dry after a walk at the beach,
or the rhythmic clicking of her claws on the floors at home. The chatter of the children at school, or Tony laughing. Her
favourite songs.

She could still hear the judge in the background as his deep voice droned on about Anna’s life. Every so often she let herself
listen for a few moments, but then blocked him out again. She didn’t want to hear everyone’s theories about why she had done
what she had done, and she certainly didn’t want to hear the details of what had happened. There was a reason she couldn’t
remember that day, and being forced to relive it might make her insane – if she wasn’t already.

The judge’s voice had softened a little, and she sensed the fear in the room. She heard Jack’s name and immediately turned
up the internal volume of her thoughts. When the judge stopped reading that page the room was in silence, broken only by a
strangled sob behind her.

Anna’s neck ached. She held the back of her hand to her cheek, then her forehead. It was too hot in here, stuffy. How long
had the judge been talking for? Minutes or hours? The air was thick and cloying. She looked around, hoping to see a window.
There were none. A tear dropped onto her arm. All she wanted was to breathe some fresh air, some air that had blown in from
somewhere far away, somewhere she had never been.

There wouldn’t be any windows in prison either.

She shifted in her chair. Her legs burned with agitation; she needed to move them, to walk. She circled her ankles, uncrossed
her legs, then crossed them the other way. She closed her eyes. The judge’s voice had slipped into the background now, and
Anna could hear the whoosh of her blood as it pulsed around her head. It sounded like the wind, or maybe a shell held up to
her ear. And she could hear other things too.

She could hear the slap of her thongs hitting the path; the roar and hiss of waves breaking; seagulls screeching. She could
feel the cold ocean spray misting over her, and smell tangy saline and sour rotting seaweed. Sharp stones stabbing the soles
of her feet; the chill of soaked slippery rocks. Jack crying. Then silence.

Anna gasped, or maybe she screamed. The judge stared at her; the court was silent. She forced herself to breathe. Her face
burned, and her chin began to tremble. She gripped onto the arms of her chair. Everyone was looking at her; she couldn’t get
away. A glass of water appeared in front of her and she gulped it down, grateful for something to focus on. The memories were
fading now, receding like the tide, further and further away.