This Too Shall Pass (7 page)

‘You're obsessive,' I scolded him one night after I'd crossed the labyrinth to talk him into doing a cognitive test on a kid I thought had Asperger's. (Trying to rouse a psychologist was like trying to wake sleeping beauty without a prince on hand.)

‘I like it neat.' He didn't move from his desk where a slim file sat open, his hand poised to continue.

‘My office is like an upturned ship compared to this.'

He laughed. ‘So long as you remember to jump before it goes down.' He finished his note, swinging his hand in a signature below it.

‘Yeah.' I was walking around, looking at his displays of plastic dinosaurs, animals carefully placed.

‘So, how long's it been?' I asked.

‘Three and a half months.'

‘Passed your probation.' I grinned at him.

‘No one's said anything.'

‘If there'd been a problem, you'd know. Mind, we should be asking if you've got a problem with us?'

‘Only problem is Nigel.' James was tapping his pen on the file he'd just noted something in. ‘He told this kid's mother that her son found her annoying and the way he could tell was because
he
found her annoying.'

My mouth fell open. For a minute I held back and then, ‘How has he gotten away with being himself for so long?'

‘Does anyone ever challenge him?'

‘Elliot has attempted. But like un-detonated missiles his comments sail over Nigel's head. Everyone else seems inoculated against him.'

James laughed.

‘Seriously. It's like the place has created a completely separate set of social norms just for him.'

‘He's in a powerful position.'

‘Power the organisation has willingly handed him.' I sat heavily in one of his armchairs. ‘The whole thing's weird. At one end of the stethoscope he does exactly what I ask. Follows my instructions or impressions about a family to the letter, which doesn't necessarily make me feel confident. And at the other…' I shake my head. ‘It's like he's a compliant, necessary evil.'

‘But exactly
how
evil?' James said. ‘That's the question.'

‘He's got that Christian thing. You know, always smiling and nice even when he's thinking condescending, judgemental things.'

‘God-lover. Send me to
hell
any day.'

‘They're not going to take you in hell!' I said. ‘Your neatness, it wouldn't be tolerated.'

James was the one person I could talk to on that level. Two frogs amongst toads, or, of course, the other way around. The best thing was to share a client. Words were the enemy in Marlowe Downs and when you came across someone who spoke clearly and precisely, or, even better, if they spoke in your vernacular, it saved hours of tedious barking-up-the-wrong-tree. James and I would go on a hunt for what we thought might be the thread, the key, the computation of what was going on for a kid, while a considerable few would kill any enthusiasm or outside possibilities by wanting to dissect everything you
meant
when you said things like:
The child is protecting herself against sadness,
or,
The child's omnipotence has taken a road that leads south.
Even worse, others actually passed over completely central and crucial points to laboriously concentrate on something unimportant, such as wanting to investigate the type of laundry detergent being used at home if the kid was bedwetting.

James and I made an alliance without ever naming it. We bitched, we debriefed and we unofficially supervised each other. When James ran testing for me I'd repay him by seeing the mums of some of his kids. Although we probably didn't share any more work with one another than we shared with others, it was always easier than alternate collaborations I entered into. In work and play our friendship was like a shining light on a very dull horizon.

SEVENTEEN

I
t would be nice to think that in the aftermath of separation the things people said and did could be excused as emotional flotsam, that the thoughtless comments meted out in the grief of having lost something – even if you'd been the one to drop the bundle – could be forgiven. And, while it's true that some of the incidents between Dave and I fell into that category and were allowed to drift away without bitterness, there were others that never receded from our minds. It was these events that informed a new history between us – a history that became instrumental, one way or the other, in every future negotiation.

The first of these post-marital betrayals was magnified by the element of surprise and, in hindsight, fuelled by the underlying, unspoken argument of control. Despite the phone calls and trips to see Marcus, I discovered that when it came to him I was experiencing a severe lack of power. There was no getting away from a certain reality: one parent suffers when the other has the child living with them. Knowing a child's day-to-day routine, their school programs, concerts, extra activities and general struggles
is
parenting and when one parent is deprived of that it translates into grief and estrangement.

I could have done more to push against this: been more chummy, for example, or entered into longer and friendlier discourses with Dave. But it wasn't just that I
chose
not to; I found I was having difficulty sustaining any conversation, let alone long ones, despite this being what Dave seemed to want. The problem was that whenever I tried, he would become tediously circular, talking in platitudes. I simply didn't have the energy or the fortitude to engage. Instead, I led myself down a path of withdrawal rather than be the recipient of a spool of unnecessary chatter. Any reasonable relationship was dying through an over supply of gratuitousness. He still acted as head of the family, even though there wasn't any family. Renny had another label for it: passive aggression. I couldn't fully come at that, however. Despite everything, I didn't want to think I'd been married to a dud.

To try to make up for some of this and to give Marcus an experience he wouldn't forget, I decided to take him on a trip and, since I wanted it to be special, I made a list of destinations. Fiji, where children were loved, New Zealand, more expensive and perhaps not so much fun for a kid, or Bali – a Bali that was a cinch after other long trips to far stranger lands, trips I'd shared with Dave. Yes, Bali seemed like the go. A week only, I said to myself, to explore the island. A hut on the beach, away from Kuta and the throng of tourists. I made plans, picked up passport acquisition forms and spoke to Dave on the phone, his normal pressed-surprise echoing into the receiver. ‘Oh, okay, I guess it would be cheap.' (Was he thinking of me?) There was nothing that I took to be negative. Nothing I thought he objected to.

‘Just need you to sign the passport forms. I'll put them in the mail, pick them up next week when I'm down.'

Renny and I, having had Marcus for the weekend, dropped him off at school and drove to Dave's. I know, by then, we must have worked hard to get things patched up after the kissing debacle and other disagreements because Renny came with me and we were all being very civil to one another. Dave showed us through the house he'd just bought, was half pulling down, going to begin renovations on.

I remember actually feeling light, literally, because the three of us were behaving the way adults should; we were speaking, even complimenting one another. After fifteen minutes or so we wandered back up the driveway towards the road.

‘Oh, the form?' I said.

‘Geez, nearly forgot.'

Dave turned and, whistling
People Are Strange
by The Doors, he sauntered off towards the house.

Renny and I bowed our heads. I swung my foot across the pavement in a self-conscious movement, wanting and, at the same moment, not wanting to know what she thought. When she raised her eyebrows at me and smiled, I knew she wasn't thinking much, which was also a promising sign to me.

Dave came out waving the form good-heartedly.

We made friendly, relieved goodbyes and hopped into our car to head back to Melbourne.

‘For a minute,' I said, ‘I thought he wasn't going to have it done.'

‘You should check, make sure.'

‘You think?'

‘Course.'

Renny had travelled one block northwards and was negotiating a right-hand turn around a roundabout as I pulled the papers back out of the glove box.

It was the oddest thing to see them not signed. How could Dave have followed through with a charade like that? How could he have changed that much? ‘They're not signed,' I said, ashen voiced, the papers quivering as incomprehension reached my nerve endings.

‘We're going back.' She pulled on the steering wheel.

Dave was yanking debris from the lawn at the front of the house. Renny pulled up beside him.

‘You didn't sign them,' I said, piling out of the car.

He stood up, looking supercilious with surprise. ‘Oh, I never said I'd sign them.'

‘You never said you wouldn't!'

Ah… no.'

‘You're not going to let him go?'

‘No.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't have to have a reason.'

‘What?'

‘That's typical,' Renny said, out of the car as well, calling from across the bonnet, all peace exploding. ‘He's not going to help you, Monty. You might as well face it, he's
never
going to help you.'

I eyed Dave. ‘You're saying this to me for real. You're not going to let Marcus come away with me?'

‘No.'

‘Is it no or yes?'

‘He's not going.'

I got in the car, slammed my door shut.

Renny mouthed a few more expletives before getting in too and taking off. I burst into hysterical sobs – the mood, I thought venomously, he wanted to reduce me to. When I finally sobered, swallowing my failed attempts to execute the trip – my reflection staring back at me in despair from the grubby glass of the car window – we drove home in stony silence.

EIGHTEEN

W
ith the possibility of an overseas holiday obliterated, I was determined that the two of us still needed to go away, as much for the memory of a journey that only involved him and me as for any other reason. I decided on Alice Springs, a camping tour to Uluru, Kata Tjuta and Kings Canyon. Dave can't stop me taking Marcus there, I thought. I swallowed my pride. I needed Dave to drive Marcus halfway to Melbourne, so that I wouldn't have to do the round trip. I tried again to have a decent conversation with Dave about where and when to rendezvous.

‘Eventually he'll be old enough to travel on the train,' I said, coming up with a bridging comment.

‘Alright.'

We agreed on a time and place.

‘Have you written it down?' I asked him, wanting desperately for this arrangement to work without a hitch.

‘Yes.'

‘I'm sorry, Dave, to ask. But just to be sure, can you read it back to me?'

He did. When the day came and I was sitting at the allotted spot waiting and waiting, that's all I could think about, the fact he'd read it out to me. I used my phone and couldn't raise anyone. Finally, after an hour had passed, I reached a mutual friend. She had no idea where he could be, of course, and I hung up delirious with what I should do. Our plane left at eight the next morning. If I didn't have Marcus with me, what was the point of going: fares, accommodation, an Adventure Tour would all amount to nothing at very great cost to me. Stockpiling behind my annoyance was the energy it had taken to organise the trip, not to mention the insult at not going to Bali.

I sat, a demented agitation flowering in me. I couldn't ring Renny; it was too much to hear her fury at him from a place where she couldn't assist. When finally he turned up, distrust had pushed infuriation to boiling point in me. He, his new partner, Sue, and Marcus, strolled up the footpath as if they were on their way to a Sunday market. Leaping from my car, I probably became my most pitiful, my own worst nightmare. I was about to fulfil every stereotypical picture of a bitch.

‘You've done this on purpose,' I accused him.

‘We're only twenty minutes late,' he said, unperturbed at my upset.

‘You're
an hour and a half
late. I've been sitting here thinking you weren't coming. What would I have done then?'

His girlfriend had the gall to laugh at me.

‘Don't you fucking laugh at me,' I said to her, mean-eyed. ‘How dare you.'

I took Marcus by the hand, ripped the small bag Dave had packed for him from Dave's hand, and turned on my heels. I can still feel the spleen I felt that day, like the uptake of a lethal injection.

I tried to calm down, for Marcus's sake. We were off on a holiday – which was, I might add, a very memorable one.

When we got back to St Kilda and he was tucked up in bed, I felt the unmistakeable severity of the incident. Miffed, I tried to work out what Dave wanted from me. But the more I looked into it the less I could decipher. Perhaps, I thought, I should ask myself what I want from him. But whether it was because I didn't have the energy or the intelligence, I never got further with my questions. I did realise that all I cared about was how everything fitted for Marcus and from that point onwards, I promised myself, things would change. I would only be concerned about him.

Still, promises aside, contemplation doesn't ride away easily. Over the next few months I found myself shaking my head, signalling that I'd arrived at a spot that delivered no joy. Ugly frustration brooded in me. I wondered if the semblance of my life was ever going to coalesce to a point in which I could be, if not proud, then satisfied. A slow-setting despondency lowered itself around me. I felt that the mould had been made, the dye cast, and this was going to be the way of the future. Disillusionment was in construction mode, building me into a corner. I thought I'd asked all the big questions by now, but they only seemed to be coming more thickly towards me. No matter how much people change, I told myself, how much they move on in life, they should be able to keep certain things composed, and in this I had failed.