‘Why not?’ Bella demanded. ‘I want the train and the bunny and the ball. It’s not fair.’
She was right. It wasn’t fucking fair—for Archie.
Back in the kitchen, the cake came out burnt on top, shrivelled in its tin.
‘It’s black.’ Bella looked at me accusingly.
The smell of charred cooking seeped from the oven. Happy birthday, Archie. Your mother has failed you again.
‘We can’t eat it. I’ll make you some fairy bread.’
‘Can I feed the cake to the birds and the fairies?’
‘Okay.’
No-one would want this disaster of a cake. I couldn’t even make a cake for my son. The trolls were right. I was a bad mother—a stupid fucking bitch who deserved everything she got.
When I went into the pantry to return the jar of hundreds and thousands, I pulled another bottle of wine from the wine rack. Just one more mug to get me through.
The next thing I knew, screams were piercing the air.
Waking with a start, I leapt up from the couch.
The screams were Bella’s. Where was she?
Fuzzy eyes, fuzzy head.
Through the glass sliding door, I could see colour and movement in the garden under the tree.
Running towards the door, my foot landed on something slippery, silky. Lulu. Then I was sliding along the tiles, falling, down, down, down. My cheek smashed against the coffee table. Wet stuff around my nose. Red wine? Blood?
I staggered out to where they stood under the tree. Two adults, Marty and Deirdre, with a shape between them. Bella was sitting up, cradling her arm. Her face white with pain.
‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ Deirdre was asking.
‘No, I’ll take her in. It’ll be faster. I’ll call ahead and let them know we’re on our way.’
‘Do you want me to come?’ Deirdre offered.
They hadn’t heard me, hadn’t seen me. Then Bella glanced up and screamed again.
‘Oh my God, Lexie.’ Deirdre hurried over to take my arm. ‘You’re bleeding.’
‘Don’t worry about me. What happened, Tinker Bell? Are you hurt?’
Deirdre looked from me to Marty to Bella, a silent accusation in her eyes.
‘Sugar bug,’ Deirdre said to Bella, ‘do you want me to get one of your favourite toys to take to hospital? How about Lulu?’
Bella nodded and our gardener dashed into the house.
‘I’m sorry, Mummy,’ Bella said. ‘I was putting the cake in the tree for the fairies and the birds.’
And later, half asleep again on that same couch in our playroom, waiting for a doctor to come and look at my cheek. The smell of wine in the room. Had Deirdre noticed the wine when she’d picked up Lulu from the floor?
‘Go home, Deirdre, I’ll take them both to the hospital,’ Marty had told her.
But he’d left me behind.
A shape moving on the floor. A shape in the other chair.
Marty had left me with bodyguards. Mr Whitlaw and his dog, Napoleon.
Deirdre had sent a text the day after: I hope Bella is feeling better. Please send my love.
Did she see me for what I was—a negligent mother who had drunk myself into a stupor while Bella climbed a tree unsupervised? Did she tell anyone else in the village? Janice and Mr Whitlaw hadn’t said a word about my bruised face.
While Janice gave me directions to the farm, I prayed that Deirdre could help me find my daughter.
48
TARA
TARA SHUT THE FRONT DOOR AFTER LEXIE LEFT AND SWITCHED THE TV back on to Peppa Pig. As she settled Daisy in the cot, she felt her stomach cramping again. Fuck-a-duck. Had Lexie guessed about the Weekend Wrap interview? Or didn’t she know about it? She hadn’t even mentioned it. Little Miss Perfect. Still looking immaculately dressed with her daughter missing. Rubbing Daisy’s back, Tara chastised herself. That’s a terrible thought. The poor woman’s in pain. But the doubt crept back. Unless she made Bella disappear.
‘Please sleep, please sleep, Daisy, sweet Daisy, sleep,’ Tara sang softly as she left the room.
Josh had texted early that morning, said he loved her, explained that his phone battery had died and he’d call during the morning tea break. Tara answered on the first ring.
‘Where the fuck were you last night?’
‘Sorry, babe. We were at a work dinner then drinks till late.’
‘Bullshit, Josh. You’re not registered at the hotel.’
He paused for a moment and Tara wondered if he was in Adelaide for a reason other than work.
‘The main hotel was full—it’s a big delegation. I got offloaded to a cheaper place down the road.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘It’s serviced apartments—City Suites or something like that.’
‘Can you send me the number, in case your phone dies again?’
‘Course. I’ll do it as soon as we’re finished.’
‘I needed you last night, Josh. There was a story on TV about Bella.’
‘Sorry, babe,’ he apologised again. ‘This dinner with the Indian delegation went on forever. I’ll make sure my phone’s charged tonight. Ring me whenever.’
She couldn’t tell him about the interview now; he hadn’t even seen it. His desperate concern about Bella seemed to have been replaced by trade talks, work dinners and morning tea.
‘Gotta go, babe, they’re calling us back in. Give the girls a kiss from me.’
In the lounge room, Zoe was now engrossed in My Little Pony; maybe Tara could steal twenty minutes on her blog, see if her last post had attracted any comments. Switching the computer back on, Tara pressed her hands over her sore tummy. I am doing the right thing. I’m doing it for Bella. Wow, fifty-eight comments. The first one vindicated Tara’s behaviour but the second one said she shouldn’t break the ‘sacred rules of playgroup’. I’m not to blame. It’s not my fault. Lexie left the gate open. Tara started typing.
BLOGSPOTCRAZY HAZY DAYZ
Can you ever really know someone else?
Thanks for your comments—it’s such a frightening time.
We must support one another to find this beautiful little girl.
Another redhead, Ginger Rogers, said: ‘Only I know my life.’ I think that’s true—you can never know what’s going on in someone else’s life. Bella’s mother never told anyone in Canberra about her first baby. We all assumed Bella was her one and only. What kind of mother doesn’t talk about her other babies?
While she was waiting to see if anyone commented, she checked her phone. No text from Josh with the phone number for the City Suites. Did the place even exist? She was about to google it when comments began popping up.
Jennie says: It’s odd that she didn’t tell you all about the first baby. But I don’t think that makes her guilty necessarily.
Chanel09 says: My depression really made me feel dislocated from my kids.
Lilianna says: Does anyone think Bella is still alive?
Marj says: My big sister went missing before I was born. That was thirty-two years ago and we’re still looking for her.
Someone was banging on the door. Was Lexie back to confront her about the TV interview?
When Tara opened the door she found another playgroup mum, Imogen, on the front porch. Imogen should have asked for her help to set up the Find Bella Facebook page; Tara was much more savvy at social media.
‘Hey, Imogen.’ Tara leant forward to kiss her friend on the cheek but Imogen turned her head away.
The twins pushed past Tara to find Zoe watching My Little Pony. Rude boys. She was glad that she didn’t have boys, particularly ones like these. They’d better not hurt Zoe today.
‘Be careful and don’t be noisy,’ Tara whispered to the boys. ‘I’ve just put Daisy to bed.’
Imogen stood on the doorstep, letting in the cold air. Her face was red and blotchy. Did she have bad news about Bella?
‘Come inside.’ Tara opened the door wider for her.
&
nbsp; ‘No, I’m not coming in,’ Imogen said, pulling her coat tighter around herself.
‘Do you need help with the Facebook page? I’m pretty good at that sort of thing.’
Maybe when this was all over she and Imogen could team up, figure out a way to make money, like those big mummy bloggers. Of course, she couldn’t let Imogen know that the Crazy Hazy Dayz blog was hers. They’d have to set up a new one together.
‘I can’t believe you’d do that to Lexie.’
The interview? The blog? What did Imogen know?
‘I haven’t done anything,’ Tara said, playing for time. ‘And would you come inside, please? It’s bloody cold out there.’
‘I watched the Weekend Wrap interview again this morning and I recognised your engagement ring.’
Looking down at her fingers, Tara cursed herself. A large blue aquamarine in a wide silver setting.
‘It wasn’t me,’ Tara said, her cheeks flushing. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
Patronising bitch, how dare she! Another mum who made it all look so easy. Tara suddenly remembered the difficulties of the early years: Imogen pushing a double pram with the twins crying. But now, now, the twins kept each other company, and next year they’d start preschool and both be out of the house for three days a week. And the twins slept—Imogen’s whole household slept through every night. Tara rubbed her eyes. She’d have to try a different tactic.
‘Imogen, why did she never tell us about her first baby? That’s so suspicious. I’ve told her everything about my life.’
‘Just because Lexie doesn’t share every detail, it doesn’t make her guilty. There are lots of things you don’t know about my life.’
‘Really?’ Tara thought Imogen was an open book with her twin terrors, her army husband and her church community. Such a good girl, she wouldn’t even have any secrets to hide.
‘You’ve betrayed us, Tara. All of us, not just Lexie. You’ve betrayed the playgroup.’
‘No, I haven’t! I’m trying to help find Bella. Just like you. I was going for the biggest audience to get the message out.’
‘But you implied that Lexie was involved.’
‘What I did was help everyone understand that Lexie was hiding behind a facade.’
‘For crying out loud! What are you, ten years old? Everyone is hiding behind a flipping facade. Do you truly believe that Lexie has done something to Bella?’
‘Yes, I do!’ Tara shouted, furious at the insults.
‘Well, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.’ Imogen called through the open doorway towards the lounge room: ‘Come on, boys! We’re going right now.’
With Imogen’s raised voice and the scuffle of the boys’ feet came another sound: Daisy crying. The fuckheads had woken her up. Imogen was a sanctimonious cow. And a hypocrite. Why did she think she was the only one entitled to use the media to find Bella?
Locking the door, walking towards the bedroom, Daisy’s cries cut through her. She held the swaddled baby against her chest, deciding to breastfeed even though it wasn’t time.
What if Imogen was right and Lexie was innocent? This morning’s news announced that Bella’s shoe had been found on the other side of the city; that didn’t point to Lexie’s involvement. Fuck-a-duck—it would mean that, instead of making the community safe, Tara had sent everyone scurrying in the wrong direction while the real kidnapper was still at large.
And what if the kidnapper was out there now, looking for another child?
Tara changed Daisy’s nappy and tried to stuff the dirty one into the nappy bin. It was full and stinky. Now she’d have to empty it. That was Josh’s job, he should have done it before he went away.
Tara lugged the bag out the side door, through the garage to the front where the wheelie bins were kept. God, it stank. She flipped up the lid on the garbage bin and was about to heave it in when she noticed a kid’s shoe on top of the other rubbish bags. Had Zoe put it there, perhaps, pretending the bin was a mailbox and the shoe was a parcel? Reaching in, trying not to touch the rubbish, Tara retrieved the shoe. Strange; she didn’t recognise it. She turned it over and read the label—then dropped it as if she’d been bitten by a redback spider.
A fairy name tag: This shoe belongs to Bella Parker.
49
CARUSO
THE ALBURY GUYS SAID PARRISH HAD BEEN SHITTING HIMSELF WHEN they’d rocked up to his parents’ home that morning. His parents had given permission for a search and the officers had checked the house and garden shed. No signs of Bella nor Fox. Now Parrish would have a couple of hours in the car with Smithy. The schoolteacher would definitely be ready to talk by the time he got back to Canberra. Would the forensics on Bella’s water bottle and shoe link them to Parrish?
Before the team briefing, Caruso rummaged for some Panadol in his drawer. His head was thumping. A photo of Bella, laughing on a slippery slide, stared back at him from his desk. Even though he’d never met her, Bella inhabited his every waking hour, as well as his dreams and nightmares. Now he’d have to add a photo of another girl next to her. Caruso closed his eyes and massaged his temples. When he opened his eyes again, Suze was standing beside his desk.
‘The New South Wales Drug Squad has a match on Ray Hensley’s car. They’ve got a surveillance operation on the South Coast and his car was spotted entering the property last Thursday.’
‘The Thursday that Bella went missing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any reports of seeing a child in his car?’
Suze shook her head.
‘No, but the child could have been lying down or in the boot.’
‘Can they go in and interview him?’
‘They’re discussing the logistics right now.’ Suze sighed. ‘It’s a multi-agency operation that has been ongoing for eight months and involves another two locations. They’ll call us back shortly.’
Caruso answered on the first ring. He was expecting the officer in charge of the drugs operation; instead, it was a constable who had searched around the church in Ainslie.
‘We’ve got a list of vehicles that were in the vicinity from six the night before the shoe and water bottle were found to eleven the next morning,’ the constable reported.
‘Right, do any match the Parkers’ cars?’
‘Nope.’
‘Can you send it through, please? How many cars are on this list?’
‘Not many from the night before—maybe sixty. But on Sunday morning, with the church services, it’s more like two hundred.’
Suze was already checking taxi and Uber records, as well as bus CCTV, which would be the most time-consuming—like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack.
After hanging up the phone, Caruso opened the email—four pages of car types and numberplates. He plugged in all the plates he had: Brendan Parrish, the playgroup mums, Josh Murphy, Lucas Lawrence, Mrs Ramos, Johnno James and Ray Hensley. His computer slowly cross-checked each plate and the list of numbers danced in front of him …
Bingo! He had a match.
50
MARTY
MARTY STARTED THE CAR AND TURNED IN THROUGH THE GATE WITH A wooden sign—WIRRA WARRA—tied on with wire. The dirt track went straight and then wound into bushland. As he drove, the car bounced over potholes and lumps, jarring his body backwards against the seat. How should he approach Elissa? Not Elissa. Mel. Forget the smile of sunshine and the curves and the breasts. She was a stranger. One who’d tricked him.
The track led into snow gums, their ghostly trunks standing guard, their leaves rustling in the wind, their branches a maze overhead. The car crested a ridge and then the track coiled downwards through the trees. It wasn’t until he came around a corner that he discovered a clump of buildings in a clearing—straight in front of him. So much for taking Mel by surprise. Along with Mel’s van sat a Toyota HiLux ute. Dirty white, maybe ten years old. The paint was cracking in spots on the roof and a dent marked the door closest to him. Marty
stared at the dent. He’d seen this ute somewhere before. Searching for a memory, he finally shook his head. The white HiLux was popular with tradies—they were everywhere.
He parked next to Mel’s van, hoping the car would be hidden to some extent. Marty glanced at the buildings. No movement and no sound. The old homestead had a wraparound verandah, its awning making it impossible to see inside the windows and doors. Paths led off from the main house through gardens and archways to smaller outbuildings, stables and sheds. Unlike the other properties around here, this old colonial establishment had survived the bushfires.
A flicker of white near the rose bushes caught his eyes. Too small for a child. Chickens scratching in the dirt.
Marty balled his hands into fists. Fucking hell, he was so sure that Brendan Parrish was responsible for Bella’s disappearance, but why had Mel come to this remote farm and why had she lied to him? Was she somehow involved with Parrish?
No-one had rushed out of the house at the sound of his car, so Marty decided he could still try for a stealthy approach. Sneak around the back, check if there’s any sign of Bella. As he stepped out from behind the van, the front door opened: Mel in a bright orange dress and knee-high boots. Dressed for an afternoon barbecue with friends.
‘Marty?’ Her eyes widened in surprise. Or was it fear? ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m looking for Bella.’
‘Why would Bella be out here? This is a friend’s place. You’d better get back into town and keep searching for her.’
The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other, high-pitched and shaky. Nothing like the Elissa he knew at the hospital whose comforting manner calmed the kids. As she talked, Marty moved towards the door. But he couldn’t see past her into the house; nor could he hear the sounds of children.
‘Elissa—or should I call you Mel—what are you playing at? Befriending me at the hospital, Lexie at playgroup.’
‘I’m sorry, Marty. I should have told you.’
Mel had shut the door behind her and stood in front of it, a guard on duty.
Six Minutes Page 28
