by Cassie Hamer
The tour was coming to an end.
‘Mel, should we start putting out the things for morning tea?’ asked one of the other kindy workers.
‘Sure, I’ll be with you in a sec. Just wrapping up now.’
Suddenly, Jamie’s bladder felt incredibly full. She was going to lose her chance to ask anything! As Melissa led her back to the Lego table, she thought desperately.
‘I’m pregnant!’ she blurted out.
Melissa turned, slightly startled. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, and turned again for the Lego.
‘Nearly eighteen weeks,’ Jamie called to her back.
Melissa turned and glanced at Jamie’s sleek black dress and four-inch Jimmy Choos. She had to go to work straight after the kindy visit and although she was prepared to don a wig to play ‘Georgina’, she wasn’t prepared to go the whole way and dress ‘mumsy’ even though Lisa had offered her a pair of canvas shoes and her baggiest jeans. Ugh!
‘Really? Eighteen weeks? Well, you look amazing. You don’t look at all pregnant.’ Again, Melissa turned her attention to the children.
‘Well, you know, we all carry these things differently,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ll bet you were tiny.’
Melissa turned slowly. Her face darkened. Even her curls seemed to droop. ‘I’ve never been pregnant,’ she said quietly, her shoulders slumping.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I mean, you’re just such a natural with the children, I just assumed you’d had some yourself.’ Jamie covered her mouth with her hand. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Never been pregnant? That was a lie, wasn’t it? But she seemed so sincere.
‘It’s all right,’ said Melissa wanly. ‘You weren’t to know.’ She fidgeted with her fingers. ‘Actually, I was pregnant once, but only for a few days.’ Her eyes misted over.
‘Oh no. You miscarried?’ Jamie whispered.
Melissa nodded.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Jamie put her hand on Melissa’s forearm. ‘I never should have asked.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ said Melissa, wiping her eyes. ‘It was a long time ago, and I never think about it anymore.’ She paused. ‘I guess you just caught me off-guard.’
‘I really am terribly sorry.’ And she was. In that moment, she felt like ripping the wig from her head and telling Melissa everything but she suspected that might only cause more hurt.
‘Really, it’s all right.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘I’m engaged now.’ She held out her hand to show off the modest diamond solitaire on her finger, which was about one-third the size of Jamie’s. ‘My fiancé is dead keen to start a family and until we do, I’ve got all these little ones to take care of.’ She gestured to the children around the Lego table. ‘I’m sort of like their second mum.’
Jamie squeezed her arm. ‘They’re lucky to have you,’ she said sincerely.
‘No,’ said Melissa. ‘I’m lucky to have them.’ She paused. ‘And hopefully, we’ll soon have Verity with us too?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Jamie hastily. ‘I’ll let you know by the end of the week.’
‘Verity,’ Melissa called. ‘Verity.’ Still no response. Jemima studiously added more blocks to her Lego tower.
Oh shit. She’s forgotten her name is Verity. Don’t ruin it now, Jems!
‘Has she had her hearing checked?’ said Melissa, frowning. ‘You know you can get it checked for free at this age.’
‘Yes, yes. It’s all fine. She just gets very focused on what she’s doing. You know how it is.’ Jamie tapped Jemima on the shoulder. ‘Come along now, sweetie. Time for us to go. Say ta-ta to Melissa.’
‘But I’m not finished,’ said Jemima defiantly.
‘C’mon, darling, we have loads of Lego. How about I buy you some more on the way home? But only if you come now.’ Jamie tugged at the reluctant little girl.
‘All right.’ She threw the remaining blocks back in the bucket and stomped towards the door with her arms folded.
‘Thank you again,’ said Jamie, taking one last look at Melissa’s kind face.
‘Really, it was a pleasure.’ She waved at Jemima. ‘Bye-bye, Verity.’
‘What?’ said Jemima rudely.
‘You say “pardon”, Verity. Isn’t that what I, your mother, always tell you.’
‘Oh, right.’ Realisation dawned into a smile on her face. ‘That’s right, Mummy!’
As Melissa closed the door, she gave them a strange look and Jamie hurriedly tottered down the footpath, pulling Jemima along behind her. She didn’t look back, worried that Melissa might put two and two together and chase her down, shouting Fraud. This woman’s a fraud! Maybe Melissa would even rip off the wig. It was so obviously not her real hair.
But the kindy door remained closed and no one came running.
Around the corner and out of sight, Jamie hurriedly opened the passenger door for Jemima to climb in the back seat of Lisa’s car.
‘How was it? Was it her? Does she have a child? Is it Ellie?’ Lisa was pale with anxiety as she wrapped herself around the driver’s seat to talk to Jamie.
‘Hold on, hold on. Just let me get Jem sorted and I’ll tell you everything.’
Finally, with Jemima buckled, Jamie fell with relief into the car. She turned to Lisa, whose knuckles were turning white from clutching the steering wheel so tightly.
‘It was the right person.’ Jamie took a breath. ‘But, she doesn’t have a child. Any child. That pregnancy with Jared was a miscarriage.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Lisa closed her eyes.
‘What do you mean? The poor woman’s still distraught over it.’
‘Of course,’ Lisa said quickly. ‘A miscarriage is awful. But it does make things easier for you and Jared.’
‘And means you get to keep Ellie for longer.’
Lisa reddened. ‘Yes, well there is that too.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘But I do want to find Ellie’s mum. I do.’
Jamie took in Lisa’s ongoing blinks. Her sister was good at many things, but lying wasn’t one of them.
‘You don’t want to find her, do you?’ Jamie demanded.
‘Of course I do,’ Lisa shot back. ‘What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t want a child to be with their mother?’
Jamie softened. ‘You’d be the kind of monster who’s fallen in love with a child that’s not theirs.’ She paused as Lisa hung her head. ‘It’s not a crime, you know,’ she said softly.
‘Until Ellie came along, I didn’t realise how much I wanted another child.’ Lisa lifted her head. ‘She completes our family.’ She paused. ‘I don’t want to lose her.’ Her voice cracked and she rubbed her temple. ‘It’s all a mess.’
Poor Lisa. She only ever wanted to do the right thing by everybody, which usually meant her needs came last. For her to say what she actually wanted meant she must actually want Ellie a great deal.
Jamie squeezed her sister’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Lise. You’ve done all you can. Let’s just leave it in the hands of your investigator. If Missy can be found, he’ll find her.’ She smiled. ‘And besides, I’ve got a wedding to plan and I’m going to need my matron of honour’s every spare minute to make this the best damn wedding Sydney has ever seen.’
‘You said damn, Aunty Jamie,’ piped up Jemima from the back seat. ‘That’s a swear word!’
‘No, it isn’t! A dam is like a pond. Animals drink out of it.’
Lisa put the keys in the ignition. ‘You’re going to make a great mum one day.’
‘How’s that?’ asked Jamie.
‘You’ve got an answer for everything.’
‘And if I don’t, I make it up,’ she said gleefully. ‘I do work in PR you know.’
But as they sped away, with the project homes receding into the distance of the rear-view mirror, it occurred to Jamie that she still had no answer for one very big question …
What to do about Ben?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Missy lowered the camera. It was heavier than she was used to, mainly because of the
zoom lens she’d bought with some of her mum’s money. She massaged her shoulder and leant her head on the steering wheel. Stalking Kyle was exhausting, not to mention tedious, confusing, stressful, disappointing and, occasionally, downright frightening. Finding him had been depressingly easy, just a matter of driving by a few of his old mates’ places and hanging out until he turned up, which he eventually did, at Deano’s.
After three weeks of trailing him, Missy knew for certain he hadn’t changed. Hadn’t changed at all.
His days held a monotonous regularity. Wake at eleven, stroll out onto the porch dressed in nothing but footy shorts for a breakfast smoke. Sit, and watch the smoke curl into the air before pulling out a phone. Text messages. Endless text messages. Go back inside. Emerge again round one to accept a pizza delivery. Do some weights in the backyard with Deano in the afternoon, then back inside to wait for the procession of snake-hipped men with hooded, ferrety faces to make their nervy approaches to the door. Kyle, ushering them inside, his eyes roving with suspicion about the street as he shut the door. Leave the house after midnight with Deano in a hotted-up ute and head down to some local dive to drink until dawn and do it all again.
If prison was about rehabilitation then it had been a 100 per cent failure for her stupid ex.
What had he been doing in there? Exercising, by the looks. He’d bulked up. All that free time in jail. There seemed to be a new tattoo on his neck. Thanks to the zoom lens she was able to zero in on it from three hundred metres away. Some kind of snake, wrapped about a sword.
Missy had clicked away.
She now had more than a thousand photos, and a few bits of video too. All that time sitting in the car had given Missy plenty of opportunity to put together a plan. To her, it was obvious. Kyle had picked up exactly where he left off and, at some point, he would come looking for them. What was he waiting for? Maybe to re-establish himself? Get some money together to pay for the search? There would be a reason, and while Missy wasn’t quite sure what it was, she knew in her heart that the only way for her and Ellie to be safe was to see him back in jail.
Evidence was what she needed, but without something substantial Kyle would be in and out of jail far too quickly. It had to be something decent. Something solid, and while Missy had successfully compiled what looked like a compelling circumstantial case, she knew she needed more. But how to get it without getting too close?
While Kyle was an idiot, he wasn’t completely brainless. All the dealing happened behind locked doors, drawn curtains, and lowered blinds. Occasionally, it seemed to take place at the pub as well, but if the police were called there, which they seemingly were on a regular basis, Kyle always managed to leave it two minutes before they arrived. He was a cat, always landing on his feet, cheating real trouble.
She sighed and tapped the steering wheel. It was only 10.30 am. No sign of movement at Kyle’s. Missy turned on the radio and allowed her thoughts to wander. Where would Ellie be right now? What would she be doing? It was only when Missy’s eyes weren’t trained on the view-finder that she allowed herself to think of her daughter. Her body ached for her. The loneliness of what she was doing. It was twenty-six days since she’d kissed her goodbye at the party. Twenty-six.
Missy shook her head and sat up straighter, her eyes drawn to a sudden burst of activity at Kyle’s front door. It was him, Kyle, and a man she didn’t recognise and hadn’t seen arrive. Their conversation was heated. Angry. When Missy checked through the lens she was met with Kyle’s eyes, burning with rage. She felt winded. She knew that look and what it meant. Resuming focus through the view-finder, her fingers trembled too badly to keep it still. She lowered the camera. The other bloke was smaller than Kyle. Much smaller, and younger too. One of his minions, perhaps.
The argument had moved out onto the front lawn. Kyle shoved the younger man hard and he staggered back on the grass, falling to the ground. Standing over him, Kyle gesticulated wildly, threatening, and the other man cowered in fear, hands raised over his face, bracing for a blow.
Kyle reached behind his back.
Missy gasped.
A gun. Dark and shiny as a snake, Kyle brandished it in front of the smaller man’s face. Was he crying? Missy thought she could see a slick of moisture. Her heart thundered. What could she do? Yell? Scream? Toot the horn? Sure, it might stop Kyle but it would put her in the gravest of danger, not to mention blow her cover completely.
Missy slid down in the seat, and clenched her fingers into fists. Over the dashboard, she could still just see Kyle’s torso. His finger went to the trigger and he cocked the gun at the minion’s forehead.
Missy’s stomach caved and she sucked in a breath.
By the heave in the younger man’s shoulder, she could tell he was sobbing, begging for his life.
Seconds ticked by.
Slowly, Kyle lowered the gun.
Missy exhaled.
Scrambling to his feet, the younger man staggered to his car, fell into it, and careered down the street. Missy caught a glimpse of his face—pale and distraught. She looked back to Kyle, who was waiting and watching. Looking about, his gaze landed on Missy’s car.
She froze and sank lower in the seat. Her chest hammered away. Had he seen her? Would he come to check?
After what felt like the longest few seconds of Missy’s life, a door slammed. Silence. He’d gone back inside.
Slowly, Missy turned the ignition. Staying low in the seat, she drove down the road without looking back once and it was only once she’d turned out of it that she allowed herself to take another breath.
Where was she going? She had no idea. She just needed to get away. Collect herself and work up the courage to go back again.
Missy’s eye flicked to her rear-view mirror. What was that flash of colour? She was jumpy. Addled. Feinting at shadows. She checked again and this time computed what her eyes had seen. Blue and red lights flashing. Not at her, surely. She checked her speedo: 55 km/hr.
The lights flashed again and this time when Missy checked, she saw the police constable pointing at the side of the road and mouthing the words Pull over.
Missy flicked the indicator, her chest going tight again.
No, no, no.
She wasn’t ready for police. Not yet. She needed time to think. Get her composure back and figure out the next step. She didn’t trust them, and she had good reason not to.
Stopping on the side of the road, Missy tensed her hands on the wheel and debated whether to get out of the car or stay inside. Inside, she elected. Less threatening that way.
Through her side mirror, she watched the constable approach slowly. She wound the window down.
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked casually.
The constable leant down. ‘Both your tail-lights are out.’
‘Oh, right. Sorry. It’s a rental car. I’ll take it back straight away.’ She went to wind the window back up but the constable put his hand out.
‘Just a minute there. I’ll need to check your driver’s licence.’
A pause. ‘My licence? Sure.’ Missy reached for her handbag under the passenger seat and she sensed the constable’s eyes flicking over the extended camera lens. ‘I’m taking photos of the local wildlife. Those shearwaters are just incredible, aren’t they?’ Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky. She cleared her throat, and rifled through her wallet, pretending to look for a licence.
‘Hmmm … that’s strange. I must have left it in the hotel room.’
The constable’s mouth was set in a grim line. ‘You understand that under NSW law, you must carry a licence while operating a motor vehicle.’
‘Yes, I am. Really, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’ Missy felt sweat starting to sprout from her forehead.
The policeman studied her. ‘Do I know you?’
Missy shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so. I’m from Sydney.’
‘Name and address?’ He pulled out a notebook and pen.
‘Missy Jones,’ she said in a low
voice, trying desperately to keep the quiver out of it.
‘Sorry?’ The constable cocked his head.
‘Missy Jones,’ she said more loudly. ‘Sixty-four Abner Road, Daceyville.’
The policeman sauntered back to the patrol car and Missy watched him in the mirror. Punching her details into an onboard computer. She glanced out the side window. Traffic in the lane next to her had slowed. Rubberneckers wanting to find out what was going on. What had that young woman done wrong? Thank god it wasn’t them. Not this time.
Missy tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
In a minute, the constable would be back. He’d want to know why she was driving without a licence. Why didn’t she exist on his system?
Her foot hovered above the accelerator. Fight or flight? Her jaw tightened.
Too late. The constable was back. Frowning. He leant down. ‘I’m sorry, Miss, but you’ll—’
Missy stared straight ahead. ‘I want to talk to Detective O’Dea.’
The interview room had been painted—that was one difference—bright white now as opposed to the eighties-inspired lime green. The desk was the same, though. Peeling laminate, no doubt picked at by the thousands of nervous hands that had sat exactly where Missy’s were sitting now, clasped loosely. They’d be watching her. The all-seeing camera in the top right corner was still where she remembered it.
The door opened with a rush of air. Missy kept her eyes forward until the detective was seated in front of her.
O’Dea had a sheaf of papers. He always had a sheaf of papers, and Missy had come to perceive them as some kind of safety blanket for the conscientious detective. He wasn’t a bad man. Not really.
‘So, it is you,’ he remarked, straightening the file before him. He studied her. ‘I thought we’d never see you again.’
