by Paige Toon
‘Not fine!’ Tears stream down my cheeks. ‘God, I thought you were going to say…’ I laugh bitterly. ‘I thought…’ My laughter becomes a little more desperate. ‘I thought…’
‘What?’ he prompts, weightily resting his elbows on the car roof.
My laughs cease suddenly. ‘How could I be so stupid?’ I shake my head. ‘I’m so stupid. So stupid.’
‘A, tell me what you’re thinking,’ he commands.
I laugh hysterically again, still shaking my head, then I look at him, tears streaming relentlessly down my cheeks. ‘I thought you were going to tell me that option three was us. Us! But that’s not even a consideration for you, is it, Ethan? Me divorcing Ned, staying in Australia, the two of us raising this child together?’ I start to cry properly. ‘Us building a house out on the property, maybe even getting married and having more children? Our own little happy family?’ Now I’m laughing and crying at the same time. I most certainly resemble a madwoman. All I need now is the men in the white coats to come and take me away.
‘I love you, you arsehole,’ I say. ‘I always have.’
He stares at me bleakly.
‘What a waste,’ I whisper. ‘What a waste.’
I morosely climb back into the car. He returns to his own seat and shuts his door, glancing across at me. I can’t even look at him.
How did the Prince Charming of my childhood turn out to be such a crushing disappointment?
Maybe he wasn’t Prince Charming in the first place.
‘It’s not out of the question,’ he says, prompting yet another bitter laugh to erupt from my mouth.
‘Forget it, Ethan,’ I reply, staring at him. He looks torn. ‘I can’t talk about this anymore,’ I say blandly, returning my eyes to the front. ‘Let’s go.’
Chapter 37
‘Happy birthday to you…’ A kiss. ‘Happy birthday to you…’ Another kiss. Tiny little kisses peppered all over my bare tummy.
‘Ned…’ I giggle, rousing awake. ‘That tickles.’
His kisses don’t stop and I reach down, running my hands through his shaggy hair, tugging it slightly.
‘Mmm,’ he says, crawling back up to my mouth and kissing me. ‘I love you.’
I smile against his lips. ‘I love you, too.’
His smile fades – and fades – until he’s regarding me with such intense hatred that his eyes are almost black with it. My heartbeat speeds up, thumping violently and painfully inside my chest.
‘I wish you hadn’t killed our baby, though,’ he says, picking up a pillow and placing it over my face.
I bolt awake, gasping for breath. Just-a-dream-just-a-dream-just-a-dream… I clutch my throat, trying to stifle my cries.
Grey light is spilling from underneath the blinds. It’s morning. It’s Tuesday. I’m going to see Doris today. It’s okay. It’s okay. I repeat this to myself until my heart rate settles and I can breathe properly again.
What a horrible dream! And then I remember that reality is almost as bad.
Clare is a small town about two hours north of Adelaide and we set off straight after breakfast. Liz is driving us in her car so I have time to sit in the back seat and reflect.
Dad went off his nut yesterday when Ethan dropped me home. I was hoping to sneak into my room before he could see my face, but it’s almost as though he was waiting for me. Even Liz made herself scarce for once.
‘Oh Amber,’ he said with dismay when he saw that I’d been crying. ‘What is he doing to you?’
‘Nothing, Dad! Please just leave it.’
‘He’s not good enough for you,’ he mumbled disconsolately.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I rolled my eyes because he’d said the same thing only that morning and it really was such a stereotypical-father thing to say.
But he wasn’t about to be put off.
‘He’s not!’ he repeated fervently. ‘No man who is that blind is worthy.’
‘Blind, how?’ This bit confused me.
‘You were in love with him!’
I realised then that he was talking about when I was younger.
‘How could he not see?’ he continued. ‘Perhaps he could. Perhaps he liked the attention, flaunting all those girls about. Such a spoiled boy. Parents gave him everything he wanted.’
His speech was slurred because he was speaking quickly and not making the time or effort to sound out each word. But I could still understand him. Unfortunately. And he wasn’t finished yet.
‘I walked you down the aisle. I was right next to you. I saw the way you looked at him. Your heart wasn’t in it when you married Ned.’
He was right, of course. My heart wasn’t with me at the altar. Not in full. Ethan had a chunk of it. He’s always had a chunk of it.
‘But you’re better off without him,’ Dad said finally, reaching the end of his fatherly lecture. ‘Don’t mess things up with Ned. He’s a good man.’
Don’t I know it? And as for not messing things up, it’s a bit late now.
Why didn’t my dad offer these words of advice years ago? Why did he stay quiet if he knew how I felt about Ethan? Would I have listened to him if he’d told me to steer clear?
Well, no.
Would I have listened to anyone?
The answer is a resounding no. No one could have convinced me that Ethan wasn’t perfect. I thought he was my soulmate. My saviour. The only thing standing in our way was the little issue of him not feeling the same way about me.
And he still doesn’t feel the same way about me.
But my feelings for him are changing, too. The pedestal I put him on is cracking, crumbling, turning to rubble. He’s no longer my knight in shining armour. He’s just a man. A selfish, unfaithful, flawed human being.
As am I.
What sort of parents would we make? This baby hasn’t a hope in hell.
I surreptitiously brush away my tears as I stare out of the window at the farmyards and vineyards flashing past.
When we drive into Clare, it’s almost eleven o’clock. Barry told us that his mother is staying with him and his wife at the moment. He’s keeping an eye on her after her fall. I map-read and direct Liz from the back seat, and eventually we’re making our way along a long, dusty road to a colonial-style farmhouse. As we turn into the drive, the gardens become more manicured, green and leafy and bursting with colour. Pink roses are planted in beds at the front of the house, and when I climb out of the car, the autumn air is scented with them. There’s blue sky overhead, but it’s cool today. I help Dad to exit the car, but before he’s straightened up, the front door opens and a man appears.
‘Hello, there!’ he exclaims.
Liz goes forward to introduce herself while I hand Dad his walking stick and offer the man a small, nervous smile. I overhear him saying his name is Barry, and once Dad is set and I’ve double-checked the ground for any rocks that may trip him up, I walk forward to say hello.
Barry is in his late sixties, at a guess, with thinning, grey hair and a rounded tummy. His smile is wide and genuine and I like him immediately.
‘Is your mother feeling better?’ I ask, relaxing slightly as I shake his hand.
‘Yes, but she doesn’t like sitting around,’ he replies in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘She wants to be useful. It’s good that you’re here. You’ve given her something to think about.’
We follow him inside the house, where we’re greeted by a grey-haired woman, who at first glance I assume is Doris, but who turns out to be Barry’s wife, Patricia. Doris is in the living room, sitting in a wheelchair. She has long white hair that has been twisted into a bun at the back of her head and she’s wearing a pale pink jumper. She looks small and frail, but her blue eyes are bright and expectant as we walk into the room.
‘Mum, this is Amber, Len and Liz,’ Barry says. ‘This is my mother, Doris.’
‘Amber,’ Doris says, her posture becoming more erect. ‘Come here,’ she directs me in a weak, gravelly voice. ‘There you are,’
she says with a knowing smile, eagerly scanning my features as I tentatively approach. She puts her hands on her armrests and begins to heave herself to her feet.
‘Mum!’ Barry exclaims, rushing forward, and I gasp as I spy the nasty purple-and-red bruise on her right temple.
‘Let me be,’ Doris snaps at him, momentarily letting go of the armrest to bat him away.
‘Mum, please, just stay seated for today,’ he begs.
‘I want to see her more closely,’ she replies crossly, peering up at me.
‘Here, I’m here.’ I kneel down on the pale-green carpet in front of her.
She stills for a moment, a frown etched on her forehead, before she relaxes and settles back into her seat.
‘Yes. Yes,’ she says. ‘I can see you. Your eyes… Your hair.’ She lets out a little laugh. ‘My, you’ve grown.’
‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ Patricia timidly interrupts. ‘Tea? Coffee? Something cold?’
I hear Dad and Liz asking for tea and glance over my shoulder, nodding for the same. I return my eyes to Doris’s.
‘It’s been a long time,’ I say carefully.
‘You’ll have to speak up, dear!’ she barks.
I repeat my sentence, adding, ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember you at all.’
‘You were unconscious,’ she tells me, and I stiffen, knowing that this will be hard for Dad to hear. Her brow furrows as she notices my reaction. She glances up at her son. ‘Darling, I would like to go outside. Would you mind if I spoke to Amber alone?’ She directs this question at everyone in the room, but I’m the one to answer.
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ I get to my feet, casting Dad a small smile. He’s not happy, but I need to be able to talk openly. Neither he nor I knows what Doris is going to say.
‘It’s cold outside, Mum,’ Barry says, trying to dissuade her.
‘Oh pish,’ she replies. ‘Give me another blanket.’
I suppress a giggle as I reach for a colourful quilted one on the sofa. ‘Will this do?’
‘That will be perfect, dear,’ she says.
‘Shall I push you?’ I ask.
‘I can do it,’ Barry says hastily, coming forward.
‘Amber is more than capable of pushing me, darling. I don’t weigh much.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Barry mutters.
‘Hmm?’ Doris asks, her eyebrows jumping up.
‘Nothing,’ he replies.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘We’ll come back in for tea in a bit.’
I wink at Liz and Dad, grab the wheelchair by its handles and off we go.
A few moments later, Doris and I are outside on a large veranda with stone steps leading down to a pretty back garden. There are roses in bloom almost everywhere I look, trailing up trellises and planted in a multitude of beds. There’s a white wrought-iron table and two chairs to our left.
‘Let’s sit there,’ Doris directs, so I move aside one of the chairs to make room for her at the table.
‘I was sorry to hear about your fall,’ I say, catching a glimpse of the awful bruise again as I take a seat on the other chair.
‘It looks worse than it feels,’ she assures me, adjusting the blanket on her lap. I hope she’s not too cold. Sunshine is flooding the grounds, but it’s not reaching us here under the canopy.
‘It’s a beautiful garden,’ I comment.
‘It is. This was my house once,’ she reveals. ‘I’m in a home, now, but Barry and Patricia were good enough to put me up for Easter.’
‘Do you have many children?’ I ask, feeling a necessity for small talk before we get down to business.
‘Two. Barry and Christine. Barry has two sons. They’ve both flown the nest, now. Married with children. Christine lives in Adelaide.’ She tuts. ‘She has a son and a daughter. What terrible grief the latter has got herself into.’
‘Oh no,’ I say with sympathy, my curiosity piqued.
She humphs. ‘Yes, Becca. She turns thirty next week.’ She glances at me. ‘You and she are the same age.’
I nod, taken aback. ‘I turned thirty a couple of weeks ago.’
‘You were both three at the time of the accident,’ she says, eyeing me shrewdly.
‘What can you tell me about it?’ My impatience has got the better of me.
For a moment she falls silent, staring past me in a slight daze. I’m about to repeat my question when I see pain pass across her face. I realise she’s remembering the accident…
Chapter 38
The winter-morning sunlight was momentarily blinding and Doris, who had been lost in her own thoughts, had to concentrate very hard to follow the line of the road. That was when she saw it – the car mashed up against a gum tree. She would have driven straight past, thinking it had been there for a while, if it hadn’t been for the smoke spiralling out of the engine.
Her reflexes kicked in and she pulled off the road. She looked over her shoulder, but the smoke was obscuring her vision so she climbed out to take a closer look. As the smoke drifted, she caught sight of a woman in the driver’s seat. Doris’s heart almost leaped out of her chest as she picked up her pace and began to run.
The bonnet was completely crushed against the enormous tree and the driver’s side was pressed up against another. The pungent fumes of petrol and hot oil mingling with omnipresent eucalyptus filled Doris’s nostrils as she rushed to the passenger door and yanked it open, experiencing a surge of relief as the woman turned her head to look at her. Doris jolted at the sight of the small child in the back seat, but she seemed to be asleep or unconscious.
Returning her attention to the woman, Doris saw that, even with cuts on her face from the shattered windscreen, she was young and beautiful, with auburn hair half tied back from her face. She had the most startling blue eyes as she gazed at Doris.
‘Are you alright?’ Doris asked quickly.
‘I don’t think so,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.
Doris’s eyes drifted downwards and, to her horror, she saw the woman’s hands and dress were soaked with blood and a sharp piece of metal was protruding from her stomach. Doris couldn’t help the gasp that she emitted. She needed to get an ambulance.
‘Don’t go,’ the woman begged as Doris began to retreat.
‘I need to find someone to call an ambulance,’ she said, shaking her head. The country road was quiet. She’d have to get back into her car and drive to the nearest house she could find.
‘No, please.’ The woman’s face was deathly white and blood bubbled out from beneath her shaking hands. ‘My daughter,’ she murmured. ‘Amber.’
Again Doris returned her attention to the little girl in the back seat. She had auburn hair like her mother, and her skin was also pale, but not deathly. At least Doris hoped not. ‘She’s fine,’ Doris lied. ‘I must go and get help.’
‘Too late,’ uttered the woman, and then she coughed and blood sprayed out of her mouth.
Doris felt momentarily dizzy, but adrenalin forced her to focus.
‘Please tell her something for me,’ the woman said.
‘You must conserve your energy,’ Doris urged. ‘Don’t speak. I need to get you an ambulance.’
She couldn’t bear to stay here and do nothing when it seemed the woman would be dead soon.
‘No,’ the woman said again, and this time she had a strength to her voice that surprised Doris. ‘Please… You have to tell her…’
‘Tell your daughter?’ Doris prompted, everything inside her tightening and pinching in the most excruciating way. This was her worst nightmare unfolding right in front of her eyes. To know you were going to die and leave your child behind… This woman knew. She knew.
With everything in her, Doris willed herself to be strong, to be the messenger, to hear this stranger’s last words and to comfort her as best as she could. She reached over and took the woman’s hand. It was icy cold and slippery with blood.
‘Tell me. What do you need to say?’ Doris asked, steeling herself.<
br />
The woman coughed again, blood trickling out of the side of her mouth. She was as white as a sheet. Doris wasn’t even sure she had the ability to speak.
‘It’s very simple. Tell her I love her,’ the woman whispered, and Doris nodded encouragingly. ‘She’s my little lamb,’ the woman said, a tear falling from her blue eyes. ‘Tell my little lamb to be a good girl. Be a good girl for Mummy.’
I burst into tears.
This was no big revelation, no huge secret that had been kept from me for years and years. This was indeed a simple message from a mother to a daughter, a daughter she loved dearly.
‘I’m so sorry for upsetting you,’ Doris says, her voice wobbling as I cry.
‘She used to call me her little lamb,’ I blurt out, gulping back a sob. ‘I remember now.’
Lambert… She gave Lambert to me.
I dry my eyes to see tears coursing down Doris’s wrinkled face as she watches me.
‘She gave me a stuffed toy – a sheep. It was there with me in the car?’
Doris nods. ‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘You wouldn’t leave it behind. I took it out of your arms to unclick your harness and you screamed and held out your hand for it as I lifted you from the car. I was distressed because my fingers were dirty.’
Dirty with what? It dawns on me: my mother’s blood.
‘They tried to take him away from me,’ I whisper, shuddering at the sudden recollection. ‘I remember a nurse saying he was dirty and I was so upset, she let me keep him.’
‘There was nothing to wipe my hands on,’ Doris apologises regretfully.
Lambert has been grubby ever since I can remember, but I never knew… I never knew that the brown spots on his body were made by fingers soaked with my mother’s blood.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you sooner,’ Doris says. ‘I did tell one of the policemen, of course, but the message was so, well, so obvious, I suppose… Isn’t it what any parent would say to their child? I love you. Be good. It’s what I would say,’ Doris admits. ‘And I have thought about it. I wasn’t sure the policeman would pass it on, and even if he did, I suspected your father might not see the significance or remember to tell you.’
