Have You Seen Ally Queen? (13 page)

Rel tries to stop laughing. ‘Did you say I stink, woman? See this here military bazooka? I may have to blow your head off unless you apologise immediately and kiss my army boots.’

‘Stuff that, jockman, I’d rather die!’

We give it up but keep laughing, and I put on Triple J and pull the snacks out of my bag.

We hoe into the chips and dip. I slide open the doors that go out onto the verandah, and the wind
comes in and makes the house salty and moist. It’s dropped off a fair bit, though; usually does around this time. Dad says that’s why it’s good to go fishing just before dark—when the wind’s dropped, when it goes silent like after a big wave, a boomer. That silence, only the fizzing of the water. The tailor fairly jump on your line then, if they’re coming through.

I’m just about to ask Rel if they go tailor fishing, too, but stop myself. Don’t want to sound like I’m into blokes’ things, or anything.

Instead I say, ‘Have you guys been prawning again?’

‘Nah. Took the boat out into the Cut for some crabbing on Sunday, though. Caught some beauties. Man, did we have a feast.’ He’s playing with his shell, twisting and pulling. ‘You’ll have to come with us, next time. It’s cool fun.’

I nod. My face is loose from that laughing before. I’d like to, I think. I’d like to.

It’s going to be the first time I’ll have seen Mum since I went to Aunty Trish’s by myself a week ago. Dad’s nervous—I can tell by the number of goes it takes him to plug in his seatbelt. He’s shaved again, too. Classic. McJerry’s face is all squashed in, which means he’s not talking. I look back at the road and roll my eyes. Christ. Just another normal family outing.

The office is like any other from the outside; you’d never know that all that weird stuff was going down inside. People with obsessive-compulsive disorder who have to wash their hands eighty times a day, or people who are too terrified to leave their home to go to the shops, or ... people like Mum. What
is
Mum’s problem? Does it have a name, like agoraphobia, or whatever? And will it ever go away?

Apparently, today is meant to be so that we can all talk about how we’re feeling—can you believe it? What
is
all this touchy-feely hippie bollocks! Thought I’d had
enough of that yesterday with Mr Taylor, for shite’s sake! And how is this going to help Mum, anyway?

‘Now kids...’ Dad starts, when we arrive.

I look over at him, trying hard not to show my total lack of faith in this gig.

‘What,’
Jerry huffs.

‘Look, kids.’ Dad sighs and turns off the ignition.

‘This is your opportunity to ask Mum any questions you have, okay? The doctor will be there and she can answer your questions, too.’

‘What sort of questions?’ I say. The only one I want to ask is
When are you coming home?

‘Anything you like, Ally.’

Right.
‘Are you going to ask any?’ I say.

That kinda spooks him. He straightens his neck and tries not to look at me. ‘Yes. Yes, I will be asking some ... of my own questions.’ You can see him fairly racking his brain at that, poor guy. ‘Let’s go in, shall we?’

Jerry doesn’t say anything this time. I can see that both the guys are going to clam up in there, and it’s going to be left up to Mum and me to sort things out.

Mum hugs us both for a long time, grabbing Jerry into her and looking at me, trying to gauge my mood, I reckon. Dad kisses her—on the cheek (I think he’s
embarrassed because it’s in front of the doctor)—and then we sit in the small circle of seats, trying not to fidget like kids at school.

‘Mum,’ Jerry whispers across the circle, like the rest of us won’t hear him, ‘I’ve been having
Coco Pops
for breakfast while you’ve been away!’

‘Jerry!’ Dad says, appalled he’s been found out.

Mum laughs and shakes her head a little. It’s such a relief to see that smile.

The doctor’s pretty young, younger than Mum and Dad, for sure. For some reason, I was expecting a man, and definitely someone older. She seems really nice, and smiles and welcomes us all, before getting down to business.

‘The reason we’re having this session is so that you can all discuss what’s happening to your mum in an open and frank way. I think we all agree that it’s in everyone’s best interests to know exactly what’s going on, so that we can best manage the situation.’

There’s a window just to the side of the doctor’s desk, and I can see the thinnest sliver of moon through it.

‘I want to start by saying,’ Doctor Howe says, ‘that it’s a real sign of support that you are all here—and that goes a long way towards Annie’s recovery. It also
shows that this is a loving and accepting family. So, would anyone like to start?’

Oh, lord. Who’s going to start? It’s too awkward, somehow. I feel kind of ...
exposed.
That we are all exposed.

‘Martin?’

Dad coughs. He speaks! ‘Uh, I guess one of the things we’ve been wondering about’—he looks at the doctor out of the corner of his eye and then concentrates on his hands again—‘is just what is happening to make Annie unwell.’

I flick a look at Mum.

‘I can answer that, if you like, Annie?’

Mum nods.

‘Annie is suffering from something called post-traumatic stress disorder. This has arisen from her car accident and has been made worse by the fact that she didn’t receive any counselling for it at the time. I suppose you might say that the condition has spiralled, and so now we have a few related problems to deal with, in addition to the foundation issue.’

Isn’t it bizarre that the moon affects when and how much the
ocean
moves around? Dad showed me how you can tell the height of the tide each day by where the seaweed’s washed up on the beach in the morning
(like a seaweed bathring), and how it goes a bit higher each day, and then recedes a bit each day, all because of the moon, that slice of a thing I can see through the window right now, and all within a month. Then it starts over again.

Dad clears his throat in my direction and I snap back.

‘One of the most debilitating things your mum is experiencing is panic attacks,’ the doctor says. ‘These are really scary anxiety attacks that make it hard to do normal day-to-day things. Right now we’re working on how to handle these attacks when they happen.’

‘Will they ever go away?’ I say.

She turns to me and nods kindly. ‘Yes, Alison, they will, but it will take some time and your mum will need some help to get there.’

‘Is that what she’s seeing you for?’

‘Yes, exactly.’

Dad says, ‘How is all this related to the accident? I mean, that happened more than a year ago.’

‘That’s the whole problem with PTSD,’ she says. ‘It used to be called “shell shock” because it occurs after someone experiences a situation that causes extreme stress and feelings of horror or helplessness, like the kind of events that happen in war. When your mum
was involved in the hit-and-run accident last year, she went into shock immediately—which is quite normal for someone in that situation—but it also meant that she froze in action, if you like. In retrospect, she feels that she could have done more at the time to help the victim, and she keeps reliving the accident to see how she might have done things differently. All of these feelings have built up, causing the panicky feelings and her sense that something similar might be just around the corner and that she may not be able to do anything about it.’

The doc swivels on her chair, as if it’s helping her to think. ‘This fear of helplessness morphs into feelings of worthlessness and low self-esteem, low confidence and so on and so forth until we have the spiralling effect that Annie is experiencing.’

There’s a heavy silence while we try to take in all of that.

Suddenly, Jerry blurts out, like he’s been waiting ages to say it: ‘But you weren’t even
in
the accident, Mum! I mean, it wasn’t your car that was hit, or anything.’

Mum slumps a bit in her chair. ‘I know, love, but I saw it. And seeing it was ... well, it was horrible.’

The doctor leans forward towards Jerry. ‘Your
mum feels bad because she saw the accident happen in front of her but couldn’t do anything to stop it. That can be as traumatic as actually being
in
an accident like that—especially under the circumstances, with the driver at fault choosing not to stop.’

Jerry and Dad nod, almost in time.

I guess bad things affect more than just the people who are directly involved. I mean, I wonder if anyone else saw that accident and has ended up feeling like Mum? Maybe someone else’s mother was walking home from the shops that day and saw the whole thing and it ruined her life as well. A bit like Rel’s cousin, Livvy. When she died, it didn’t just affect her mum and dad, it affected Rel, and his mum and dad, and their prawning trips—forever. They’ll never go prawning without thinking about her, will they?

Then I remember something else, and before I’ve really thought it through I say, ‘But what’s all that got to do with capitalism and those other things Mum talks about?’

‘Ally.’ Mum leans forward in her chair. ‘Yes, I know, I know.’ She shakes her head. Tears well up heavily in her eyes but don’t spill over. ‘The short answer is: nothing. The two things aren’t related at all; I just got them mixed up somewhere along the way. When you’re
not well, things get wound up with other things until you have a big, overwhelming ball of problems rather than a few completely separate smaller problems. I’m sorry, it must have been very confusing for you that day.’

‘No, no, that’s all right,’ I say, relieved. She seems almost back to normal, I reckon.
Almost.
Something’s still not quite right—she’s not cheerful; she’s kind of quiet, subdued. And she hasn’t smiled at all—for ages, actually, come to think of it. She’s usually full of smiles. But she does seem more clear-headed. And she’s definitely stronger than when she was first sick. She was so
crumpled
then, that first day in her room.

She’s talking again, Ally, so listen—stop thinking, for once!

‘I do believe what I said to you, though—about materialism and happiness,’ Mum’s saying. ‘It’s just that those ideas are more to do with us being down here, down south, than this problem that I’m having at the moment. And I know that this move has been very hard for you, and I understand why. I suppose I was trying to explain to you some of the reasons your dad and I decided to move us all down here. I really do appreciate how hard it is for you, Ally. Perhaps we should have discussed it more with you kids before we did it.’

She and Dad look at each other for a moment before Jerry kind of squeaks, ‘So when can you come home, then, Mum?’

She reaches over to him and squeezes his thigh. ‘Really soon, Jez, I promise. But I want to be in tip-top shape for you all, so if you can be patient a little longer, I’d really appreciate it.’

‘We can do that,’ says Dad, casting an eye over the two of us to suppress any comments to the contrary.

‘Yeah,’ I say half-heartedly, thinking,
Why can’t you just come now? Can’t we all go from here?
But I say, ‘Yeah, of course we can, Mum. You just ... take the time you need. But come home as soon as you can,’ I add.

McJerry nods hard.

The psych looks around the room at all of us and smiles. The moon sliver is right there beside her face, almost the same shape as her smile. ‘It was great that we could do this. Thanks to you all for coming.’ She turns to Mum. ‘Well done, Annie,’ she nods, looking right into her. ‘Well done.’

It’s very weird to hear the doctor say that, like Mum’s a kid or something. Like Mum needs that approval. It makes me realise that she’s still got a way to go before Jerry’s wish—and mine—comes true.

Dad’s grinning annoyingly at me. It’s nice to see him being a bit silly, after yesterday’s heaviness with Mum. Still annoying, though.

‘School camp, eh?’

Shite.
How does he know about
that?

‘Mm-hmm. What about it?’

Jerry’s scuttling off into his bedroom, the little shit.