The Younger Wife(72)

‘Fine, just . . . still not feeling the best. I need to use the bathroom.’

Heather walked into the bathroom. It was bizarre, eating toast made by her abuser. Sharing a bed with him. Talking to him about his daughter. She was so distracted about the strangeness of it that when she sat on the toilet, she almost didn’t see the blood. It was just a tiny bit; the barest stain. Only when she saw it did she register the low, dull ache in her lower belly and back. The absence of nausea. The fact that last night had been the first night she hadn’t needed to get up and use the bathroom during the night. She took some paper and wiped. This time the blood was darker.

Heather thought about the painkillers Stephen had given her before they left the hospital.

‘Heather?’ he called. ‘Everything okay?’





51


TULLY


Tully’s marriage was over. It was, she realised, just the last item on the never-ending list of things she’d lost. Her mother. Her father. Her dignity. Now Sonny. He’d been unhappy with her for weeks, even when she was trying her best not to steal. There was no way he would stay with her now.

She was at the police station around the corner from the hardware store, and Sonny was on his way to get her. It was one of those old-school police stations with a small foyer, a desk and a window that slid open. She was in a tiny interview room alone, because she’d refused to give a statement. She knew things didn’t look good for her. The police had CCTV footage of her taking the items.

The shame had taken longer than normal to come, perhaps due to the shock of the arrest, but now that it was here, it was epic. And not only did she have the shame of the theft, but also of being caught. What was wrong with her? Her whole life her family had joked that she was mad. Was she? Not just a little peculiar, a little quirky, but downright crazy? Perhaps she’d be admitted to some kind of asylum? Maybe, while mounting her defence, Sonny would enter a plea of insanity to keep her out of prison? The horror and shame of that was tempered only by the idea of a stint in a cool calm hospital with clean lines and muted furniture. Meals delivered and ‘talk therapy’. She’d probably befriend a whole lot of whackos in there. Maybe she could write a book about it? A memoir of her experiences in a sanatorium. It could be a career to help her get back on her feet once she was discharged.

She was startled from her fantasy by Sonny’s arrival. She heard him before she saw him. ‘Sonny Harris. My wife Natalie is –’

‘Through here,’ the guy at the desk said, and then the buzzer sounded, the one that had buzzed to let Tully through. Men were so dry in terms of greetings, Tully thought.

A moment later, Sonny stood in the doorway to her little room.

‘Have you admitted to anything?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘Given a statement?’

‘No.’

He nodded, looking relieved. Then he turned to the police officer. ‘Is my wife under arrest?’

‘We haven’t arrested her,’ he said. ‘But we have CCTV footage that shows her leaving the store with goods concealed under her clothing, plus two witnesses. And the items amounted to nearly a thousand dollars, so it will go to court. This is your notice to appear.’ He handed the paperwork to Tully.

Tully tried to read Sonny’s expression. He didn’t look angry exactly, nor did he look forgiving. He just looked . . . tired. ‘Is she free to go?’ he asked.

‘She is,’ the policeman said.

Tully followed Sonny out of the room, through the buzzing door, across the foyer and out into the car park. They were almost at the car when he grabbed her arm, spun her around.

‘Tully,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

‘I can’t stop,’ Tully replied, starting to cry. ‘Even though we’re standing here outside a police station. Even though you’re probably going to leave me and take my children away. Even though I’m a laughing-stock in my community. Sonny, I can’t stop.’ She was sobbing now, so hard she had to stop for breath. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

For a moment, Sonny stared at her, genuinely shocked. Then something changed in his expression. Tully saw the precise moment he got it. It was like a dawning, an awakening. Finally, he understood how powerless she was.

‘All right,’ he said, putting his arms around her and letting her sob into his chest. ‘Shhh. It’s going to be all right.’





52


HEATHER


Heather and Stephen had just returned home from the hospital, the second visit in twelve hours. She lay in bed, staring at the wall.

‘An anembryonic pregnancy,’ the doctor had said. ‘Also known as a blighted ovum.’

The doctor explained that an anembryonic pregnancy meant the sac and placenta had grown, but the baby had not.

‘It’s like the body was tricked into thinking it was pregnant,’ he explained. ‘It stopped your periods, started creating the hormones, but eventually your body figured out it had been tricked and that’s why you started bleeding. It could never have been a baby.’

This information, which perhaps should have come as a comfort to Heather, felt like more of an assault. Not only had she lost the baby, she’d never been pregnant in the first place. She’d been tricked. Her body had been tricked. Why hadn’t she and her body been smarter? It brought on a fresh wave of tears.