Like Mother, Like Daughter

by Elle Croft

  ‘12 January?’

  ‘Yep, OK, so some things are real then,’ she said, relieved.

  ‘We have an older sister,’ Brad said, and Imogen’s jaw fell open. She’d never had an older sibling before, and now she had two. She felt like she was getting emotional whiplash; the excitement of a new family, and all the possibilities ahead of her, followed by crushing disappointment and rejection. Then more joy and hope and expectation. It was hard to keep up, but she let herself be carried by her emotions, helpless to stop them.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Well, that part I don’t know yet,’ he said.

  Imogen frowned.

  ‘I should back up. We were all separated – our parents, us. The one thing I want you to know, and never ever doubt, is that our mum and dad loved us.’

  Imogen swallowed. Tears prickled behind her eyes, but she blinked until they disappeared. She desperately wanted to believe him.

  ‘Why did they give us up then?’ Her voice cracked on the last word, and her eyes filled with hot tears.

  ‘They didn’t,’ Brad said, leaning over to grip her hand. ‘Amy, listen to me. They didn’t give us up. We were taken from them.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘The government. Social workers. People who decided that our parents weren’t doing a good enough job. And yeah, OK, they weren’t perfect – I know that, and they’d admit it – but they loved us. We were a family.’

  ‘So where are they now?’

  ‘I’ll come to that,’ he said.

  Imogen wanted to press him, to know right then, but he seemed to be on a roll, his hands waving as he spoke, his face getting more animated. She didn’t want to interrupt.

  ‘So Kimberley – that’s our sister – was taken away and given a new identity – we all were. I’ve been trying to find her for ages but haven’t managed to find her new name so far.’

  ‘Well, how did you find me?’

  ‘Now that, little sis, is a good question,’ he said with a smile.

  Imogen glowed with pride.

  ‘You see, I was there when you were taken away from me. I was supposed to go with you, but the people who adopted you didn’t want me, too.’

  ‘Wait – Kat and Dylan were going to adopt you, too?’

  With every new snippet of information she was given about the couple who raised her, Imogen’s hatred snowballed into something huge and unstoppable.

  ‘Well, they were at least considering it. They came to meet us. I remember it so clearly, even now. I was five, and you were just a baby, totally helpless. They turned up at the foster home we were in, and I could hear them talking. They didn’t want me. I’d pushed the memory away, hadn’t thought anything of it for ages. And then one day I met someone at work whose name was Braidwood and that day just flooded back to me. I remembered overhearing the social worker calling the couple who took you Mr and Mrs Braidwood. Once I’d remembered that, I realised that maybe I could find you after all. It didn’t take too long to find a couple called Braidwood with a daughter Amy’s age, thanks to Facebook.’

  Imogen was still reeling from the revelation that she could have grown up with Brad, that their entire childhood together had been taken from her. She wondered how different her life would have been if she’d had an older brother around, someone who was looking out for her. She wished she’d known that life.

  ‘Why didn’t they want you?’

  ‘I was damaged, apparently.’

  Imogen didn’t know what to say, how to apologise for the behaviour of the people she’d been chosen by. There were no words that could bring back what they’d lost. She felt guilty, although deep down she knew that it wasn’t her fault.

  ‘But the good news is that I found you,’ Brad said suddenly, breaking the silence. ‘And together, I’m sure we can find Kimmy. And then we can be a family again.’

  ‘Are we going to find our parents?’ she asked. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I’m going to tell you, little one. But when I do, I want you to keep an open mind, OK? And remember what I said before … our parents loved us. They still do.’

  She nodded, her skin tingling with nerves. She didn’t know what he was going to tell her, but she knew that she trusted him. He was her family, her real family. He was all she needed. He was all she had. It didn’t matter what he said, in the end. Nothing mattered but them being together.

  ‘Our parents,’ he said softly, ‘are in jail.’

  Chapter 45

  KAT

  I dial Owen Griffin’s number as soon as I’m back in the safety of my car. I can barely breathe, but I need to know.

  He picks up as I’m turning out of the prison car park.

  ‘Is it true?’ I say, in lieu of a greeting.

  ‘Sorry, is what true? Is that you, Mrs Braidwood? Did you get what you needed from Sally?’

  ‘Is it true that she’s making an appeal? She said there was some bad evidence in her trial or something, that she might get out of there one day.’

  There’s a hissing noise as Owen inhales sharply. ‘She said that?’

  ‘Right as I was leaving,’ I tell him. ‘She has to be lying, right?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I mean, she is going to make an appeal. I have no idea whether it could possibly be successful.’

  ‘But you told me you haven’t spoken to her for years!’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Owen replies quickly. ‘She found another lawyer, one who thinks she has a case. She contacted me to get all of the original files.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me that?’

  ‘No,’ he says, sounding surprised. ‘I didn’t. You’re after information about your daughter. Not her current legal status.’

  I hang up, frustrated. He calls me right back. I reject the call. And the next one. He leaves a voicemail, which I ignore.

  As I enter the freeway and overtake a semi, my heart begins to slow to its regular rhythm. My fear is absorbed once again into my bloodstream, a low thrum rather than a screaming, front-of-mind presence. I’m nowhere near her. I’m safe. For now, anyway. I can’t think about Sally’s appeal, or the fact that there’s even the slightest possibility of her being back on the streets again in the future. I have to get home, and keep my sights on what matters: Imogen.

  Although my visit with Sally didn’t offer me any solid leads to follow in terms of what might have happened to Imogen, she did confirm that Brad wanted to get his family back together again. He’d been to see her, albeit under a different name—

  My stomach does a flip. A different name. I reach over to my phone and scroll through my recently dialled numbers. When I find the one I need, I hit the call button. As it rings, my heart rate picks up again, and I press my foot down to speed past a caravan.

  ‘Hello, Constable Troy Monroe speaking.’

  ‘Troy, it’s Kat Braidwood.’

  ‘Kat! Are you OK? Dylan told us you’d taken off, he’s been worried sick about you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve been to Melbourne to visit Sally Sanders, and—’

  ‘You bloody what!’ It’s an explosion rather than a question.

  My cheeks heat up as the shame of my rebellion surfaces. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I really am, and you can yell at me all you want later, OK, but I have some information that might help.’

  Troy tuts and sighs, as though I’m a naughty toddler who’s misbehaved and he’s trying to decide how to punish me. After a beat, he sighs again.

  ‘Fine,’ he says, ‘but I’ll be having some serious words with you later about meddling with a police investigation and putting yourself in danger. What have you got for us?’

  ‘Sally said that Brad’s visited her in prison before,’ I say.

  ‘She’s lying,’ he replies gently. ‘We checked those records, in our initial search for Brad. There’s no Brad on her visitor log, and no Tristan, either.’

  ‘She said he used a fake ID,’ I argue. ‘Which means he might have
another name you guys don’t know about. And I guess some kind of disguise?’

  ‘We’ll look into it,’ Troy says.

  I try not to scream down the phone, to demand that he stops messing around and starts seriously looking for my daughter. Surely they can do better than this? If I could get this information, how could they have missed it? And what else have they overlooked? I hold my tongue, though, and manage to rein in my anger enough to say calmly: ‘I’m worried you’re not being thorough enough about this, and not taking Imogen’s safety seriously.’

  ‘I assure you, we’re doing all we can. I know it might feel like we’re not, because you’re not seeing us at work, but we do know what we’re doing here. Keep in mind, Kat, Sally might have just been saying this to get a reaction from you. We might not have missed anything.’

  I consider his words. Perhaps he’s right. Maybe she was playing me.

  ‘Maybe,’ I concede.

  ‘I know this is incredibly difficult for you. But please leave this to us from now on, OK? We really do know what we’re doing.’

  ‘OK,’ I say meekly. I’m embarrassed now that the initial adrenaline has worn off, now that I’m left empty-handed, no closer to finding Imogen than I was before.

  ‘And, Kat?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do me a favour and give Dylan a call, will you? Just let him know you’re safe. Poor bloke’s going out of his mind.’

  I promise I will, then hang up and stare at the road as it whirs past me. My hands are cramped from gripping the steering wheel so intensely. I let out a long, slow lungful of air and relax my fingers. My knuckles immediately flood with blood and the colour returns to them. I reach towards my phone, and then hesitate, my hand shaking as it hovers to my left.

  No point putting this off, I tell myself. Besides, I promised Troy. And Dylan does deserve to know that I’m all right.

  He picks up after half a ring, his breath heavy as though he’s been running.

  ‘Kat, thank God, are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say wearily. ‘I’m on my way home.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  I sigh. I’ll have to tell him what I did eventually, anyway. Might as well get it over with.

  ‘I’m in Victoria—’

  ‘Victoria? What the hell—’

  ‘I went to see Sally. Sanders.’

  There’s a brief pause. I wait for the explosion I know is coming, and after a few seconds, when my confession sinks in, it arrives.

  ‘Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do something so stupid, so … so bloody reckless?’

  I let him rant at me for a few minutes, keeping my eyes on the horizon while he exhausts himself. There’s nothing out here on the freeway. It’s flat and dry as far as the eye can see, an occasional dusty grey bush the only landmark. It’s hypnotic after a while. The kilometres tick past, but the landscape remains exactly the same. Bleak. Dead. Hopeless.

  ‘Kat?’

  I blink quickly, my attention back on Dylan, on his raised voice. ‘Yes, sorry, what?’

  ‘I asked if she said anything. If it helped; meeting her.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘She did say that Brad visited her in prison using a fake identity. And, before you interrupt, I’ve already told the cops.’

  ‘That feels like a pretty massive bit of information for them to have missed,’ Dylan says, his volume lower now, the fight gone from his voice.

  I murmur my agreement.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, a sob creeping up my chest. ‘It was so awful meeting her, hearing her try to act like she’s a great mother and I’m this terrible human.’

  My eyes well up and I blink the tears away.

  ‘She said that Brad mentioned us when he visited her. Not us specifically,’ I add as Dylan starts speaking over me. ‘Just that he remembers a couple choosing Imogen – Amy – and rejecting him.’

  As I’m speaking, new thoughts are forming, new connections are being made. And as they are, my stomach plummets.

  ‘Dylan,’ I whisper. ‘What if this isn’t just about getting his family back together?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what if it’s about revenge?’

  There’s silence over the phone as the idea takes root. The road hurtles past, a blur of black and white. I almost don’t say the words I’m thinking, can’t bear the idea. They catch in my throat as I force them out, the horror of it coming out as a wheeze.

  ‘What if he wants to get back at us,’ I say, ‘for taking his sister away?’

  PART THREE

  Chapter 46

  IMOGEN

  She didn’t think she could handle any more bombshells about her past. She’d had enough for a lifetime. These new truths were slamming into her brain, the force of their impact almost blinding her with a sharp, insistent pain. She winced as another blow caught her behind her eyes.

  Finding out she was adopted would have been shock enough. But then there was the discovery of her older brother, the news that she had an older sister somewhere, that her adoptive parents kept her and Brad apart and, fi-nally, learning that her real parents were in prison. It was too much.

  As soon as the words had left Brad’s lips, she’d burst into tears, unable to control the tide of emotion that had been building inside her. Her sobs were loud and messy, like parts of her had come loose and were being expelled from her lungs. She didn’t know how to stop it, or slow it down. Her grief was like a black hole, sucking up any light that dared to come too close.

  Brad had leapt over the cushions to hold her, wrapping her in his arms and rocking her gently, whispering that it was going to be OK, that he was there, that he wouldn’t let her go. Eventually, the sobs had subsided, leaving her numb and frozen to the spot. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t want to.

  She didn’t know how long they sat there for, her brother’s hands clasped together at her side, her ribs pressing into his, small puffs of his breath warming the top of her head.

  ‘Let’s get you inside, shall we?’ he’d asked eventually.

  She hadn’t replied, so he’d picked her up and carried her back into the dark, where he lay her gently on the sofa, pulling the armchair close so he could hold her hand.

  She stared at a small stain on the knee of his jeans, a single point that she concentrated all of her attention on. It was the only way to stop the anguish. And she needed to stop it. If she didn’t, it would consume her completely until there was none of her left. Just the dry husk of a girl whose whole world was pulled out from under her all at once.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amy,’ Brad said, stroking her arm. ‘I shouldn’t have told you, I knew it was too soon.’

  She tried to shake her head, but all she managed to do was blink. It was her fault, not his. She’d been the one who wouldn’t stop asking where their parents were. She had so many more questions, but every time she began to think about all the things she didn’t know, she’d be battered by another crashing wave of emotion and she’d start falling apart again. Maybe there were some things it was better not to know.

  ‘I’m going to call Kat,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she managed to croak. ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘Amy, this is serious. I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I don’t want to see her. And, anyway, she doesn’t want to see me.’

  ‘Oh, little one,’ he said. ‘I know this is so hard. I wish I could take all of your pain away, but I just want to help. What if I get Kat to bring some of your things. Would that make you feel better? Do you think maybe some of your clothes and, I don’t know, just some familiar stuff, would help?’

  Imogen thought about it for a second. She did miss having her own clothes, clothes that fitted properly and smelled like her. She missed her phone, too, but Brad told her she’d thrown it out the window of his car on Saturday night. She couldn’t rem
ember, but she’d been feeling reckless when she left home, so she must have done. More than anything specific, though, she just missed having anything of her own, anything that tethered her to the world. Right now she was just floating, in someone else’s space, in someone else’s identity. Maybe having some things that she recognised would remind her that she really did exist.

  ‘OK, but please don’t make me see her.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise. I think you need to rest for now, anyway. I can get her to come and bring your things and you can have a bit of a sleep. I actually got you some vitamins this morning, when I was out getting breakfast. Will you take one with some water? I need to make sure you’re staying healthy; you’re still recovering from whatever that was you had, and I don’t want to risk it happening again.’

  She nodded, grateful to her brother for knowing exactly what she needed. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Thank you, Brad,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘You don’t have to be without me,’ he said. ‘You never have to be without me again.’

  She squeezed his hand, unable to put into words how she felt, how much she owed him, how much she loved him already, after only knowing him for a few days. He squeezed it back, then got up to pour her a glass of water. She took it gratefully, the cool side of the glass providing a tiny bit of relief from the heat of the day.

  It was only after taking her first sip that she realised how thirsty she was, and with just a few gulps the water was gone. Brad refilled it, then handed her a pill. She looked at it, then back to him.

  ‘Vitamins. You need it, Amy.’

  She slipped the tablet onto her tongue and chugged the rest of the water. Then Brad carried her back to the bedroom, placing her on the bed. She felt empty, wrung dry. She wanted this day to be over. She wanted to fast-forward to the part where life felt normal again, where she and Brad and Kimberley lived together, making up for all of the time they’d lost, and where she didn’t feel constantly confused and sad and angry.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she whispered to Brad, grabbing his arm as she curled up on her side.