Annabel is in Daniel’s room when there’s a loud knock on the front door. She has been checking his drawers and other potential hiding places. She doesn’t exactly know what she’s looking for: syringes, suspicious-looking tablets or maybe another bong? She can’t find anything. She suspects it’s because he’s become better at hiding the evidence.
She hurries down the stairs and whips open the door, expecting it to be a parcel delivery or perhaps a neighbour. Instead she finds two police officers standing on her doorstep.
‘Mrs Harris?’
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Is it Daniel? She can’t bring herself to ask. She’s not brave enough. He should be at school – it’s not yet lunchtime – but that’s no guarantee of anything these days. One of the officers is female and the other male. They don’t look much older than Jemma.
‘Mrs Harris?’ the female checks again.
‘Yes. Please tell me what’s happened.’ Resignation underscores the panic in her voice.
‘I’m Constable Jaegar and this is Constable Walsh ... It’s about your husband.’
Annabel is momentarily stunned. She was so sure it was Daniel. Now her brain is scrambling, struggling to change direction. Jarrod? How can it be Jarrod? Her mouth is open but no words are coming out. Has Jarrod been in an accident in the van? Or had an electric shock from some dodgy wiring? It wouldn’t be the first time.
‘Your husband has been in an altercation.’ The constable’s voice is both soft and grave. ‘He’s been taken to Northern Beaches Hospital. He’s in a serious condition.’
Serious condition: does that mean his life is at risk? No, they would say ‘critical condition’ if that was the case, wouldn’t they? But what does ‘serious’ actually mean? Does he have broken bones? Is he conscious? And what does the police officer mean by an ‘altercation’? Has Jarrod hit someone, been in a fight?
Annabel can’t think straight. She has so many questions to ask and yet all that comes out of her mouth is, ‘Oh my God.’
Think. Think. The hospital. She must go there. Handbag and car keys.
‘We can drive you to the hospital, Mrs Harris,’ the female offers gently. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock.’
It’s tempting. But how will she get back in time for school pick-up if she doesn’t have the car? After school there’s ballet, and after that music lessons. Then it hits her. Jarrod’s in a serious condition. There will be no school pick-up or music or ballet lessons today.
‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice cracking. ‘I just need a minute to get my stuff.’
She runs into the rear of the house, looks around wildly, before spotting her handbag on the floor. She picks it up, flies out to the hall, only to remember that the back door needs locking. Then realises she has no shoes on. And that her phone is upstairs in Daniel’s room. With each delay, she becomes more and more frantic.
Finally, she’s in the back of the police car and they’re on the way. She takes deep breaths and tries to clear her head. She texts one of the school mums to see if she can help with Mia after school. Then she texts Daniel to let him know the house will be empty when he gets home. It’s a struggle to find the right words. She doesn’t want to unduly alarm him. He’s erratic enough as it is.
Dad is in hospital. I am on my way there now. Try not to worry. I’ll text you when I have news.
Now Jemma. Her timetable is patchy; there’s a good chance she’ll be able to answer her phone. Annabel visualises her oldest daughter, walking through the university campus, wearing one of those long flowy skirts she favours. Jemma doesn’t answer and Annabel resorts to another text, with slightly more detail than the one to Daniel.
Jarrod’s parents are next on the list. His father, Bernard, is distraught and has a thousand questions she can’t answer. Was it an argument about money owing for a job? Has someone been charged by the police?
Annabel is still talking to Bernard when they pull up outside the hospital.
‘Look, we’re here now ... I’ll phone you back when I find out what’s going on.’
Accident and Emergency has a handful of waiting people and a sleepy air. Maybe this is the aftermath of a busy period, a lull before everything becomes hectic again.
‘You’ll need to report to the triage desk,’ the female police officer says. Her colleague has stayed in the car. ‘We’ll be back in touch when Jarrod is able to talk and tell us what happened.’
She departs before Annabel has the chance to thank her for her kindness.
Annabel is required to fill in some paperwork at the desk. Her handwriting is all over the place. Her trembling fingers struggle to extract her Medicare and health insurance cards from her wallet. Her phone rings as the triage nurse takes her through to the treatment rooms.
‘We discourage the use of phones in this part of the hospital,’ the nurse says kindly.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbles, turning the phone off. ‘It’s my daughter. She’ll be beside herself.’
‘Things like this are hard on the kids,’ the nurse concurs.
Another image of Jemma, her face creased with worry, tears threatening her clear grey eyes. Then Daniel, vulnerability breaking through his façade of loathing. Finally, Mia. Sitting dreamily in class, doodling in her book instead of listening to the teacher. Sweet Mia. Daddy’s girl. She’ll be hit the hardest.
The nurse has stopped at one of the curtained cubicles. There’s a gap for them to walk through and Annabel sees another nurse bending over the patient in the bed, shielding him from view.
‘This is Annabel, Jarrod’s wife,’ the triage nurse announces to her colleague. Then she squeezes Annabel’s shoulder. ‘Good luck.’
Annabel will never forget that first view of her husband. The dark swollen eyelids. The puffed-up lips, leading her to suspect that he has lost some teeth. The left side of his head, where the hair is matted with blood. But the worst thing by far is his utter lack of response. He does not lift or turn his head on her arrival. He does not smile or grimace or do anything that Jarrod would normally do by way of greeting. He could be dead.
‘Oh my God.’ Annabel can feel her legs going from under her. ‘Oh my God. What have they done to you?’
The A&E nurse catches her and guides her to the visitor’s seat. ‘Here, take the weight off your feet. Deep breaths now. Deep breaths. That’s it, love ...’ She has a northern English accent and a capable air. ‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it? I bet you’ve seen him look a lot better than this.’
The deep breathing works. Annabel comes back to herself. The nurse’s face is close to her own. Concerned. Kind.
‘Was he unconscious when he came in?’
She nods. ‘There’s some swelling on the brain that we’re concerned about.’
Swelling on the brain. What does that actually mean? What’s the bottom line here? How is she to summarise this for Jemma, Daniel, Mia, Jarrod’s parents and everyone else?
‘Is my husband going to be okay? Is he going to wake up? Will he be the same when he wakes up?’
‘His vital signs are positive. Heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, all good ... He has some fractures on his face and the left eye socket, but it’s mainly the swelling we’re worried about. A small bleed showed up on the MRI. We’re moving him to ICU shortly and he’ll be monitored very carefully. Dr Chan will come and see you. He’ll be able to tell you more than me.’
Annabel takes another despairing look at her husband, his bloody distorted face, his lifeless form under the blankets, the tubes and various machines he has been connected to. The nurse goes back to what she was doing when Annabel came in. Rolling back his eyelids. Shining a torch into his eyes. Checking his pupils? Annabel scrapes her seat closer. Leans across to take his limp hand in hers. There’s blood creased on the skin of his hand and underneath his fingernails. She can only assume it’s his own blood, not someone else’s.
‘Who did this to you?’ she whispers. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’