Truly Madly Guilty(135)

The counsellor was a cheery, chatty little fellow, like a jockey, and he had plenty of opinions, which surprised Sam. (Weren’t they meant to say enigmatic things like, ‘What do you think?’) He said Sam probably did have a mild case of PTSD. He said it in the same nonchalant tone as if he’d said, ‘You’ve probably got a mild sinus infection.’ He reckoned Sam would need only three or four sessions ‘max’ to ‘knock this on the head’.

Sam had left his office almost laughing; did this guy get his qualifications online? But as he’d stood in the lift going back to the lobby, he’d been surprised to find he was experiencing just a mild sense of relief, like standing in the baggage claim area after a long flight and feeling your ears pop, when you weren’t fully aware they’d been blocked. It wasn’t like he felt great. Just marginally better. Maybe it was the placebo effect, or maybe it was going to happen eventually anyway, or maybe his little counsellor had special powers.

Now he stopped at a pedestrian crossing and watched a woman with a baby in a stroller and a preschool-aged kid.

The baby was about one. He was sitting up, fat legs straight out in front of him, a large green leaf clutched in his chubby hand like a flag.

Was it a floating leaf that had attracted Ruby’s attention that day? He imagined it, as he’d done so many times before, as maybe he was going to do for the rest of his life. He saw her climbing up onto the edge of the fountain, proud of herself, walking around the perimeter, maybe even running. Did she slip? Or did she see something she wanted? A floating leaf or an interesting-looking stick. Something that sparkled. He imagined her on her knees on the side of the fountain, in her little pink coat, her hand out-stretched, and then suddenly, silently toppling in, head first, panicking, flailing, her lungs filling with water as she tried to scream, ‘Daddy!’, the heavy coat dragging her down, and then, the stillness, her hair floating around her head.

For a moment Sam’s world tipped and his breath caught. He concentrated on the DON’T WALK light in red, waiting for it to change to WALK. The cars zoomed by. The mother waiting next to him was talking on her mobile phone. ‘My shoe is falling off,’ whined the preschooler.

‘No, it’s not,’ said the mother distractedly as she continued to speak into the phone. ‘I know, that’s the thing, I mean it would be fine if she’d just been upfront about it from the beginning, but Lachlan, no! Don’t take off your shoe here!’

The little boy had suddenly plonked himself down on the footpath and was in the process of removing his shoe.

‘He’s taking off his damned shoe in the middle of the street. Lachlan, stop that. I said stop that.’ The woman bent down to drag the preschooler back to his feet. Her hand left the stroller handle. It was on a slope that led straight out onto the street.

The stroller began to roll.

‘Whoops.’ Sam reached out one hand and caught hold of the handle.

The woman looked up.

‘Jesus Christ.’ The phone slid from beneath her head and shoulder and crashed onto the ground as she stood up fast and grabbed the stroller handle, her hand overlapping Sam’s.

She looked at the traffic roaring by and then back down at the stroller.

She said, ‘It could have … he could have …’

‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘But it’s all good. It didn’t.’ He removed his hand from under hers. She had the handle in a death grip now.

‘Mummy, the phone is all cracked!’ The preschooler held up the phone he’d rescued from the ground with an expression of pure horror on his face. Sam could hear a tinny voice calling out from the phone, ‘Hello? Hello?’

The lights changed to WALK. The woman didn’t move. She was still processing it, still seeing what could have been.

‘Have a good night,’ said Sam, and he crossed the road to go home, the sky huge and hopeful before him.





chapter eighty-five



‘You don’t have to rush back to the office, do you?’ said Oliver as he tucked his ears into his swimming cap – snap, snap – and pulled his goggles down over his eyes so he looked to Erika like a goofy alien.

They had met for their lunch break at North Sydney pool, which was within walking distance of both their offices, for their first swim after their brief ‘winter hiatus’, as Oliver liked to call it. During the winter months they swapped their swim for a thirty-minute high-intensity cardio class at the gym.

‘As long as I’m back by one thirty.’ Erika pulled down her own goggles so that the world turned turquoise.

‘Good,’ said Oliver. He seemed serious.

As Erika swam her first lap, she wondered what was on his mind. Ever since his discovery of her ‘habit’ she felt like she’d been demoted to junior partner in their marriage. He’d made her promise to talk about her ‘kleptomania’ with her psychologist.

‘It’s not kleptomania!’ Erika cried. ‘It’s just …’

‘Stealing your friend’s stuff!’ finished Oliver brightly.

There was something different about Oliver lately: a kind of recklessness, except not really, because Oliver would never be reckless. Almost aggressiveness? But not quite. Feistiness. It was not unattractive, to be honest. They were having a lot of angry sex. It was great.