by Cassie Hamer
Lisa inhaled. ‘Ellie is correct. It’s called a penis, but as none of us have them, we don’t have to worry too much.’
‘Daddy has one,’ said Ava.
‘Yes. Our daddy does have a ding-dong.’ Jemima nodded seriously. ‘Does your daddy have one?’ She tugged on Ellie’s arm.
‘Girls!’ said Jamie and Lisa at the same time. They exchanged looks of dismay. As different as Jamie and Lisa were, they could virtually read each other’s thoughts.
‘My daddy’s dead,’ said Ellie quietly.
‘Is he dead forever?’ asked Ava.
Ellie hung her head.
‘Ava!’ said Lisa sharply. ‘I think we’ve had enough time in the bath.’ Lisa stood and squeezed Ellie’s shoulder. ‘Are you okay, sweetie?’ she said quietly as Ava and Jemima squabbled over who would release the plug.
Ellie nodded. ‘He died before I was born.’
Lisa felt a pang in her heart and, as much as she wanted to, she resisted the urge to wrap the little girl in her arms. After her parents’ death, far too many near-strangers had thrown themselves over her and Jamie, assuming that because they were, strictly speaking, children, they needed to be swaddled in affection, when what they really wanted was their mum and dad back.
She winced at the memory of it and handed the bath towel to Jamie. ‘Could you dry them off? I’ll go get some clothes.’
But instead of going to the bedrooms, she headed to the kitchen. Scott’s head was still in the fridge but on the counter were two glasses of wine.
‘God, I need one of these.’ Lisa took a gulp. She really wasn’t a wine drinker. She would have liked to be. How often had she seen friends’ updates on Facebook showing a delicious, pale-as-straw glass of white, with condensation pooling elegantly on the glass. Ahhh, welcome to Friday afternoon. When you were a ‘mumpreneur’ there really was no such thing as Friday afternoon, or weekends for that matter. Every day carried just as much responsibility and labour as the rest.
Scott poked his head out of the fridge. ‘Hey! They’re for me and Jamie. I didn’t think you wanted one.’
‘Sorry! But—’ She held up a hand and took another sip as Scott stood at the fridge, hands on hips. ‘Ahhhh,’ she exhaled. ‘I needed that.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ Lisa felt the oozy warmth of the alcohol in her legs. The upside of being a non-drinker was that it only took a miniscule amount to make her feel pleasantly weak. ‘Just a slightly confronting conversation in the bathroom.’
‘About?’
‘Genitalia and death.’
‘Ah. I see. A rabbit-hole conversation.’
Scott understood. Of course he did. Parenting was full of rabbit-hole conversations—discussions that started in one place and ended in an entirely different and unforeseen one. How was it that a conversation about shoes could end in questions about how the sky was formed? Or a request for Ava and Jemima to brush their teeth lead to a discussion about whether Santa was real? Talking to children tested logic to the extreme as they leap-frogged from thought to thought with only the barest of links between each one.
Scott leant against the bench beside her. ‘Who’s the scared kid in the bath?’
‘Name’s Ellie. Her mum’s running late.’
‘Bit weird.’
Lisa shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. Scott had warned that inviting the entire class into their home after only three weeks of school was possibly not the best idea, in the same way that giving the kids red cordial after 6 pm was possibly not the best idea, that is, unless they wanted the joy of putting two demented circus clowns to bed. But Lisa had gone ahead with the party anyway. It was easier to suffer Scott’s mild protests, compared with Ava’s complete devastation.
‘Maybe her car broke down. Or she got lost. I don’t know. I gather Ellie’s dad has passed away,’ said Lisa.
‘Poor kid.’
‘Poor mother, doing it all on her own.’
Scott touched her arm sympathetically and Lisa patted it. ‘I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing sinister.’
‘I guess, but wouldn’t she call you if she was running late?’ said Scott.
Yes, Lisa wanted to say. Why hasn’t she called! But saying that would make the situation sound real and a bit frightening, so instead she put her arm around Scott. ‘Hon, not everyone is like us. In fact, I’m starting to think that none of the parents at this school are like us.’
‘In what way?’
‘Like today. They just dropped off their kids and ran and I had all this food ready.’
Scott shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t take it personally.’
‘But we have to spend the next seven years of our lives with these people!’
‘No, we don’t. It’s Ava who has to make friends. Not us. We can be as hands-off as we like. Just drop her off. Pick her up. Stick to ourselves.’
Lisa looked at him. ‘That sounds dreadful.’ She folded her arms. ‘I don’t want to be the sad parent who doesn’t know anyone and has no friends.’
Scott sighed. ‘You sound like a teenager. Who cares what other people think of us. Aren’t we past that?’
No. Lisa was not past that. In fact, she was right back in that mindset of needing to impress. Certainly Ava was the one wearing the uniform, but Lisa was the one experiencing all the anxiety that came with starting school. No one had told her how she would be reduced to a quivering, nervous mess at the gate. For Ava’s benefit she outwardly maintained her composure, offering words of comfort and reassurance which were perhaps more for Lisa’s own sake than Ava’s, for her five-year-old daughter would no sooner reach the entry than she would be off running towards the classroom without so much as a backward glance. Lisa should have been pleased, she supposed, that her daughter was so confident. So independent. But a little part of her would have preferred it if Ava had clung to her for a day or two, drawing a little sympathy from the other mums and perhaps a glance of admiration that she was so clearly adored by her daughter. But no. Ava was as sentimental as a rock. She was like the kid who dived headlong into a pool, while Lisa was the one who squirmed on the side, feeling like she needed a wee.
Now, standing in front of Scott, Lisa crossed her legs nervously. Facing his admonishment was almost as bad as facing the school drop-off. ‘I just want them to like me. I want a community.’
Scott patted her shoulder. ‘They will. Just give it a chance. It’s only week three. You’ve got another two hundred or so to go, remember.’
Seven years of primary school. Forty weeks a year (thank goodness for the long holidays). Ten drop-offs and pick-ups a week. Goodness, that was nearly three thousand, friendless, visits to the school.
‘How depressing,’ she muttered, taking another tiny sip from the glass.
‘PRESENTS!’ A whirlwind of towels, wetness and slick little bodies bowled into the kitchen with Jemima making a beeline for one of Lisa’s legs, while Ava clung to her other.
‘Aunty Jamie says I can open all the presents now. Can I? Can I?’ clamoured Ava.
A bedraggled Jamie emerged from the doorway, trailed by Ellie. Clearly, things had got a little out of hand in the bathroom, for Jamie was a sodden mess. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised. ‘But presents were the only way I could get them out.’
Lisa gave her daughter a squeeze. ‘Of course you can open them, darling. But let’s get you dressed first.’
‘I’ll make some popcorn,’ Scott volunteered.
With the children clean and dressed, and a pen in hand to take note of who gave what (she would write thank you notes later, a perfect chance to reach out to the other parents!) Lisa finally relaxed as her daughter opened her giant haul of presents. For each one there was a squeal of delight, a hurried inspection, and a short negotiation between Ava and Jemima outlining the terms of use. You can use it for two minutes after me. But I’m taking it to bed. Children were so easily pleased, really, when it came to presents. For a start, they had no clue about price or value. To Jemima,
the $5 hairbrush was just as thrilling as the $25 Barbie doll.
Finally, they were down to the final gift. Ellie’s. She had asked specifically for hers to be the last one opened and had sat hunched over the pink-wrapped box, watching carefully as Ava opened her haul. Wider and wider her eyes had grown, until she reminded Lisa of a little frog—completely still but ready to leap at any moment. Solemnly, Ellie handed the gift to Ava. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said seriously.
‘Thanks!’ Ava started tearing at the paper as if it were the first gift she’d opened, not the thirty-second. Or was that the thirty-third? Lisa had lost count. Her notes just a mess of scribble.
‘Card first, Ava,’ Scott reminded her.
‘Sorry, Dad.’ Ava paused, chastened, before ripping into the card with as much gusto as she’d torn into the present. But as she opened the glittery pink envelope, a piece of paper floated out of it and drifted gently to the ground.
‘Hey, Ava, you missed something.’ Jamie pointed.
‘Thanks, Aunty Jamie.’ Ava picked it up and held it to her nose. ‘But I can’t read it.’
‘Pass it here, hon.’ Jamie outstretched her hand. Lisa sat poised with her pen, ready to write. Ellie’s mum was now nearly two hours late! Where could she be? Maybe Lisa had written the wrong time. Maybe she wrote 2 pm instead of 12 pm. It was entirely possible. On one child’s invitation, she’d put the date of the party and the RSVP as the same date, causing great confusion (and a little sense of glee it seemed to Lisa) for the child’s mother.
‘Oh, Mummy,’ breathed Ava. ‘Look at these.’ She held up a pair of sparkly, fire-engine red ballet slippers. ‘They’re the best shoes I’ve ever seen.’
Lisa sucked in a breath. The shoes were gorgeous. Every little girl’s dream. The brand was a good one too. They would have cost at least $50.
‘Let’s hope they fit!’ said Lisa with forced gaiety.
Ava slipped them on. ‘They’re perfect. Thank you, Ellie.’ She wrapped the other girl in a spontaneous hug.
‘That’s an extremely generous gift. Thank you, Ellie.’ Lisa started collecting torn wrapping off the floor.
‘Ummm … Lise.’ Jamie’s face was white. ‘I think you’d better read this.’
Lisa took the paper, noting the neat elegance of the handwriting and the thick, creamy quality of the paper and the way the black ink had bled just a little into the rippled texture. An ink pen, not biro.
She started reading.
Dear Lisa,
I’m sorry. Please know this, above all else. I am truly sorry to put this responsibility on you but I have been left with little choice.
My daughter, Ellie, is more precious to me than anything else in the world. To keep her safe, I will do whatever I have to. For the moment, that means giving her to you to look after. To love as your own.
Ellie thinks I have gone away to work for a few weeks. That’s not true. I would never leave her for something so unimportant but it was the only thing I could think that wouldn’t scare her. You do not know me, but I know you and your family, and I know you are a wonderful, loving mother who would do anything for her children. Once I have worked things out, I will be back for her. You and your family are not in danger. Please do not call the police. If you do, they will take her and put her into care, and I know you wouldn’t want that for her.
Xx Ellie’s mum
Lisa’s body felt heavy. Drained of energy. Weak and limp. She leant on Jamie’s thigh and looked up at her. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ she whispered.
Jamie squeezed Lisa’s shoulder and leant down so the kids couldn’t hear. ‘I don’t know what the fuck is going on.’
‘Mummy.’ Ava tapped her leg. ‘Mummy, look.’
Lisa sniffed and raised her head. The red shoes sparkled like rubies at the end of Ava’s sparrow-like feet. ‘Beautiful, darling,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘Why don’t you take your new skipping rope outside and test it out?’
‘Can I wear my new shoes?’
‘Sure.’ Lisa couldn’t think straight.
‘Yeah! C’mon, Jems. C’mon, Ellie. You guys can swing the rope for me.’ Like a mother hen (or a mini-Maggie Thatcher) Ava rounded up the two girls and dragged them outside. At the door, Ellie paused and looked back at Lisa. She looked anxious. Uncertain. Perhaps she knew what was in the note? Surely not. This was all some kind of giant, weird misunderstanding. There would be a simple explanation. Surely. Things like this didn’t happen to Lisa. She was a bookkeeper, for goodness sake!
‘Ah, peace and quiet.’ Scott put his feet up on the coffee table, leant back and closed his eyes. Jamie and Lisa looked at each other.
‘Hon, you need to see this …’ Lisa stood and relocated herself next to Scott. She needed to be near him. He would know what to do. He would comfort her and tell her everything was all right and that it was all probably some bizarre initiation joke on behalf of another parent. A prank or something. (Maybe they should consider moving Ava to a different school?)
‘This note is a bit … strange.’ Lisa held the folded paper in her hands.
Scott opened his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Here, read.’
She watched him skim it quickly, eyes narrowing as he progressed down the page.
‘Holy shit. What the hell is this?’
‘It’s seriously fucked-up, that’s what.’ Jamie folded her arms.
‘We need to call the police.’ Scott sprang off the couch and moved towards the phone.
‘Wait!’ Lisa caught his arm. ‘The note says not to.’
‘I don’t care what it says. The woman is clearly crazy.’ Scott angrily waved the note in the air like a lawyer presenting evidence of insanity.
In that moment Lisa felt real fear. Anger was such a rare emotion for her darling husband. Generally he had the temperament of a puppy dog—easily pleased and eager, and with a tendency to fall asleep quite a lot. Getting Frankie had been his idea. Lisa had supposed it was so he could have a like-minded soul (and another male) in the house. But at this moment he was furious, more viper than puppy.
‘Let’s just calm down and think this through.’ She patted the couch. ‘Come and sit down, Scott.’
The three of them sat in silence, though Scott seemed to be breathing more heavily than usual and his leg jiggled uncontrollably. Lisa put what she hoped was a calming hand on it.
‘Why don’t you talk to Ellie?’ said Jamie.
‘She thinks her mum’s gone away for work. I don’t want to frighten her.’
‘We can at least find out what her mother’s name is. Check her phone number on the class list.’ Scott ran an anxious hand through his hair. ‘Ring her up. Try and talk to her. Work out what the hell is going on.’
‘All right, I’ll go and find out.’ Lisa rose from the couch. Outside, Ellie and Jemima sat on the grass, providing an attentive audience for Ava who was trying desperately to coordinate hands, feet and rope.
‘Muuuum!’ she wailed. ‘I can’t do it!’
‘Practice makes perfect, sweetie,’ she said with false bravado, and sat next to Ellie.
‘Ellie, honey. Your mummy’s running a little late and I’m wondering if we should call her to see where she is.’
The little girl looked at her, eyebrows raised. ‘You know where she is.’
‘No, darling. I don’t.’
‘She’s gone away to work. It says so in the note.’
Lisa’s stomach crunched. Ellie knew about the letter! What more did she know? ‘What else does the letter say, sweetie?’
‘You’ve read it.’
‘I have but I’m not sure I quite understood it correctly. Maybe you could tell me what you think it says?’
With her eyes glued to Ava, Ellie spoke. ‘It says she’s had to go away for work and that while she’s away I have to stay with you.’ She looked at Lisa. ‘I have to stay with you,’ she repeated.
Sucking in a breath, Lisa resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. ‘Hon
ey, what’s your mummy’s name?’
‘It’s Missy Jones.’
‘Missy Jones. Okay, you wait right here.’ Lisa scrambled to her feet and half-ran, half-walked back to the house. Inside, she brought up the class list on her phone, the one that another school mum had collated and emailed out at the start of the year. Scott and Jamie crowded around her.
‘Jones, Jones …’ She trailed her finger down the list. Harkness, Hooper, Huang, Jakes, Jeffrey, Jiggens, Joss, Karl, Karim … Wait. No Jones? She re-read the list.
‘Where the hell is it?’ said Scott.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ Lisa checked the list again.
‘She’s not there,’ breathed Jamie.
‘No, no, she must be on the list.’ Lisa scanned the names again and tried to ignore the growing sense of dread filling her stomach.
‘We’ve all checked it, Lise. And unless we’re all going blind, she’s not there.’ Scott started pacing.
‘All right, then, there must have been an admin error. Maybe it’s incomplete. I’ll ring Heather. I’m sure she’ll know this Missy Jones.’ She headed down the hallway to get away from Scott and Jamie’s doubting eyes. She had the sense they somehow thought this was her fault.
Was it her fault? After all, she was the one who did the school pick-ups and drop-offs and generally managed things on the home front. As far as domestic disasters went, this could be classed as an epic fail on her behalf.
‘Heather speaking.’
‘Heather, it’s me, Lisa Wheeldon.’
‘Naughty Lisa Wheeldon.’ Heather sounded miffed. ‘You’ve managed to get me into quite a bit of trouble with my husband.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Alcohol at a five-year-old’s party? I mean, what were you thinking! Henry and I are supposed to be going to the opera tonight but now I have a crushing headache all thanks to that cheap plonk you made me drink!’
For a moment, Lisa marvelled at Heather’s complete revision of history but then thought better of taking her to task over it.
‘Yes, right, gosh, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.’
‘Apology accepted.’
‘Wait, Heather. Before you go I need to ask you a question.’
