Chapter Two
Hannah
We arrive at the shelter on the western side of Melbourne, conveniently located opposite the police station. Amanda glances uncertainly at me when she sees the cop cars, but I assure her everything will be fine and help her inside. She’s still high—on what I’m not exactly sure—but I’m confident she doesn’t have anything on her. The woman who runs the shelter is amazing, but she has a zero tolerance when it comes to drugs being on the premises.
“Well, look who it is.”
I look up and smile at Sally, who stands in the doorway, grinning widely. Sally is one of the best women I know. She’s devoted her life to helping women escape from violent situations since she broke the cycle herself nearly fifteen years ago. I’ve never met anyone with such dedication and passion for their job. Well, except maybe for me.
“Sally, this is Amanda and her daughter, Anna. They need somewhere to stay for a few days until I can sort out a more permanent arrangement if that’s okay?”
“Of course it is. I’ll take good care of the both of you.” Sally kicks into mother mode right away, putting her arm around Amanda and pulling her into a hug. “How about we set you up in a room and you can have a shower and change your clothes?”
“I didn’t pack anything,” Amanda mumbles, her hands fidgeting in front of her. Sweat pours from her skin as her eyes dart around nervously. “Is Malcom okay? Can I see him?”
I groan internally, assuming Malcom is the boyfriend. With any luck, I knocked him out permanently.
“I can find that out for you, honey,” Sally assures her, patting her hair. “And it’s a good thing we’re well stocked for clothes here, then isn’t it? What are you, a six?” Amanda nods, her dark eyes unsure. “Come with me and we will find something for you.”
Sally winks over her shoulder at me and ushers Amanda out of the room, leaving me alone with Anna. The little girl stands against the wall, her arms pulled tightly around her chest. She stares at the floor, wide-eyed and terrified, wanting nothing to do with me.
“Do you remember me, Anna? I’m Hannah, the social worker?” I crouch down beside her. “Hannah, Anna. Hey, we’re nearly twins.”
She frowns at me, making me regret my attempt at humour. I hold out my hand, but she shies away. I don’t push her. Instead, I give her the space she needs so I can try and build up her trust again. Last time, she at least spoke to me. I promised her I would help her, and I didn’t. I broke that little girls trust, so it’s no wonder she won’t acknowledge me.
She probably thinks I’m the enemy, because I don’t doubt that when they went back there, things got worse. I did everything in my power to keep her from going back into that environment, but the system tries to keep kids with their families as much as possible. That’s great and all, but sometimes home isn’t the safest place. It sucks when you can see how something is going to end, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.
“How are you feeling, Anna? You’re safe here, okay? Sally will take good care of you and your mum, and if you need anything, you can call me anytime.” I fish my card out of my pocket and hand it to her. She takes it, scrunching it up in her hand, still not uttering a word. She frowns, her brown eyes focusing on anything but me.
“Let’s go find your mum, hey?” I say, wishing I could do more to help her.
She gets to her feet and walks over to me, careful not to get too close. She’s so scared that I want to wrap my arms around her and comfort her. I glance at her arms and study the healed scars just above her wrists. They weren’t there last time. There were no signs of physical abuse last time, which was one of the deciding factors in sending her back home. My heart aches, because I know exactly what they are. Cigarette burns. Next time she might not be so lucky. I can’t let this little girl go back there.
We find Amanda settling into their room down at the end of the hallway on the first floor of the shelter. It’s a modest room, with a single bed and only a mattress on the floor for Anna, but it’s clean and safe, which is probably more than they’re used to. Amanda gazes out the window, her expression blank. I sit down next to her on the bed. She looks over at me, confused, and then the pain sets in. My hands clench into fists, because I know she’s thinking about him. I force myself to stay calm, even though all I want to do is shake some sense into her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. I sit down next to her. She shrugs and manages a smile, but it’s an empty response. She still looks dazed, but after a shower, she at least looks more comfortable.
“Pretty useless to be honest,” she mumbles, her words barely coherent. “I’m sorry to put you through this again. I’m really trying but I just can’t get away from him. I know that I need to, but it’s just ...” She shakes her head, dissolving into tears. “I love him.”
“Amanda, something has to change, or you’re at risk of losing her,” I say. This is the third time in the last two months that I’ve been called out to their house. I’ve tried being understanding and I’ve tried being her friend. The only thing left is for me to be blunt, because nothing else seems to be getting through to her. Hopefully the risk of losing her daughter will make her see how serious this is. “I can’t let her go back home while you’re still with him.”
“I know. This time will be different. I promise,” she pleads with me. I take her hand and smile to hide my uncertainty. More than anything, I wish I believed that.
“Okay,” is all I say. “But you need to show me. It’s not enough for you to promise me, Amanda. I need to see it. I can help you with housing, and I can get you some counselling. A job, even, but I can’t help you unless you want me to.”
“And I do. Please don’t give up on me, Hannah,” she whispers, her grip on my hand tightening. Her eyes flash with something I haven’t seen before. Determination. Maybe she actually means it this time. “I really need you on my side.”
“I’m here for you for as long as you need me,” I soothe her. “It’s going to be okay. You can get through this.” I stand up and touch her hair. “You get some sleep, and we can talk more tomorrow, okay?”
She nods, a tear rolling down her cheek. Her hand slips out from mine, and she lowers her head. I hesitate, wondering if I should stay a little longer, but then she lies down on the bed and gazes out the window.
She needs rest, and so do I.
I leave her bed and walk toward the door, glancing over to check on Anna. She’s already asleep, curled up on the mattress, blankets tucking her in. My heart pangs. She’s been through so much. Yawning, I sneak out of the room. I’m exhausted. It’s been such a long day and it doesn’t end here. I have so much paperwork to do when I do finally get home that I will be up half the night anyway.
“Thanks for everything,” I say to Sally as I walk out of the shelter. I know I’m leaving them in capable hands. “Call me if you need me. You have my number, right?”
“We will be fine,” she says, followed with her trademark, low, husky chuckle. “Now, go home and relax, Hannah. You do too much.”
I laugh. “I was born to do too much, Sally. You know me. I couldn’t switch my brain off if my life depended on it.”
It’s nearly ten when I finally arrive home. I walk into the kitchen and grab a yogurt from the fridge and consider that dinner because I can’t be fucked cooking anything. I pour myself a glass of red wine, then carry it over to the sofa. I collapse into the cushions and flick on the television, almost in a trance. My brain is fried. I can’t face doing paperwork I know I should be doing it, so I decide the best thing to do is get up early and do it before I go in.
I’d love nothing more than to fall into bed, but I’m too wound up to sleep. I pick up my phone, remembering there were a couple of messages
The next message is from Tully, asking me why I haven’t messaged Mum back. I let out a laugh, because even when I try to get away, I can’t. Mum would’ve been hassling Tully all day if she couldn’t reach me, and Tully would’ve hated it, because I always deal with Mum’s episodes, not her.
Sighing, I lie back and close my eyes. I feel like I’m locked in a world that I can’t escape. Everything I do is with my mother in mind, because I never know how she’s going to react. Mental illness is a shit of a thing. It consumes your whole life. If I miss a phone call, she will panic. If I miss one of our weekly dinners, it’s the end of the world. I get it. I really do. But sometimes I just want to break free and do my own thing and not have to worry about anyone else.
I resent Tully, because she’s managed to do what I couldn’t. Pull away. It’s not fair that she gets to live her life without worrying about Mum twenty-four hours a day. She gets to put in her weekly phone call, and that’s it, where I’m stuck to pick up the pieces whenever things fall apart—which is often.
It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, my mother was an independent, strong woman who I admired and looked up to. I’d watch her with my father and want what they had; unconditional love—together through thick and thin. They made me believe that forever was possible. But forever stopped being possible after Cecily was assaulted.
In the beginning, the change in their relationship was slow. It was just little things, like they stopped their weekly dates, and the kisses and I love yous before bed became less frequent. What happened to Cecily affected all of us very deeply, and my parents struggled to cope with who was to blame. The what ifs got out of control and started coming between them. Mum’s sole focus became Cecily, which was hard for everyone else in the family to deal with.
After she died, I knew that things were never going to be okay. Mum could barely cope with knowing that Cecily had been raped. When she killed herself, she might as well have taken Mum with her; that’s how bad things were. She pushed Dad until he broke, and then he was gone too. In an instant, my whole family had been ripped apart, and I was left to pick up the pieces.
I think about the way life is and wonder how it would’ve been different if none of that had happened. Would my relationship with Mum be different if Cecily hadn’t killed herself? Would my father still be alive today? Thinking about the past drags up so many memories and so many emotions that I’m not ready to feel. God, Cecily. I miss her and my father every day, but sometimes I blame her for everything.
There are moments I truly hate her for what she did to herself, and then the guilt sets in. None of this was her fault, so what right do I have to hate her for taking the only option she thought she had? It was our fault for not seeing the signs, and it was Declan’s fault for doing what he did. She didn’t kill herself to spite me or to get back at anyone. She did it because she felt trapped, like there was no other way out. Who am I to judge her for that?
Sometimes it just hurts so much, and I have to direct my anger somewhere. What kind of person am I that I could hate her for things so out of her control? I have to live with being the kind of selfish, heartless person who could feel that level of hate for someone they’re supposed to love.
Angry, I toss my phone onto the couch and pick up the TV remote. I stumble through the channels until I find a chick flick that I’ve seen a thousand times before. It’s perfect after-work viewing, because I don’t need to think about anything. I can just sit back, drink my wine, and turn off my brain.
Of course, it doesn’t work, and less than five minutes in, I find my mind wandering to Amanda and Anna. A pit forms in my stomach. How long is it going to be before something happens? It’s so hard to switch off when you’re dealing with situations of life and death. It’s hard to leave that kind of thing at work and then come home and forget. The world is painful and people do shitty things. I can’t deal with that all day and then come home and paint rainbows on my wall.
I do what I do because I want to help, and a side effect of wanting to help is feeling bad when I’m not helping. In my line of work, I’m not helping eighty percent of the time, and that’s hard to deal with sometimes.
I’m giving up on today. Chugging back the rest of my wine, I shut off the TV and go to bed. I don’t even bother undressing. Instead, I just dive under the covers and bury my head under the pillows, like I used to do when I was little and wanted to forget. I’m so exhausted that literally only a few minutes pass, and I’m out like a light.