by Renee Kira
My knuckles hurt from knocking. I take a step back and shake my hand. There’s no sound inside the house, only the muffled sound of the dog barking in the backyard. I knock again, even louder. Dad nudges me out of the way with his shoulder, slipping the key into the lock. The door opens with a creak.
My mother stands in the entry, she’s been a metre from the door the whole time I was knocking. Her expression is pinched and her mouth a flat line.
‘Why didn’t you open the door?’ I ask.
She doesn’t answer, she only looks at my father and me.
‘Jennifer? Are you all right?’ my father asks, his voice deep with concern.
‘Mum, I need to talk to you,’ I step inside the entry, but she pushes me back with a flat palm.
‘Not now. Go home, Isobel.’ Her eyes bulge. Is she angry? God, if anyone deserves to be angry, it’s me.
I step back onto the concrete porch, but only out of shock. ‘What?’
‘Go home, now,’ she repeats herself. It’s the sternest she’s spoken to me since I was a child. ‘I need to be alone right now. You can both go.’
I hesitate a moment. I almost obey. But then anger takes over me again, snapping back into place like a rubber band. ‘No. You need to answer my questions. Both of you.’ I look at my father, his brow is crinkled with confusion.
Pushing past her, I step into the entry. Her hands push outwards, physically trying to stop me from coming inside.
‘This has gone on long enough, you need to tell me the truth, Mum!’
It’s the dated wall of mirror tiles that decides my fate. If it wasn’t for them, Mum might have pushed me back out to the doorstep. Dad and I might have left. I don’t know why, but I look at the reflection of the lounge room on the tiles. Standing just past the open sliding door between the entry and the lounge room is Heather Hayes.
She’s holding a gun.
When I see the look in her eyes, I know things are bad. With both fists, I grab the fabric of my mother’s shirt and try to pull both of us backwards out of the door. It’s too late.
‘Stop,’ says Heather. ‘Or one of you will get shot.’
Both her hands are on the grip of the gun, its short barrel is pointed at the ground. Her expression is livid. Her mouth is in a scowl and her skin is flushed.
‘Well, she’s coming inside now,’ says Heather. ‘All three of you, inside and sit on the couch.’
She takes a step back so she’s against the front window. Someone has pulled the curtains shut. Raising the gun, she points it upwards at the roof while we file past her. My mother sits down on the couch, and I drop next to her. Searching her face for an explanation, I find nothing. Always calm, my father walks behind me and sits on my other side.
‘You almost got a free pass, Isobel. Again,’ says Heather.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, my voice low.
‘Heather came over for a chat,’ my mother replies, her tone flat.
‘A casual chat with a handgun?’ I ask.
‘That’s enough,’ Heather snaps from the other side of the room. She’s locked the front door from the inside. Maybe I should have taken my chances a moment ago and run for it.
‘It probably won’t be as bad,’ says Heather, standing over us.
‘What won’t?’ I ask.
I feel my mother nudge me in the side. I think she wants me to shut up. Heather paces back and forth in front of us. She’s so angry she’s frothing at the mouth. She was mad last night, but now she’s reached a whole new level of insane.
‘Death by shooting. It’ll be over quickly. Not like strangulation. That takes a while, you know.’
‘Heather, why are you here? Why do you have a gun?’
‘I came over for a chat, Isobel. I wanted to ask your parents about a few things.’
‘Maybe…’ I start, and I don’t know if I’m pushing her too far. ‘Maybe you could put the gun down. It might be easier for us to talk.’
Heather stops pacing. She looks at me dead on. ‘My God, Isobel. You really are annoying.’
‘What?’
‘Can you just shut up for once in your life? Can you just imagine, even if only for a moment, that you are not the centre of the universe?’
She turns towards me and points the gun at the centre of my chest. If she shoots me, the bullet will tear through my heart. I swallow hard.
I say nothing.
‘That’s better. Okay. Moving on. Jennifer, do you want to tell your daughter what you did?’
Heather looks at my mother. She turns the gun towards her, waiting for her answer.
‘Mum? What’s she talking about?’ I say.
‘Tell Isobel what you did so she could stay the star of her perfect fucking world. Tell her,’ says Heather.
My mother looks downwards in her lap.
Through the white lace I can see the street. I make a silent prayer that someone walks by and notices that something is wrong. Anyone.
‘You annoyed me when you turned up in town, Isobel. It’s like you waited for Veronica to die, then you swooped in and stole her life.’
‘I didn’t know her. You know that.’
She ignores me. ‘Like you didn’t already have enough. The moment her body was cold, you moved in. Like a psychopath. I always thought people like that are born. It’s genetic. You’re proof that theory is wrong. You learned, surrounded by a family of people as bad as the adult you grew up to be.’
‘What?’ I look from my mother to Heather. My mother drops her head to her hands.
‘I know all about you,’ she directs her gaze at my father. ‘I know you’re some kind of war criminal. Running from your own country and hiding out on the other side of the world.’
‘He’s not a war criminal!’ I shout.
‘Oh, shut up, Isobel. Do I need to gag you? Say what you want about Veronica, but she knew when to be quiet.’
Heather paces back and forth in front of the couch.
‘My Veronica was smart. I brought her up the right way. I taught her to work hard. To treat people right.’
I think Heather Hayes is verifiably insane and needs hospitalisation. She’s not making sense anymore.
‘I wonder how old you were when it happened. Two days? Three days? We’ll never know. Veronica found some nurses from the old hospital. One of them told her that sometimes the babies’ wristbands fell off when they bathed them. That’s what she thinks happened. The most likely explanation. What are the odds of that?’
I stay quiet. My brain ticks over. I sit on the sunken couch, my shoulders square, as a million little pieces fall into place.
‘You know why the wristbands fell off? Someone ordered the wrong size! The wrong fucking size. They were too big for babies. But instead of ordering another box, they did them up tightly. Budget restrictions.’
I pictured a tiny baby, maybe a few days old. Her wristband slips off in the warm water. Maybe the nurse who’s bathing her notices, maybe she doesn’t. They were always understaffed.
Two baby girls get taken back to the nursery. Both wrapped up in soft white towels. Both pink-skinned, a small crop of crimson hair and those steel-coloured baby eyes that aren’t really a colour yet. Each ends up in the other’s crib. And each goes home with the other’s family.
One of them grew up poor. The other got a trust fund. One worked hard and sunk her teeth viciously into every opportunity. The other…
‘You didn’t know?’ Heather has been watching my face carefully this whole time. ‘You had no idea. You really do live in a perfect world, Isobel.’
I look at my mother. She raises her head slightly and looks me in the eyes.
‘How long have you known, Mum?’ I ask.
‘Just after the doctor diagnosed me. Two years ago. I already knew your father’s blood type. He makes that joke.’
‘Two types of blood.’ I state.
She nods. ‘I remembered your blood type from when you broke your arm. I looked it up online, what it meant. I never s
aid a word to anyone. Not even your father. I could never work out what happened, not until Veronica turned up. I didn’t really want to know.’
‘It was you, in my house? Opening the filing cabinet? Leaving notes?’
She nods. ‘I just wanted to keep you away from it all.’
‘You could have told me the truth,’ my voice is almost a whisper.
‘Yes. She could have. Two years ago. We could have sorted it out with counsellors and tearful reunions. But she didn’t. Have you worked out why, Isobel?’
‘Why did you keep it a secret?’ I ask. My mother has turned away from me. It feels like she’s disconnecting herself from everything that is happening.
Heather leans forward so her face is right next to mine. ‘Because of the money, Isobel. It’s always about the money. She didn’t want anyone touching your trust account.’
My mother is silent.
‘Well, it’s not your money, Isobel. Is it? You should never have been the one to inherit it. It should have been Veronica’s. All she wanted was for you to share some of it. Which is fair. Generous, I think.’
But what about Veronica? She must have found out too. She wasn’t trying to sell the hospital or do a deal. Well, maybe she was at the start. She talked to Edmund Keane. But she must have found something else in that storage room.
Perhaps it was the paperwork around her birth. Then she found the doctors and nurses who were there when she was born.
And when she said my grandfather stitched her up. That wasn’t over the quarry or the hospital or some other piece of property. She was talking about herself. The inheritance that should have been hers. Veronica was never looking for a family, she was looking for a payday. She went straight to my grandfather. And when he died, she thought my mother inherited the money. She started on her.
I look at my mother. ‘She approached you, didn’t she, Mum?’
Veronica had been fighting my grandfather through the last year of his life, trying to get a piece of his fortune. It was almost laughable. If she had asked him for a chat and a coffee… well, he might have left something to her. But to blackmail him… there was nothing he would have hated more. A stubborn man and proud, he would have moved mountains to stop her getting a single cent.
For the first time, I realised he wasn’t trying to keep my mother out of his will. He was trying to keep Veronica out of it. A will that left his own daughter out was harder to contest than one that was divided between family members. It wasn’t pride that stopped my parents from taking any money when I offered it; they were protecting me.
‘Not until after your grandfather passed,’ she confirms. ‘Veronica turned up on the doorstep.’
‘She blackmailed you?’
‘She would have if I had any money. Veronica didn’t know that everything had gone to you.’
‘How long have you known she was your daughter?’
My mother looks me in the eyes. She takes my hand. ‘She’s not my daughter. You are.’
‘Hey!’ Heather cries, stamping a foot on the floor. ‘Veronica’s not on trial here. Your mother is. So let’s hear the rest of the story, Jennifer. What happened when Veronica knocked on your door?’
‘Mum? Do you know what happened to her?’ I whisper. I think I already know the answer.
She bit her lip, and fresh tears ran down her face. She looks to me and not to Heather.
‘I’m so sorry, honey.’ My mother wraps her arms around me. ‘It was an accident. I was alone and it was late. She just kept asking questions… she was angry… I wanted her to stop. She said she had found a way to take everything. That the lot would be hers. The house and money in trust. She said I could give her half now or she would take all of it later and ruin you.’
‘It’s only money, Mum.’
‘She told me you didn’t deserve any of it. That she knew things about you.’
I nod. ‘We had a couple of friends in common. She had been asking about me.’
’She told me that your grandfather bribed you into university. That you wouldn’t be able to practise law. That you and Ben were running a scam at the tax office.’
‘What!’ Tax fraud! Well, give Veronica points for creativity. ‘None of that is true, Mum. I paid full fees at university, but that’s allowed. No one cares about that. Ben’s an accountant, not a criminal.’
‘I was afraid. And then I felt angry. Her handbag was open, on the floor right where your feet are now. There was a charger on top. A computer charger. I didn’t want her to die, I wanted her to stop talking.’
‘Mum…’ My mother, who limps around most of the time and couldn’t manage to bring in the grocery bags on her own had killed someone. It gives proof to the theory that anyone is capable of murder. In the right circumstances. With the right computer charger.
‘Dad?’ I look over at my father. ‘Did you know?’
‘I’m sorry, Isobel. She was dead when I got home. There was nothing I could do for her. What I did next was to protect you. Both of you.’ He looks over to my mother.
The van in the car park. It was his.
‘I’m sorry too,’ my mother said.
Heather sighs heavily. ‘You could have confessed to the police weeks ago and Isobel would have lived through this.’
My mother looks up at Heather. ‘What?’
‘You killed my daughter, Jennifer. It’s only fair that I kill yours.’
Terror blooms deep in my guts as the understanding of her words hits me. It ripples through my whole body like a sick wave of nausea.
‘No!’ My mother shouts and tries to put her own body in front of mine.
‘I deserve payback. You stole my daughter. You took a life.’
Then something amazing happens. Through those tired lace curtains, I see a blue and red light flashing in the driveway. Black shadowy figures dash across the lawn. Never have I been more grateful of justice only being a concept.
‘Wait,’ I say. With her back to the window, Heather has no clue that the police are outside.
She sneers. ‘Wait? I’ve waited long enough.’
‘No. There’s something I need to tell you. Something about Veronica.’
The gun is pointed square at my chest again, her eyes widen as she waits for me to speak. I’m buying time. But then a truth hits me. And I think I should talk. Like Liam says.
‘I didn’t steal what she was born into. Not by intention. But she took it upon herself to try to steal it back. She determined her own fate.’
Heather is outraged and I think she’s going to actually shoot me. But it doesn’t matter, because at that moment, half a dozen armed police officers barge through the front door.
37
Isobel
It’s been ten days since the police arrested my mother for murder. And yes, I still call her my mother and I always will. She kept an awful secret that led her to do an awful thing. It makes little sense to me that someone would take another life for the sake of money.
‘How could you not know the baby you were holding wasn’t your own?’ Maya says to me. She pulls her hair up into a twist on the top of her head as she looks over to the swings. Noah and Jacob fly backwards and forwards. ‘I could tell those two boys from each other the day they were born, and they’re identical twins.’
There’s a playground right next to the ocean. Tall pine trees shade it through the summer, and it’s a popular spot. But today, early and on a weekday, we have it to ourselves.
I haven’t been able to speak to my mother, but my father was released on bail. He’s facing charges too; accessory after the fact. He never knew I wasn’t his. Not until the night Veronica died.
How my mother killed a woman is baffling. It must have taken every ounce of strength she had, mentally and physically.
She is remorseful, so her lawyer tells me. And while she didn’t surrender the night of the crime, she confessed and has assisted police ever since. That should impact her sentencing.
Heather has been charged as well.
Stalking, conduct endangering life, use of a firearm with criminal intent… it’s a long list, but in comparison to murder, they’re minor charges. The max is ten years, but in the current system she’ll only see two or three. If any. After all, she has a sympathetic case. Her daughter was murdered.
I had to get a new phone only a day after my mother was arrested. It rang so much I couldn’t answer. Journalists from all over the country had gotten wind of the story. It made me nauseous to talk to any of them so I went to the nearest shop and got a whole new phone and number. It only took another twenty-four hours for them to find that one. I turned it off and dropped off the grid for a week.
I stayed home, eating Thai delivery and waited for the worst of it to blow over. Whenever someone knocked on the door, I ignored it. I was smart enough to stay away from the news websites. After weeks of desperately seeking the truth, I wanted it to give me a break.
A few days ago, I re-emerged. I turned my phone on. The first person I called was Maya.
We met here at the playground. Maya brings me coffee and remembers how I like it, which is nice. Her twins are in tow, they’re loud and energetic and blissfully oblivious to everything that has happened around them.
‘Have you seen Liam?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I answer. ‘But I spoke to him on the phone. He has full custody of Max now.’
There was no court battle or DNA testing. His birth certificate was retrieved from the registry and it named him as a father. Anyhow, with Heather in custody there was no one else to take him. Veronica’s stepfather said it wasn’t his responsibility since they weren’t biologically related. Which is kind of ironic, given everything else that has happened.
It was Liam who saved my life that afternoon. He woke up that morning, cramped and uncomfortable on my couch. Not trusting my state of mind, he’d tried to find me. He tried the town and the beach and even Maya’s house.
When he got to my parents’ place I was already inside. By a stroke of luck, he didn’t knock on the front door. Something stopped him; he saw a flash of Heather holding the gun in her hands through a gap in the curtains.
