A Mother's Story (13 page)

Signed, Rosemary Ann Batty

Dated: Saturday, 19 August 2006

England for me was a refuge, a place where everything was frozen in time and where I was permanently in my carefree early twenties. It was the place to which I could retreat whenever my alternate universe in Australia was spiralling out of control.

It was also my ‘get-out' clause, the back-up life I had in reserve, to be invoked whenever the Australian experiment fell in a heap – even if the romantic notions I had of my homeland rarely stood up to scrutiny.

So, determined to give myself a break after a rubbish couple of months, I bundled Luke onto a plane and headed home for Christmas in 2006. The plan was to relax in the bosom of family, take stock of my life and regroup. More than that, it would be a chance to celebrate that most family-oriented of holidays with the people in the world who meant the most to me.

On the flight over, I whipped myself into a state of anticipation: Christmas with my family and a chance for Luke to better get to know his English relatives. I couldn't have been more excited.

Of course, the reality didn't quite match the fantasy. We arrived to leaden skies and a cold that seemed to permeate every layer of clothing we owned, such a contrast to the summer we'd left behind. Far from home, removed from his routine and at an awkward age, Luke clung to me like a limpet. My parents made an effort to draw him out, but it only served to push him further into his shell. Not surprisingly, there seemed to be a chasm between both parties that neither knew how to broach – leaving me with the job of mediator.

In my romantic imagination, Luke would have had the same close relationship with Dad and Josephine that I'd had with Nanna Atkin. I wanted him to enjoy the same easy intimacy with his grandparents as I had seen other kids his age back in Australia enjoy with their grandparents. Of course, the crucial element to those other relationships was that all parties were in Australia. They weren't separated by 16,000 kilometres.

Naturally, the distance that separated us also had an impact on the bond between my parents and me. I hadn't told Dad and Josephine about the finer details of my relationship with Greg – they knew many things but not everything. They knew, in a vague sense, that Greg and I were estranged and that things were complicated between us, but they had no sense of the extent of his violence towards me. I just didn't think there was anything to be gained by upsetting them with details about a situation I felt they could do nothing about. I was too far away for them to be of any practical use, and I suppose I was too proud to admit I wasn't able to handle it on my own.

If I am honest, there was also an element of embarrassment that I had gotten myself into this situation. While it was not my fault that Greg had mental issues, I could almost hear the approbation that would be forthcoming from a father or
stepmother extremely concerned that the state of my domestic affairs had gotten so dire, and frustrated that they were not in a position to do anything about it.

The England of my imagination was a familial paradise that would solve all my problems. But the reality was something different. Now I had to banish that fantasy and readjust my expectations. I felt very alone on the plane trip home to Australia.

*

In January 2007, Luke bounded off to his first day of school. Tyabb Public School is a lowset collection of buildings nestled in a grove of gum trees on the main Mornington–Tyabb Road. Typical of primary schools in semi-rural areas, its students come from a broad cross-section of the local community. In the area live young families, retirees and professionals who either make the daily commute into Melbourne or Frankston or are among the growing ranks of telecommuters: people who had moved into the area for a tree change, thanks to technology allowing them to largely work from home.

I had always been hyper-aware that I was raising an only child and went out of my way to ensure Luke was at least as socialised as any other kid his age. My friend Leonie had two boys who thought of him as a younger brother and would co-opt him into whatever rough and tumble they were up to whenever we visited them in Adelaide. I would watch on tentatively with a mixture of concern and relief as he was initiated into the rough play that young boys love so much. There were often tears – and they were most commonly Luke's – but to my mind it was important that he learn what it was like to have to hold his own in a big family dynamic.

It was a desire only underscored by the fact that I knew I spoiled him. Mothers – or at least most of them – are always feeling guilty, convinced they are doing something to stuff up the development of their children. I was all but certain that I was not nearly disciplined enough with him – letting him sleep in my bed, perhaps not being as strict with bedtimes and diet and routine as I ought to have been. I always figured it was better to be raising a happy child than a harangued one. And I was a great believer in picking my battles. There were some things – such as politeness to adults, basic social skills, using manners and knowing wrong from right – that were fundamental. These were things we drilled all the time, and I was always proud of the way Luke conducted himself in the company of adults. The other things, I figured, we would work out as we went along. There were only so many hours in the day, and I only had the energy for so much push-back and nagging in any given twenty-four hours. Like every other mother, all I could do for the most part was muddle through and hope for the best.

On that first day of school, I was a basket case of mixed emotions, like every mother on that day. There was relief that I had managed to get him safely to the point where he would be making his schoolyard debut. Somehow we had navigated the myriad health crises and other pitfalls that are a hallmark of every toddlers' years, and here I was about to launch on the world a little human being. There was also sadness at that early period of our lives being over. On some level I had known for years that I was not going to have any more children, but sending Luke to school seemed to close that door with a thud – and it hit me hard. And, of course, there was anxiousness. Would he be okay? Would he find the toilets? Would he have a nice teacher? And – crucially – would he be quick to make friends?

I remember watching him walk into his classroom, his spindly legs barely able to hold up his oversized backpack, and I wanted to bundle him up, take him home and put off this big-wide-world stuff for another year.

As it happened, Luke thrived at school. Having been exposed for so many years to the childcare environment, he didn't appear to suffer from the separation anxiety experienced by many other kids starting school, and soon he'd made a tight-knit group of friends.

*

Since we'd come home from England, visitors had been scarce. I began to reflect on how difficult it can be, sometimes, for a single parent to insert themselves into the life of a community. Quite apart from the fact you have no one to share parenting duties with, you're rarely at the top of barbecue or dinner party invitation lists because, well, a single parent can make for a vaguely awkward social dynamic. Being a single working mum meant there was precious little time for me to forge friendships at the daycare drop-off or, later, at the school gates. It also meant friendships that might have been forged while studying for my diploma at college had to be abandoned before they'd even had a chance to develop. There was no time for coffee after class or a meet-up for a cheeky Thai when a child was waiting to be collected and whisked home for dinner, bath and bed.

One morning I was out in the back paddock shovelling pooh, thinking how my old world didn't have a place for me, and my new world didn't have a place for me either. I figured I could either let this sense of vulnerability overwhelm me or I could do something about it. So I resolved to sort out my life. And the first
thing I needed to get me out of my slump was someone to ease my loneliness.

I put hours into the creation of my profile on the dating website RSVP. I had heard the horror stories, how it was a hunting ground for middle-aged Lotharios and, worse, confidence tricksters determined to prey on lonely women and fleece them of their life savings. It's safe to say I dipped my toe very tentatively into the online dating scene, zealously screening any overtures that were made and only responding to those who met strict criteria.

David was one of the men who made contact with me early on in and, initially, I was careful about giving anything of myself away. We met for coffee half a dozen times before we went on a proper date. He lived in Mornington – which was only a twenty-minute drive from Tyabb – so I would squeeze in our rendezvous for the afternoons and evenings when Greg had Luke.

David was really respectful, very well-presented and a great conversationalist. We had lots in common, sharing views and values. I saw him with his children and liked how he was with both them and his ex-partner. He was an excellent cook who loved food and wine. In many respects, I had never had a partner who was so compatible. I was in my mid-forties, and I was learning for the first time how companionable someone could be.

And so I eased myself into a relationship with David, always convinced at the back of my mind that it would never last. While David was all about making plans for our future together, I found it hard to plan for anything further away than a month, because I feared that he was too good for me. He was good-looking, kind and funny and had a good job. He was everything I had ever wanted in a partner, but surely I didn't deserve that. Did I?

I worried that, once the first flush of a new relationship had worn off, he would get to know me better and become bored. It never once occurred to me that he was lucky to be with me. It was simply a question of what I felt I deserved, and what I had come to expect from life. The dark cloud of Greg had hovered above me for so long, and his relentless chipping away at my self-esteem had done its work. Thanks to Greg, I felt worthless and incapable of being interesting to someone like David.

I didn't explain to David the full extent of the Greg story, fearing it would be enough to turn him off me. I also did my best to shield him from Greg. As night followed day, I knew what Greg's reaction was going to be when he discovered I was seeing someone new. Sure enough, the first time David stayed at my place in Tyabb, Greg brought Luke home earlier than we had agreed upon. I did my best to keep Greg at the front door and take Luke into the house, but he soon twigged that I had company. And the obscenities started to flow.

‘You open your legs to anyone!' he shouted. ‘You're a whore!

Where's your self-respect?'

I just wanted him to go away. I wasn't in the mood for a stand-up fight so I simply bore the brunt of the abuse, tried to calm him and sent him on his way.

Returning to the house, I was certain I would find David packing his bags and making to leave. He was shocked, but wasn't about to abandon me.

Later, after the dust had settled and he'd had time to process it all, he said, ‘I can't believe you let him speak to you like that.'

‘What did you want me to do?' I replied defensively. Despite being the victim, I was once again being made to feel I was to blame. ‘I just wanted him to go.'

Months passed, and despite the spectre of Greg hanging over us, David stayed – and stayed. With each week that passed, I felt less like I was going to be abandoned, and so I allowed myself to feel vulnerable with him. It was such an enormous relief to be with someone and not feel I had to be on my guard every moment we were together. I felt safe in David's presence. Safe and nurtured. I felt for the first time in a long time that I could breathe.

David and Luke got on well too – at least, as well as a five-year-old and a fifty-year-old man who was not his father could get on. They were never going to be best mates, but David never sought to parent Luke and, as a result, Luke was happy to take him on his own terms. Besides, Luke was an intuitive kid. If he saw that David made me happy, that was enough for him.

And so began roughly five years of relative calm in my life. As contemptuous as Greg was of David, he tended to keep his distance. His visits to collect Luke for the weekend never faltered and for a period it seemed a routine was working. Greg was living in Caulfield in a hostel, but with his own space. He was living on Centrelink benefits, unable to find or hold down a steady job.

Because I had David in my life, and was no longer isolated and vulnerable, the harassment just about stopped. The vile text messages reduced to a dribble, the threatening phone calls all but ceased and Greg's tendency to show up and invite himself onto my property abated. The only real control he was able to exert over me was the extent to which he made my life difficult when it came to managing our respective time with Luke.

Greg knew, as he had known for years, that the easiest way to screw up my life was to tinker with the arrangements we had in place over the shared custody of Luke. A little shift in plans here, a little adjustment of agreed procedure there, always subtle but
executed with laser-like focus. It was the old unilateral shifting of goalposts because he knew how much it could impact on me. Except now, with David in the frame, it wasn't just me who was affected.

‘Why do you let him do that?' David would demand to know with increasing levels of frustration. ‘He's doing it to mess with you, you know that?'

Of course I knew that. But what would he have me do?

One day, David and I had tickets to go and see St Kilda play footy. The plan was to drop Luke at Caulfield on our way to the game. Greg knew we had football tickets and were on a timetable. Which was just perfect as far as he was concerned.

I made sure that we arrived at Caulfield at the agreed time because Greg had zero tolerance for me being late for a drop-off or pick-up. He had been known to leave a pre-arranged meeting point in a fit of pique if I was even a minute late, requiring me to go out of my way to find him and Luke. As a result, I was always five minutes early for our rendezvous. And if I was going to be late, I would always phone ahead. It was a complete double standard, and yet more evidence of his obsession with exerting power and control over me.