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“He broke your arm.” Alex's voice is flat. “Snapped it in two when he couldn't stop you crying. I tried to stop him, Amy, I swear I did, but the bastard was too strong for me.”
The bile that's been lingering in my stomach rises without warning. Covering my mouth, I run to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I vomit. I bend over the bowl, retching until my stomach is empty, muscles spasming in an attempt to purge.
It's Lara who comes in, her voice soft, and her touch softer. She helps me clean up then leads me back to the living room with an arm around my shoulder. She holds me while I cry, stroking my hair and murmuring sweet words, telling me it's okay, that I'm so brave.
Except I don't feel brave. I feel sick and guilty and angry all at the same time.
“What did you do?” I ask Mum. “What did you do when you went back into the house?”
“I picked you up and we all ran into the bathroom. There was a bolt on the inside and I slid it shut, and we sat down on the floor. You were still screaming, and Alex and Andie were crying, and the only thing I could think of was I had to protect you. I had some hairdressing scissors in the bathroom cabinet, so I got them out and held them in my hand. If he broke through that door I was ready to stab him in the eye.”
“He didn't break in,” I say. “I've seen him, he has both eyes.”
“One of the neighbours called the police. About an hour later they got inside the house. Digger had drunk himself into oblivion, but they arrested him anyway and took him down to the station. The rest of us went to the hospital, and we stayed there until the morning.”
“They put a cast on me.” I've seen photos of me as a baby, a white plaster cast encasing my wrist. Mum told me I'd broken it falling down the stairs.
“Yes. You hated it, too. It was so heavy you could barely lift your arm.” Though Lara's still holding me, Mum reaches for my hand. “They charged your dad and he pleaded guilty. He ended up in jail for a year. When he got out I applied for a restraining order, and told him never to come near us again.”
“Why's he come back now?”
“After he left prison, he ended up in psychiatric care. He was diagnosed with PTSD. I think he was in some kind of treatment for more than three years before they finally discharged him. That's when he moved to Australia.”
“He moved away?” I don't know why that surprises me.
“He ended up in Melbourne. Got married eventually to a local girl.”
“Did he have kids?”
She shakes her head. “No. And that's why I think he's back. He came to see me, told me he'd changed, that he’s devastated over the way he treated us. He asked to meet you so he could apologise himself.”
“But you told him to take a running jump,” Alex interjects.
“I told him to leave you alone, that you thought he was dead. I expected him to get angry about that, but he didn't. I thought he'd got the message but then he turned up at the house and, well, you know the rest.”
“He wants to see me?” I ask. I'm like an over-stimulated child, darting this way and that. The confusion hurts my head.
“You don't need to,” Alex says, and for a moment he looks like that scared little boy again. “You don't need to talk to him at all. I'll make sure he stays away.”
I lean back, exhausted.
“I'm tired.”
“I should let you sleep.” Mum sounds hesitant. “Do you want to come home?
“She can stay here for the weekend,” Alex interjects. “I'll take her to work on Monday.”
“You'll be late for your own job.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “I'll be fine.” I wonder if I sound more certain than I feel.
“I'll take you,” he says, and his certainty is enough for both of us.
An hour later, I lay awake on the sofa bed, white cotton sheets draped around my hips as I stare up at the shadowed ceiling. Though my body aches, my mind is much too busy to give in to sleep. I think back twenty three years ago, to a time when there was no Internet, when people phoned each other instead of messaging, when a young ex-soldier thought it was okay to break his baby's arm.
Just before 5:00 a.m. Max wakes up, his sobs loud and heavy as Lara attempts to hush him. I imagine somebody hurting him, snapping his bones until he screams, and tears roll down my cheeks.
I lie there wide awake, and the bleak light of morning finds me long before sleep does.
14
