This Too Shall Pass (10 page)

But such is the power of the unscripted. In my office I held off as best I could from asking questions or directing any sort of play. Tyler picked up one of the hand puppets. It had the face of a cheeky boy, complete with freckles and red curls that poked out from under a cap.

‘What's this one called?' Tyler asked, his pale blue eyes large, a pulse near his temple pumping visibly.

‘Jimmy,' I answered lightly.

‘Jimmy's not well,' he stated gravely.

‘Really,' I replied as neutrally as I could.

‘He needs to go to the doctor.'

For the next eighteen months, Tyler stuck string, wire, wool and anything else he could find in my room in Jimmy's mouth and to his neck and arms. He mixed sand with clag and glued it to his head, he cut holes in Jimmy and bandaged them up again. To Tyler, no matter how the state of Jimmy altered, his relationship to the doll did not. He played the part of nurse, doctor – who would write in a scrawl across a pad – mother, father, ambulance officer, even hospital security. When I saw photos one day of Tyler after he was born, his little body housed in a humidicrib, a pincushion for many tubes and pieces of equipment, I understood fully. Tyler had been playing out his early months in the hospital.

A picture of a house drawn at six months into therapy showed four peaks on the roof of a similar sized house to the first, when the first one had had twenty-two. After fifteen months, when Tyler's play had changed in theme – Jimmy, restored, if not very ruined and stuck back together, had to now cope at school and home – he drew a house with one peak on its roof.

‘Good,' Celia simply said after looking at the picture and listening to the confirmation of improvements from the school and his parents.

I couldn't help but crack a smile – it was a big deal for me to impress Celia. I took the case to a team meeting.

‘It's so powerful when the therapist can do that, present themselves as a blank canvas,' Robyn, a psychiatric nurse, said, excited at the evidence that therapy seemed to have really changed things for Tyler.

James piped up. ‘I love the fact Jimmy was never discarded.'

‘My number one exhibit.' I lifted the doll again.

‘You should write it up,' Nigel smiled sweetly. ‘It's good enough to be presented at the clinical forum.'

‘Oh, not sure about that. I'm a novice at that sort of therapy. Feel much more at home with family interventions.'

‘You want to impress, don't you?' he said, smiling.

I couldn't help but reduce his words, immediately trying to pinpoint meaning behind them.

‘We'll see,' I laughed. ‘It was just good to learn a little about things I don't know of.' I turned to other team members. ‘So… let's hear from someone else.'

‘I think Nigel was having a go at me,' I said to James when we were talking about the meeting a few days later. ‘He's a master of the backhander.'

James was smoking and the wind was blowing it into my face.

‘Monty. I think he genuinely thought it'd be a good case to present.'

I wondered whether that was true.

‘He confuses me,' I said. ‘There's something… I dunno.'

‘It's a sport for him? Number one Nigel, whatever else second.'

‘He's employed as a psychiatrist,' I said, sarcasm tootling.

He chuckled. ‘Monty…'

‘What?' I was genuinely cranky.

‘Doesn't mean he's an intelligent man.'

I looked away into a mess of bottlebrush that grew along one side of the staff courtyard. ‘I get upset and he remains unruffled.'

‘Put time and energy into educating him. You know, that stuff you presented on carers' entitlements. He had to think outside his box.'

‘The real world.'

‘Exactly. The real world and what could he say, nothing. You saw him, leaning forward, trying to take it in.'

James was right. Our team had taken two referrals in which kids were looking after an ill parent. It had become clear that one of them hadn't been getting the correct payments and that the basic question of payments hadn't been asked of the children when they were asked how they were doing. It was digestible information and I'd presented it to the staff. Nigel had looked dumbfounded, his dark complexion turning a little grey. It was one of the few times I saw him lose his smugness and a clear sign that he didn't like having to think about something outside the usual, no matter how simple.

‘No one can account for what's going on behind that door.'

‘You start fighting that and the firing squad will be ordered to clean their guns.'

James looked away from me, studying his cigarette or something on the ground. I wanted him to be on my side. I got up and shuffled about the courtyard, my hands deep in my pockets trying to hide my frustration.

‘I guess I can't watch out for everything.'

‘Like being in a minefield, Monty. Sometimes it's best to back out slowly.' He trounced his cigarette under his shoe.

I turned to consider him, frowning a little brutishly. ‘And that's it?'

‘That's it.'

I laughed sharply.

‘Monty.' He lowered his voice. ‘Let it go.'

TWENTY-FOUR

S
inging Silverchair:
I'm watching you watch over me, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah,
to hide nerves, I walked the corridors.

After six months of performing the job as team leader I was to be interviewed to take the position permanently. Outside the room I tried to think what they would ask me and who would be on the panel.

I was counting on Anton being there, as slippery as a black fish and harder to catch. And Celia, a saviour with her vague but brilliant mind; how much power she had in the company of the broad-shouldered, though, wasn't easy to forecast. Perhaps Nancy, head of the hospital's psychological services, who I'd only met once, and Eddy, a small bustling man who was in the habit of slipping his feet from his shoes and picking his nose right in front of you. Eddy ran umbrella projects across programs and was the sort of man whose nose-picking and sock-showing had the unusual effect of making you think you were special. In fact, in all the time I spent with Eddy, often in meetings, I never saw anyone flinch or pull him up on this behaviour. Despite his tendency to be a worrier, he exuded comfort and his repeated quirks were oddly endearing. It was as if he was bringing you into his secret fold. There were other people, I'm sure, who didn't see it like this, but it couldn't be denied, Eddy was universally liked.

Eventually, Anton, holding his tie as he swung open the door, nodded and told me they were ready for me. I was right except for Elliot's presence. Since he was my peer – in the world of hospital hierarchy that seemed important – I was taken aback to see him. My head kicked with surprise, and I realised, for the first time, I didn't quite trust him. Composing myself, I pushed it from my mind. Who cared if he was there?

They sat in a semi-circle around me so that I instantly felt like an insurgent under the spotlight. But the interview began normally enough, with a pappy speech from Anton.

‘We're proud of ourselves at SKYHooks, Monty. We're forging a new era in child psychiatry and it's innovative stuff. Our inclusion of consumer representatives, our plans to create a hub-and-spoke design to our model, the increase of our outreach services and the triple F: fast, flexible and fitting intake system. We're pretty snazzy, really.'

He jiggled the knot of his tie back and forth between his fingers and looked to the others for confirmation that they thought him eloquent and masterful.

‘The plan is for the four generalist teams to be moved off-site to the spokes, have mini-spokes shooting off from those again. To take our service into those outlying suburbs.'

I could see in my peripheral vision that Celia, who was sitting next to Anton, was looking at him in horror. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd interrupted with a:
Hang ON a minute, when was this plan drummed up?
But she kept whatever she did think to herself.

‘If you were successful today, you would be heading up such a move. Do you feel equipped?'

And so began all the fast-talking, robust and rounded answers of the wanting-to-impress – which was, after all, the point of the exercise. I got into a rhythm, not to be put off until Nancy's blatant case of narcolepsy caught me unawares. Although I'd noticed her eyelids had been drooping throughout the proceedings, it wasn't problematic until she fell asleep promptly after asking me a question. I answered – the other four looking at me looking at her – without letting on that she was dead-to-the-world. My heart pumping, hers slowing, it was an odd thing to happen, a secret being concealed in full view. In conspiratorial partnership, I ignored her closed eyes and managed to finish my answer without revealing Nancy's problem.

Celia asked me clinical questions about attachment disorders and the presentation of enuresis (bed-wetting) – what investigations I might embark on before coming to a conclusion and deciding on a mode of treatment.

Eddy wanted to see if I had a commitment to community development, but all I could truthfully offer, given my limited experience, was an acknowledgement of its importance and disappointment at the lack of it in the field. But Eddy – I had noticed this before – appreciated truth and was just happy not to be jerked around.

Elliot's questions were all about difficult staff, changing mores, modernising the staid, and kicking out the entrenched culture at Marlowe Downs, which caused Anton to swing his head about in whoops of unhappiness at the obvious criticisms. He wanted only niceties.

‘Obstinate,' Elliot was saying. ‘Some of them still think we're trying to keep families together.'

I took a quick look around the room at Nancy in narcolepsy hibernation, Eddy, head cocked over, finger resting up the nose in mild curiosity, Celia, dramatic curiosity scarring her expression, and Anton twisting in pre-explosion frustration.

‘Are you going to ask a question?' he said to Elliot.

My eyes darted between them.

‘I wish to know if Monty thinks she can drag this lot into the twenty-first century. Get them out of their towers.'

‘Monty?' Anton assisted.

‘Well—'

‘I want to know what Elliot means by that?' Celia said. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt you Monty but really…'

‘I thought I was quite explicit.'

‘And I take offence to your comments,' Celia replied.

‘Well, be damned. If we don't pull our socks up, we're going to die with them around our ankles.'

‘Oh, that's sophisticated.'

‘People, please,' Anton said, tutting and shaking his head.

I sat extra still. Nancy was trying to keep her eyes open, although it was clearly still a struggle. Eddy, who now had his shoe hooked on the end of his stockinged toe, was fiddling with his skullcap, pushing the hairpins further onto his scalp, as if a neat, well-secured calotte would make up for a chaotic, untidy fray between highly paid people.

I realised how divergent the personalities in front of me were, the hotchpotch in the room. I thought of Renny, and looked forward to spilling the news of this stoush to her. Nancy rubbed one eye, yawned in a lengthy, face-shuddering manner and said, ‘I think it's up to each and every individual to deal with their own deficits. Nobody can drag anybody anywhere much, not really.'

‘Perhaps all they can do is suggest,' I ventured, nodding at the older woman, whose face obviously sagged the way it did from years of struggling to stay awake. ‘There are non-confrontational ways to keep people abreast. Make sure they're aware of contemporary realities for families. Bring them on board, if you'll excuse the platitude, might be the way to put it.'

‘Perfect answer,' Anton sang.

I left the interview ten minutes later, a giggle burbling cheekily in my throat.
How could you not love the dysfunction?

James was at his desk.

I shut his door secretively. (I had forgiven him for our argument in the courtyard, had even taken his advice and calmed down about Nigel.)

‘They started fighting.'

He sat back, his hands folded in front of him. ‘Who won?'

‘I think I handed Anton an open hand.'

‘The side the butter is on. That's good. You've got the job.'

‘This place…' I was incredulous. ‘Really. No one agrees on anything.'

He shrugged, placing his pen in a tray of office accessories. ‘Reflects the general status quo.'

‘Their status quo! Not mine.'

He laughed. ‘They'll get you.'

‘Earth to James, they have got me – us. We're working with them. That makes us them.'

‘You're the one climbing into their bunker.'

‘If I get this job, you're coming with me. I'll be appointing you my deputy.'

‘Sheriff's office. Gotta love that.'

‘Get your badge on, kiddo.' I was thinking past James; I wanted to get home to Renny. I was staring out his window at a rockrose, its musty pink flowers drooping, the papery petals missing where it had been rubbing on the glass. ‘Your first task is to tell me if you detect the slightest change in me. I'd hate to become one of them. Hate it.'

‘Didn't you just… aren't we already both…?'

‘Arrh…' I went towards him growling, my hands poised to close in around his neck.

TWENTY-FIVE

I
n-laws. I didn't consider, certainly at the time, that I'd betrayed them too. But, like a lot of things, often it's not until each piece of the jigsaw has been tried for size that people know how things are going to pan out.

I arrived one morning, as arranged, to pick Marcus up. Geoff and Faye Ashcroft had always been outdoor types. They lived close to the beach and their house, appropriately bleached, had an open-air feel. There were large decked areas around a barbecue and plenty of outdoor furniture, everything framed by striped awnings. They were up-front people, welcoming, sunny. I remembered Dave's criticisms about their lack of political insight, their disinterest in the arts, their shallow uncomplicated outlook on life. I'd been quick to agree. But as I walked along the side of the looming two-storey house, the memory of our harsh words stuck to me like dried mud. They had always been so good to me, accepted me so readily into their unblemished fold.