The Silence

by Susan Allott

  “Mandy.” He reached out and held her hand. “You’ll make a great mum, you know.”

  She moved her thumb back and forth across the palm of his hand and kept her mouth shut. He didn’t know. He could hope, was all. If she turned out to be anything like her own mother, she’d be a disaster. Mandy had a growing fear, which she would not speak out loud in case it became irreversibly true, that she was very much like her own mother. Her own mother, for example, would have snubbed a kind, well-intentioned gift from Mandy’s father, would have returned it the minute the shops opened. Mandy looked down at the Timex on her wrist and dropped Steve’s hand, hoping he’d go off and get dressed now, leave her alone for a bit.

  He didn’t budge.

  Steve also didn’t know that Mandy had not yet stopped taking her daily contraceptive pill. Every morning, as she popped the small, white tablet from its foil bubble, she told herself this was a temporary situation. When she was ready for motherhood, she would stop taking the Pill and get herself pregnant and that would be that. The time would come, surely, when she would long for children; she would need to be pregnant and unable to think of anything else. Louisa next door had told her she’d felt that way before she fell pregnant with Isla. She’d felt ready, and that readiness had been all-consuming. Mandy would have that feeling one of these days, Louisa had told her. But Louisa didn’t know either.

  Mandy leaned in against Steve and felt his chin on her head; his good, strong arms around her. She let her head rest against his shoulder. Shoulders like an anvil, her Steve.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

  Fourth lie of the day. Mandy knew that this lie, the Baby Lie, was the one that made everything else a lie, and made it pointless counting the small, polite ones. She also knew, in a quiet, buttoned-down place, that she was falling out of love with her husband. And she wasn’t fighting it, this fading out, this dimming of the light. Because it made the lie easier to tell.

  “I was thinking,” he said. “I might set off on this job first thing tomorrow. Get it over with.”

  “Oh?” She managed, she hoped, not to sound delighted. “First thing?”

  “Might as well crack on. Won’t be any easier if I leave it.”

  “You’re probably right, love.” She could smell the sea spray in the air. “You’ll be gone a few days, then?”

  “’Fraid so, darl’. You know I’d sooner be home with you.”

  “I know.” She stood and put her cigarettes in the drawer under some napkins. “I do know that.”

  3

  Ivanhoe, New South Wales, 1966

  Steve saw her first, kneeling in the dirt at the edge of the creek. She looked happy enough. Five or six older kids with her, poking at something in the water with a stick. He turned away, kept his foot on the gas, and hoped to God she’d run off before Harry spotted her. His shirt was wet against the car seat. He hummed a tune, to break the silence, and let himself believe he wouldn’t have to do this one; he’d tell Ray they couldn’t find her. With any luck they’d have a busy few months and it would go on the back burner. He’d be able to sleep tonight.

  No such luck. The kid jumped to her feet and started shouting at the others to come and see, come and look at this. Waving the stick in the air. Steve kept driving, kept humming, and she kept waving the stick and yelling. What did she have to go and do that for?

  “There she is!” Harry jumped clean out of his seat. “Over there, by the creek.”

  Steve braked. Turned off the ignition. “Well spotted, mate.”

  Harry wandered over to her, nice and easy, for all the world like he was her favorite uncle come to visit. He started talking to her, squatting down by the water. Steve knew what he’d say: “I’m going to take you for a ride in a police truck.” He always said that. “And then you’re going to have a little holiday.”

  Steve climbed out of the truck and waited. Harry held his hand out and the girl took it. She was taken with him, you could see it. Looking up at him and smiling. With any luck they could do this nice and quick without a scene.

  “There’s a baby too,” Harry said, just loud enough to reach him. “A boy.”

  “Do we need to do that today?”

  “I should say we do.” Harry looked at him like he was out of his mind. “Get the job done, mate. No sense dragging it out.”

  Steve looked away, over at the creek where the kids had been playing. They’d all cleared off. It had gone quiet; just a dog barking, a door slamming shut. Someone must’ve raised the alarm. They’d be hiding their kids under the beds, in cupboards. The older ones would have made it into the bush by now.

  “I’d just as soon leave it.” He kept his voice low. “Why don’t we leave it, Harry? It’s never easy when it’s a baby.”

  “It’s not meant to be easy.” Harry held the car door open for the kid, still with the nice-guy smile on his face. “You wouldn’t be here if it was easy,” he said, shutting the door behind her.

  “Not easy for them, I mean.” He glanced up at the house behind them, where the family lived. “It doesn’t seem right, does it?”

  “Jesus, Steve. What are you saying?”

  Steve stared back at Harry. Another dog started barking, closer than the first. “Nothing,” he said.

  The kid leaned out the window. “Where am I going on holiday?” She was looking wary. “Can I say goodbye to Grandpa?”

  “I’ll speak to him,” Steve said. His voice sounded fake, like an actor with a bit part. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Get a bloody move on,” said Harry. “And don’t let ’em get to you. It’s been signed off.”

  The house was quiet. Tin-roofed veranda and a dog sleeping in the shade. He knocked, not too loud, but footsteps came right away. He braced himself.

  “What’s wrong?” An old fella answered the door. He was darker than the girl: black skin and white hair, like a photo negative. What Ray would call a “full-blood” Aboriginal. He was none too happy to see a copper on the doorstep, and he’d clocked the truck down by the creek too. “What’s the problem?”

  A baby cried quietly in the front room, out of sight. Beside him, the dog was on its feet, baring its teeth, snarling.

  “I’m here about the kids,” Steve said. “You the grandpa?”

  “What d’you mean?” He took a better look at the truck and saw the girl through the window. He reared back in shock. Tried to push past, hollering her name. “Dora!”

  “Listen. Don’t make this hard on yourself.” Steve gripped him by the shoulder and shoved him back into the house, just enough force so he knew this was serious. “Let me in.”

  It was dark inside, and a tight knot of flies was frantic over a piece of meat on a plate near the stove. Three empty beer bottles were lined up next to the sink. The baby was propped up on the couch in a singlet and a nappy. He’d gone quiet, big wet eyes following Steve as he moved.

  “Where’s the mother?”

  “Out,” the old fella said, and looked at his feet. “Her sisters help with the kids. There’s three sisters and five cousins. Plenty of us to care for the younguns.”

  “Look, mate. We’ve been told to take the baby. Orders from above.”

  The old fella shook his head. “You can’t.” He picked the boy up and held him tight, both arms across his body. “We’re a loving family. We look after the kids.”

  A fly thumped against the small window and dropped to the floor. The room was stifling. Steve started feeling separate from his body, like he might not be in charge of himself. He didn’t know what he’d do next. He locked eyes with the baby: a steady gaze, wise and sad. Something in Steve shifted then, standing in that small room in Ivanhoe, although he barely felt it. The slight loosening of a knot.

  “I’m not going to take him,” he said. “You get to keep the boy.” The old bloke didn’t react. Steve didn’t know if he’d said what he thought he’d said. “I’m going to leave him here with you. I won’t take him. But his sister’s coming with me,
mate. Foster family’s lined up already.” He went into automatic. “She’ll be looked after. She’ll get a good education. Good start in life.”

  The old man started to cry then, his face stretched long and trembling. “Can I see her?”

  “Best you don’t. Stay here and keep the baby quiet. Or else I’ll have to take him.”

  Steve heard the old man wailing as he shut the door behind him. White, hard sunlight after the dark of the house. The dog lifted its head and got up on its haunches, barked at him until he was off the property.

  He shook his head at Harry as he got into the truck.

  “No baby in there,” he told him. His hand trembled on the ignition. He wanted to cry himself, now that he was out of there, away from the old man and his despair, his grief. He had no reason to cry next to that, but still his throat ached and his eyes threatened to well up. He was a lily-livered, poisonous bastard. He couldn’t even look at the girl in the back.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said, swinging around in her seat. “I want Grandpa.”

  “Your grandpa says to be a good girl.” He said it without turning. “He says to sit down nice and quiet and don’t muck about.”

  He reversed back a few yards and a great cloud of dust rose up around them. The old bloke was out on the veranda as he pulled away, then he was chasing the truck. Steve crunched through the gears, put his foot down, and drove blind through the dust till he’d gone.

  4

  Sydney, 1967

  Mandy had taken her eyes off Isla for one minute. Two, maximum. She’d been right there in the wet sand, a few feet away, digging with her hands. Mandy stood beside the little hole Isla had dug; the damp heaps of sand beside it. The hole was full of water. A huge great wave had come and covered the beach, wetting the tip of Mandy’s towel. Which was when she’d looked up and found Isla gone.

  She searched up and down the beach; strode off in one direction shouting Isla’s name, then went back the way she came and did the same thing. She must have missed her. She kept calling. There were too many little girls in blue swimsuits on this beach. All of them looked familiar from a distance and became strangers as she drew closer. Panic seized her. Her legs became heavy and slow. She stood on the shingle and faced out to the water, calling again, her voice lost to the boom and crash of the waves. The heat of the day, the laughter and movement, became nauseating; the gulls sounded shrill and full of dread. She waded into the sea and shouted, “Isla! Isla!”

  The waves were coming in tall and strong. She tried to head back to shore but a wave rose up and she was caught in the swell, lifted off her feet, and carried powerfully to the beach, where she landed on her forearms. Pulling herself to her knees, she imagined Isla drowned, her neck broken, her lungs full of water.

  She hooked the straps of her swimsuit back over her shoulders, coughing. Farther down the beach, Isla waved and ran toward her through the shallows.

  “Mandy!” Isla was wearing a red swimsuit. Red. “I saw you in the water! You got your hair wet!”

  This was why Mandy didn’t have children. It was scary, and exhausting. She crawled onto the beach where their towels were laid out and sat herself down. Christ Almighty.

  “You went swimming!” Isla threw herself onto her knees in the sand. “Did you like it?”

  “Not much.” Mandy laughed. She pushed Isla’s flattened, gritty hair out of her face. “I didn’t see that wave coming.”

  “You said you don’t like the water.”

  “I don’t!” Mandy pulled her swimsuit away from her skin and saw she had sand all over the place, thickly gathered in the folds of her belly. “Let’s go and get showered. Your mum will be back soon. We should head home.”

  Isla shook her head. “She won’t be back yet. She went shopping. I reckon she’ll be ages.”

  “It’s getting choppy out there. That’s enough for today.” Mandy stood and reached for her towel, flicking the worst of the sand out of it. “Tell you what. Next time we’ll catch a shark and take it home for lunch. How’s that sound?”

  Isla nodded and picked up her own towel. “Tomorrow, can we?”

  “Don’t see why not.” She nodded up at the showers at the top of the beach. “You have first shower. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Mandy’s legs were heavy as she followed Isla up the coastal path toward the house. She stood a moment under the shade of the tea trees, listening to the waves, getting her breath back. Steve would be home soon. He’d been away over a week, so he must have finished the job. She had a bad feeling about this one, she didn’t know why. It was getting harder for him as time went on. And it was getting harder to deal with him afterward.

  Her skin turned cold, thinking of it. She found her sundress, sandy and damp at the bottom of her bag, and pulled it over her head, brushed the dried sand from her skin, and climbed the last few yards to the bottom of her backyard. The best she could hope for was that he wouldn’t get back before she’d had a chance to open the gin.

  “Mummy’s back already!” Isla ran across the yard toward her. “She’s back! She didn’t even get any shopping!” Isla stopped and attempted a handstand, leaving one foot on the grass, one bent leg pointing skyward. She stood up and lifted her hands above her head, triumphant. “That’s why she’s cranky, and much too hot.”

  Mandy followed Isla across the grass to where Louisa was waiting for them at the rear of the house. She looked gorgeous, as usual. Tall and elegant in a pale blue dress, perfectly upright, and that dark slab of hair down her back. Mandy felt plump and crumpled in her presence. “You should have let yourself in, Lou. Door’s open.”

  “I’ve only been waiting a few minutes.” Louisa held her arm across her forehead to block the sun. “I was quicker than I expected. Thanks for having her.”

  “Don’t mention it. We had a great time.” Mandy pushed the back door open, dropped her bag on the linoleum, and switched the electric fan on, more for Louisa’s benefit than her own. “Come in and I’ll fix you a drink. You look like you need a pick-me-up. I know I do.”

  Louisa took a coaster from the kitchen table and fanned herself. “Sounds wonderful.”

  She seemed nervous, smiling too brightly, Mandy thought. She tried to catch her eye, but Louisa sat down at the table and stared out at the yard, kicking her long legs out in front of her. The sun was pulling back behind the house, and Isla was skipping up and down, her shadow folding over the plant pots and the coil of garden hose.

  “Is anything wrong?” Mandy asked.

  “Still can’t get used to Christmas out here,” Louisa said, without turning around. “It hits me hard at this time of year, you know.”

  Mandy did know. Louisa was so homesick you could feel it coming through the walls. She reminded Mandy of her mother in that way. The British accent and the pining for home, always fed up with this country. Her mum had never let up about the stinking heat, as she’d called it. Forever fanning herself and looking for the shade. Nothing had cheered that woman up like a dark bank of cloud.

  Louisa turned to face her. “I made a down payment,” she said, waving a fly away. “I went into town to make a down payment.”

  “On what?”

  She glanced out at Isla in the yard. “Fix me that drink and I’ll tell you.”

  Mandy flexed the ice tray and dropped a few cubes into each tumbler. “Happy New Year, Lou. Here’s to 1967.” She knocked her glass against Louisa’s. This was her first toast to the New Year. With Steve being away she’d thought she might ignore it, but in the end she’d had a few drinks and stayed up past midnight on her own. She took a long sip of gin and wondered, was it unlucky to bring in the New Year on your own? An omen of some kind?

  “You got a new watch?” Louisa reached for the Timex, which sat on the kitchen table, curled around the salt and pepper.

  “Got it for Christmas.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “D’you think?” She felt the alcohol reach her, its welcome lift. “I can’t get used
to it. Never had a watch before.”

  Louisa wrapped it around her own wrist and fastened the buckle. She stretched her arm out to look at it, turning it back and forth. Her arm was damp with a fine sheen of sweat, Mandy noticed. Even her sweat was lovely.

  “You should wear it,” Louisa said. “It’s elegant.”

  Mandy smiled and took the watch from Louisa. “That’s the problem,” she said. “I’m not the elegant sort.” She buckled the watch, keeping it loose so it didn’t pinch.

  Louisa sat back and lifted her hair, pulling it into a comb. The soft hair at the nape of her neck was wet, stuck to her skin.

  “What did you say about a down payment, Lou?”

  Isla bolted past them, straight through the kitchen into the lounge room. “Isla, don’t run!” Louisa called. “Slow down!”

  Isla jumped onto the couch to look out the window. Mandy took a swallow of gin and waited.

  “Steve’s back!” Isla held on to the back of the couch and sprang up and down, her backside in the air. “He’s back, Mandy!”

  Mandy stood at the window and looked out. Steve had parked already, and the truck was filthy, as always. Mud-caked wheels; brick-red dust at the fenders. The windscreen was covered in muck but for the small double-arc of the wipers.

  Steve turned the engine off and slumped over the steering wheel, resting his head on the bridge of his hands.

  Mandy’s stomach turned. “Here we go,” she said, as he lifted his head. She stepped away from the window, afraid to catch his eye.

  “Here we go!” Isla leapt off the couch and turned a pirouette. “Here we go!”

  “Isla, stop jumping around.” Louisa stood in the doorway with Isla’s sandals in one hand. “We should get going.”

  “No rush. Don’t feel you have to leave.”

  “No, we’ll be off. Steve will want a bit of quiet, if he’s been away.”

  Mandy nodded and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table. She could see from here, he wasn’t going to keep it together on account of company. “I hope he’s not too cut up this time.”