by Kate Genet
‘You have to stop filling her head with this shit,’ she said. ‘Bloody princesses, waiting for Prince fucking Charming to come along to rescue them.’ She shook her head, lowering her voice again finally. ‘Of all the lessons to be giving her. She’s growing up in the twenty-first century, Danny. We want her to be strong, independent, able to make her own way in the world.’
‘She’s a little girl,’ he said, ignoring the blue flints in his wife’s eyes and taking the dress from her clawed fingers. ‘She gets to have a childhood. She gets to live a fairy tale life for a few years, before she has to go out there and learn how shit it really is in the world. These are her best years and I'm damned if I'm going to let you ruin them for her.’ He stopped for a breath.
‘Or me,’ he added.
Smoothing the dress out, he shook his head. ‘You don’t get a say in the way I treat my daughter,’ he said.
‘Our daughter, Danny. She’s our daughter.’
He ignored her. ‘She’s my daughter. I'm the one stays at home with her every day. I'm the one gets her out of bed, brushes her hair, gives her kisses and cuddles, reads her stories, makes her lunch and dinner, makes her feel good. I'm the one loves her.’
‘I love her! And you can’t make this about who stays at home to look after her.’
He sniffed at that. Ran his palm over the flimsy fabric of the dress. It would look so pretty on Rose. Blue and gold. He wondered how that would look against her hair. Beautiful, he decided.
‘You don’t stand a chance,’ he said. ‘I'm the one who looks after her; she’s mine. No one would take her away from me. Not when you work the long hours you do. Not when I’ve been the one bringing her up since she was born.’
There was silence from Zoe and he looked across at her to see her gaping at him.
He’d gone too far.
But the fact was, everything he’d said was true.
‘You’re thinking of leaving me?’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper now. No more shouting loud enough for everyone in the street to hear.
Was he thinking about leaving her?
Staring at her pinched face, he considered it, watching her eyes widen at the same time the rest of her features crumpled.
Why had he even married her? Right this moment, standing on the driveway in a light February drizzle, he couldn’t remember. It was a long-term investment if all he was wanting was a kid. So why had he?
Trying to be normal, he supposed, hearing the word with a sneer in his head.
But why would he want that?
What sort of waste of time was that?
And it was true too, what he’d said about no one taking Rose away from him. Fathers had more rights these days and he was the primary caregiver. That’s what the day-care form called him – the primary caregiver.
Zoe was still staring at him. While he was thinking furiously about what he wanted, now that everything seemed possible, she looked like she’d locked up, frozen, physically and mentally.
‘Daddy, Mummy?’
He turned his head and zeroed in on Rose standing in the driveway in her pyjamas, looking at the sparkly dress with wide-eyes.
A smile spread slowly across his face. Whatever Zoe might say on the subject, Rose liked the princess stuff. She loved dressing up, loved him buying her clothes, helping her put them on, loved showing them off to him.
Zoe wasn’t going to take that away from him. Rose was a wee doll, and who gave a shit about twenty-first century bloody feminism?
He looked down at the dress, then at his little girl and held it out for her.
But Zoe, the bitch, was quicker. She snatched the dress right out of his hands and tucked it under her arm, then hustled Rose back inside.
‘This one’s for another little girl, sweetheart,’ she said, lying through her teeth so that Danny wanted suddenly to punch them right down the back of her throat.
Zoe shot him one of her warning looks and he snarled at her, clenching his hands into fists. She was bending over the child and through the red haze covering his mind he could hear her telling Rose lie after lie.
Poisoning her against him. Not letting him love her the way he liked. She was just like his mother after all.
13
There was no thinking to be done. She couldn’t let herself think. Not yet. She had work to do. She had a bereaved parent to go see.
The dress was on the passenger seat beside her. Zoe glanced over at it and shivered like she had palsy. Fingers wrapped rigid around the steering wheel, she sat at the intersection waiting for the light to turn green.
Danny had never said anything about leaving her before. Never. It was completely out of the blue. She felt side-swiped by the information and worked her mouth in a terrible grimace. If only she hadn’t made a big deal about the damage to the car.
And so what if he had bought another princess dress?
He didn’t have much imagination, that was it. He bought them because it was easier than trying to work out what else Rose might like.
The light turned green and the car behind her honked its horn. She blinked, sucked in a long breath and drove forward, barely aware of whether she was in the right lane.
Her head shook from side to side as though of its own accord. No, she’d been right to yell about the damned dress. A side-long glance at it.
Rose didn’t need another of the poorly-made, trashy, glittery, spangly pieces of make-believe rubbish. She had four or five of them in her wardrobe at home. All the colours of the bloody rainbow. It was hard enough to get her to wear anything else as it was. And there were the dolls. Always carting one of them around.
What was wrong with her stuffed animals, for crying out loud? They at least didn’t model helplessness and some unattainable tiny-waisted, big-hipped model of female beauty. She sighed. There wouldn’t be any Barbie dolls in the house later either. There was so many better things on the market now. They could do so much better by her.
Zoe indicated to take the next turn and looked automatically up and down the road for a parking space. Jeanette Woolsley lived in a small council flat just a few streets away from Zoe’s own house. The drive there had been far too short.
The shock had barely worn off.
Hands still tight around the wheel, Zoe parked then sat in the driver’s seat and stared sightlessly at the road.
The worst thing was that Danny was probably right.
If he did leave her – and the thought sent her heart racing in confused panic, a clammy sweat breaking out on her forehead – then he was right. He’d get full custody.
She worked. He worked too, but it was from home.
She worked long hours, sometimes only getting home in time to get Rose out of the tub and into her pyjamas, read a story before bed.
Sometimes not even in time for that.
And she was on call all the time. Not so much on call as just expected to answer the phone whenever anything went wrong. And then go and fix it. Just like she had the other day when she’d taken Rose to the birthday party.
In fact, that had been part of why she’d been so mad at Danny. He hadn’t answered his phone and he should have known better.
Her thoughts raced. Mostly in circles around the bizarre and foreign fact that Danny was actually contemplating leaving her. Even though he’d stopped talking, she’d seen the look on his face.
But why?
That was what she couldn’t understand.
A young woman with a child in a pushchair walked down the footpath, both mother and little boy giving her a strange look as they passed.
They were happy. Her and Danny.
Sure, they had money problems, like any couple their age with a kid and a mortgage. But her salary was an okay amount. His work was pretty seasonal, but he did well all the same. Had somewhere along the line gotten a good name for himself. They were doing okay, as long as they budgeted.
She’d even, in the back of her mind, been thinking about having another baby.
She go
t out of the car. Hitched her bag onto her shoulder. Closed the car door with a quiet thud. Swept her gaze up and down the street, then focused on the flat where Jeanette Woolsley lived.
Jeanette had lost her daughter.
It took an enormous effort to compose herself. Straightening her clothes helped, as though it smoothed out her thoughts as well. Zoe asked herself if she still wanted to talk to Jeanette, but a moment later was walking towards the front door, so there was the answer to that.
Divorce wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe. And she’d fight for Rose. Cut down her hours. Maybe even get a different job, though she loved this one.
Her eyes turned towards the sky as she waited for the door to open. The clouds looked fake, jumbled up in the morning sky as though they were just pretending everything was normal.
Jeanette Woolsley’s mother stood in front of her, a look of puzzled enquiry on her face.
‘Mrs Woolsley,’ Zoe said, pushing aside her own brand-new troubles. Because no matter what else, at least Rose was alive and well. ‘You might not remember me…’
The puzzlement disappeared in the blink of an eye. ‘Of course I do,’ the older woman said, reaching out to draw Zoe inside the flat which was stuffy with heat and emotion.
‘You’re the social worker helped when Sahara was a baby.’ Her face twisted for a moment as though it no longer knew its own shape, but then tightened into composure again.
‘Zoe Fry,’ Zoe said.
‘Yes, of course.’ The hand still on Zoe’s arm squeezed briefly. ‘You were a wonderful help.’
They stood in front of the door, then Mrs Woolsley – Margaret, Zoe remembered her name at last, it was the same as her own mother’s, drew her past a tiny kitchen and into the living room.
A face swollen from tears stared at her from the sofa.
‘Jeanette,’ Zoe said. ‘I'm so sorry.’
‘It’s the social worker, do you remember?’ Margaret asked her daughter.
‘Zoe,’ Jeanette said. ‘Yeah, I remember. You helped me get Sahara’s dad to stop bashing me.’ She offered a wan smile that broke Zoe’s heart. ‘He never did come back, you know.’ A look at her mum. ‘I spoke to him yesterday, but he’s not coming to the funeral.’ Jeanette’s voice tapered off and her gaze dropped to the carpet.
Sitting down beside her, Zoe put a tentative hand on Jeanette’s arm. ‘I'm so sorry, Jeanette,’ she repeated. ‘I really am. Sahara was such a lovely baby.’
A tired smile appeared on Jeanette’s face that struck Zoe as being almost unbearably beautiful.
‘You should have seen her as she grew older,’ Jeanette said. ‘She was real pretty.’
‘Had the biggest blue eyes you ever saw,’ Margaret piped up. ‘And hair so fair you would have thought it was spun gold.’
Zoe shuddered, the description making her think of Danny and his princesses for a moment.
‘Are you cold?’ Jeanette asked. ‘Mum, can you turn the heater up?’ She turned to Zoe. ‘I can’t seem to get warm,’ she said. ‘I’ve been chilled ever since they pulled Sahara out of the river.’ She swallowed. ‘I keep thinking of how cold she must have been.’
There was silence for a moment before Jeanette continued. ‘How did she get in the river?’ she asked, hunching over her knees. ‘How did she get over the fence and into the river? She knew better than that. Sahara was a good girl.’
‘Here, love, do you want to see a photo?’ Margaret broke in to ask Zoe.
At a nod, Margaret picked up a framed photo off the table, thrusting it into Zoe’s hands. ‘See?’ she said. ‘Just lovely. Absolutely lovely.’ She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, hands plucking at each other.
The eyes staring back at Zoe were indeed a beautiful deep blue, like the sea at Sumner on a clear sunny day. The image of the sea made Zoe think of Claire and she wished suddenly and fiercely that she could sit down with her friend and tell her everything, just like they had when they were teenagers. Her hand crept surreptitiously to her pocket and she patted her phone. They had to get together soon. Really soon.
‘It’s a wonderful photograph,’ she said.
Jeanette took it from her and pressed fingers to the glass and the smiling face behind it. ‘She was five when this was taken. I kept meaning to get another one framed, something more recent.’ She lifted her face and there were tears tracking down her cheeks again. Her mother sat on the arm of the sofa beside her and wrapped and arm around her shoulder.
‘Hush, pet,’ Margaret said. ‘Shh, love.’
Zoe didn’t know what to say. She cast about for something, anything.
‘You don’t know my husband,’ she said finally, relieved. ‘But Danny takes our daughter to Jacaranda Park all the time. He’s a photographer and when he heard what had happened, well, he said he’d like to frame a photo of Sahara for you.’ She threaded her fingers together and dug the nails into her palms.
Jeanette’s hands were still pressed against the photo. ‘That’s real nice of Danny.’ She wiped her eyes then put her fingers back against the glass, leaving damp smears. ‘Rose is sure going to miss Sahara.’ She lifted her face to Zoe’s and attempted a smile. ‘Sahara loved Rose. Treated her like a little sister.’
Zoe could feel the frown folding deep creases into her brow. ‘You know Rose?’ she asked.
‘Of course. Danny takes her to the park almost every day, just like you said, and she played with my Sahara whenever we stopped there on our way home from school.’ The smile was sad and sweet.
‘You know Danny?’ Zoe couldn’t help herself. There was something happening inside her head and she shook it to clear the static.
‘Yeah. Most of us mums do, you know.’ Jeanette shot a sidelong glance at Zoe and her cheeks reddened to match her eyes. ‘Some of them go a bit gaga over him, to tell the truth. You know, him being a stay-at-home dad and all.’ She blinked and hurried on. ‘Not me, of course. I knew he was your husband.’ She cleared her throat and stared back down at the photograph.
It was hard to concentrate. ‘I'm confused, I guess,’ Zoe said. ‘I didn’t realise you knew each other.’
‘Well, it’s the local park, you know? We all get to know each other, us regulars, that is.’ Her head drooped over the picture of her dead daughter. ‘We all look out for each other’s kids, you see?’ Her fingers touched the glass cheek. ‘And sometimes we could get him to take photos of our girls. He was always snapping pictures of Rose – you know what he’s like with a camera, I guess.’
Jeanette perked up, looked up at her mother who had gone into the little kitchen saying something about making a cup of tea.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘Where’s my phone?’
Margaret looked around a moment, picked up something and brought it over. Jeanette balanced the framed photograph of the smiling girl on her knee and fell on the phone her mother held out.
‘There’s a brilliant one here, actually,’ Jeanette said. ‘Danny took it and sent me a copy on my phone. Don’t know how he could do that, but that doesn’t matter, because it’s a really good one.’ She pushed buttons and scrolled around the small screen.
‘If he’s serious about making me a framed copy, I’d love it,’ Jeanette said, and held out the phone for Zoe to see.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Zoe said over the lump in her throat.
Jeanette looked at it, swiping a tear from her cheek. ‘Will he still have a copy, do you think? Or shall I send this one to you, so he can print it out?’
Zoe wasn’t processing it all quick enough. She rubbed her forehead, then found an answer.
‘I shouldn’t think he still has a copy,’ she said, though somewhere inside a little voice was casting doubt on it. ‘I’ll give you my number and you can send me the photo and I’ll get him to print it out and frame it for you.’
‘That’d be awesome,’ Jeanette said, fiddling with her phone again and handing it over for Zoe to put her number in the contacts list. ‘Hey, do you want to see some I took at her birthday
party?’ The momentary joy leaked out of her voice. ‘Just before she disappeared.’
Zoe keyed in her phone number then handed the mobile back. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, though she was wishing she’d never come to see Jeanette. She felt hot all over. Her stomach turned; it was all too confusing.
She was sure that Danny had said he’d never met the young woman. Or her daughter.
Yet there on Jeanette’s phone was a photograph he’d taken.
14
The phone was handed back to her just a moment later.
‘They’re not great ones,’ Jeanette said. ‘But I'm real glad I took them.’ She peered over Zoe’s shoulder. ‘She looks so happy.’
Sahara had the same cheeky grin as in the framed photograph, but here she was sporting longer hair and a missing front tooth that gave her a sweet, innocent look that had Zoe’s heart thumping too loudly in her chest. That this child had ended her young life beneath the weeds in the river was a terrible crime.
‘Scroll through them,’ Jeanette said.
It was obviously a birthday party. Margaret Woolsley was there, and at least three other adults bearing a remarkable resemblance to her. Sisters, maybe, nieces.
And kids. A bunch of them. Various sizes, except for their laughing grins. Those were all wide and excited. There was lots of movement in the photos and some were a bit blurry, but Zoe thought it kind of added to the sense of fun. She scrolled through them.
And stopped suddenly, staring at the small screen.
‘What’s the matter?’ Margaret asked. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet, dear.’
Zoe shook her head, but it wasn’t in response to what Jeanette’s mother had said. She was looking at the photo on the screen.
‘Is there any way I can see this bigger?’ she asked.
Both women were staring at her now, she could feel their eyes on her, but she couldn’t look at them. Her neck was tight, fused rigid. She could not take her gaze from the photo.
There was something very wrong with what she was seeing.
‘I don’t have a computer at the moment.’ Jeanette said. ‘Mine broke so I’ve been using the ones at the library.’ She leaned closer to see what Zoe was staring so intently at.
