Chapter 32

Painting Over the Cracks

For days, Cindy had appeared to be stricken by profound despair. Stephen suspected the looming Father’s Day anniversary could have something to do with it. The ‘black dog’ always returned to bite her when this anniversary reared its head.

She’d been disconnected for weeks. That morning, she’d found herself brooding again over Australian Story, particularly her estranged friend Wendy Kennedy’s input.

The loss of her friendship to Wendy had been preying on her mind for days and invading her sleep. Two nights earlier, Cindy had woken from a bizarre dream in which she’d found herself back in Wendy’s house. In the dream she followed voices into the lounge room.

The house that was once so familiar to her was now strangely empty. All her friend’s furniture had disappeared, leaving echoing rooms devoid of life. The walls had been painted a glaring, clinical white. And standing in her empty lounge room was a familiar figure. As she watched, the ghostly image of Don, Rob’s dad, turned to face her, holding a tin of white paint and a giant brush in his hand.

‘What are you doing?’ Cindy asked the ghost. But Don shook his head and said nothing as he painted the walls with sweeping, deliberate strokes.

Cindy was rooted to the spot. ‘What are you doing?’ she repeated. He was swishing his brush across each little hairline plaster crack until the surface of every wall was smooth and flawless.

She heard her voice whispering out of her dream. ‘You can’t be here, Don. You’re dead.’ But like a ghost he continued, not hearing, not speaking.

Something reached out of the dream, stretching tight, pinching fingers around her and squeezing her awake. The grip made her heart miss a beat and took her breath away.

As the ache in her chest eased and her heart began pumping again, she was left with a strange sense of knowing. It was going to take more than some superficial whitewash job to cover the cracks of Rob’s hideous crime. It was just a matter of time before they surfaced again beneath the paint and widened before your eyes.

Nothing could erase what Rob had done to her, no matter how hard his family and his supporters might try. There were some ugly truths you just couldn’t hide.

In the distance, she heard a child’s voice chanting, ‘Jai, Tyler, Bailey. Jai, Tyler, Bailey.’ Cindy blinked as the ghost in her dream blurred into the white walls of her imagination. The child’s voice grew louder, and she sat up in bed to find Hezekiah staring into her eyes. He began calling her in a shrill voice. ‘Mum,’ he wheedled, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Mu-u-m – can I go to Auskick like Tyler?’ Then, before she had time to reply, he began to chant her boys’ names again.

She couldn’t speak. Her mind was elsewhere. Had Don known? Had he suspected something that caused him to tell Rob to ship out of the family home before his arrest? Only Don’s death had spared him from seeing his youngest child jailed all over again. What a terrible burden for an old man confronting his mortality, Cindy thought. There were so many casualties of this crime!

‘Where are you going now?’ Stephen asked, exasperated by Cindy’s latest outburst. For weeks he’d watched her retreating back into her gloom, feeling his own nerves fray.

He watched Cindy storm out of the shower wrapped in a purple towel, barking at him as she slung some clothes into an overnight bag.

It was mid-2011, and with no word of Robert’s appeal, there was a stalemate, punctuated by explosions of emotion. When the storms subsided, after the tears and tantrums, there’d be apologies and still more tears.

Things were testy between Cindy and Luke at the best of times. Luke was a sensitive and tuned-in sort of kid, and his reaction to Cindy’s gloom made them a combustible combination.

Life is one big pressure cooker, Stephen thought, watching forlornly as his sobbing wife stormed out, her feet crunching over the pebbled driveway towards her purple Holden. ‘Cindy, come back here,’ he called as she struggled to get the key in the door. She stared despairingly at him through her tears, and he knew there was no point in arguing.

‘I just want this pain to be over,’ she shouted back through the car window.

The tyres spun across the driveway as Cindy put her foot down, screeching down the unmade road that ran towards the railway line and on to the Princes Highway.

Luke wandered out, rubbing his fingers through his curly gold hair. He’d almost dropped off to sleep when he’d heard raised voices. He stood beside his dad watching the car’s tail-lights blinking angrily back at them. ‘Where’s she going, Dad?’ he asked.

Stephen couldn’t think of an answer. ‘Everyone back inside,’ he said hoarsely, ushering Luke and a now hovering Zach back out of the cold August night.

On autopilot, Stephen put the kettle on, then sat outside on the veranda with his coffee, dragging miserably on a cigarette and watching the smoky trail wisp into the winter air.

He guessed her car would be in its usual spot at Winchelsea Cemetery. He stubbed out his cigarette and crossly headed off to bed.

But Stephen’s hunch was wrong. Far from heading across town towards the cemetery, Cindy was speeding in the opposite direction, towards the dam where her children had perished. She sat behind the wheel of her Holden with tears splashing down her face, blurring her vision of the road ahead.

In the headlights, the overpass came into view. Her jaw set, she put her foot down harder, gripping the steering wheel, and drove the car straight at a pole beside the highway.

What happened next would remain a blur in Cindy’s memory. In her numbness and shock, she wouldn’t remember the sound of her car crashing against the pole, or the whirr of her wheels spinning to a standstill. She wouldn’t recall the voice of the woman whose worried face appeared beside her window.

The woman opened the driver’s door to reassure her that an ambulance was on its way.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘I’m a nurse. What happened?’

Cindy couldn’t speak. ‘Are you in pain?’ asked the stranger.

Cindy shuddered. ‘Am I in pain?’ she wanted to say. ‘I’ve been in agony for six years.’ But the words stuck to her tongue and she simply moaned.

In the darkness, the dam shimmered ominously, as ghostly and still as it had been on that awful September night. A flashback suddenly gripped Cindy. Her legs felt heavy and wet, and she saw herself darting wildly across the damp paddock looking for her lost babies.

Paramedics arrived on the scene shortly afterwards and examined her. Thankfully, she appeared to be mainly shocked. ‘Possible whiplash injuries,’ said one of the paramedics, putting a support collar around Cindy’s neck as a precaution, just as they’d done with Robert six years before. She shuddered as they lifted her into the ambulance and headed to Geelong Hospital, its flashing lights and siren another reminder of that terrible night.

The doctor studied the X-rays. ‘No real damage,’ he said. His expression clouded. ‘You are a very lucky woman. You have whiplash and nerve damage to your back – but it could have been far worse.’

He asked Cindy how it had happened. Ashamed, she turned her face away. ‘Dunno,’ she said forlornly. In truth she really couldn’t explain what she’d been thinking. ‘I just saw the pole…I wanted it to be over,’ she said, her voice trailing away.

Cindy was admitted for observation. ‘Who can we call for you?’ a nurse asked.

Reluctantly, Cindy gave them Stephen’s mobile and their home telephone number. What was I thinking of? she asked herself. Stupid, stupid woman! That’s not going to bring your kids back.

At home, Stephen had fallen into a fitful sleep, waiting for the sound of Cindy’s car to crunch back up their driveway. Instead, the ringing of his mobile interrupted his thoughts.

‘She’s where?’ he gasped down the phone, his hands trembling. ‘What’s happened?’ He waited for the answer. ‘I’m on my way.’

It was 4 a.m. when Stephen woke Zach to explain that Cindy was in hospital. ‘Keep an eye on the others,’ he said, grabbing his car keys.

Cindy was sleeping when Stephen arrived at her bedside. Her face looked pale and worn. He held her hand, studying the gold wedding band he’d slipped on her finger the previous October. He whispered, ‘You silly girl.’

Her eyes flickered open. ‘I just wanted it all to stop,’ she apologised, studying the pain on Stephen’s exhausted face. He nodded. ‘Me too,’ he said. But this, his silence told her, was not the answer.

For a while Stephen sat, saying nothing. Then, carefully choosing his words, he asked, ‘Did you really mean to hurt yourself?’

Struggling to move in her neck brace, Cindy shook her head. ‘I dunno what I was thinking.’

Whether this was a serious attempt at self-harm or not, Stephen wasn’t sure.

News of Cindy’s cry for help sent shockwaves through her family.

Her mum rang alarmed. ‘What were you thinking of?’ she asked.

‘I’ve had enough,’ said Cindy, wearily.

The children were subdued. ‘When is Mummy going to be better?’ Hezekiah asked when his dad tucked him into bed that night. ‘Soon, mate,’ Stephen said again. These days he wasn’t sure if Hezekiah believed a word he uttered.

Cindy’s beloved purple car was now crumpled in a Colac repair yard. ‘We haven’t the cash to fix it up,’ Stephen warned.

But Cindy wasn’t thinking about the purple car today. She was thinking about an entirely different car – the shit one; the car Rob had complained so bitterly about. All she’d done since her lucky escape was think about that bloody car. Recently, her attention had been drawn to a true crime book with a chapter about the dam drowning murders. The chapter was entitled ‘The Shit Car’, and Cindy had shuddered at the heading, furious that her story was being retold by people she’d never met.

But since her ‘accident’, she’d been wondering how different things might have been if she’d agreed to sell the good car and Rob hadn’t been landed with the crappy one. Perhaps if she’d relented, Rob wouldn’t have felt so bitter towards her; maybe this awful thing would never have happened and their three boys would still be alive.

‘So many maybes, Cin,’ Stephen said.

Another Father’s Day, the sixth anniversary of the children’s deaths, was now just a month away.

‘What if Rob’s appeal is heard then?’ Cindy anxiously asked Stephen.

Stephen rang Anne O’Brien at the Supreme Court. ‘Any news?’

‘Sorry, nothing yet,’ she said apologetically. She asked how the family was faring. ‘Not so good,’ Stephen replied. He didn’t go into details.

Late January 2012 marked the start of yet another school term, and this time she found herself caught up in Hezekiah’s enthusiasm at the prospect of going to school.

‘You look fantastic, mate,’ she said, inspecting her little angel in the familiar blue-and-yellow uniform as he shouldered his little backpack. She grabbed her camera and took a photo for the family photo album. Hezekiah had tentatively inspected his mum in her dressing gown and pyjamas the day before and asked, ‘Will you be taking me to school?’ Cindy ruffled his hair. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she said, her voice breaking.

Zach and Luke were now in middle school, and things had moved on. Cindy was thankful that the mums she’d once been close to had also moved on. Their boys would now be in the final years of high school; at least she wouldn’t have to see them at the school gates and be reminded of her grief.

Cindy watched Hezekiah disappear into the bustling classroom with the same enthusiasm Jai and Tyler had once shown. The place had certainly changed. There had been major renovations, and the Children’s Rose she’d suggested for the school’s memorial garden was now in full bloom. Soon Hezekiah would be able to read the names of his brothers on the tiles the students had painted in their honour.

Cindy and Stephen were moving house again. The previous November, Cindy had fallen in love with a run-down weatherboard in an unlikely spot. It was in Austin Street, directly across the road from the rental where Rob had once stood dripping on her doorstep.

There was enough room to build a new home out the back and stay in the old place until the subdivision was finished.

‘Are you sure, Cin?’ asked Stephen. Cindy stared at the house over the road, where one relationship had ended and another begun.

‘Yep,’ she said. ‘I’m sure.’ The house no longer yielded painful memories. The reminders of her lost family were still safely in storage at Jason’s place. ‘We had some great times in that house,’ she said. ‘I only think of the good times when I look over there now.’

They held a garage sale in March and offloaded stacks of unwanted furniture, toys and household items. Stephen managed to persuade Cindy to sell off many of the impulse buys she’d found on the internet. The remaining clutter was shipped off to the local tip.

Later, Stephen loaded a van for the move back into Winch. Cindy had only packed a selection of their belongings. ‘We might as well leave the rest of the stuff here,’ said Stephen, surveying the boxes, furniture and bikes in the garage. With the slump in the housing market, there were fewer potential purchasers than they’d expected, and there didn’t seem much point in emptying the old place until they found a buyer.

The logistics of fitting four boys and two adults into a tiny two-bedroom house in dire need of renovation proved more problematic than Cindy had imagined. But to Stephen’s relief, the clutter and the mess did not faze her. ‘I feel like I’ve come home,’ she said, smiling.

As the weeks passed, she found herself falling in love with this ramshackle old place. ‘Do we have to build?’ she asked Stephen one day as they sat among the clutter of toys and bikes on the front veranda. ‘I really like this house.’

Stephen thought about the last time Cindy decided to build a new house, and how he’d poured the foundations to make a happy new life for her other family. ‘We could forget building and just renovate and extend this place,’ he said. And so the house plans were cancelled, and Cindy began to make plans for a big extension.

But life at Austin Street was about to get even more crowded. Barely a month after they’d moved, Stephen’s 13-year-old daughter Natasha phoned. She wanted to move in with him. ‘Dunno where we’re going to put her,’ Stephen told his sons. ‘But we’ll manage.’

Another bed was added to the boys’ room, and the little ones slept on cots alongside Cindy and Stephen. The house was now filled to overflowing.

Natasha duly arrived with her piles of clothes and CDs. Stephen’s bright, sassy girl made a welcome change to the dynamic in a house that had been brimming with footy boots and testosterone. Cindy, much to her surprise, was thrilled.

‘I love having another girl in my life,’ Cindy told me as she watched the lively Tash texting her friends and rousing up her brothers. Tash had the same wicked sense of humour that Cindy had once had, and Cindy found herself laughing at Tash’s acid comments. She’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh.

Tash breathed life into the old place as she painted her nails and cranked up her music. She talked nonstop, and Cindy loved it. In this breezy, chatty kid, Cindy had found an unexpected ally. Girl power felt pretty damned good after all these boys.

‘You’re spoiling her. It’s not fair!’ said Luke, feigning a grizzle. Secretly, Cindy thought the boys enjoyed having their sister around too.

Cindy showed the boys the piercing she’d had done on her wrist, enjoying their shock.

‘I persuaded her,’ Tash giggled. She surveyed her stepmother. ‘We’re having tats next,’ she announced.

Cindy smiled. ‘I just might do that,’ she said.