‘It’s here,’ said Annie, her voice shaky. ‘She didn’t take her phone with her.’ She took a deep shuddering breath. ‘Oh god, someone’s done something to her. Have you looked for her? Are there people out searching?’
‘We’ve put out an alert for anyone matching her description. That’s based on the description the witness at the park gave us. Have you got a recent photo of her?’
‘A printed one?’ asked Jack. ‘No. No one has printed photos. Oh shit. Can you print one if we only have a digital picture?’
‘Sure, mate, no worries at all,’ said the younger officer. ‘Got a snap on your phone there? Give it here and I’ll email it through to our desk.’
‘Do you have any idea why she would have gone all the way to Mona Vale? Does she have a car?’
‘Yes, we have a car but it’s outside, here in the street,’ said Jack. ‘Did she walk to Mona Vale? That would have taken hours.’
‘If her car is here, then it’s possible she walked. We don’t know at this stage. Can you think of anyone who might have driven her? It’s important that we find out whether she was alone or if there was anyone else involved.’
‘Involved?’ Annie was terrified now. ‘Involved? In what?’
‘Would this be out of character for Molly, to leave the baby?’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Annie immediately. She paused then, and thought. The baby was less than a week old. There hadn’t been enough time to know what was in or out of character for Molly as a mother. Molly before having a baby wasn’t unreliable, as such, but she did get distracted from what she was doing quite easily. But no one goes to the loo and forgets they have a baby. ‘Yes,’ she said again, firmly. ‘It would be very out of character. Molly is a wonderful mother. Please, can we go and get the baby?’
Senior Sergeant Godwin ignored that. ‘The baby is quite young: is there any chance that Molly might be suffering from any postnatal symptoms? You know, depression and that?’
‘She’s very tired,’ said Annie, at the same time as Jack said, ‘Yes.’
She turned to him. ‘What do you mean, yes?’
‘I mean, yes, she is probably suffering from postnatal depression,’ said Jack angrily. ‘She’s had a shit of a time in the last week. She hasn’t been sleeping. She’s weird about the baby. Half the time she won’t touch her and the other half she won’t let anyone else go near her.’
‘That’s not postnatal depression,’ said Annie. ‘Is it? Isn’t it far too soon for that? I mean, baby blues, sure. She’s exhausted. And who can blame her?’ She turned to the sergeant. ‘The baby was born early, very quickly, and here at home. Molly was almost on her own. She doesn’t know what’s hit her.’ But she remembered her daughter’s words from the day before. How she couldn’t breathe when she was with her baby. How she only felt the baby was safe with someone else.
The officers apparently read the expression on her face. Godwin said, ‘Look, we’ll circulate the photo, and see what we come up with. There’s also a fair bit of CCTV in the area, and we can have a look at that. I think it’s unlikely she’s come to any harm at the hands of someone else. Having said that, I’m not unconcerned for her wellbeing. In these cases it’s most likely she’s just had a bit of a breakdown — that’s not the word they use any more, but that’s what it is — and taken herself off for a bit of a think. She’s not trying to hide; she didn’t harm the child. I reckon we’ll spot her quite soon. Can you give us a list of her friends? Anyone she might go see? And we’ll take her phone too. Does anyone know her passcode?’
‘It’s my birthday: 2902,’ said Jack, his lip quivering as he handed over the phone.
‘You’re a leap year birthday?’ the constable remarked, as people always did.
‘Yeah,’ sniffed Jack. ‘I’m technically only seven.’
The sergeant patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll find her, mate.’
Annie stood, momentarily unsure what she needed to do next. Call Paul, she thought. Tell him and Brian and Diana to turn the car around and get back to Sydney immediately. And collect Petula. Take nappies and, what, formula she supposed, down to the station to collect her abandoned granddaughter.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Annie told the sergeant. ‘I’ll come get Petula.’ She followed him out the door, the sergeant’s mention of Molly not having harmed the baby ringing in her ears.
Chapter 32
Molly sat on the beach and stared at the waves. They didn’t mind doing the same thing over and over and over forever. Must be nice to be a non-sentient body of water, governed only by the weather and the tides.
How long had it been since she left Petula? Two, maybe three hours, she figured, judging by how much her breasts were starting to hurt. That woman with the little girls would have called the police by now. She’d be thinking Molly was a nutcase. And she’d be right. Who leaves a newborn alone in a playground and walks away? Molly wondered idly if they would send her to prison. Child negligence. That was a crime, surely. Or maybe they’d just lock her up in a mental hospital. Either would be okay. At least she’d be able to sleep. She wouldn’t have to figure out what job to do, or how to lead a meaningful life, raising a child and setting a good example for her. They might keep her there forever.
Molly tried to picture what Petula’s life would be like without a mother. Her mum would help Jack. She’d have to. Jack would probably stay in Baskerville Road, and maybe Naomi would stay too. Naomi would be a good proxy parent. Better to have a loving aunt than a useless mother.
But they mightn’t keep her in a mental hospital forever. They’d let her out eventually. Would she be able to start a new life? No, they’d send her back to her family. They don’t give insane mothers new identities because they’ve decided they don’t really want a kid. They give them pills to make them forget they’re unhappy, and they try to teach them how to pretend to be better parents. That’s what they’d do if she went back. She’d be given help.
Was there enough help in the world to fix this, though? Was there a drug she could take to make her stop feeling that this burden was too great and it was all a terrible mistake? Petula deserved better. No one should have to grow up with a mother who regretted having them.
Molly stretched her legs out into the sand. They ached. She’d walked such a long way. She was deeply unfit. An unfit mother in every sense. Now she was so far from home she couldn’t even say which beach this was. They all looked the same along here. Huge pine trees, a surf lifesaving club, a fenced playground with primary-coloured plastic climbing frames over squashy soft-fall ground cover. She’d sat for ages that morning in the one where she’d left Petula. It was early but there had been other people. All parents. They’d looked so tired.
She’d wanted to ask them if it was as bad as she feared. But she knew they would lie. You couldn’t trust anyone to tell you the truth about having a baby, apparently. It was a huge conspiracy designed to entrap women, and once trapped every last one of them became complicit.
When she was little Simon used to dive straight into swimming pools and then tell her it was warm. ‘Nah!’ he’d shout. ‘It’s so nice. It’s not cold at all. Come in, Moll!’ She’d invariably leap in, only to have the breath knocked out of her by the chill. Cold-pooling someone, they had dubbed it. That’s what this felt like. The whole world had cold-pooled her into motherhood.
The tide was coming in. She knew she should get up and shift back on the sand but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She wondered where Petula was now. At the thought of her baby, her breasts began to leak. She looked down and saw the darkness spreading across her chest and down. She wasn’t even in charge of her own body any more. She’d been hacked.
She watched the waves break, each time the water rolling closer and closer until the foam was splashing onto her sneakers. There still weren’t many people on the beach. If she sat there and did nothing — didn’t resist, didn’t move — would the water pull her out to sea? Maybe. There wasn’t much swell, but if she w
ent limp and didn’t fight it, she might eventually be dragged out of her depth. Or her mouth would fill with water, then her lungs.
It was funny. She didn’t feel suicidal. Well, she didn’t think she did. Having never been suicidal she had nothing to compare it with. She didn’t actively want to die. She just massively couldn’t be bothered. She didn’t mind what happened next. She’d like to pause everything, indefinitely. But that was the problem with death: it wasn’t indefinite. Would some sort of survival instinct kick in if her life were truly in danger? If someone appeared right now and tried to remove her from the encroaching waves, would she fight them and run into the sea? No, she wouldn’t. It would be too embarrassing and, besides, she felt too weak to fight anyone.
The fact she was having such thoughts probably meant she wasn’t suicidal. She didn’t know what to make of that. At least being suicidal was something. It was a decision. She didn’t know what she would do next.
Go home, probably. Home to start her life properly as a mother. She’d take a deep breath and probably a pill and get on with it. She’d put off making a decision. Maybe one day she would, but not today. She’d have to decide soon, though, before Petula was old enough to remember her and miss her.
Molly heard movement and someone sat down on the sand next to her. She looked over. It took her a few moments to place him. ‘Justin Schoolbags?’
The man snorted. ‘That wasn’t actually me — you do realise that?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘No, really it wasn’t. It was Zac Long. He shat in my bag and told everyone it was me. He was a prick to me all the way through high school, but that really was his piece de resistance.’
‘Huh,’ said Molly. ‘Well, you live and learn.’
They sat and watched the sea.
Justin finally spoke. ‘You all right, Molly? Your family are pretty worried.’
Molly looked at him, confused. ‘What? How do you know?’
‘I’m friends with your mum. She told me they didn’t know where you were. The police are looking for you. Jack and Simon are out driving up and down every street, searching.’
‘Yeah, I figured they would be. Is the baby okay?’
‘She’s fine. She’s back home with your mum.’
‘I knew she’d be all right. I knew that woman in the park would do the right thing. She seemed like a proper mother.’
‘What’s a proper mother?’
‘A mother who actually wants to be a mother. Someone who carries Band-Aids in her handbag. And hand sanitiser. Sultanas.’
‘Is that you?’
‘No.’
A man appeared with two identical small children covered neck to ankle in neon sun protective clothing. They wore little legionnaire’s caps and each carried a plastic bucket and spade. They stumbled their way towards the water, their father righting them each time they fell over, every few steps.
‘At least you don’t have twins,’ said Justin.
‘Small mercy,’ she agreed.
‘Shall I take you home?’ he asked.
Molly shook her head.
‘Would you like to use my phone? Give them a call?’
Another shake.
‘Okay, but I’m going to text them to say you’re all right.’
She shrugged. ‘All right’s putting it a bit strongly.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘But that’s what people say.’
Chapter 33
Just after lunchtime, Molly let Justin drive her to Baskerville Road. Her aching chest led her back like an inbuilt homing system. She supposed she could express the milk but she was too tired to figure out the logistics, find a bathroom. It was just easier to go back to the baby. At least for now.
When she walked in through the front door, the house was surprisingly quiet. Everyone must have decided to play it cool.
Jack appeared in the hallway. He wrapped her in his arms and held her so tightly it hurt, but she didn’t say anything. It was one of those angry hugs people give you when they want to punish you for scaring them. She hadn’t had a hug like that since she was very small. She remembered something about running across a car park. Her non-smacking mother had hugged her so hard Molly thought she might break.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘I thought you’d done something stupid,’ he said into her hair.
The old Sinatra song began to weave through her head. Odd how, when everyone knew ‘something stupid’ was code for suicide, that song was still re-recorded and released every few years. All that ‘something stupid’ meant was telling someone you loved them too early in a relationship. Those stakes were a fair bit lower than in the current usage.
‘No. I just needed to think.’
‘What about?’
‘I think I’ve made a mistake.’
‘Sweetheart, Petula isn’t a mistake. I think . . . Moll, you might have postnatal depression.’
Which is a term invented for people who realise they have made a mistake in having a baby, thought Molly, because it’s not something anyone is allowed to admit to. But she didn’t argue.
‘Would you like to have a shower, or a sleep?’ Jack had released her from his grip and now didn’t seem to know what to do with her. He was looking at her like she was a bomb with six red wires.
‘I need to feed Petula,’ she said. ‘My boobs are about to explode.’
‘She’s had a bottle,’ he said nervously. ‘I’m sorry: she was hungry. We didn’t know what to do. I know you wanted to exclusively breastfeed her . . .’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, patting his arm as she passed by. She was glad the baby hadn’t gone hungry, and she realised she didn’t feel strongly one way or the other about whether her baby had breastmilk or formula from a bottle. Only proper mothers had opinions about that.
* * *
Annie hovered outside the living room door while Jack settled Molly on the sofa with Petula and a bottle of water. When he came out to the hall she gave him a querying look.
‘Go on in,’ he said, and held the door open for her.
Annie sat on the sofa beside her daughter and watched as the baby, her eyes still closed, gulped down the milk. ‘She seems happy to have you back.’
Molly didn’t answer.
‘Moll, I’m so glad you’re okay.’ Annie’s voice was thick with tears. ‘I’m so glad you . . .’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘I’m not suicidal, Mum,’ Molly told her firmly. ‘I wasn’t going to kill myself. I didn’t know what to do, but I wasn’t going to do that. I’m just not going to be any good at this. And this part is really relatively easy. I mean, I’m tired, and I don’t know what I’m doing with her most of the time, but it only gets harder after this. I can see that. I’m not going to be able to deal with it.’
‘No, Molly, it gets better, so much better. This is the hard part. The sleeplessness, it’s a killer.’
‘How can you say that it won’t get harder? The sleep deprivation’s the easy part,’ said Molly. ‘At least now I’m awake to watch her. The hard part will be when Petula learns to roll over, and sit up, and then she’ll walk and talk and go to school. That’s when things can happen. What if she gets away from me in a car park and she’s run over? What if I look away from her in the bath and she drowns? What if she chokes on a grape? What if someone abducts her? What if someone drives into the side of our car and she gets a head injury, and never recovers? What if she gets bullied? What if one day I say I feel fat and then she gets an eating disorder? What if she has gender identity issues and I deal with it wrong? What if she ever finds out I went mad and left her in a playground? And what if I don’t start enjoying this more? What if I just plod along, hating my life, forever? What if I do nothing but be her mother? What if this feeling never goes away and I always regret having her? And what if she finds out I regret having her?’
‘She won’t. You won’t ever let her know that, even if you continue to feel it, which I am positive you won’t.’
/>
‘We knew it.’
Annie went cold. ‘Knew what?’
‘That we fucked up your life, and you regretted having us.’
‘You did not fuck up my life,’ Annie whispered. ‘And anyway, you had no idea until very recently that I was unhappy about any of my life. None of you even remembered I had a career that I gave up when I had children.’
Molly went quiet for a moment. ‘Well, you’ve reminded us now, haven’t you? And now we know your career went to shit because you had kids. You put it on hold and then never got it back. I know you regret that. You regret us.’
Annie started to say that wasn’t true, but she paused. Was it true? It was a bit true. Lying to Molly wasn’t going to help. She blinked hard, trying to stem her tears. ‘I regret not trying harder,’ she said. ‘I look back now and I think I should have tried harder to juggle my music career and being your mother. I don’t know if it would have worked. Unfortunately I wanted to be a pop star, and that’s a job that doesn’t coexist easily with parenting, or at least it didn’t. That wasn’t your fault. Or mine. It’s just what happened. I should have kept writing songs, though. There were things I could have done. I could have written for other people. Plenty of songwriters have great careers writing for other musicians. I think I just threw a very long hissy fit because I couldn’t do the job exactly how I’d envisaged it when I was seventeen. Not very sensible, eh? So yes, I regret how I let my dream go, but I never regretted having you and Naomi and Simon.’
‘Never?’
‘Well, to be honest, at lunch on Christmas Day I did somewhat regret having Simon,’ Annie admitted. ‘But only for a few minutes.’
Molly smiled.
Annie stroked Petula’s head. ‘Just don’t do nothing. Motherhood asks a lot of you, Moll, but you don’t have to give it absolutely everything. It’s better for everyone if you don’t. Never forget that you are a person before you are a mother and your child has two parents. Being a mother can be a glorious experience, but it can’t be everything in your life and it’s not fair to ask that of it.’
This Has Been Absolutely Lovely Page 27
