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GAIL HAYWARD
Paul Hayward, 26, is one
of three Australians held
in a Bangkok jail on
drug-trafficking charges.
In Sydney, Gail Hayward
waits and worries ...
"I still can't believe what has happened
," said Gail Hayward, de
facto wife of Newtown (Sydney)
Rugby League footballer Paul Hayward.
Paul, with fellow Australians Warren
Fellows, a hairdresser, and William
Sinclair, Bangkok-based bar owner, has
been arrested in Bangkok. The three are
charged with attempting to smuggle out
of Thailand 8.4 kilograms of heroin,
estimated to bring $3 million on the
Australian market.
Thailand is so far away, so out of
Gail's world. She told me, with a look of
such innocence, as though moving in a
dream, "I don't care if he's guilty or not
guilty. I want him back.
"I'm so used to having him here. I
always knew where he was when I
needed him." Her eyes filled with tears
but she did not sob. She has her own
dignity and flicked the tears away as they
fell.
When 24-year-old Gail drove Paul to
the airport on a public holiday early in
October, she was seeing him off, as she
had done the previous year, to the
United States for a tour of the West
Coast with the Newtown Rugby League
club's first grade football team.
At 6 am on Thursday October 12, Gail
was woken by the telephone, lt was a
sister-in-law. And while they were
speaking, a brother of Paul's was
banging on the front door. The news
they brought her was astounding. Paul
had been arrested and was in jail in
Bangkok for a serious drug offence -
the possession of heroin.
"lt didn't hit me for hours," she said.
"I heard it myself on the radio after that.
I rang a number in Canberra, a foreign
affairs man. He couldn't tell me anything
I hadn't heard already. Nobody has told
me anything officially."
Gail heard the rumours, read the
papers, listened to the radio and
watched TV. She felt desperately alone,
desperately unable to handle the extra-
ordinary situation.
She was and is closed in a vacuum -
quite unable to comprehend the long
term possibilities or even how to get
through each day. This crisis was not
happening to a stranger. The father of
none Help
Paul and Gail Hayward. She heard the rumours, listened to the radio news.
Right: Gail with the children, Kelly, who is nearly three, and Bradley, six.
her two kids was suddenly swept into
another world, beyond her reach.
She says that she and Paul never
discussed drugs. He knew "one or two
people who did it," but it was nothing to
her and Paul.
"I've never had a policeman knock on
my door," she said. "If I did I'd be scared
because I wouldn't know what he was
there for."
She is haunted by fear of the future -
dreading that Paul may meet trouble in
Australia when he finally returns, apart
from anything he may face in Thailand.
Her worry is not knowing - while caring
so much for Paul and their kids.
As we talk she turns to the children,
offers them cool drinks, quiets them and
sends them into the garden to play.
"Bradley is six and he asks for his
father all the time. He's his father's boy.
Often when I'm shopping people
recognize him and come up and talk to
Paul's boy. He took him everywhere.
"Kelly will be three in December.
She's whining a lot. She must sense
something is wrong."
Gail, who is expecting a baby in April,
says none of her children were planned
. . . "But Paul and I, we always wanted
a big family. I took Bradley out of school.
He's so proud of his father and the
teacher said there were a couple of boys
who might cause trouble."
The sitting-room in Paul and Gail's
house is comfortable, with a shaggy
white carpet, a white colour TV set,
hi-fi with stacks of pop records, an
ornate carved chess set for decoration
easy chairs in browns and, above the
fireplace, a big framed print of a pretty
girl, all summery and innocent.
"Since Bradley was born we've never
been without," Gail says. "Paul didn't
like to be in debt at all. He'd save and
have cash before he bought anything."
She pauses, wanting to be strictly
truthful, and adds: "We might owe $100
on the washing machine, but he paid for
my car with rugby money. I've only had
my driving licence a few weeks." She
says this with such relief that you realize
this new-found bit of independence
means a lot to her now.
She goes into the kitchen to make
coffee. You can see she is houseproud.
She says she irons everything, even the
drip-dries from the tumble drier. She
shows me the huge, impressive trophies
Paul has won and finds dust on them.
"lt's funny," she says, "if these were
Bradley's I'd spend all day dusting them,
but Paul has so many and trophies didn't
mean much to him."
She says she is not interested ii
league and never has been. She used to
watch Paul play until the children were
born. "But he trains now, three nights a
week, so when he plays a match he hasa
night out with the boys afterwards. He
deserves that."
Gail walks through the house, Past
the pretty, all-brown bathroom; Past
Kelly's room with its matching curtains
and bedspread, a doll's pram parked
beside the doll's cot; past Bradley's

The girl who waits...

none Help

room, all green and boyish with a
bouncy yellow plastic bean-bag chair,
and her room, hers and Paul's.

"I knew Paul when I was 14 and still in
school," she tells me. "We met at
Central, a disco in the city. I was there
with my older sister Maureen and
friends. I don't remember any impression
he made on me. But we started dating,
not in any permanent way. I was living
with my Mum when Bradley was born
and Paul was with an aunt. Then we
rented a house of our own in St Peters.
Perhaps we should have bought our

own house sooner. . .

"I was a nagger when we were first

together. He'd tell me lies then and I'd
find out. So I learned not to ask
questions. He had some mates I didn't
like, single boys who'd say 'Do you want
to go here, do you want to go there?'

Then some friend would tell me she'd
seen Paul and I'd get cranky.

"He used to be a punter in those
days. He was a driver during the day, you
know - delivery vans. But then he began
working for a bookie. He saw people
lose badly, lose everything, and he gave
it all up.

"He's been plagued with injuries
recently. Last year he broke his thumb
and this year he had a torn ligament in

his groin. He had to go to
physiotherapists, saunas and so on, and
he kept thinking he was all right, then
find out he wasn't and get depressed."

Gail says the only real arguments they
had were about the kids. She would be
strict and say the children couldn't have
something and Paul would give it.

"He wanted them to have everything
he never had," she said. "First .he
wanted the house, then the two cars and
he wanted to put in a swimming-pool,
but I didn't. Both the kids are far too
small and it's dangerous. I won't say
Paul was the perfect father - we didn't
go for picnics and things - but I will say

he loves his children."

Gail says she has often thought about
getting married, "especially since
this has happened . . . But one of my

sisters married and she's divorced. And
my parents were divorced about three
years ago. We were able to buy this
house in both our names. Getting
married only seems to be signing a piece
of paper . . . Paul was a real runabout
when he was a kid. At eight years old he
was running around in the city at
midnight. He keeps saying 'When I was
Brad's age I was doing this and that,' But
he forgets we care about Bradley.

"Paul was one of 10 kids. Six boys
and four girls. His mother is a pensioner
and his father. . . well I'd rather not talk
about his father. You'd think with 10 kids
they'd be close, but they never were, lt
was six or eight months before I met any
of his brothers and sisters."

Gail says she had a pretty good
relationship with her own father and
mother until Paul was arrested. She is
worried about her father who is desper-
ately ill.

Within days of Paul's arrest in
Bangkok, Gail's sister Debra Joy Smith
and Stanley Smith were arrested in a St
Peters (Sydney) house where police say
they found a safety deposit box con-
taining $39,000.

"My Mum is worried more about
Debra than about us," said Gail. "I can
understand that. But as I say to her at

least Debra is here."

Gail worries about how she will cope:
"I was working only one day a week
when this happened, but I'll manage. I
have qualifications. I'm a trained tel-
ephonist and I've been working for the
TAB, you might call me a manageress.
I'm sure I can work for them again."

She pauses and looks out to where
her children are playing and says,
"I'd like to stay in the house and just

wait."

- BUNTY TURNER

$