Broken (35 page)

On the occasions that he did this, he would justify his behaviour by asserting that she monopolised Courtney, spending all day with her and often all night. That she was deliberately robbing him of a chance to bond so he had no choice but to force the issue. And this, now, was his turn
.

So he would parade through the house with the baby in his arms, and lecture her about her mother's faults. And Mattie would sit against a wall, out of sight, and have to bide her time. Wait until he got bored or ran out of steam and went to bed. And then wait until she was absolutely, one hundred percent sure he was asleep before she crossed the line as quietly as possible and went to satisfy herself that the baby was all right. Only then could she curl up on the family room couch and go to sleep herself. Once she misjudged her timing and he was still awake, patting the baby's nappy-thick bottom rhythmically to send her off to sleep. She never did that again
.

M
onday morning at 9 am sharp, Mattie was at the children's school nervously waiting to start reading groups in Courtney's classroom. She pretended to be engrossed in the brightly painted pictures stuck up on the walls, all the while glancing at the door anxiously awaiting Courtney's arrival. And, as the school bell pealed and echoed through the classroom, Mattie had a horrible feeling that the child wasn't even going to arrive, that Jake wasn't going to send them to school. But finally her daughter walked through the doorway, the last one to come in. And if Mattie had been expecting, even half hoping, to see a dishevelled, miserable-looking child, she was disappointed. Because Courtney was freshly washed and ironed, and bounced in with her hair neatly pulled back in two pigtails and a huge smile on her face. When she saw her mother, the smile stretched even further and she dropped her bag and flung herself at her.

The other mothers, standing around and idly chatting, looked at them with interest, but Mattie didn't care. She wrapped her arms around Courtney and lifted her off the ground, then put her back down and cupped the girl's face in her hands, looking at her closely. ‘Are you okay? Everything all right?'

‘Sure!' replied Courtney brightly. ‘Why not?'

‘Okay, children!' Miss Thomson clapped her hands briskly and the tardy children, including Courtney, hung their bags up quickly and sat down cross-legged before the teacher. While she called the roll, Mattie
stood at the back of the room with the other mothers, waiting to start the reading.

‘You and Courtney look like you haven't seen each other for months,' commented Marie, in a low voice.

‘She spent the weekend with her father.' Mattie kept her voice light and noncommittal.

‘Oh.' Marie exchanged glances with Helen and Jo and the other woman there, a slim redhead named Stacey. Mattie pretended not to notice.

‘I've got your money for you,' whispered Helen, leaning forward so that she could see Mattie. ‘From the party the other Sunday.'

‘God!' Mattie looked at her with surprise. ‘I'd forgotten all about that!'

Helen grinned. ‘Does that mean you don't want it?'

‘No, bad luck.' Mattie shook her head. ‘Can't believe I forgot about it. I must check when the delivery's due.'

‘Next week I think,' said Jo, pulling her purse out of her bag and removing a few folded notes. ‘Here's mine anyway.'

‘Nice to know you've got such a busy life that you forget about things like this,' said Marie curiously. ‘Wish mine was.'

‘So, children!' Miss Thomson clapped her hands again, a habit that Mattie found particularly irritating. ‘If you'd like to break into groups around one of our lovely mothers over there, you can start your reading time.'

The children who had mothers in attendance made a beeline for them, dragging friends along behind. Courtney fronted up with three other little girls, all blonde, all pigtailed, and all blue-eyed. Courtney thrust a large picture book at her mother.

‘This is about Duncan the railway cat,' she announced, quite obviously in charge. ‘It's very good. We'll start with that.'

Mattie took the book and sat down on the edge of one of the low tables, Courtney leaning against her and the other little girls keeping a little more distance. She opened the book, took a deep breath and began to read. This once-a-week foray into the classroom for reading groups was by no means Mattie's favourite time of the week, but
Courtney loved it, just as Max had done before her. And on that particular Monday it was even more important, a way of reassuring herself that they were all right. So, after the reading hour was finished and she'd kissed Courtney goodbye, Mattie went over to Max's classroom at the other end of the school and knocked softly on the door. His teacher, a middle-aged woman called Mrs Hope, opened the door and smiled at Mattie.

‘Mrs Hampton. Were you after Max?'

‘Yes. I just wanted to have a quick word if that's okay.'

‘Sure, but first –' Mrs Hope glanced at the class, all busily writing in exercise books, and slipped outside the door – ‘I wondered if you'd been contacted? By a Jan MacFarlane, the district counsellor?'

‘Yes, we spoke,' said Mattie shortly.

‘Oh. Good. Um, I'll just get Max, shall I?' The teacher glanced at Mattie again, but when nothing else was forthcoming, she slipped back inside and called Max's name.

Mattie stared at the rows of pegs and schoolbags, and the wooden shelves of reading materials that were jammed down the corridor. Next to her was the lost property cupboard, overflowing with school jumpers and jackets and even, strangely, one school dress. Max came out of the classroom and looked at her, then at his feet. Mattie, filled with pleasure at the sight of him, bobbed down and hugged him. But it only took her a second to realise that he wasn't hugging her back.

Mattie pulled away. ‘Max? What's the matter?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Tell me.'

He glanced at her again, briefly, and then stared down at his shoes. ‘Where did you go yesterday?'

‘What do you mean, where did I go?'

‘Dad said you were too busy to have us.'

‘What?'
Mattie rocked back on her haunches and then stood up, still staring down at Max.
‘What
did he say?'

‘He said you were too busy to have us.'

‘Oh, Max.' Mattie put a hand on Max's shoulder and pulled him towards her. A teacher walked past up the corridor towards the office,
a small boy trudging behind her. Their footsteps thudded loudly in the heavy silence. Mattie waited till they'd passed before bobbing down again. ‘I was
not
too busy for you. I am
never
too busy for you. Are you listening?'

‘Yes.' Max stared at her, finally.

‘In fact I was waiting for you all day, and all night. And I rang Dad twice to find out where you were. He said you were staying with him and that you were already asleep.'

‘I heard the phone,' whispered Max. ‘I hoped it was you saying you weren't busy after all. That you were coming instead. So I stayed awake for ages.'

‘Oh my god.' Mattie swallowed, pushing away the image of her eight-year-old son lying in bed, waiting and waiting for her.

‘But you didn't come.'

‘No, Dad said you were already asleep. Max, I don't know what's going on. I think Dad's angry because I moved out, and he's trying to make me angry too.'

‘Are you?'

‘At the moment, yes. Very angry.'

‘Me too.' Max plucked idly at the collar of her shirt. ‘Are we going with you today? After school?'

‘I will be here at three-thirty exactly. Don't worry about that.'

‘Good.'

‘I'd better let you get to class.' Mattie glanced towards the doorway and then back at Max. He was still playing with her collar. She rocked forward on her toes and hugged him, fiercely, and this time he hugged her back. After a moment, he broke the embrace and stepped away, smiling at her and then disappearing through the doorway.

Mattie stood up and watched him through the high, long windows set along the corridor. He threaded his way through the rows of desks to the second front row, where he slid into his seat and picked up his pen. But before he started writing he glanced back at the doorway and then quickly scanned the windows. And when he saw Mattie he smiled, almost with relief, and then hunched over to continue his work.

Fifteen minutes later, Mattie was standing in the queue at the bank, waiting grimly for her turn. After driving down to the shops on the verge of frustrated, angry tears, she had managed to focus on the task at hand and push Max and Jake and the whole ghastly mess to the back of her mind to be mulled over later. Years of defensive compartmentalisation helped here, as did the certain knowledge that the only way she was going to survive this was to keep up, and not let her emotions cloud her judgement. Instead she needed to harness her bitterness and use it to her advantage. Maybe
she
needed to be on the offensive too.

A square black metal box propped on the railing at the front of the line lit up with a glowing red arrow every few minutes, pointing either left or right to a free teller. And the queue shuffled forward slowly, listening for the
ping
that would advance them further along the line. When it was her turn, Mattie walked up to the teller whose light was flashing and stood before a vertical gap in the frosted glass window.

‘Can I help you?' The teller, Mary, according to her nametag, smiled professionally She was a young, groomed blonde with eyebrows and eyelashes so faint as to be almost invisible, giving her a rather surprised look even when she smiled.

‘Yes. I wanted to make a few enquiries about a term deposit, please.'

‘Certainly.'

‘It's a joint one that my husband and I set up nearly two months ago, but now it looks like we'll have to close it early. So what I need to know is how we go about this, and how much interest we lose depending on when we close it. And I also want to get the paperwork needed to close it, so that I can get him to sign.'

‘Not a problem. Do you have the account number?'

‘No, but I've got my driver's licence as ID.' Mattie slid the laminated card out of her purse and across the counter. ‘Will that do?'

‘Oh, sure.' Mary smiled reassuringly and took the licence, glancing at it briefly before starting to tap away at her keyboard. She watched the computer screen as she did so, her fingers flying over the keys, before turning back to Mattie questioningly. ‘Was the joint account in your name?'

‘Yes. And my husband's – Jacob Francis Hampton. Of Mont Gully.'

Mary's fingers started typing again and, a minute later, she stopped and glanced across at Mattie and then back at the computer screen.

Mattie told herself that it was only the faint eyebrows that made Mary looked surprised. ‘Is something the matter?'

‘Well, maybe.' Mary kept her eyes on the screen. ‘Um, I only have one active account registered for you here, Mrs Hampton. It's a standard savings account.'

‘The term deposit is under both our names.'

Mary turned to Mattie, almost reluctantly ‘Yes. And the records show that there
was
a term deposit, but it was closed down last Thursday'

‘Last Thursday?' repeated Mattie, her throat drying.

‘Yes.' Mary nodded, and her face spoke louder than her words. For the first time, her professionalism receded, overshadowed by a visible pity that made Mattie's diaphragm compress painfully.

She took a breath. ‘That can't be. We're joint signatories.'

‘I'm afraid it can,' said Mary slowly, as if she thought Mattie was having trouble taking it in. ‘It's like a joint account. Either party can access it.'

Mattie looked down at her driver's licence, which was still lying on the counter. It was a terrible photo that made her look like a member of the mafia. She shook her head and tried to focus on what was happening.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Hampton.'

‘Can you check again?' asked Mattie, her voice coming out so strangely that the customer at the next stall glanced across curiously.

‘Certainly.' Mary turned back to the computer and went through the process again, even though both of them already knew it was pointless. After a moment, she paused and looked at Mattie sympathetically, shaking her head.

Mattie swallowed. ‘Can you tell me where it went?'

‘I can tell you it was transferred, as a whole, but I'm afraid I can't tell you where.'

Mattie stared at her, her dread giving way to a desperate fury. She swallowed again, painfully, and then spoke in a low voice that throbbed angrily ‘This isn't fair. That money was in
a joint
term deposit. And for
twelve
months. So now you're telling me it's all gone, and you won't even tell me where? That's
my
damn money!'