by Hiba Basit
As she approaches the entrance, Alex lets go of her hand and runs towards the gate. She pushes it open and heads straight for the swings. Annette looks down at her heels and sighs. She walks briskly after Alex, who has already hoisted herself onto the swing. Instinctively, Annette positions herself behind the swing and pushes her.
After several minutes, the rain starts to slow down, spitting its last drops from the greyish ceiling. Alex tilts her head backwards as she heads for the sky. ‘Faster, faster!’ she squeals, catching the drops of rain in her mouth. Annette’s heart tingles with delight as her fingers push the seat of the swing. That she is the one Alex is sharing her laughter with fills her with great joy. She shivers in the cold, but Alex is immune to the wind, moving her hands through the air as she goes up.
‘Mummy, look how fast I’m going!’
Annette’s heart misses a beat.
Alex kicks her legs in the air. ‘Look at me!’
‘Alex, what did you say?’
‘Look. I can swing with one hand.’
‘Alex, careful, please. Hold on with both hands.’
Alex’s cheeks are flushed as she comes to a stop. Her face glows. She swipes the strands of wet hair from her face using the palm of her hand. Then, she walks up to Annette, a grin sprouting her face. ‘That was fun!’
Annette pulls her hood on. ‘Great. Shall we go back in? We’re both soaked!’
Alex looks at her curiously. ‘You say that like getting wet is a bad thing.’
Annette kneels down next to her and smiles. ‘You’re right.’
‘If only every day could be like this,’ Alex suddenly whispers.
‘Like what?’ Annette asks, confused.
‘Like it doesn’t really exist.’
Something in the way she says this gives Annette a tremor of unease, a slight shudder all over her body that vanishes as quickly as it appears. Alex suddenly scrunches her face up as if she’s smelled something rotten. She moves forward and playfully shakes her nose in front of Annette. She is shaking now. Her teeth chatter loudly. Annette knows she should take her inside, but something is tugging her in the other direction. If she doesn’t persist now, the moment will pass and she may never find out what she means.
Alex starts to look distant, caught between the cold of today and the chill of a distant memory.
Drawing a deep breath, Annette opens her mouth. ‘What is it?’ she asks, caution changing her tone. ‘You can talk to me,’ she adds gently.
Alex stares at her for a long time. ‘Maybe in another life,’ she finally says, as if she has already made up her mind about what her future holds. Annette has no idea what she means and remains utterly baffled by her words. She thinks of questioning further, but decides against it. Instead, taking hold of Alex’s hand, she starts to walk inside.
As the rain starts again, something makes her stop and drop down on her knees. ‘Maybe in this life!’ she whispers fiercely, hoping her words are enough to help Alex believe again.
Later in the evening, Annette lingers outside Santana’s room, placing her ear flat against her door. She knocks and enters.
‘Hi, sleepyhead. You’ve gone to bed early,’ she says.
Santana throws her legs out from beneath the duvet and swivels to the edge of the bed. She turns the lamp on and rubs her eyes.
‘Antoinette, you’ve arrived from your duly services.’
Annette laughs at the mention of the nickname Santana invented for her years ago. She rang her from New York just to try it out.
‘What did you do today?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely zero happening in Canberra!’
Annette grimaces. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right. I bumped into Mali on the beach. She guessed who I was before I even said hey. Apparently, we look alike. Anyway, she invited me over tomorrow. Is that all right?’
Although Annette is the one who had ditched her today, she can’t help feel a pang of disappointment when her daughter proposes to do the same to her.
‘Sure. Mali’s a lovely girl.’
‘Thanks, dude!’
Annette does a double take. ‘Dude?’
‘Yeah, it’s more casual.’
‘Right! What’s casual to you is unusual to me. Guess I’m getting old.’
‘You’re way past your Antoinette days,’ Santana says, laughing.
‘Get some rest. Sleep tight, dude!’
She is about to leave the room when she hears Santana call out. ‘You do what you gotta do, Annie. I’ll support you all the way.’
Annette smiles. ‘Right back at you, baby!’ She clicks the door shut and heads downstairs.
David is in the kitchen when she enters.
‘Wine?’ he offers.
Without responding, she takes the glass and walks back into the living room. He comes and lies down across her lap, turning the telly on. ‘I’m sure she’ll get over it.’
Annette blinks. ‘Oh, that! Guess she will.’
He looks up. ‘If you agree, what’s bothering you?’
‘I don’t know. Things seem to be turning out completely contrary to the way I thought they would.’ He flicks through the channels, disappointed that all of the programmes are crime-oriented. Switching it off, he turns to her.
‘I know it must be frustrating,’ he says.
She acknowledges the word. ‘Frustrating but normal, I guess.’
‘Don’t think like that! You’re being negative.’
She smiles. ‘Right.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the hospital you couldn’t come in?’
‘They wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t necessary.’
‘Necessary for them, or you?’ She doesn’t reply. ‘All right,’ he says, finishing his wine. ‘I’m off to bed. You should come too.’
‘I will,’ she whispers, nuzzling deeper into the couch.
‘At least you’re spending the whole day with Santana tomorrow.’
She lifts a brow. ‘Actually, she’s got plans with Mali now.’
‘Oh!’ He grabs the wine bottle and sheepishly fills up Annette’s glass, making her grin. ‘All in good time,’ he says, leaving her alone with her thoughts and a drink to dowse her memories away.
Paper swans. Annette has always disliked them since childhood. Origami or authentic, they horrify her as much as clowns or headstones with the dead person’s picture imprinted on them. Swans have always represented something eerie, with their head and neck abnormally disproportionate to their large oblong bodies. Since she avoids these monstrosities in her daily life, she almost drops her files as she opens her office door to find an aqua-blue paper swan, smaller than the size of her hand, placed rather meticulously in the middle of her desk, in full view of the spot where she stands.
She places the paperwork on her chair, keeping her eyes fixed on the origami creature, as if it might jump on her. A dark feeling rises inside her as she picks the swan up and carefully turns it around in her fingers, treating it like a time bomb about to explode. She feels almost like an intruder in her own office, trespassing into the territory of this rather confident-looking paper figure. Whoever constructed this clearly put a lot of time and effort into it. They had created a rippled water effect for its body, which parted next to its wings, and spun paper tightly around an elongated stick to fashion its neck, which fell languidly to the front.
She studies the swan, in case the maker has left any inscription marks, and then hurls it into the waste bin. She is about to grab her keys to get some coffee from the cafeteria when she catches something sparkle. Turning around, she slowly edges her way back towards the bin and peers into it. As she looks down at its contents, the sunlight catches something silver inside, shining light delicately back and forth onto the walls, like a bright pendulum.
Annette bends down and removes a necklace, lifting it out from its chain. She cups the oval locket in the palm of her hand, studying it curiously. As she unlocks the knob and opens the locket, she catches sight of
the photo inside and her heart gives a jolt.
Her little girl stares back at her. Newborn.
Annette gasps as she snaps awake in bed. Her skin is covered with sweat and the blanket is thrown towards David. In a single breath, she’s been tossed from nightmare to reality. She slips her nightgown on and tiptoes out of the room. Stopping outside Santana’s room, she peeks in to find her lying sprawled across the bed, pillowless, one of her feet hanging limply over the side. She closes the door and leans against the wall. Then, in what feels like a split second, she runs to the end of the corridor to the room on the far left of the house and opens the hatch for the attic. Silently, she climbs up the wooden ladder and into the darkness. Without turning the light on, she feels her way to the front. There, she shifts the wooden bookcase to the side and strips one of the planks back from the corner. Reaching inside, her hand hits cold air as she blindly searches for the box. Finding it, she pulls it out, the dust making her cough. She twists the lock.
Opening the lid, she stares into the darkness for a minute. Then, as her vision settles, she rummages through it like an animal, skilfully searching through scrap, searching for the possession, ignoring anything else that comes in her way. As the moon reappears from behind the clouds, Annette catches sight of the oval locket shining its silver light onto her face. She snaps it open and sure enough, in the luminescent glow of moonlight, the photo of her daughter she hurriedly slipped in all those years ago is still there, innocently looking back at her in the dark and dust of the attic room.
***
The next day, Annette arrives at work early. It’s quieter than normal as she pops into Jordan’s office to say hello and collect the new admissions that have arrived for her. She bumps into Mary along the way and enquires about her brother and his wife, apologising for not asking earlier. Twirling the necklace she retrieved from the attic in the early hours of last night, she enters her office and peers in her wastebasket. It’s empty, the waxen plastic bag staring boringly at her.
As she puts her phone on the desk, it vibrates. She reads the text from Santana: Thanks for dropping me, dude. Mali and I are going to the cinema. Lots of love. S x. She keys in a reply and is about to start on the files for the upcoming month when someone knocks on her door. She looks up as a woman and man enter together, and instantly recognises them. She rises, unsure of what to do next.
‘Annette, we’re sorry to come by unannounced. Ellie recognised us and let us in,’ the man says.
Annette shakes her head, dismissing their words. ‘Please, take a seat,’ she says, her words coming out as a whisper.
‘We didn’t even know if you’d be in today. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Likewise,’ Annette smiles, sitting back down again and closing the files sprawled on the desk. ‘What can I do for you, Mr and Mrs Baliss?’ In the direction of the picture board, the picture of the little girl anxiously holding Annette’s hand catches her eye. It stands out against the other photos like a broken light bulb amidst functioning ones, pushed to the surface by an unseen hand. She looks back at the pair as calmly as she can manage.
‘It’s Morgan’s anniversary today.’
Her throat locks on itself. ‘I know,’ she manages. ‘She would’ve been twelve today.’
‘One more year until her teens. She couldn’t wait until she hit that age. Whenever we had visitation rights to see her, she would moan about how long she had to wait until she turned thirteen. I never found out what attracted her to that age.’ Annette smiles, remembering Morgan sitting on the same chair she is on now, with her feet crossed and arms folded in her lap.
‘She told me she preferred the consistency,’ says Annette. Morgan’s parents look puzzled. ‘You see, every number before thirteen is completely new, but after the number thirteen, they just begin repeating themselves again, using the same digits.’
‘Don’t they use the same digits at ten?’
‘I guess they do. But she preferred thirteen because it actually used the same numbers phonetically.’ She almost wants to laugh at her incompetency in explaining this.
‘So thirteen and three begin with similar letters, same with fourteen and four?’
‘Yes. But eleven and one don’t begin with the same letters. Neither do twelve and two, exactly. Anyway, she predicted thirteen was when she would feel connected.’
‘Connected to what?’
Annette remembers asking Morgan the same question a few years ago. Connected to what, Morgan? Only to be told, you know connected to what, Annie! Don’t ask me silly questions, OK? If only she had known, if only she had probed her further to elicit an answer, she might have realised what was happening in front of her. There are so many ifs. She starts to feel lightheaded and flustered.
‘Mr and Mrs Baliss, how can I help you?’ she asks again.
‘Please, Annette, call us Jonah and Melanie.’ Jonah takes a piece of paper from his pocket.
‘What is this?’ Annette asks as he hands it to her.
‘We’ve recently come into a lot of money. My father passed away and he left us with a large sum,’ he says. Annette stares at the cheque in her hand.
‘I’m really sorry to hear that.’
Jonah smiles. ‘He was a happy man. He succeeded in everything he wanted to achieve. He was also a very rich man. We want to donate this money to your hospital, so that you can carry on doing the amazing work you do, to help children like Morgan.’
Annette feels something cold creep up her back. She wants to take a breath, but she’s too afraid to move.
‘This is kind of you. But I can’t accept your money.’ She slides the cheque across the desk towards them. Melanie glances at Jonah, who coughs uneasily. In the silence that follows, the sound of his cough resonates in the room until it too fades.
‘Annette, you have to accept this,’ he finally says.
‘I can’t,’ she replies, without missing a beat.
Jonah leans forward. ‘It’s your right to take it.’
‘I have no right to take anything more from you.’
Melanie frowns. ‘Anything more?’
Annette pushes her chair back. After all these years, this is too real, too tender and – traumatic.
‘Mr and Mrs Baliss, I cannot accept your money even if it is offered as a donation,’ she says, rising. ‘Now, let me escort you to your car.’
‘Annette, please! You can use the money to help other children who are in Morgan’s situation!’
Suddenly, their presence in her office, the recurring mention of her name, this whole unforeseen visit is too unbearable. She leans forward to make sure her next words are heard loud and clear, but also because she is feeling very dizzy.
‘I didn’t help Morgan when she was in her situation. I didn’t even realise what was happening to her when she came into this very room for our sessions. It went over my head. I missed it completely. So then, how can you come here and say that I’ll be able to help some other child like her, in her position, when you lost your own child in my hands? How can you trust that this money will help me succeed the next time around? I failed your daughter, Mr and Mrs Baliss. I failed Morgan. I’ll never forgive myself for that, so I have no reason to expect your forgiveness.’
The room goes silent again. Realising she is shaking, she slowly sits down.
‘Annette…’ Melanie starts, but then looks down at her hands. Jonah picks the cheque up from its corner, half of it still resting on the table.
‘Annette,’ he says. ‘We read the letter Morgan left for you. We found it in her room at her adopted parent’s house. We apologise for reading it but we did, and we saw all the things she wrote about you. We’re sorry we blamed you for her death. We’re sorry we ended contact with you and refused your attendance at her funeral. But today, we’re here for you. And, if you haven’t realised yourself from the letter she wrote, Morgan felt nothing but love for you. You made her happy! She was always excited to see you and she told me that no one had made her feel a
s cherished as you had. I’m not kidding! Those were her exact words! So, how can you still think you didn’t help her? How can you still blame yourself for what happened, what you couldn’t foresee, what no one could possibly have foreseen? It’s really upsetting for us to hear this.’
Without realising it, Annette is gripping her locket, squeezing it in her hand and pushing it into her skin over her collarbone.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t accept this money. Please, take it back.’ She stands up, pretending to flatten out her already smooth skirt.
Jonah grabs her hand and slides the cheque straight into it. ‘Forgive yourself! Melanie and I have. And so has Morgan!’
They leave the way they came, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. Annette immediately releases the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and lays both palms against the table to steady herself. The cheque falls to the floor and slips under the desk, no longer visible in the room. She could leave it under there and pretend this never happened. She could banish the event from her mind, make herself believe it wasn’t real. Just another trick that her mind’s been playing on her, just like the awful dream she had last night and the similar nightmares that have plagued her lately, blurring the line between fiction and reality. But as she glances at the picture board, she knows that she will never forget what happened today, just like she’d never forget the moment she found out Morgan had died.
She walks over to the file cabinet and pulls out the bottom drawer. It slides out with a loud clank, revealing dozens of old case files slotted into alphabetical order. She fingers her way through them, locating Morgan’s file as one of the first. She pulls it out and unclasps the band around it. Shuffling through the papers, she finds the letter and unfolds it. Her hands shake, blurring the words together on the page. She flattens it out on the floor, sitting cross-legged over it. Having shunned this letter to the back of her mind from the very first day, reading it now, in her office, in the company of her own solitude feels impossible. She picks it up.
