Chapter 14

Solidarity

Cindy’s baby bump was visible under her loose top when she attended Rob’s preliminary hearing at the Geelong Magistrates Court on 7 April 2006. Despite her morning-all-day sickness, she was determined to be there. Cindy wanted to ensure that Rob knew she and her family were right behind him. He might have been a pain to live with, but he was no killer.

Journalists and photographers had gathered at the door for a glimpse of the accused father and the grieving mother who was supporting him in his plea of innocence. They exchanged surprised glances when Cindy arrived. Was she pregnant again?

Cameras clicked like rapid-fire guns as Cindy walked in with Stephen and her parents. Whether she liked it or not, she was in the spotlight, her grief marketable property in the changeable world of news.

Stephen kept one arm wrapped protectively around her. After last September’s tragedy, when the media gathered in Winchelsea, she had been in hospital and had been spared the questions and cameras. Now there was no escaping. Stephen felt sick.

Rob had already arrived, wearing a pale-green long-sleeved surfing T-shirt and faded jeans. He kept his head down and stared at his worn brown shoes as if looking for something, making no eye contact with photographers or reporters. Cindy and other family members flanked the accused man as they went in. Bev’s legs trembled at the sight of all the media, and she glanced nervously away behind her sunglasses. But she wrapped a protective arm around her former son-in-law in a show of solidarity.

Bob Gambino ushered his daughter towards the court doors, and the family filed into the lobby, where Rob’s sisters and his father stood in a huddle. Most would be witnesses in the case to test the evidence against Rob.

Cindy watched the hearing unfold like a scene from a bad movie. Rob sat nervously clasping his hands, his eyes darting around the courtroom, as discussions began about the date of the committal hearing.

The prosecution revealed that 35 witnesses would be called in the pending case. The list had been culled from 65 witness statements collected by investigating police. The prosecution tendered the brief of evidence, and defence counsel told the court that Rob would be pleading not guilty to the three counts of murder.

Finally, the date of 14 August was set for the committal hearing. The prosecutor, Julie Carpenter, estimated that the hearing would take four days.

Rob’s bail was extended under the same conditions as before, and Cindy left the court, hurrying past the waiting media, saying nothing.

When Bev saw the next day’s papers with photographs of her standing beside Rob, her curly permed hair flying about in the wind, she rushed to the hairdressers and told them to cut it all off. Cindy wasn’t sure if her mum was upset at her appearance, or because the photo made the whole ugly scenario real. Perhaps she just hated her life right now and found it easier to focus on hating the way she looked.

Cindy too studied the papers, where stories appeared under headlines such as ‘I Don’t Know Why I am Being Charged’.

‘It’s so ridiculous,’ she said, rushing off to the toilet to throw up.

Was it really? Stephen wasn’t so sure, but he kept his musings to himself.

As Cindy’s pregnancy progressed, the prospect of the committal was overtaken by the pending arrival of the baby. Apart from her persistent nausea, she was feeling physically well. She was looking after herself and her baby, drinking gallons of water to flush the cocktail of drugs she needed to keep herself upright.

But the addictions she’d conquered when she dumped her smokes and cider had left a void that was soon filled. Stephen often found her sitting in front of her computer, scouring eBay for things she was convinced she needed. She shopped online with an insatiable hunger, ordering everything from toys to keepsakes, clothes and jewellery.

Cindy had always loved purple things, and she knew that amethyst was a healing colour, bringing peace into people’s lives. She needed some peace in this chaotic, noisy house, so she ordered all sorts of things in hues of mauve. Soon purple cushions, crockery and ornaments were piling up around the already overflowing house.

The ‘send’ button on her computer became her new best friend, but the bills soon began to get out of hand. How were they going to pay for all this stuff?

‘You’ve got to stop this, Cindy,’ Stephen warned. ‘It’s becoming really addictive.’

She knew he was right. Her out-of-control compulsion to shop was a form of addiction, and the pleasure it bought was fleeting. But she couldn’t stop.

When Cindy told Dr Singh about her new compulsion, he wasn’t surprised. He explained that behaviours like these weren’t unusual in deeply depressed people.

‘It’s called retail therapy for a reason,’ he said. ‘People shop to make themselves feel better, but it’s highly addictive.’ He reminded her that she’d overcome her other addictions, so she could stop this too.

Cindy wasn’t so sure as she sat in front of her computer ordering bits and pieces for her latest fad. She was occupying herself making jewellery, mostly in calming amethyst, but the healing didn’t appear to be working.

Her first Mother’s Day since her children’s deaths was especially empty and painful. Any twinge of happiness she felt about the new arrival was overshadowed by guilt. Her only comfort was that, through all her ups and downs, Stephen was completely supportive. It made a change from her other pregnancies, where Rob had shown no particular interest except to complain about the lack of sex. And Stephen was determined to buy everything for this precious baby, even if it meant dipping into the profits of his dwindling business.

‘No arguments,’ he said as he drove Cindy to the baby superstores in Geelong. ‘This is my child too, and I want to spoil it.’

She felt a familiar flutter as she set about the business of nursery shopping. It was a relief to be doing normal things again. In the months since the accident, she’d forgotten what normal felt like.

Stephen swore he saw a smile flicker across Cindy’s face as she browsed, fingering fluffy baby blankets, feeling the shiny surfaces of cribs and listening to tunes coming from an assortment of colourful mobiles.

‘You miss all this with virtual shopping,’ he reminded her. That day, Cindy chose everything she needed for her newborn – clothes, a new cot and linen, and the all-important pram, which Stephen would collect once the baby was born. It was bad luck to bring a pram home before a baby had safely arrived, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

At the cash register, Stephen splurged $5000. He was feeling optimistic. With every kick inside her, Cindy had found a reason to keep going. ‘Feel that,’ she’d say, grabbing his hand and placing it on her tummy, which was taking odd shapes as the lively infant moved around.

A scan had confirmed that the baby was growing normally, but neither Cindy nor Stephen wanted to know its sex. It didn’t matter either way, as long as the baby was healthy.

But innocent comments from well-wishers threw her into turmoil.

‘Is this your first?’ a woman asked her as she browsed the baby section of Target. Cindy felt her throat close, unsure how to answer.

Should she explain that this was her fourth baby? And if she did, would she then face more questions from this stranger about the ages of her older children? Then what would she say? In the end, she nodded politely and moved on in silence.