The Lone Child

by Anna George

  Cyndi had crashed out on the recliner, her legs tucked under her, her bum in the air, her head down. Like that, she looked identical to Tayla. Leah sank into the recliner beside her baby. She badly wanted to touch her warm skin and stroke her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

  Leah had cried more in the last hour than she had in twenty-five years. Her thoughts were going forwards and back like the sea.

  She tried to not think about Tayla’s body: where it might be; when it would wash up. Or if.

  Phil was staring hard at Cyndi, and so was Kelly. They were looking at her like she was about to disappear. Kelly was crying again.

  Beyond the unit, a car burst into life. Leah could hear it reverse, stop, and go again. The grey light of the TV splashed onto the kids’ sleeping faces. Another plane had gone down without a trace.

  ‘Kel . . .’ whispered Phil.

  Kelly kept her eyes on Cyndi, as Phil whispered into her ear. A spark flared in her face then Kelly gestured to Leah. ‘Phil’s got an idea,’ she whispered. ‘It might work too, if they believe us.’

  Leah shook her head.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Phil, spitting flecks of milk.

  Leah tried to swallow. Whatever she had coming, she deserved. ‘I need to stand up now, for Tayla. Do what’s right.’

  ‘Listen up, love,’ said Phil. ‘Nothing you can do will bring her back.’

  Leah hiccupped. ‘I don’t want to lie any more.’

  ‘You don’t have a whole lot of choice,’ Phil had said.

  ‘He’s right,’ whispered Kelly. ‘And you said it on the beach: other people screw up and get away with it. Why can’t we?’

  42

  Leah tried to look through her own reflection. She wanted to see them lurking behind the glass. Don’t you judge me, she thought. You don’t know me. She stood with nowhere to go. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t breathe. She thought of Kelly, sitting next door. Her sister would be doing a better job of this. And Phil. But they weren’t going to get away with it. They’d probably made mistakes already. Like telling her only friend Suzy and making her lie too. They should’ve told the truth from the get-go. Not wasted people’s time . . .

  Leah took a breath and then another. Tried to squash the panic. She cleaned her fingernails, one by one, then sniffed her fingers. They smelled of dirt and seaweed, with a whiff of fertiliser.

  Maybe gaol wouldn’t be that bad. No bills. Her own bed. Food. Maybe she could study . . . She sighed, wiping her hands on her jeans. Who was she kidding? Cyndi had lost a dad and a sister and she needed a mum, at home!

  Problem was though, Leah was a rotten liar. Gran had taught her when she was a kid that lying only made things worse. Once she’d pinched a kid’s bike and ridden it home from a party. The kid’s dad had gone bananas. Gran too. Leah had made up a story about finding the bike by the road, and chasing down an older kid who’d nicked it. But it didn’t work. She ended up having to give the kid her own bike, for keeps. And Gran had given her a walloping with the wooden spoon. Leah hated how one bad mistake led to another one. Until the only things you could see were the things you’d done wrong. She hadn’t done one thing right since Thursday.

  Leah did the only thing she could think of. She closed her eyes and prayed – to Gran. I bet you’re real ashamed of me, she said in her head, and it’s a long shot, but if there’s a chance, any chance, please don’t let them send me to gaol and let me keep Cyndi. Please, please, please I’ll see her safe. Leah could feel the tears building inside her face: behind her forehead, her cheeks, her chin. I won’t hit her, she whispered. And I’ll never lose her . . . or leave her behind.

  __________

  After the news, Neve was the colour of putty but, calmly, she recounted for Sal and Kris the events of the night before. Listening, in light of the news, Sal was open to what she had to say. Clearly, today, a child was missing. A real child. Who she adored. And who, quite possibly, hadn’t made it back to her mum. Falling silent, Neve nodded from him to Kris, her story done, then took off for the stairs. Without more, he and Kris followed. In the lounge room, they found Cliff, murmuring and stretching like a tiny caricature of a waking man. Neve bent to kiss his forehead.

  ‘Can you look after him for me?’ she said. To Kris.

  Despite the situation, Sal was heartened as Kris’s head bobbed. Tentative new allegiances were being struck.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Kris.

  ‘Outside. She’s there, somewhere. She must be.’

  ‘But how can you be sure?’

  ‘He’s due for a feed in an hour.’ Flinging open a cupboard, Neve withdrew a blanket. ‘I’ll be back . . . In the meantime, call the police.’

  Kris frowned. ‘And say what?’

  ‘For god’s sake! That she’s been here.’

  ‘But we don’t know that . . .’ said Kris.

  ‘Well, I do,’ she said.

  In the pause, Sal realised Kris had been confident of his trauma-stirring-loss theory. And he wasn’t prepared to give it up. But Neve seemed restored by the news story. That, or overnight she’d come good.

  When Neve searched Sal’s face, he kept his gaze steady, wanting to believe her. And, while he had called in her ex and doubted her sanity, he wanted her to understand why. He hoped that by breaching her trust, he had paradoxically revealed she could trust him. And that he cared.

  ‘Can you call then?’ she said, taking his hand. Her grip was warm and strong. Relieved, Sal nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Without waiting for more, she flew across the room, onto the balcony, and was gone. Kris looked as confounded as Sal felt. Sal stretched the muscles in his neck and heard a crack.

  ‘What do you reckon now?’ said Sal.

  Kris rubbed both hands across his closely shaved head. ‘The fact the child is missing – doesn’t mean she was here.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sal tried to follow Kris’s logic. ‘You still reckon Neve might have flipped then?’

  ‘Well, no, not necessarily.’

  ‘She does seem better today.’

  ‘She’s . . . different,’ said Kris. ‘But is she sick? Hallucinations aren’t always pathological, anyway, you know.’

  Sal nodded, slowly. He did know a little of that. ‘Like, when you’re grieving?’

  ‘Yes, the border between reality and hallucination is easily crossed,’ said Kris. ‘When you’re stressed, isolated, traumatised . . .’

  ‘What about sleep deprived?’

  ‘Yes, then too.’

  Kris held Sal’s eye meaningfully. Sal tugged at his ear. ‘But why would she dream up this little girl and not, I don’t know, her mum?’

  ‘That’s a fair question but for reasons peculiar to her . . .’ Kris’s eyes narrowed as he rubbed his hand across his mouth.

  ‘It is possible, though, isn’t it,’ said Sal, ‘that the little girl was here?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘She thinks she saw her today . . .’

  Sal took his phone from his pocket and they both stared at it.

  The baby began to whimper. When Kris started, Sal had the distinct impression the father was scared of his son. Kris picked up the baby and held him to his shoulder. His long fingers cupped Cliff’s head as if it was an egg.

  Sal unlocked the telephone.

  ‘We’re going to need some formula,’ said Sal. ‘So Neve can get a decent sleep again tonight.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Kris.

  Sal wondered if, up until this weekend, Neve was one of those mums who wanted everything to be by the book. Feeds. Breast milk. Soon, organic baby food. Probably. ‘Or an expressing machine?’ he added.

  Surprised, Kris fixed his gaze on Sal, and then smiled. They weren’t that different, Sal thought. Not deep down.

  ‘I can go to a chemist, in a tick,’ said Sal.

  Nursing his phone, Sal felt afraid. The mum’s story didn’t add up, but parts of Neve’s didn’t either. A cornersto
ne was missing. Standing in her spectacular, remote home, he wondered what the police would make of the two women. How many laws they’d broken between them . . . and, sleep deprived or not . . . once the police arrived, what madness would follow?

  43

  The door opened. Since Leah was a kid, she’d looked at the TV out of the corner of her eyes, wary-like. Gran used to throw tea towels at her, to make her turn straight on. The cop at the door was waiting for a reaction. She looked at him, as if he was a TV.

  For a moment, she feared they’d pulled Tayla’s drowned body from the sea. Her lies were that thick in the air, she could taste them.

  ‘Have you found her?’ she said, her voice breaking.

  The giant cop shook his head. He seemed genuinely sad about it. He was probably a dad.

  ‘We’re done with you for today,’ he told her.

  Leah was stunned. Weren’t they going to arrest her? ‘I can go?’

  ‘Yeah. You can.’

  The giant cop stood aside. She got up that fast her chair fell over; she felt her cheeks burning, as she picked it up. For a moment, watching her, the cop’s eyes watered. Then he said, ‘The Department doesn’t take people’s kids willy-nilly, you understand? They can help you.’

  Leah ducked his stare. She wondered if he’d guessed that she was lying.

  ‘Don’t believe everything you seen on TV,’ he said.

  She nodded.

  ‘We’ll be in touch, Leah,’ he said. ‘Look after yourself.’

  He sounded almost kind. Sad, but kind.

  44

  The sky was like a day-old bruise; mauve and pink clouds were turning yellow in patches. Neve’s feet sank into the sand as she looked left and right. Towards the pier, or towards Shoreham? A decision she’d made a hundred times before, when it didn’t matter, as so many decisions didn’t. And then, just like that – one did. Like this one. The sun was falling, trailing clouds. Soon the police would arrive, asking for her. The search party would set up and the helicopters would thunder in. The circus would descend across the beach. She’d been here before . . . She was still deliberating as a band of shadow fell across the sand. A flock of cormorants, travelling high overhead, northward bound. Instinctively, turning towards Shoreham, she followed.

  On the rise, she retraced her steps of the night before. She scoured the undergrowth, metre by metre, until she reached the spot where Leah Chalmers had been. There, she tugged at fallen branches, poked the ground with a stick. At the noise, more birds evacuated trees in flurries.

  ‘Jessie?’ she said. ‘Come out. You’re not in trouble.’

  Hunting, she thought of Kris and his theory connecting Jessie with Charm. She could see the links. The parallel emotions. Listening, she had even begun to share his doubt. Those clothes had looked unworn, the bed unslept in. And . . . well . . . she had been phenomenally tired. Everyone knew sleep deprivation was a form of torture, akin to waterboarding and interminable noise. By definition, then, parents with newborns were effectively being tortured. And under torture, people, of course, cracked . . .

  Underfoot, suddenly, something gave and she stopped. In the long grass beneath the scrub was a single burrow. A rabbit’s hole? She poked it again and her stick snagged; she peered into the disturbed earth. The hole was too small, too snug, even for Jessie. She winced. Had she speared a small animal? Yanking the stick out and, finding it empty, she sighed, relieved. This weekend, she hadn’t lost her marbles but she had lost something of herself.

  She scanned the foreshore ahead. The day was cast in a mossy green. A fresh bloom of weed had budded overnight on the slate surface of the rocks. Bursts of emerald dotted the water’s edge. Peering at the new life, Neve realised, she was grateful for the mother’s abduction story. As shocking as it was, Jessie . . . Tayla was missing. And Neve had seen her. These were facts.

  The only way, she realised, to make everything right – for Tayla, the mother, herself – was to find the girl. Quickly. Neve pictured Tayla, as she’d been that morning, gesturing in the garden and darting up the beach. Her urgent sweet face. Skipping through the seagrass, around the first point, near that fallen tree. Yes.

  Neve took a deep breath, broke into a run and yelled, ‘Tayla!’

  Soon, it would all be clearer.

  __________

  In the driver’s seat, Leah stroked Mick on her lap and stared at the blue police sign. The dog was somehow comforting. ‘Why African wild dogs?’ Leah had asked Tayla one morning. She’d been expecting one of Tayla’s animal facts. Like, because they run in large packs and share the same mum and dad; or, because they are endangered and only six thousand are left. But Tayla had said, ‘Because they’re grey and brown; and they’ve got really big ears.’

  ‘Good reasons,’ Leah had replied.

  In the passenger seat, Kelly wasn’t making a peep. When Leah squinted at her, Kelly was chewing the ends of her hair.

  ‘You waiting for them to change their minds?’ Kelly asked her.

  ‘No.’

  But it wouldn’t be long before they did. Or before she did. She’d come that close to telling the giant cop the truth, when he’d been kind to her after he let her out. She hated sending them on a wild goose chase, costing money. Though what it cost wasn’t her problem. She could’ve kicked herself, hearing that. But the fact was, they ought to be at the beach. The lot of them. Having a bloody good look in the daylight – for the body. Then this horrible time would be over.

  Kelly took the clump of hair from her mouth between two fingers, like it was a cigarette. She must’ve run out again. ‘Where to now, then?’

  Leah stroked the ears of the dog on her lap. She was pretty sure Kelly wouldn’t be keen. Too risky and too sad. But she wanted this to end. Kelly’s phone beeped with incoming messages.

  ‘Mitch is in Sydney,’ said Kelly. ‘Be home tomorrow . . .’

  Leah rolled one shoulder. She had nothing to say to him; didn’t care what he’d said when Phil had told him the news. His coming back, his issues, were the furthest things on her mind; though, yes, today she did understand his anger.

  ‘Shit. The Carters want me to come get my money. “For the best clean ever”.’

  Leah snorted dryly. ‘You mean my money.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Leah turned on the car and passed Mick to Kelly. They both listened to the engine rumble. Off, on. Dead, alive.

  Leah glanced across again to the steady blue light at the police station. The cops might follow us, she thought. Then she reversed out of the car park.

  __________

  That was quick, thought Sal, when he heard the car. He’d only put the phone down a moment ago. He and Kris had taken their time deciding what to say, before agreeing to tell as much as the police needed to know. No more, no less. It was a balancing act: how much to reveal, how far to let the authorities in. They’d kept the details vague. To protect Neve’s privacy, her reputation, as much as anything else. She could choose otherwise later, they agreed; that was up to her.

  Unrushed, Sal climbed the garden path and pulled open the gate. It was seriously heavy. A lovely timber, tallowwood. He propped it with a stone. With the space opened up, the street and the property merged, the hill seemed to reclaim Neve’s garden. It would be a refreshing change if the wall were gone altogether. One day he’d suggest it. He had a hunch she might agree.

  When he looked up, he saw not the police, but a brown Holden. He recognised both women inside too: the mother from the news and the second woman from the beach. The fossicker! He understood then that Neve and the mother’s stories were going to shift and merge like currents in the sea.

  He rubbed his cheeks. This was another delicate moment. Step in or let nature take its course? He’d pulled it off with Neve and Kris. Just. He could wait for the police. They would contact the mother, when they were ready, once they confirmed Neve’s story. Or he could give the mother a head’s up. Now. He didn’t want to give her false hope, though. He knew a bit about that. One
final time he asked his mum what to do. This time, he heard her. Don’t ask me, she said, in his head. You know. He smiled. And then, imagining the clearest, truest thing he could say, he waved.

  45

  Up on the roadside, Leah listened as the man explained how his friend, Neve Ayres, from the big, stone house, may have seen her daughter. Possibly, he said. Over the weekend. ‘When?’ she yelled. ‘When?’ That morning . . . on the beach . . . Leah didn’t need to hear another word. Her chest swelled with hope and she yelped. Too overjoyed to be embarrassed, she bolted down the public path to the sand. Kelly yelled at her to stop but she didn’t give a toss that the police were coming. Or that soon they’d be following her onto the beach.

  On the foreshore, Leah bounded through the seagrass. It took her a few minutes to see the woman in the distance. To recognise her small searching figure. Please . . . let it be true. When the woman climbed over the rocks around the first point, Leah had another surge of hope. They hadn’t searched that far . . . That woman knew where to go, what she was doing. They were going to find her, alive!

  __________

  At the first point, Neve accelerated. Running on the damp sand, she could see the fallen tree in the mid-distance. It was nestled into the embankment and a drift of seaweed had risen up beside it. It was around this vicinity where she’d glimpsed Tayla when walking with Faye. She could picture the girl, in those old clothes, springing through the seagrass towards the haphazard structure. It looked, Neve realised, like an improvised tepee. A low tepee of sticks and branches.

  Running on the softer sand was tough, awkward too with the blanket in her arms, but within another minute she was upon the spot. She slowed as she approached the array of timber. She hadn’t noticed it before but the fallen tree had a girth of over a metre, and someone had collected branches to lean against the heavy base, to create a slatted wall against the weather. Seaweed had been used too, to insulate it. Puffed, Neve bent to the opening in the branches and peered in.