‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She blinks. Shrugs as if to say, Why would I?
I sit for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Should I go back? No, not with the girls in the car. I’ll drop them off and then return home with the USB. It’ll be fine, I think. Now, everything will be fine.
*
‘Dad!’ I call through my open window when I pull into my parents’ driveway and see Dad in the front yard, pulling weeds. ‘Can you mind the girls for an hour or two?’
Without waiting for a response, I fling open the car doors and start getting the girls out.
‘Hi, sweetie.’ Dad stands upright. ‘Sure. Everything all right?’
‘Fine. It’s just . . . I have a meeting and Gabe isn’t feeling well. I won’t be long.’
‘Slow down, Pip,’ Dad says. ‘A meeting’s not worth giving yourself a heart attack.’
He gives the girls a high five and they disappear inside, probably looking for Freddo frogs.
‘I know. But it’s an important meeting. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I start to get into the car, but Dad stops me. ‘Pip, wait.’
‘What?’ I say impatiently.
Dad looks uncomfortable. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t been yourself these past weeks. And it’s not just me who thinks so. It’s Kat and Mei, and your mother. In fact, you seem an awful lot like the old Pippa that I thought we’d left behind in Melbourne.’
‘I’m fine.’ I squeeze the USB in my hand. ‘It’s just a bit hectic right now, Dad.’
‘Your life is often hectic,’ Dad says. ‘At least, it has been since you met Gabe.’
I almost laugh. There goes another family member, turning on Gabe.
‘Dad –’ I start, but he continues over the top of me.
‘Listen, Pip. I want you to know that while we love Gabe, we have grave doubts about his ability to be a loving and supportive partner to you. It’s just one thing after another with him, and you always end up hurt. He’s so volatile; we just don’t know what he’s capable of.’
He says it loudly and all in one burst, as if he doesn’t want to lose his nerve. It silences me.
We don’t know what he’s capable of.
But I do, I realise suddenly. I do know.
Gabe is planning to kill Max. The realisation hits me with blunt force. How else could he fix this, without the USB? Why else would he want us all out of the house?
I glance at my watch. It’s been half an hour. ‘I’m sorry, Dad – I have to go.’
I reverse the car out of the driveway and, with a screech of tyres, accelerate down the street.
I know what I have to do.
81
PIPPA
THEN
‘We believe that Gabe has bipolar disorder,’ Dr Sullivan said.
I was sitting in a vinyl armchair in a small room off Gabe’s ward. Gabe had been admitted as an inpatient to the psychiatric facility, after having what his new psychiatrist explained was a psychotic episode. Since then, he’d been sedated, poked, prodded and questioned. An endless trail of medical professionals had been in and out. I’d been by his side, or just outside his room, the whole time.
‘Bipolar?’ I said. ‘Gabe is bipolar?’
‘We believe so, yes.’
‘But what about the ADHD?’
‘A misdiagnosis,’ Dr Sullivan said. ‘Or, perhaps he has both – that’s not uncommon either. ADHD and bipolar disorder share many symptoms, but the delusions and paranoia and psychosis Gabe experienced are not associated with ADHD. And given the extended periods of mania he has experienced, I am confident bipolar is the correct diagnosis.’
It takes me a minute to digest this. ‘Do you think he’s had it his whole life?’
‘These days, most people are diagnosed in their teens or early twenties. But it can be missed. And it’s clear you’ve been propping him up for a long time, Pippa.’
A thought hits me, so strong and powerful it takes my breath away. ‘Our daughters! Will this . . . I mean, is it hereditary?’
‘There is a genetic link. If one parent has bipolar disorder, we see an increased risk of it in a child. If both parents have it, the chances increase again. But many children of bipolar parents do not have the disorder. My advice would be to keep an eye on your daughters and have them assessed if you have any concerns.’
Of course I was thinking of Asha. She was her father’s daughter. And as it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that her biological mother might also have had bipolar, or another mental illness, I’d be keeping a very close eye on her.
‘The good news is that, with medication and therapy, the prognosis is good. Especially as he has such wonderful family support. I have every confidence that he will lead a full and productive life, Pippa.’
I latched onto this. Clung to it. Perhaps stupidly, after everything that had happened, I felt hopeful. Now that he was receiving proper treatment, I told myself, I’d have Gabe back. The real Gabe.
‘Let’s start again, Gabe,’ I said, a couple of weeks later. I’d spent much of that time at Gabe’s side, learning as much about bipolar disorder as I could.
Gabe was still in the hospital, but the new medication was starting to take effect, and I could see glimpses of the old him. Now that he had been diagnosed, life would get better, I was sure of it. And a fresh start would help him along.
‘We could move out of the city – maybe down the coast? You can have some time off and take care of the girls, and I can grow my client list like I’ve been meaning to.’
We started looking at homes right then and there on our phones. Only a few days later, we fell in love with the cliff house.
There was still the matter of what happened between Max and me. It bounced around in the back of my mind constantly, a bizarre little flashback that felt like a dream. It was the kind of thing that, under the circumstances, I could have kept to myself. We were moving away, starting again. Max was unlikely to mention it. Besides, nothing even happened. Max stopped it before it started.
And yet.
I was surprised to realise there was a part of me that wanted to hurt Gabe. While I accepted that he’d been unwell, it didn’t change the fact that he’d hurt and betrayed me. For my own self-respect, it felt important to even the score. Then I could put everything behind us, for good.
So, while he lay in the hospital bed, I told Gabe what had happened in Max’s office. Except this version had a different ending.
82
PIPPA
NOW
The house is quiet. I race from room to room, throwing open the doors, as if expecting to find Max and Gabe sitting in a bedroom together, but they are nowhere to be found. I’m about to lose hope when, through the back sliding door, I see them outside.
They are standing at The Drop, close to the edge – precariously so. Just as on the day of Amanda’s death, the wind is wild. Both men stand unnaturally tall, their legs wide, their shoulders back. Max has his back to the cliff, Gabe faces it.
I throw open the door. ‘Hey!’ I shout, loud enough for my voice to carry through the wind.
They both turn to look. The colour drains from Gabe’s face.
‘Pippa, go inside,’ he says as I make my way across the lawn and let myself out the gate.