Atkinâs face. It meant the world to her. She had just turned one hundred â and while the body was failing, the mind was sharp. She told me she had been staying alive to meet Luke, and now that she had met him and seen how content I was, she could die a happy woman. To have been able to share time with Luke and her â it was so special.
The visit home was instrumental in reminding me the importance of family. For years now I had lived on the other side of the earth, building a surrogate family from friends, but this was the real deal. This hoary collection of misfits, in all their eccentric glory, were the people who would always be there for me. They were obliged to be by dint of being family.
We even brought Aunty Dorothy to visit Nanna Atkin. Aunty Dorothy had only recently had her leg amputated and was keen to show everyone her stump. And so, at various intervals during our visit, she would haul up her skirt and show it off.
âKeep your pants on, Aunty Dot!â came the cry from all assembled. She had no idea, of course. We were all in tears of laughter.
I came back to Australia with mixed emotions. Keen to get back and get on with my life, but sorry to have left the bosom of my family and painfully aware I might never see Nanna Atkin again.
Greg had been living at my property while I was away: feeding the goats and dogs, maintaining the yard. In return, he had a roof over his head and the use of my car. He had missed Luke terribly and wasnât in a great hurry to leave when we got back. I was okay with him having a day or two with us â it was nice to have a bit of help with Luke as I adjusted to the time change.
One afternoon I asked him to go to Bunnings to change something I had bought or, if not change it, try to get a credit note. He left, making all the right noises about doing what I had asked him, but returned an hour or so later having completely ignored my request. Annoyed that he had clearly decided my wishes were to be dismissed, I made some comment, reprimanding him. It was no big deal, to my mind, but my sense of exasperation was enough to trigger his anger.
I was sitting on the lounge room floor, spoon-feeding Luke in his bouncy chair, when suddenly Greg picked up a large clay urn, lifted it over his head and made to throw it at me. The next thing I knew, he was standing in front of me, enraged. He aimed a kick at my head. I closed my eyes, anticipating contact, but he pulled the kick back just in time.
I was in shock. Shaken and scared, I dared not move from the lounge, but sat, terrified heâd return. That was his first really aggressive gesture towards me. There was no physical violence per se â inasmuch as he didnât make physical contact â but the suggestion of violence was clear. He wanted to hurt me and had only just held himself back from doing so. I sat there shaking, doing my best not to lose it completely for fear it would upset Luke. And so began a cycle of threats and fear that would continue until the day Greg died.
10
Escalation
Luke was a contented baby. He slept and ate well, he loved the undivided attention I was able to heap on him when it was just the two of us and heâd grown to love crèche, where the staff lavished him with affection.
Luke was pretty easygoing as a toddler, too. I remember him having his first tantrum â if you could call it that â on his first birthday, just as he was learning to walk. My brother Terry took Lukeâs balloon off him and he burst into tears. It seemed that, as he learned to walk, he also learned how to have a meltdown to get his own way. It was a lesson he took to heart and would employ regularly in the ensuing years. In other words, he was just a normal kid.
*
After Gregâs recent display of aggression, I started devising strategies for managing his exposure to Luke and me, believing that if I just managed to make clear the boundaries in termsof acceptable behaviour, he
The visit home was instrumental in reminding me the importance of family. For years now I had lived on the other side of the earth, building a surrogate family from friends, but this was the real deal. This hoary collection of misfits, in all their eccentric glory, were the people who would always be there for me. They were obliged to be by dint of being family.
We even brought Aunty Dorothy to visit Nanna Atkin. Aunty Dorothy had only recently had her leg amputated and was keen to show everyone her stump. And so, at various intervals during our visit, she would haul up her skirt and show it off.
âKeep your pants on, Aunty Dot!â came the cry from all assembled. She had no idea, of course. We were all in tears of laughter.
I came back to Australia with mixed emotions. Keen to get back and get on with my life, but sorry to have left the bosom of my family and painfully aware I might never see Nanna Atkin again.
Greg had been living at my property while I was away: feeding the goats and dogs, maintaining the yard. In return, he had a roof over his head and the use of my car. He had missed Luke terribly and wasnât in a great hurry to leave when we got back. I was okay with him having a day or two with us â it was nice to have a bit of help with Luke as I adjusted to the time change.
One afternoon I asked him to go to Bunnings to change something I had bought or, if not change it, try to get a credit note. He left, making all the right noises about doing what I had asked him, but returned an hour or so later having completely ignored my request. Annoyed that he had clearly decided my wishes were to be dismissed, I made some comment, reprimanding him. It was no big deal, to my mind, but my sense of exasperation was enough to trigger his anger.
I was sitting on the lounge room floor, spoon-feeding Luke in his bouncy chair, when suddenly Greg picked up a large clay urn, lifted it over his head and made to throw it at me. The next thing I knew, he was standing in front of me, enraged. He aimed a kick at my head. I closed my eyes, anticipating contact, but he pulled the kick back just in time.
I was in shock. Shaken and scared, I dared not move from the lounge, but sat, terrified heâd return. That was his first really aggressive gesture towards me. There was no physical violence per se â inasmuch as he didnât make physical contact â but the suggestion of violence was clear. He wanted to hurt me and had only just held himself back from doing so. I sat there shaking, doing my best not to lose it completely for fear it would upset Luke. And so began a cycle of threats and fear that would continue until the day Greg died.
10
Escalation
Luke was a contented baby. He slept and ate well, he loved the undivided attention I was able to heap on him when it was just the two of us and heâd grown to love crèche, where the staff lavished him with affection.
Luke was pretty easygoing as a toddler, too. I remember him having his first tantrum â if you could call it that â on his first birthday, just as he was learning to walk. My brother Terry took Lukeâs balloon off him and he burst into tears. It seemed that, as he learned to walk, he also learned how to have a meltdown to get his own way. It was a lesson he took to heart and would employ regularly in the ensuing years. In other words, he was just a normal kid.
*
After Gregâs recent display of aggression, I started devising strategies for managing his exposure to Luke and me, believing that if I just managed to make clear the boundaries in termsof acceptable behaviour, he
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