The Daughter's Promise (ARC)

by Sarah Clutton

  ‘Yeah.’ Indigo sat back and frowned, her face a study in fierce contemplation. ‘That’s what Mum said.’

  ‘Sylvia? You told her?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, at first she said Lillian didn’t have a baby. But then she sort of said that if there was a baby, she couldn’t have kept it. So I don’t know – but something went on that she doesn’t want to talk about.’

  ‘Annabelle too,’ said Willa, staring out of the window again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh.’ Willa shook her head. ‘Probably nothing. Annabelle… she’s lovely, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s a good ’un. When she found out I was stripping, she was totally awesome. Just worried about me, but not judgy or anything.’

  ‘How did she find out?’

  Indigo raised her eyebrows. ‘Dan told her that one of his friends saw me.’ She raised her fingers into quotation marks around the word ‘friends’.

  ‘Oh,’ said Willa.

  ‘He came into the club one night. You should have seen his face when he spotted me. I almost wet myself laughing.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Willa, slotting the information about Dan into her mental file.

  ‘Anyway, I’m due up at Merrivale after my babysitting to help her in the garden. She’s getting frantic about this open garden thing for the festival that she’s hosting in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Perhaps I can come and help you out,’ said Willa. ‘I’ve always thought I’d like to learn to be a gardener, but I was caught up with work and kids.’

  ‘What sort of work do you do?’ asked Indigo.

  ‘I’m an event planner,’ said Willa.

  Indigo looked at her blankly.

  ‘You know, organising big expos and product launches, corporate gatherings, that sort of thing. Although I haven’t worked since my daughter died.’

  Indigo’s face dropped. Willa kept talking to smooth over the awkward pause.

  ‘It’s been two years nearly now, so I was thinking perhaps I might look for work again soon.’

  ‘Oh, that’s totally bad. Sorry, Willa – about your daughter,’ said Indigo.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Willa was surprised by the question. Nobody had ever asked her that before. Well, nobody apart from Dr Lee, and he was paid to ask her, so that didn’t count. People already knew what happened – they’d heard a hundred different versions. There had been an inquest last year. And for those who hadn’t known before, the coroner’s findings had been reported in the media. It was so awful that nobody ever imagined she would actually want to talk about it.

  ‘I mean, you don’t have to,’ said Indigo, looking straight at her. It was an interested sort of look. Indigo seemed to exist halfway between a child and a wise old woman, with her sweet, open face and serious eyes.

  No, thought Willa, I don’t really want to talk about it. But maybe I should. Since you asked, and I can be with Esme for a few minutes. So… maybe I do.

  ‘She was at a party,’ she said. ‘It was her first proper party.’ Willa stared off at the horizon. The beach was so perfect. Esme would have had so much fun dipping her feet in the water here. She wouldn’t have cared about the cold. ‘I’d checked with her friend’s mother. Who would be there? Would boys be coming? Were they supervising actively? What time should I collect her and so on.’

  She looked back at Indigo with a small smile. ‘Esme was so sensible. It didn’t occur to me that she’d be in any danger. We’d talked about things to be careful of, and she really didn’t seem interested in the idea of alcohol or sex or drugs. In reality, I thought those things were still years into the future, but the books said to talk about them, so we had. We did.’

  Willa had approached parenting as if it were an ongoing event, critical to her core business success. She planned, coordinated, read all the latest articles as her children changed stages. She monitored Hamish and Esme’s social media and made sure they had open lines of communication. She was a particularly involved, very protective mother. Her own mother had thought she was too involved.

  Willa realised she had been silent for a while. She was staring into space, still surprised that she was confiding in Indigo.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Indigo. She put her empty KeepCup on the table and was leaning forward, her hands between her knees.

  ‘The girls were drinking a sweet cider-type drink very early on at the party. One of them smuggled it in. It was really strong. Almost the strength of vodka. But it tasted like cordial. A couple of them drank a lot, including Esme.’ Willa felt a buzz of the old anger coming back. Anger at the parents of the party girl, who were inside the house with their friends, drinking, listening to music and joking about what the teenagers might be getting up to downstairs. Anger at the girl’s brother who had bought the alcohol. Anger – pure white-hot rage – at Esme’s friends for leaving her alone. The lovely, smart girls that Willa had known since they were toddlers. Girls she had loved.

  ‘Sounds like lots of parties I went to when I was a teenager,’ said Indigo.

  ‘Esme felt sick and tried to call me, but I didn’t hear my phone. She left me a message asking me to come and get her. We had a deal, that if she ever got into trouble and needed me, she should call and I would come straight away and not ask questions. I would just sort out whatever happened and nobody would get into trouble. We once heard a parenting expert talking about how important that was.’ Willa felt her energy sagging. The noises in the café were receding into the background, and all she could focus on were the leaves on the potted succulent on the coffee table in front of her.

  ‘That was smart,’ said Indigo, and Willa realised the girl had been waiting patiently for the end of the story.

  She reached across and pulled a little piece off the plant and dug her nail into the smooth green leaf. It left a dark, satisfying moon-shaped mark.

  ‘It was still quite early in the night, so I wasn’t expecting her to call until later. I’d forgotten to turn my phone volume up.’

  ‘Willa, you can’t blame yourself for that.’

  Willa turned her mouth up at the corners, just a fraction: thank you, but there’s no need to try to make me feel better. I can and I do blame myself.

  ‘After that, she went into someone’s bedroom to lie down, and she vomited. None of her friends checked on her. Not until the end of the night.’ Willa’s head was still spinning about that. ‘She’d choked. Suffocated.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Willa.’

  ‘Yes. Me too.’ She dug her nail into the leaf over and over until it was sticky green pulp in her fingers. ‘She was gorgeous. Sometimes it floors me – that I’ll never see her again. It hurts so much that sometimes I forget to breathe.’

  They sat in silence for a while, soaking up the chatter of the café patrons around them. The little girl from a table across the room wandered across, and hestitated before reaching for a sugar packet from the tumbler on their table and depositing her half-eaten Vegemite sandwich in return. Willa guessed she was about three years old. They smiled at her, then Indigo spoke. ‘You’re really strong, Willa. If you’ve survived that, I bet you can survive anything.’

  Willa didn’t reply. She leaned over and put the sandwich remnant onto a serviette and handed it back to the child. ‘That looks yummy. My little girl liked Vegemite sandwiches too.’

  The girl looked away shyly; then, after a moment, she looked back and smiled, and took the sandwich before toddling back to her table.

  Willa stood up and Indigo came around the table and lifted her into a huge hug. Willa flinched, then sagged as the remaining energy in her body evaporated. She let herself be hugged. It was quite nice. Indigo was nice.

  ‘Well, I’d better get going,’ said Willa, stepping back. ‘I think I’ll go to Lillian’s house. My house, I suppose now,’ she added, wryly. ‘There are things I guess I should know. Some boxes to consider.’

  ‘Want me to come with you?’ aske
d Indigo.

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s my closet. My skeletons. I can deal with them. I’m quite practised.’

  They both gave a little chuckle, which seemed inappropriate but it made Willa feel much better. She would look in the boxes. And then she would put this mystery to bed. She really needed to be getting back to Oxford, but she might as well find out the truth before she left.

  Fourteen

  Annabelle

  1977

  Annabelle stared through the window. Sylvia was getting into the passenger seat of the old Kingswood. Her bright-yellow jumpsuit was jarring against the mucky red-brown of the driveway and the low grey sky. Lillian started the car, and as it retreated down the driveway, Annabelle rubbed absently at the teacup with the dish towel. Drizzle was sliding down the window pane.

  Why had Sylvia been such a toad about not wanting her to go roller skating with Eadie tonight? Dad was fine on his own and Annabelle didn’t have much homework to do over the weekend. Sylvia was always bossier when other people were around, as if she was acting out of a handbook about how to be a good mother, even though she wasn’t the mother.

  At the table, Dan and her dad were talking about the rain, and how the cows might not get back over the river if they had another big downpour. Dad was due down at the dairy soon to start the second milking, and Sylvia had instructed Annabelle to make sure she had his tea ready at 6.30 on the dot, because he was still feeling a bit off colour after last week’s flu.

  ‘How about a top-up, love?’ he said. He was holding out his mug.

  Annabelle lifted the woollen cosy off the teapot and brought it over to the table. She refilled her dad’s mug and felt guilty as she looked at the strain around his eyes. Last time they’d had big rains there was so much mud that lots of the cows got mastitis and their milk production slowed and Dad had been worried about the bills. She hoped it wouldn’t be like that again.

  ‘Thanks, love.’

  ‘Want another one, Dan?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’m okay.’ Dan grinned at her and Annabelle felt her heart flutter. Why did Sylvia get to have him? He was the nicest person Annabelle knew, apart from her dad. The weather was cool this afternoon, and Dan was wearing a patterned blue shirt that hugged his chest. There was a zip at the front, pulled down just enough so that Annabelle could see pleasing little swirls of his chest hair. She noticed how his jaw moved when he spoke to her dad, and how his sideburns curved perfectly under his cheekbones and were just a shade lighter than the shaggy mop of hair that curled around the base of his neck.

  ‘What are you up to tonight, little Belle?’ He half turned his chair to include her in the conversation. He was thoughtful like that. She felt her neck getting warm with happiness.

  ‘Nothing. I can help you if you like,’ she said. The thought had only just occurred to her. Dan had been railroaded by Lillian into sitting with Len tonight. But he had just finished telling Dad how busy he was at work, and how he didn’t really have time to be sitting around minding Len. She could help him. She could get Len’s dinner and his pills and whatever else he needed. Len was nice. Last time Annabelle had gone to visit Lillian, Len had started teaching her how to play gin rummy. She could bring her cards! It would be no trouble at all to sit with Len and Dan.

  ‘No need. I’ll be right,’ said Dan.

  ‘Please? I want to. Dad, that’d be all right, wouldn’t it? Len was teaching me to play cards a couple of weeks ago. He’d love it if I came too.’

  ‘I don’t mind, love. Whatever suits Dan. But only if he can drop you home later.’

  ‘Dan? Can I?’ Annabelle was bouncing up and down on her toes, thrumming with excitement. ‘Pleeaasse! I’ll do all the boring bits. Promise!’

  ‘Jeez. How could I refuse that offer?’ said Dan. He was shaking his head, but his eyes crinkled. Then he laughed, and Annabelle twirled around the kitchen, her short checked skirt flapping against her legs.

  ‘You’d better get ready, though, ’cos I’m going to drive home now to get some files sorted out before I head across to Len. Lil said he’s fine for a couple of hours on his own, but it’ll be time to check in on him soon.’

  ‘Off you go then, love,’ said her dad. ‘And take a jumper. It’s going to come in cold, I think. I’ve got to ring Ray Crassock about the fences before I go down to the dairy, so I’ll say goodbye now, Dan.’ He got up from the table and picked up the phone cradle.

  Annabelle felt herself smiling, grinning. She bounced across to him and gave him a hug.

  ‘Go on with you, girly,’ he said gruffly as he slid the plastic toggle up from the bottom of the Teledex and pushed the button. He pretended to shoo Annabelle away, but she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips.

  ‘Quick sticks then, Belle,’ said Dan. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car.’

  ‘Okay.’ Annabelle pelted up the hallway and into her room. She grabbed a bag from inside her cupboard and threw in a pack of playing cards and a cardigan. At the mirror, she stopped and grabbed her hairbrush, running it through her hair in thick swiping motions. She looked at herself again, then frowned and ripped off her old shirt and ran into Sylvia’s room. In the cupboard, she flicked through the hanging clothes, hesitating before lifting up the olive-green top that Sylvia had bought last year in Myer when they went to Launceston. It was Sylvia’s best top, but she would never know. She flicked it off the hanger and pushed her arms into the sleeves, then buttoned it up, leaving the top two buttons undone. She knew it looked better on her than on Sylvia. Green was her colour, and her bust was much bigger than her sister’s.

  As she closed the cupboard, she noticed that Sylvia had left her make-up out on the dressing table. She picked up the pale-blue eyeshadow and squinted into the tiny mirror on the ledge. She rubbed a little eyeshadow across her lids with the pad of her finger, then picked up the mascara and swished the brush carefully against her lashes before replacing them both exactly where she had found them. As she was leaving, she spotted Sylvia’s brown leather platform wedges lined up neatly against the wall with her other shoes. She took a deep breath, then pulled off her own sandals and wiggled her feet into the platforms, thrilled at the sight of her toes peeping out elegantly at the front. She wobbled as she let go of the bed. They were so high. She had an immediate feeling of being older, glamorous.

  She picked up her bag and walked carefully into the hallway, stopping in front of the full-length mirror in the hall. Her lips parted in wonder, and she felt a shiver run through her. The green top strained across her breasts, her cleavage on perfect display between the two wing-like lapels. She leaned forward, entranced by the effect of the mascara. Her eyes looked huge and pretty. Although she wasn’t tall, the shoes made her legs look longer, thinner. And her new checked skirt was the absolute best. Sylvia’s snipes about it being too short were just jealousy. She ran both hands through the waves of her hair, and as it settled across her shoulders and spilled down onto her chest, she took another deep breath and considered the entire effect. Gorgeous.

  As Annabelle walked down the hall, mindful of each footstep in the heavy, awkward shoes, she felt something changing inside her. She would be sixteen next week, and she was no longer a child. Lately she had been noticing the looks the boys at school gave her. And men in town, too. Appreciative, knowing looks. She understood that she was pretty, but there was something else in the way they stared at her, and in her most private, restless moments, when she allowed herself to think about what it might be like to kiss a boy deeply, or to go even further, she sensed that what she had – what was within her – was something profound and intense. Something that not everybody had. It would be unthinkable to ever voice it, or to even think of it in the same universe as when she longed for one last hug from her mum, or massaged her poor dad’s shoulders at night, or fought with Sylvia about doing chores, but if she was being honest with herself, in those small snippets of the night-time as she drifted off into the simmering thickness of sleep, she wondered if what she possessed innatel
y, in the way she smiled and talked and walked, was something sexual.

  She opened the door of Dan’s car and slid into the front seat, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Let’s get going,’ he said.

  Annabelle darted a look in his direction and their eyes met for one brief, excruciating second. She saw surprise and wariness, and then, in the final millisecond before he let the clutch out and took off down the dirt driveway, something else. She wondered, as she squeezed her eyes shut against the thought, if it might have been regret.

  The silence, except for the rumble as the car navigated the uneven driveway, and the sound of the indicator as they reached the main road, was too much for Annabelle to bear. ‘Can you play gin rummy, Dan?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Maybe we can play later,’ she said. They turned onto the main road and headed towards Sisters Cove.

  ‘Maybe. I’ve got heaps of work to do before Monday, though. A big case starting in court. Maybe you and Len can play.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. I can stay there on my own if you need to go back to your place and work.’ She flushed with the knowledge that she’d overstepped the boundaries with the shoes and the make-up. She could feel him retreating from her, when all she wanted was to be helpful.

  They drove the rest of the way to Dan’s house without either of them speaking, Annabelle clutching her bag against her chest. She felt the silence like a heavy cloak. When they turned off the main road and headed towards the lighthouse, she spotted the lush green copse of old trees that surrounded Merrivale, just across the paddocks. To Annabelle, the big, beautiful house was the closest thing she knew to a mansion, except it wasn’t made of stone like the ones in her mum’s old English magazines. She wondered how rich Dan’s Uncle Andrew and Aunt Constance were.