At My Door

by Deb Fitzpatrick

  I push my face into the gap at the edge of my blinds. It’s crow-black outside.

  As I snuggle back into my soft cocoon I hear Mum’s distant, rhythmic shh shh shhhh, shh shh shhhh, shh shh shhhh, and I almost feel it’s me she’s comforting, me, a baby in her arms again. I can almost remember it …

  I wake up to different everything. The sounds are different. I can hear Dad and Harry, but not Mum. And the light’s too bright – not how it normally is when I wake up in the morning.

  My mind reels back over the night. Then I realise I can’t hear Mei. I shoot out of bed like a rubber band from Harry’s ging. What’s going on?

  I race into the kitchen. Dad’s watching the kettle like a hawk and is massaging his neck. He’s in his jamies. ‘Morning, love,’ he says.

  ‘Morning. Where’s Mum?’

  ‘In bed. She was up a lot during the night with Mei.’

  Harry pads in. ‘Moaning, Flops. No school today,’ he says, widening his eyes at me.

  ‘What’s the time?’ I ask.

  ‘Ten-ish,’ says Dad.

  ‘Ten?!’

  ‘I know. We slept in, hey? It was a very late night for you two.’

  ‘Where’s, um … Mei?’ I ask.

  ‘On the couch in the lounge room, asleep,’ Dad says. ‘Finally.’

  Just then two big white cars swing into our driveway. Dad peers out. ‘That’ll be the Family Services people. I’d better wake Mum.’ Then he looks down. ‘I’m not dressed!’ He weaves down the corridor and disappears into the bedroom.

  I look into the lounge room. Mei is stretched out, with her green blanket close to her face, and one of our blankets tucked around her body. Knowing she’s asleep, I go over and have a better look at her.

  Her hair is swept away from her face. She looks so warm and soft.

  The doorbell rings. Just as I call out for Dad, he reaches the door. And when he opens it, there’s a crowd of important looking people standing on our doorstep.

  ‘Mr Campbell?’ a woman asks Dad, smiling.

  ‘It’s Matt, Matt Campbell, yes, hello. I guess you’re all from …?’

  ‘Department of Family Services,’ the woman shows us an ID card. ‘And I’m Liz.’

  Dad shakes her hand. ‘Nice to meet you. Please, come in.’ He runs his hands through his hair and then offers an embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry, we’re in a bit of disarray here. I’ve had journalists on the phone already this morning. Jess is still in bed. The little one had us up a fair bit in the night, as you’d expect.’

  There’s some gentle laughter at that, and everyone squeezes into the lounge room. People reach down to give Pixie a scratch or a pat as they pass and someone comments on how cute she is. Pixie’s ears seem to point up and become even more perfectly triangular with all the attention.

  As the visitors gather round the sleeping bundle of Mei, I dash down the corridor to Mum’s room, practising my Ultimate Poppy karate move as I go. I know Mum’d want to get up for this.

  She’s pulling on a pair of jeans as I go in.

  ‘Hi, love.’

  ‘There’s all these people here.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. I’m just coming.’ She sits down on the end of her bed and yanks on her favourite Explorer socks. ‘They’re here about Mei.’ She looks up at me. ‘They’ll need to make some … other arrangements for her.’

  ‘Will they take her back to her own family?’

  ‘Yes, hopefully. But if not, they’ll settle her in with another family till they can find hers.’

  She grabs her hairbrush and rips it through her hair.

  ‘Why can’t she stay here?’ I say. ‘With us?’

  ‘Well, that’s not how these things work, love, unfortunately. I’d better get out there. Are you coming? You’re part of this too, you know.’

  I put my hand in hers. I’m coming. And we head back out to The People together.

  Dad’s ushering them into the kitchen as Mum and I come in. Everyone’s whispering and tiptoeing around. There aren’t enough chairs so Mum shifts the ones the police were using in the lounge room last night back in. There are eight of us squeezed around the table – three of us and five of them.

  Harry’s outside kicking his soccer ball. I can see him through the kitchen window. Ever since the World Cup he reckons he’s some kind of soccer legend. He’s been trying to get all of us to call it football, not soccer, but I refuse, just to bug him. It works. I have to get him back somehow for the Floppy thing.

  ‘So let’s get this started while the child’s asleep,’ Liz says. ‘I’d like to introduce everyone first, if I may. We’ve got the emergency placement team from the Department of Family Services here, Caroline and Noula; and two officers from the Clarence Police Station, who’ve been fully briefed by the officers who came here last night.’

  Everyone smiles and nods, and there are a couple of muted good mornings.

  Dad shuffles in his seat, and says, ‘I’m Matt, and this is Jess. And our daughter, Poppy. Harry’s outside.’

  More smiling and nodding.

  Liz says, ‘Nice to meet you, Poppy,’ and everyone’s looking at me all of a sudden.

  I feel myself going red like someone’s put a torch inside my face and switched it on. ‘Oh. Umm … thanks,’ I say.

  Liz pulls a folder from her briefcase and other people start opening pads of paper and pulling out forms. Caroline puts her iPhone in the centre of the table and says, ‘I hope no one minds: we like to record meetings in case we need to go back and revisit anything.’

  ‘That’s very … formal,’ Mum says, looking flustered. Then she sort of straightens up, and says, ‘But I completely understand. Of course.’ She pauses. ‘Can I make anyone a coffee, or tea? Or would anyone like a glass of water?’

  With lots of forms being spread out on the table, I can see this is going to be the kind of meeting that I don’t want to be at. I squeeze Mum’s wrist and whisper, ‘Can I go?’ and she nods in understanding.

  I sidle back into the lounge room. Mei’s still asleep, but she’s bound to wake up soon, isn’t she? And I’ve been thinking – she might want to play with some of my old toys when she does. Mum keeps a stash of our special old stuff on the top shelf of the linen cupboard. She has one box for Harry’s stuff, and another for mine.

  I drag the red step-chair out from the laundry and position it in front of the cupboard. I can just reach the boxes when I’m on my tippy-toes. Harry’s sleeping bag falls on my head when I tug my box to get it out. So I have to spend a couple of minutes shoving his stinky-pong sleeping bag back in before I can open my special-things box and look inside.

  I drag it into my room onto the middle of my rainbow rug.

  It’s been a year or two since I last looked in here, and I love it a bit more each time. Mum adds a couple of things every year, to remind her of ‘each of our stages’, she once told me. She has kept a couple of my Bonds Wondersuits. They are so cute. There’s a white size 000 which is doll-small, as well as one of the bigger ones, from when I was a sumo toddler. There are photos to prove that stage, unfortunately. Then there are some of the littlest dresses ever, as well as these funky orange-and-pink striped pants

  I used to wear. They’re so loud – I wouldn’t be seen dead in anything like that now. And there’s a tiny pale green hat, the same colour as Mei’s blanket. It must have been my first ever hat. It has a picture of an ice-cream and a beachball on it. Mum calls it a bonnet.

  I rummage around deep to get to the toys. There’s a cute plastic pastel-coloured mouse whose ears you can twist to make clicking noises; and a pink stuffed kitten, with blue dotty ears. I hold her to me. Pink Kitten. She was my absolute fave soft toy. Then there’s my old blanket – nonnels, I used to call her. Sometimes nonnelly-non-nons. I had her with me every night until I stopped sucking my thumb, something Harry likes to remind me of as frequently as possible. I pop my thumb in my mouth now, just to see what it feels like. It’s okay, but it doesn’t make me want to take up the habi
t again or anything.

  My hand rests on something hard in the bottom of the box, and I pull it out. It’s a little wooden toy man with a body of bright painted discs that slink about like a wavy snake. It feels nice in your hands, and goes click-clack when the discs touch each other. I think Mei will like it.

  Which is good, because just then a howling cry comes from the lounge room.

  I send my hand into the lounge first, with the wooden man doing a little clickety-clack jig. The wailing stops abruptly. I poke my head around the corner, just as Mum’s coming in. She looks at me in amazement. ‘Poppy, where —?’

  ‘I know, Mum, it’s my old toy, remember?’

  She nods, beaming. ‘Yes!’

  We look at Mei. She is smiling through her tears. She says something, and points at it.

  I move towards her slowly, saying, ‘This? Do you want to play with this? I thought you might like it.’ I kneel down next to her and put it in her hands.

  Her podgy fingers grab it and bend it roughly back and forth, and she giggles and bashes it on the armrest of the sofa.

  ‘I’ve got something else,’ I say to her. ‘Do you want to see it?’

  She nods.

  I look up at Mum and widen my eyes meaningfully at her. She understands!

  When I come back, I have Pink Kitten, and Mum is clickety-clacking the wooden man and laughing with Mei. Six heads are poking around the corner from the kitchen, with varying kinds of smiles on their faces.

  Dad looks at me and gives me the thumbs up as if to say, Great job!

  I kneel down again and show Mei Pink Kitten. ‘Meow, meow,’ I say, and then purr as best as I can, but, really, we need Harry here for that because he can make that r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-noise brilliantly. (Though he can’t click his fingers as well as I can.)

  Mei says something in toddler language and reaches for Pink Kitten.

  ‘Cat,’ I say, giving it to her.

  She grabs it and squeezes it tight. ‘Cat!’ she says.

  ‘So she definitely has a few words,’ I hear someone say from the kitchen.

  There are various murmurs of agreement before I hear a huge thump against our garage door. It’s Harry’s ball. He’s not allowed to do that. Denting Potential.

  Dad crosses the lounge and opens the front door. ‘Harry! Move away from the garage, please, mate. We’re trying to have a conversation in here.’

  I hear Harry mumble something and the sound of his ball skittering further away. I look back at Mei. She is at the window. ‘Ball!’ she says, pointing out at him. ‘Me, ball!’

  Mei shouts ‘Ball!’ every time she catches a glimpse of it through the window.

  I look at Mum.

  ‘She can’t go out there,’ Mum says. ‘She’s in her Wondersuit. She’d need something on her feet, and a cardie, at least.’ She peers through the window at Harry. It’s still cold – even if Harry is wearing shorts, as usual.

  ‘Do you have any of our old clothes, Mum? I mean, apart from the ones you’re keeping in the special box?’

  ‘No … I gave most of them to Uncle Mo for Bella. And the rest went to the Salvos.’

  I crouch at the window next to Mei. ‘Do you like balls?’

  She nods and then gives her body a big wobble and yells, ‘Ball!’

  I slide open the window and call Harry.

  He trots over, nudging the ball along from foot to foot as he goes. ‘What’s up?’

  I tilt my head towards Mei. ‘Look who’s awake.’

  ‘Good morning!’ he says, through the flyscreen. ‘I’m Harry. Floppy’s brother.’

  ‘Harr-y,’ Mum warns.

  Mei stares at him.

  ‘Poppy, I mean. I’ve just been out here, playing with my mate, Wall.’

  ‘Wall?’ Mum says. ‘Who?’

  He looks at her and says, ‘Mu-u-u-um. Wall. I have a friend and his name is Wall. He’s my special football friend. Get it?’

  Mum shakes her head. ‘Oh, you silly duffer. You make me laugh.’

  Mei is watching Harry’s every move. ‘She likes your ball,’ I say.

  ‘Ball!’ Mei yells in agreement.

  Mum says, ‘Can you dry it off and bring it in, Harry? It’s too cold for her to go out.’

  Harry kicks off his boots and comes in, holding the ball high. ‘I’ll just dry it with a tea towel, hang on.’

  He trundles into the kitchen before he sees everyone at the table. ‘Ah, sorry,’ he says, slowing to a tiptoe. ‘I just need a —’ he points at the tea towels hanging from the oven door.

  ‘That’s fine, Harry,’ Dad ushers him in, ‘come on through.’

  ‘Ball!’ Mei shouts and waddles after Harry into the kitchen, into the meeting that’s all about her.

  Mum and I follow Mei into the kitchen. As we come in, everybody stops talking and one of the police officers says quietly, ‘Can we try asking her – straight out – where she lives?’

  Noula goes over to Mei and crouches down on the floor like she’s about to do leapfrog. ‘Mei, where’s home? Where do you live?’

  Mei’s face whitens and she bursts into tears. Running back to the lounge room window, she pushes her face against the glass. It fogs up as she wails Mama! through it.

  Mum bends forward slightly like she’s in pain.

  ‘It’s okay, Jess,’ Dad puts his arm around her.

  ‘It’s not okay,’ Mum says. ‘It’s not okay at all. Where is this child’s family? How could they do this?’

  Liz nods and says, ‘It’s a dreadful thing to witness, isn’t it. The sooner we can reunite them the better.’

  The policewoman says, ‘Mei’s photo was released by the Police Media Liaison Unit this morning in the hope that someone who knows her – maybe someone at a day care centre, or a family friend – will see her on the news and contact us with information.’

  ‘Well, I just hope that’s soon,’ Mum says. ‘Because she needs her mother.’

  The adults stand to leave as a bad smell drifts in from the lounge room. Mei is squatting at the window. I say into Mum’s ear, ‘I think she’s done a poo,’ and giggle.

  Mum looks up and wipes tears away with her fingers. ‘Oh has she now? Well, Poppy, come on, let’s deal with that, shall we?’

  Everyone nods in relief. And then Mum says, ‘And then I think I might see if little Mei would like some porridge. Porridge is always good when you’re sad.’

  Poo. It looks a lot like chocolate mousse, really. Which is a shame because I love chocolate mousse and I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat it again after The Nappy Change.

  Once I’ve washed my hands about fifty times I head to the kitchen.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ Dad says.

  ‘Good,’ Mum says. ‘What’s the time?’ ‘Coming up to midday,’ Dad says.

  ‘I might just flick on the news and catch the headlines before lunch,’ she says, flopping down on the red couch. When she turns on the TV, there’s an ad on for Operation Ouch. It’s my favourite show – about these twin doctors, in real life, and they take you around their hospital and show all sorts of weird and gross things, like cameras going up people’s noses and down into their tummies and stuff.

  Mum flicks over to ABC1 just in time for the headlines. ‘Off you go, kids, this isn’t appropriate for you two,’ she says. ‘You know we don’t like you watching the news. They only ever show the bad stuff.’

  Harry groans and says, like always, ‘Why can’t we watch, Mum? It’s just what’s happening in the world – it’s just real life.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she says, staring straight ahead at the screen.

  Harry pushes himself off the couch and stomps out in a huff.

  Mei follows him, dragging her blanket. ‘Ball?’ I hear her ask quietly to his disappearing back.

  ‘No ball,’ he grumbles as he goes.

  ‘You too, Poppy,’ Mum says gently, ‘off you go.’

  I sigh and get up.

  Then Mum makes a choking sound and points at the telly, eyes hug
e. ‘Look!’

  I see a photo of Mei on the screen. Mei, our Mei! Mei in our house! A big picture of her face.

  The newsreader, a woman, is saying: ‘Police are searching for the child’s family, and they urge anyone with any information about her to call Crime Stoppers. The child is believed to be about eighteen months old and was found on the doorstep of a home in Belleview late last night.’

  ‘That’s us,’ I squeak. ‘That’s Mei!’

  ‘I know,’ Mum whispers hoarsely. ‘Mei’s on the news. The poor little thing.’

  I drag my purple beanbag out onto the lawn and flumph down into it.

  The clouds shift lightly like big steam in the sky.

  I imagine all the places I’ve been – all the friends’ houses, holiday places, cafes for mango smoothies and restaurants with Mum and Dad for family birthdays – and I can’t think of a single time I’ve arrived on my own anywhere.

  I imagine standing in front of a stranger’s front door, hearing Mum drive off, not knowing where she’s going or when she might be back to collect me, or why I’m here.

  Even thinking about it makes me swallow hard. Mum and Dad would never, ever do that. They might shout and threaten to send us to our rooms for the entire weekend if we’re not careful, but they never have. And I know they would never, ever do anything like what’s happened to Mei.

  Mei’s family must’ve been really scared, I reckon, to have left her on our doorstep. Do they know us somehow? Are they neighbours we haven’t met, or do they live in the area? I’ve never seen Mei before, but I haven’t been looking for her, either.

  Maybe Mrs Mei has no money left and can’t look after her anymore? Or maybe someone kidnapped Mei, like in the movies, then changed their mind and dropped her here!

  I think about that for a minute, and then shake my head. Nah. This actually isn’t the movies – that’s what’s so yucky about it.

  I go back to brainstorming. Maybe Mrs Mei’s sick and needs someone to look after Mei while she gets better? Or maybe she has cancer – like Ms da Costa at school did – maybe she knows she’s not going to get better, and wants to give Mei to a new family, before she gets too sick to do it?