‘You didn’t tell Matthew, did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ he retorted.
Courtney knew that his anger at her for leaving was simmering below the surface of every exchange between them. He was brooding over it, which only caused greater tension. ‘David, I can’t play games with you. There’s too much going on,’ she stressed. ‘I know you’re upset with me but put it into perspective. I’m away for just one week. I’m not having a vacation. Whether you agree with my decision or not, I’m here for our son.’
There was silence, except for the sound of his slow, heavy breaths. She heard a bang and the sound of porcelain cracking on the floor.
‘David, are you okay?’
‘I just punched the coffee table,’ he muttered. ‘I broke one of your mugs.’ He took a deep, strained breath. ‘I’m sorry, Courtney, for the way I’ve behaved. I have this burning anger inside me and it won’t die down. I guess I’m just taking it out on you.’
It had always been a struggle to get David to communicate his emotions, so she was surprised he had been so honest with her. ‘I’m angry too,’ Courtney replied. ‘I shouldn’t be in a position where I had to make a decision like this. We shouldn’t be having this conversation. None of this should be happening. But it is and we just need to stay positive and do our best to help Matthew.’
David sighed. ‘It’s just hard being in this battle without you beside me. I don’t have all the answers.’
‘You’re a great dad, David. You’ll do just fine without me. I’m a phone call away.’
David took a long pause. ‘Why the hell did this have to happen to our kid?’
Annabel Harvey loved nothing more than a good night storm. Her cottage was isolated, buried in the thick of the bush, surrounded only by the sound of branches brushing against the windows. She was sitting at the end of her long twelve-seater dining table that had rarely been occupied by anyone other than herself, a glass of shiraz by her side. The ceiling lights cast a sharp shadow, framing her body as it bent over her laptop.
She thought of Rose, the sadness in her sea-blue eyes when she mentioned her son.
Annabel had printed all the articles she could find and spread them across the table, studying each one. The more she re-read them, the more convinced she became that there were too many coincidences to disprove her hunch. What were the chances that the woman was born that year in the Mater Hospital, with the same first name, and had no idea of her origins? Annabel picked up one of the articles accompanied by a picture of Rose as a baby and looked closely at the face. The child had piercing blue eyes and a small beauty spot above her left eyebrow. Annabel nearly spat out her wine.
Now she was convinced it was her. There was no other explanation.
Annabel went back to her computer and typed in one more search, this time looking for an address. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she went against every privacy protocol that had been drilled into her over the past four decades.
She was going to have to craft a way for them to meet and she didn’t have a lot of time. She looked out the window as a bolt of lightning caught in the distance, illuminating the woods.
She wondered if it was her childless life that had spurred her to intervene, or whether it was her own motherless childhood. She took a deep gulp of the shiraz, feeling the dregs wash down, and she realised she would never really know.
45
THERE was something about being so far from home that made Courtney nostalgic for her childhood. The irony, of course, was that she was in the heart of the place she could have called home. Maybe it was the rawness of motherhood that made Courtney long to be a child again, lying on her back in her parents’ garden in Miami, full of dreams of art, heeled shoes and pearls. The six-year-old girl, carefree, with long auburn hair in two equal plaits with blue ribbons, because pink was for girly-girls and blue meant she could still ride her bike over mud just to see it spray over her clothes.
She thought of her mother, Emma: her berry-red lipstick, her ginger-blonde hair and round black glasses. Being an only child, Courtney spent a lot of time playing alone or doing arts and crafts activities that her mother prepared to keep her entertained. Courtney thought back to when they made flower ice bowls by freezing water and lavender between two different-sized plates, and then ate ice-cream on them before the plates melted. Emma doted on Courtney. She came to every school play and sat in the front row, clapping loudly when Courtney was on stage, crying in the sad bits, laughing in the happy parts. Emma took her to every extra class after school – art, dancing, calligraphy, even porcelain-doll making.
The phone rang, jolting Courtney from thoughts of her mother.
‘Hi Courtney, it’s Doctor Harvey.’
‘Thanks for getting in touch with me,’ Courtney replied, suddenly feeling a glimmer of hope. ‘Have you had any luck?’
‘Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any duplicates of your file.’
Courtney sighed, the futility of her search bearing down on her. Why had she wasted her time here for another night? ‘Well, thanks anyway,’ she said, lost for what her next move would be.
‘I’m not allowed to do this, Courtney. I could lose my job,’ Doctor Harvey whispered conspiringly. ‘But I did find a record of a family that had a baby at the hospital on the same day as your birth. They might be able to help.’
Courtney was perplexed. It seemed like a pretty weak lead to follow. ‘How could they help?’
‘Well, they might have met your mother or father before they put you up for adoption in the hospital. It’s a small town and it was even smaller back then. Most people know each other around here. I’d imagine that two new mothers in the same ward in a country hospital would have got to know each other somewhat, if they didn’t already. Maybe they’ll recall something.’
Doctor Harvey gave Courtney their address. It was a feeble link but Courtney had nothing else to go on.
‘Thanks for your help, Doctor Harvey,’ Courtney said. ‘I truly appreciate it.’
‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’
David had always found that running cleared his head. It was early evening and he had left Matthew with his parents, so he jogged to the university planning to do a loop of the campus and then return home.
He was dressed in his joggers, his old basketball shorts and the only pair of white socks that were clean given that he hadn’t done the laundry since Courtney left.
Feeling unfit, he stopped to catch his breath by the lake in front of Eaton College as the sky faded into the inky water’s surface. He didn’t plan on having company – certainly not that of one of his female students.
‘Doctor Hamilton!’ Bronwyn yelled from the pathway out of the dorm building. She scurried over in a pair of tight jeans that looked more like leggings. He waved, expecting her to continue walking in the direction she had been headed but instead she came towards him with books and a file in hand. As she got closer, he noticed the way the jeans framed her lean hips and how her full breasts fell over the pink lace bra that stuck out above her thin white T-shirt.
‘Bronwyn,’ he said, smiling. ‘Off to a lecture?’
‘A study session,’ she said, standing close to him. ‘It’s another stats group assignment and, lord knows, I’ve done enough of ’em.’
‘They’re supposed to be good for you,’ David said, trying to find the right balance between teacher and friend.
Her blonde hair fell over her face, illuminating her hazel eyes. ‘Really, how so?’
‘Well, statistically, you have a better chance of graduating if you do them.’
She laughed, mockingly, gazing up at him like he’d made a bad dad joke. She wore her body as if it were so new she wanted to flaunt its youthfulness. She had tanned skin, the kind that didn’t need sunshine to look sun-kissed. Something in the way she stood a little closer than she should have, and looked at him a moment longer than necessary, made him think that maybe she was flirting with him. It had been so long tha
t David had forgotten how to detect the signs. In fact, he was so rusty, he didn’t even know how to flirt back.
‘You’ll be late,’ he said.
She looked at him and paused, rubbing her lips together to smooth a fresh coat of lipstick. ‘I’ve done my share, I was just going to help them tie it all together. You should know, Doctor Hamilton, I always finish what I start.’
David felt his cheeks grow warm. There was no doubt in his mind now that Bronwyn was flirting with him. She kept her eyes trained on him, confident in her gaze, testing him as she ran a hand through her hair. ‘What are you doing here anyway? It’s not one of your lecture days. I know those off by heart.’ She smiled coyly.
At that remark, David knew he should withdraw himself from the situation but he was too flattered to move.
‘I’ve just been for a jog,’ David replied.
‘You do look just like one of the college boys in your sports gear and especially with your sexy new haircut. The shaved look suits you.’ She ran her hand over the spikes of his hair and kept her eyes on him as if challenging him to look away. ‘It’s Wednesday, the bar’s open late. Do you want to get a drink, Doctor Hamilton?’
She said ‘doctor’ slowly, as if she liked the way the word coiled over her tongue. Her abruptness startled him. Was one of his students really asking him to go for a drink? He’d noticed Bronwyn in his lectures – she was hard to miss. She was smart, savvy and wore such tight tops it was as if her breasts were designed to be stared at. She was the kind of girl who clearly enjoyed the attention. She always sat in the front rows, often with a group of friends, whispering or passing notes. And now that he thought about it, she had always stayed right until the hall filed out, usually to ask him a seemingly trivial question.
‘Sure,’ David said in a feigned calm voice, going against every alarm bell that was ringing in his head. As he followed her to the university bar he had frequented more than a decade ago, he felt a boyish rush of excitement. She hadn’t asked him if he was married, if he had a family, if he had somewhere he had to be. She looked at him as if he had no strings attached.
He was around fifteen years her senior, and he knew that some girls found older men attractive. Did she see him as some kind of conquest? Either way, David tried to convince himself as he walked beside her that going to a bar with a young student was completely innocent.
David sipped his fourth whisky on the rocks and watched as Bronwyn finished her third white wine in an hour. She had told him before he bought the first drink that she was a cheap date, so by now, three glasses in, she was well and truly on her way. She was leaning closer towards him; he could almost taste the alcohol on her breath. Her top had slipped lower down her chest, exposing more of her lace bra, and she hadn’t bothered to lift it up. The whole situation was making David apprehensive. It was time to call it quits, but the words came reluctantly: ‘Look, Bronwyn, this has been fun but I’ve got to get going.’
She pouted her lips, making a sad face. ‘But we just got started, Doctor Hamilton. One more drink,’ she pleaded, ‘and then you can be on your way.’
David thought of Courtney and Matthew, and knew he should have said no. What was he thinking, having a drink with a student? It was crazy. But her flattery hit its target and David couldn’t bring himself to make an excuse to leave. ‘Look, Bronwyn, I could get in a lot of trouble for drinking here with you,’ he said instead.
‘Well, there’s a great bar nearby where no one will recognise you. They’ll think you’re a student. You do look awfully young, you know. And fit,’ she said placing a hand around his bicep. ‘Why don’t we have a drink there?’
David told himself that one more drink couldn’t hurt. It was dark outside and the campus was quiet given it was a weeknight. They walked out the back of the university grounds and Bronwyn seemed a little off balance. Every few metres, she would touch his arm as if by accident.
When they got to the second bar, he could feel the alcohol swirl in his head. It was hypnotic; it seemed to melt the stress of his life into blurry background noise. Instead, he felt guiltily at ease, like anything was possible.
The bar was dark, dingy and crowded. He could see now why she suggested it. It was easy to slip into the background here and go unnoticed. She led him downstairs to a table at the back. It was so noisy with the DJ playing that he could barely hear what she was saying. All he could do was watch her lips move. She got up and danced by the table to the music, swaying her hips and dipping her breasts in time with the song, her eyes locked on him. She disappeared for a moment and David sat back, enjoying the freedom of pretending to be a carefree student, with all the time in the world. The alcohol seemed to numb his guilt about being there. David knew he was doing the wrong thing but somehow, in the loud, darkened room, he managed to convince himself it was just a break from it all. One more drink and he’d go home.
Bronwyn returned a few moments later with four vodka shots. ‘Two for you, two for me,’ she said. This time she sat down and placed her hand on his thigh. He felt warm from her touch.
‘I really shouldn’t,’ David said. ‘I’ve had too much already.’ The vodka would send him over the edge.
‘Aww,’ she said pouting her lips again, ‘can’t handle a few drinks? Come on, Doctor Hamilton. I’d hate you to be outdone by a student.’
She began to rub her hand on his thigh and she leaned in closer so he could feel her breath tickle his skin. With her free hand, she put a vodka shot in front of him, then counted to three. She downed hers in one gulp and David followed. He felt it burn the back of his throat and he winced. He was out of practice for this sort of thing. She laughed at him and pushed the second shot forward. Before David even had a chance to feel the alcohol rush through his body, he was downing his second.
By now, he had gone from feeling tipsy to completely losing his inhibitions. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself go like this and he took in the dizzy feeling that flowed through him. He almost didn’t notice when she took his hand in hers and led him out of the crowded bar. Before he knew it, he was at her studio apartment a few blocks down the road. Every alarm bell was screaming Go home now! but the drunk part of him, the part that wasn’t thinking clearly, wouldn’t let him leave.
She disappeared into her bathroom and David sat on the couch. He looked around and noticed her university books lined neatly on a shelf, beside a photo of Bronwyn smiling with her parents. Colourful necklaces were hanging from some sort of torso-shaped jewellery holder on the dressing table. Clothes and lacy bras carpeted the floor. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt his head spin. He tried to force some logic into his brain but it fell out just as quickly, his mind a sieve. There was something blissful and alluring about being so incapacitated that he couldn’t think about the consequences of his actions.
A few moments later, Bronwyn emerged from the bathroom wearing only her pink lace bra and G-string, with a pair of heels. Her stomach was remarkably toned and tanned, the kind of figure seen in a Playboy magazine. Her bum was smooth and round as if she spent her life doing squats. She walked towards him and placed herself squarely on his lap. Then she kissed him. He couldn’t actually believe he was doing this. He wanted to draw himself away but his desire for her grew. She pulled his T-shirt over his head and then unhooked her bra. He felt her breasts against his bare chest.
She started to reach for his shorts when the guilt he had pushed aside reared its head again. He hesitated.
‘What’s wrong, doctor?’ she said. Every instinct in him was saying, Worry about it tomorrow and just go with it now. But in that moment, in the haze of his drunken stupor, he thought of his wife and son, and, against every urge, he somehow lifted himself off the couch, grabbed his stuff and left her staring in shock as he rushed out the door.
46
COURTNEY drove to the address Doctor Harvey had given her, trying to think of something to say to the family. Every scenario she thought up seemed ridiculous. Hi, I’m Courtney. I
was born in the same hospital on the same day as your child and I was wondering if you know who my parents are. It sounded so far-fetched that she could only imagine them assuming she was some kind of crazy lady. And even if they did happen to have passed a word to her birth mother or father across a room, what would they remember after thirty-odd years? The closer Courtney got to the address, the more stupid she felt. She knew nothing about her birth parents. She didn’t know why they gave her up, if they were still together, or if her birth father even knew of her existence.
She arrived at the location to find that all of the houses on the road had burned down save for the odd brick wall, shed or carport. In some of them, the rubble had been cleared, but others remained untouched with their steel roofs lying twisted over the debris like a scrap heap.
A terrifying realisation suddenly shook Courtney … What if her birth parents were in one of those homes? What if something had happened to them? What if she was too late?
A spiral of nausea left a metallic taste in her mouth. Not only was the only lifeline she was chasing for her son leading her to a dead end, but perhaps she would never know her true identity and how she came to live so far from her birthplace.
Courtney drove a little further along the road and then pulled over. The address had led her to a graveyard of lost homes. The question she had pushed to the back of her mind now weighed down on her: What if she couldn’t save her son?
Suddenly all the emotions she had experienced since the diagnosis took a choking hold over her. She sobbed, loudly and uncontrollably, her body aching with anguish. She clasped her hands around her nose and mouth to try to keep the sound of her sorrow from spilling out. She was on the other side of the world, alone and completely lost while her son was fighting for his life. She should have listened to David and stayed in Miami instead of embarking on this wild goose chase.
The Ties That Bind Page 25
