Chapter 13

A New Life

Cindy woke on New Year’s Day feeling so drained that she just wanted to curl up in bed and stay there. She pulled the doona over her head, wishing the chaos around her would stop.

‘I’m so sorry my mother upset you,’ she’d told Stephen the previous night. ‘I wouldn’t be here now without you.’

Emotions were running high, they agreed. Everyone was hurting.

What they needed most was calm. Stephen’s children were visiting their mother, and he had a suggestion. ‘I think we need some time out,’ he said. ‘How do you fancy a trip back to Boydtown?’

Cindy nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’

A week later, they made the journey back to the camping area. Sitting outside the tent with a bottle in her hand, Cindy remembered a scare she’d had the previous year. Halfway through their holiday, she’d woken with a start and rushed to check on Bailey, only to find he’d slid out of his sleeping bag and wriggled into a corner of the tent. His face was pressed hard against the canvas, and he didn’t appear to be breathing.

Cindy shook the tot but failed to rouse him. Her screams of panic woke Stephen, who rushed to help. After what seemed an eternity, Bailey yawned and began breathing again, but Cindy spent the rest of the night in a fitful sleep, worried that something might happen and counting her blessings that she’d woken in time to check on her beloved baby.

Rob had been furious when Jai told him about the incident after they returned to Winch. He’d told Cindy in a menacing tone, ‘If anything happens to my kids while you’re with him, you will pay!’

The irony wasn’t lost on her now as she looked around the campsite. Something had happened to her children, but not while they were with Cindy and her new man.

Now last year’s holiday was just a dream, and here she was, trapped in a nightmare.

The first week of the new holiday was more peaceful than Cindy imagined it could be. A calm after the storm, she thought, watching Stephen fish from the wharf where Zach had caught the octopus. It was so long since she and Stephen had had time for one another.

‘Are you OK?’ Stephen asked as she sat staring at the water.

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I’d like another baby.’

Stephen didn’t answer immediately, then he wrapped an arm around her and said, ‘Not at the moment – the time’s not right. Wait until the end of the year, when the trial is over.’

She knew he was right. Her friend Wendy Kennedy had given her similar advice a few weeks earlier, when Cindy had confided that she hadn’t taken her contraceptive pill for a few days. She was desperate to be a mother again, but she hadn’t discussed it with Stephen.

‘That’s not fair, Cindy,’ Wendy said.

‘I know, I know,’ Cindy replied. Next morning she started to take the pill again, but she didn’t tell Stephen about any of this.

The holiday flew by as Stephen and Cindy settled into being a couple for the first time in their relationship. The drugs the doctor had prescribed left Cindy feeling spaced out, but she knew they were necessary for now.

One evening at dusk they sat on the wharf together, watching a light rain set in and savouring the tranquillity. Cindy was aware of her surroundings for the first time in months. The tugging of her fishing line interrupted the peace. She’d hooked a shark, but it was too heavy to reel in. Stephen climbed down a ladder and let it go.

At the end of eleven restful days, they made the return journey to Melbourne to collect Stephen’s boys and his daughter, who was living with her mum. The break had been so peaceful they decided that they’d spend a night in Winchelsea, then take the children back to the campsite for another week. But what followed turned into the holiday from hell.

When they arrived, the kids began galloping around, fighting and squabbling, high as kites. She was wondering what was wrong with them until she checked inside the tent and discovered that the stash of lollies from the Christmas hampers had vanished.

‘These kids are off their bloody heads,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’ There was an argument with Stephen, and she retreated in tears of frustration. The next morning, Stephen packed up and they left, the three children sitting solemnly in the back of the car.

At home, Stephen had observed Cindy knocking back bottle after bottle of Strongbow cider. He had no doubt she was trying to self-medicate, and he was convinced she would come out the other side in time.

But on 28 January, she reached a decision. ‘I’m not drinking alcohol any more,’ she told him. ‘Things are out of control enough around here.’ It was true. They knew things had to change, and getting rid of the booze was a step in the right direction.

Anyway, she hadn’t been feeling too great since they’d returned from Boydtown, and she’d suffered a few nosebleeds. Washing her hair in the shower, she’d been shocked to see blood streaking her legs and pooling around her feet. The only other time she’d been affected by nosebleeds was when she was expecting Jai.

Then her gums began to ache so much that she went to see her dentist, though she had an inkling this wasn’t a dental problem. Her gums had only ever ached when she’d been pregnant.

She explained her predicament to the dentist. ‘You’d better not do X-rays,’ she said.

She’d only missed taking her pill a couple of times – surely she couldn’t be expecting a baby? Just in case, she bought a pregnancy testing kit, took it into the bathroom and waited for the result.

It’s in God’s hands, she thought. If I am, I am. If I’m not, so be it. The familiar blue line emerged in front of her. ‘Oh, yes!’ she thought. ‘Oh, no!’

When she told Stephen, he wasn’t as dismayed as she’d expected.

‘Good on yer,’ he said, half-smiling. With so much on his plate already, he’d shuddered when she first mentioned having another baby, but now it appeared she might be pregnant, he seemed almost pleased. ‘It’s meant to be,’ he said.

She went to see Dr McDonald, who did blood tests. ‘You’re definitely pregnant,’ he said, looking a little worried. ‘Your baby is due in October.’

Cindy felt a flutter of giddy pleasure mixed with fear. ‘What about the medication I’m on?’ she asked.

The doctor was reassuring. He’d refer her to a specialist who would know how to treat this heartbroken mother and the new life growing inside her.

Cindy sat outside in the sunshine. It was almost midday, and she hadn’t showered or dressed. She was feeling so overwhelmed with nausea that even the smell of Stephen’s cooked breakfast made her stomach heave.

This was the second week in a row. She’d suffered nausea during her previous pregnancies, but this was worse. It dogged her from the time she got up until she collapsed in bed.

Why did they call it morning sickness? It was a ridiculous under­statement, she thought.

This all-day sickness had given her an aversion to cigarettes. It was probably nature’s way of letting her know that nicotine wasn’t good for the child she was carrying.

But what terrified her most was the cocktail of medications prescribed to numb her grief. She couldn’t bear to imagine their effects on a forming foetus. Cindy’s hand flew protectively to her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to banish the thought of danger.

Her pregnancy wasn’t showing yet, and she’d agreed with Stephen that they should keep it secret a little longer, just in case. She was thrilled at the idea of having a baby to love again, but terrified of losing another child. She was also worried about whether she would cope, mentally or physically. The inner turmoil sent her anxiety soaring.

Stephen was reassuring. He was convinced Cindy’s pregnancy was a sign from God, a promise of a new beginning amid the heartache. All would be well, he told her soothingly. God could never be cruel enough to allow harm to befall yet another child.

She’d been referred to psychiatrist Dr Ajeet Singh, who’d monitor her medication throughout the pregnancy and liaise with her obstetrician. Stephen hoped this would be the start of a long-standing arrangement between Dr Singh and Cindy, who required more intensive treatment and management than a busy GP could offer.

What worried Stephen most was Cindy’s fragile mental health. Without her prescribed drugs, she was a mess. She’d once run out of tablets without telling him, hoping she’d manage until she could see her GP on Monday, but over the weekend she’d become so hysterical that he’d considered calling a duty doctor to have her admitted to a psychiatric unit. While Cindy screamed at the children, sobbing and rocking in her chair, Stephen had opened the cupboard and discovered the empty bottles. He drove her straight to Winchelsea Hospital, where she was given another prescription. Within a day, she was calmer, though she still sobbed easily.

When Cindy didn’t take the tablets, debilitating flashbacks would strike without warning and paralyse her for hours. The attacks affected everyone around her – including Luke and Zach, who’d cringe at the sound of her sobs.

Cindy had been diagnosed as suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a syndrome common among war veterans and victims of other crises, including people who’ve experienced sexual abuse and survivors of near-death experiences. For PTSD sufferers, everyday occurrences can trigger powerful memories and make them relive the original traumatising event as if it were happening all over again.

In Cindy’s case, just the sight of the pink windcheater she’d worn that night sparked painful flashbacks. The smell of cold dampness seemed to ooze out of it, leaving her legs with a cold, wet sensation where her jeans had once clung. She eventually threw the top out, hoping the flashbacks would vanish with it.

Her daytime medication chased the flashbacks away to a safer distance, and sleeping tablets helped to combat the nightmares. But in sleep, her mind would suddenly throw up cruel images of three little boys, trapped and terrified in a sinking car, crying out to their mother.

Without the medication, as Cindy put it, she was a ‘basket case’. She took extra medication every day at 3 p.m. to cope with the chaos that came when Stephen’s boys returned from school, hungry and squabbling, their schoolbags half-open and windcheaters hanging around their waists. She’d come to dread this ‘witching hour’, and often found herself sobbing down the phone to Stephen at work, urging him to come home.

It was a familiar but premature end to Stephen’s working day. Arriving home to mayhem, he’d try to explain to his children that Cindy needed them to be quiet. Then he’d retreat to the bedroom to placate a distraught pregnant woman before rustling up dinner for everyone. After dinner, he’d spend hours on the telephone trying to reorganise hastily cancelled jobs.

Now she was pregnant, Cindy needed him home more than ever, and so did his children. He began to investigate becoming Cindy’s full-time carer.

The shockwaves of the tragedy spread like ripples on a pond. Cindy’s mother hadn’t been able to return to work and was seeing a counsellor. Her father appeared to be torturing himself that he hadn’t been part of the rescue that fateful night and hadn’t been there to identify his little mates. That task had fallen to Stephen, who wasn’t even a member of the family.

Ahren, Stephen’s cousin, was also dogged by nightmares. He’d been very fond of Bailey and often made a fuss of him when Cindy dropped around to Stephen’s house, where the lively tot would scurry into his bedroom and jump on his bed to wake him. Now, Ahren constantly replayed the scene at the dam and contemplated a loss so senseless that he had no words to describe it. Life wasn’t safe, Ahren concluded. He’d never thought much about death, but now he thought about it all the time.

Stephen was also concerned about the accident’s impact on his sons, and he organised for both of them to see a child psychologist. The psychologist said Zach appeared to be coping well under the circumstances. He was an intelligent little boy, and he was old enough to be aware of Cindy’s grief and sense of loss. He’d accepted the tragedy as a part of life, his first experience in loss and mourning. He missed Cindy’s boys, but he accepted their deaths and was moving on.

For Luke, though, the trauma had been so shocking that he simply blocked everything out. He referred to Cindy’s boys in the present tense as though they were still alive. ‘Jai enjoys Yu-Gi-Oh!’ he’d say, spreading out the cards he’d once played with Cindy’s children. ‘Bailey loves this,’ he’d remark when the Wiggles came on TV.

The pictures he drew for the psychologist were confused and angry. He was playing up at school, where he was in Grade One, his frustration surfacing in arguments and scrapes with his brother, and sometimes with other children.

One day, Luke ran into the house, his face red with anger. ‘Those kids are real bad,’ he fumed. Outside, his bike lay upturned on the ground, its wheels still spinning. Luke and Zach had been visiting two children who were new to Winchelsea. Clearly the visit hadn’t turned out well.

When Stephen asked what had happened, Zach said that the two boys had taunted him and Luke about Cindy. ‘She killed her kids,’ they’d teased.

Zach and Luke couldn’t believe anyone would say such a horrible thing. They knew how grief-stricken Cindy was over this senseless tragedy. They’d told their tormentors they were stupid idiots who had no idea what they were talking about.

When Stephen heard their story, his face clouded. ‘I will be doing something about this,’ he said. He grabbed his car keys and drove around to the boys’ house, where he spoke with their parents about the taunts and explained the background to the tragedy that was causing his family such pain.

The parents were apologetic, but the children’s teasing continued. ‘We’ll fix this ourselves,’ Zach vowed. He enlisted the help of a mate who was useful in a scrap, and when the offenders picked on Zach and Luke again, his friend helped to give them a belting they wouldn’t forget. The taunts stopped, and before long the family left town.

Stephen had his own demons to contend with in caring for his children. One hot Saturday afternoon, Luke was eager to go for a swim at Winchelsea’s only pool. ‘Take us to the pool…please, please,’ he begged, stuffing a towel in his backpack.

‘I’ll take you,’ Stephen responded cagily, ‘but I don’t feel like swimming today. I’ll watch.’

Luke’s freckled face fell. ‘But why?’ he asked. His dad had always loved playing in the water, but now he was making stupid excuses.

Stephen dodged Luke’s accusing stare. He knew how much his children enjoyed him joining them for a splash in the pool, but he just couldn’t go in the water. Since that night in the dam, the idea of swimming made his heart race. When he thought about diving into water – any water – he felt a paralysing panic.

The one time he’d taken the boys to the pool since Cindy’s children drowned, he’d found himself reliving that night. His stomach had tightened as he stared into the water, then he’d walked away.

Luke watched his father’s troubled face and knew to stop asking.

Stephen was experiencing other flashbacks, although he never mentioned them to Cindy. Sometimes Bailey’s chubby little face would appear in front of him, and he’d hear the tot’s deep chuckle.

Some of the flashbacks were deeply disturbing. One day, he was pouring the base of a house when he suddenly confronted a vivid image of Jai lying inside the open body bag on the ground, gazing peacefully at the world he’d just left. Stephen felt his breath being sucked from his body as images flooded his mind. He saw himself kneeling beside Rob’s waterlogged car, whispering prayers to Tyler and Bailey.

The voice of one of his crew broke in. ‘Are you right, mate?’

‘Yeah,’ Stephen said in a shaky voice. ‘Just give me a minute, would ya?’

The guys exchanged knowing glances and continued their work while Stephen retreated to his van, desperately trying to banish the images that formed before his eyes.

Stephen had placed his favourite photograph of the old Cindy beside the bed. He traced the outlines of her face as she beamed out from the photo, newly separated, free as a bird and laughing with a glass of wine in her hand. He couldn’t help yearning for just one more moment with that vibrant mother of three. He hoped the spark would return to her green eyes some day.

Now, his pregnant partner was plodding back into the house deep in thought. ‘I brought Bailey home to that house over there, you know,’ she said.

Stephen nodded. She’d told him that a thousand times, but this medication made her vague. ‘Soon you’ll be bringing another new baby home to this house,’ he said cheerfully.

Cindy was remembering how she used to rock Bailey in her arms and sing him nursery rhymes until his eyes closed. But since the accident, she hadn’t been able to sing – she couldn’t feel the beat of music any more. Perhaps this new baby will help me to sing again, she thought.

Living in this street, she was surrounded by painful reminders. There were days when she could see herself pushing Bailey’s pram along the footpath with Jai and Tyler bouncing alongside. She vividly remembered creeping into her children’s bedrooms when they lived across the road, checking on them as they slept. Being a mum was all she’d ever wanted.

Now, so many mothers avoided her. In another life, she thought, she might have avoided herself as well. She could tell they were terrified by her pain and grief, fearing that such an unthinkable tragedy made them vulnerable too.

‘Mrs Gambino? Do come in.’ Dr Ajeet Singh’s mellow voice soothed Cindy immediately. The psychiatrist had Dr McDonald’s referral letter on his desk.

Dr Singh was handsome and very charming. He reassessed her medication and chatted about the PTSD symptoms she now battled daily. He asked a lot of questions and promised he’d monitor her closely throughout her pregnancy.

Cindy asked if the medication would harm her unborn baby.

The doctor explained that it was a double-edged sword. A stressed-out mother who couldn’t cope wasn’t going to do this baby any good, but the medication carried risks. He’d manage those risks by reducing the dosage of some tablets and changing others. But this mother, of all mothers, knew that nobody could guarantee a child’s safety.

‘We’ve just erected the first piece of scaffolding that we need to build to keep you upright,’ said Dr Singh as Cindy prepared to leave, her arm across her tummy. He’d liaise closely with her obstetrician in the months ahead. This was one pregnancy where nobody would be taking any chances.

As Rob’s committal hearing approached, Greg King had information he desperately needed to share with Cindy. Aware of her devastation over her children’s deaths, he was afraid she wouldn’t cope with what he had to say if she first heard it in public. The bail hearing, while sensationally reported, only gave a brief outline of what he’d told police. After discussing the matter with his wife, Mary, he called Cindy.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ he told her. ‘But I’d prefer to do it in person.’ He arranged to visit her in Bennett Street.

The next day, a very agitated Greg King arrived with Mary. He fidgeted on the sofa as he read out the statement he’d emailed to the police. He said, ‘I thought it would be better if you heard it from me first.’

Tears of disbelief rolled down Cindy’s face. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Rob didn’t hate his kids – he loved them!’

Greg shook his head sadly. He repeatedly apologised to Cindy for not having warned her of Rob’s menacing words.

‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’ she kept asking.

Greg looked upset. He said, ‘That’s what Robbie told me.’

Cindy wiped her eyes again. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she protested.

Stephen disappeared outside for a smoke. Having observed Greg’s distress, he was convinced there was no mistake here.

Greg and Mary left half an hour later, and Cindy rang her parents to relate the conversation. ‘Greg must have misunderstood what Rob said,’ she told her dad.

Bob said cautiously, ‘I’m not so sure.’

At that, Cindy snapped, ‘But why would Rob want to kill his own kids?’

She was still mulling the conversation over at bedtime. ‘Rob would never harm a hair on his kids’ heads,’ she said, turning towards Stephen’s back.

There was no reply. Stephen pretended to be asleep.

Over the coming weeks, Cindy’s pregnancy progressed to plan, though the daylong sickness persisted. She was reassured by her growing tummy and the fluttering kicks that woke her at night, but there were still days when the fear sneaked up on her.

Sometimes she refused to get out of bed. Her grief was draining, and Stephen’s boys reacted by becoming more boisterous, their relationship with Cindy deteriorating. She seemed to be falling apart in front of their eyes, and the spectacle was making them both anxious.

Stephen sat his boys down when Cindy was about twenty weeks pregnant. ‘We have something to tell you,’ he said and he told them about the new baby.

‘We guessed,’ Luke said. He was pleased; they needed a new begin­ning too.

Stephen rang his parents. ‘You know you said you never had much to do with my kids in the early years, when they were babies?’ he said cryptically.

‘Yes-s-s,’ his dad replied slowly, wondering what he was about to hear.

‘Well, you’ve got another chance. We’re having a baby.’

Barry was delighted, though worried about how Cindy would manage.

Bob and Bev were extremely concerned about their depressed daughter’s ability to cope with the demands of a newborn. ‘Don’t you think it’s too soon?’ Bev asked.

Still, who could deny Cindy a taste of happiness again?