Hush, Little Bird

by Nicole Trope

  ‘He was my husband, and he was your father. There has to be some loyalty to the people you love. All those girls that you support through their court cases would be nowhere without some loyalty from you. You cannot simply abandon someone because of their failures.’

  ‘It’s not the same thing. The girls I help are all victims. Whatever crimes they’ve committed were done out of fear or desperation.’

  ‘What would you have had me do? He was an old man, and as the months went by he got quickly older. If I had left he would have had no one at all. I’d been with him for most of my life, and until you find yourself in the same situation you have no right to judge.’ I’m surprised to find myself so angry at her. I spend so much time missing her now that I forget how stringent she can be. The world has always been fairly black and white to Portia.

  She stands up. ‘I didn’t come here to fight with you. I’m going to go now, because I love you and I miss you and I don’t want you to get upset.’

  I stand up too and we walk to the door together, watched by the guard, close but not touching.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll email you tonight,’ she says, and then she’s gone. It takes two hours to drive back to the city from the Farm.

  I don’t know why I defended him, once again, since there’s nothing to be gained from going down that particular path. The television interview was revolting. Afterwards I came close to telling him to leave; close, but not close enough. Perhaps if I had told him to go he would still be alive today.

  We only knew the interview was coming a few hours before it aired. ‘They wanted to prevent me from having time to get an injunction,’ said Eric when he came over to warn us about it.

  ‘But they must be stopped,’ said Simon.

  ‘It’s too late,’ said Eric. ‘There’s nothing I can do, and they’re obviously sure they have legal right on their side. Watch it carefully, Simon, make notes. Write down anything you can think of that will refute what the woman is saying.’

  ‘Who is she?’ I asked.

  ‘They wouldn’t tell me. They’re going to protect her identity.’

  ‘Monstrous,’ said Simon. ‘This is monstrous.’

  I called the girls, feeling the need of their presence.

  ‘But how does Eric know it’s about Dad, and who is it?’ said Rosalind when she came over. She had arrived in a flustered state with her hair in a mess, after calling her mother-in-law to look after the children for the rest of the day. Our lives had always been so ordered, so predictable, but that afternoon it felt like we were descending into chaos.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. Eric just said that it would be airing tonight and that he cannot stop it. It must surely be connected with what is being said about your father. Please stay. I’ll make dinner. We need to stick together now. Your father is so distressed. He’s been locked in his study for the last hour and he won’t open the door to me.’

  ‘When is this ever going to end?’ said Rosalind. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘This is getting ridiculous,’ said Portia when she arrived from work.

  ‘We have to find a way to stop all this rubbish, all these lies,’ said Rosalind.

  ‘Oh, Roz, how can it all just be lies?’

  ‘Let’s not discuss it,’ I said.

  Jack was working late, so we were once again a family of four for the night. I cooked, taking some solace in the domestic act of seasoning the chicken and chopping vegetables for the salad.

  What are people going to think? What are they going to say? I thought as I laid the table for dinner. The girls had opened a bottle of wine and were sitting in the kitchen, supposedly helping me but mostly trying to distract me with talk of the grandchildren and Portia’s latest boyfriend. ‘He’s always on call at the hospital, so we’ve never even had a full dinner together,’ she said. ‘I think I like him, but I haven’t been with him long enough to know.’

  Simon was still in his study and I was pleased to just have to deal with the girls. I thought about calling a few people to warn them about the program, but I didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to it. When the first article appeared, our friends were supportive of Simon and indignant on his behalf. They were still upset for us when the second woman came forward, but everyone had gone strangely quiet since the true media storm began. What could they say, after all? ‘So sorry your husband is being accused of being a paedophile, shall we make plans for dinner?’

  I laughed out loud in my quiet dining room. ‘Are you okay?’ called Portia from the kitchen.

  ‘No,’ I said, going in to sit at the small round table we had eaten breakfast at for years and years. ‘No, I don’t think I am at all.’ I opened another bottle of wine and poured myself a large glass. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet but I had taken to having my wine earlier and earlier in the day.

  ‘It’s a party,’ said Portia, and she clinked her glass against mine.

  ‘Jesus, Portia,’ said Rosalind.

  Of all our friends, only Eric and Patricia had really stayed true. And Eric had no choice but to support his old friend. He was, after all, being paid.

  Simon had barely left the house for weeks. Our lives felt as though they were getting smaller and smaller. I had stopped going to bridge and my water aerobics, and Portia had shown me how to order groceries online. She had even organised for a hairdresser to come to the house. If I did have to go out, I had to run the gauntlet of the journalists outside the house and they terrified me. Portia and Rosalind don their sunglasses and charge through the waiting pack with their heads down, almost daring them to try to stop them.

  When will it end? I thought, echoing Rosalind.

  ‘Both my daughters for dinner, how pleasing,’ said Simon softly when I had coaxed him to the table.

  ‘I would appreciate it, my dears, if you left your mother and me to watch this vile trash alone. I’m sure you understand,’ he said over a dessert of fruit and ice cream, as the time for the program grew ever closer.

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you want,’ said Rosalind, but Portia would not be swayed.

  ‘I’m staying, Dad. If you want to go to a different room, that’s fine. But I’m watching it with Mum.’

  For the first time I saw a small chink in the armour of disbelief and indignation that Simon had wrapped himself in. He met Portia’s gaze and then quite suddenly he dropped his head and mumbled, ‘Very well, Portia, my dear.’

  After dinner we settled in front of the television in a state of nervous expectation. The music for the current affairs program began and the male reporter explained with barely disguised glee that yet another woman had come forward to accuse Simon Winslow of inappropriate touching.

  ‘When Monica Rundle was sixteen years old, she auditioned for and won the chance to appear on My Kid Can . . ., then the most popular show on television. Monica didn’t win, but her enthusiasm and love of the industry led producer Matthew Evans to offer her a part-time after-school job as one of his assistants. It was while working for the show that Monica became yet another victim of Simon Winslow. Monica does not wish her face to be shown on television and so we have agreed to disguise her appearance and voice and use low lighting. Rundle is not her real surname.’

  The woman in question appeared on the screen. I couldn’t make out much more than long dark hair. ‘I thought I had found my dream job,’ she said in a low, evidently altered voice. ‘All I did was make coffee and tidy up the food table and things like that, but I loved being around television people. It was all I wanted to do with my life, and I was so grateful for the opportunity.’

  ‘What was your first experience of Simon Winslow’s behaviour?’ asked the reporter.

  ‘I hadn’t seen him much when I was on the show except when we were on stage together. All the kids on the show had to call him Mr Simon and he was really nice to all of us. I liked him a lot. I even had a bit of a crush on him. When I’d been working there a few weeks I overhear
d two of the makeup women talking in the bathroom. I don’t think they knew I was there. They were laughing about Mr Simon, calling him “Mr Handsy”, but I didn’t really think anything of it.

  ‘Then about a week later, Mr Evans asked me to take a cup of coffee into Mr Winslow’s office. I was quite excited because I really wanted to see him again and thank him for giving me a chance to be on the show.’ The woman sniffed and reached to pull a tissue out of the shadowy tissue box in front of her.

  ‘Take your time,’ said the reporter, oozing sympathy and patience.

  ‘I knocked on his office door and he told me to come in, so I opened the door and went inside and put the coffee on the coffee table. He was sitting there, on the couch. He had his feet up on the table next to this big jar of lollipops. “Thank you,” he said, and I said, “I just wanted to tell you how much I love the show and how happy I am to be working here.”

  ‘“Oh yes,” he said. “You’re the lovely Monica. I’m pleased that you accepted the job. I see a very bright future for you in this industry. Come and sit down and tell me all the things Matthew is making you do.” So I sat down next to him, because, I mean I wanted to, I really did, but I thought we would just talk. I sat down a little bit away from him but then he shifted right next to me. “Have you seen any stars wandering the corridors?” he asked me, and I said, “No, only you,” and then he smiled and put his hand on my leg. I thought he was just being friendly so I didn’t say anything, but then his hand moved up higher and higher and I got scared. I remembered the women in the toilet calling him Mr Handsy and I wanted to stand up and get out, but his hand was kind of pushing me down and the next thing I knew he was touching me all over and I couldn’t move, I just couldn’t move.’

  I don’t remember what else the woman said; by then the only thing I was listening to was the ringing in my ears. When it was over we all sat in silence. I stared straight ahead, not trusting myself to look at Simon.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Portia said, breaking us all out of our stunned spell.

  ‘Must you sound like a peasant, Portia?’ Simon said.

  ‘That’s what concerns you about this? You’re worried that I swear too much? What’s going on here? You have to tell us what happened, Dad. If she’s making this up we need to sue her, we need to make her pay. She can’t say these things about you. This is fucking unbelievable.’

  ‘It’s not true, is it, Daddy?’ asked Rosalind. ‘None of it is true, I’m sure. Do you even remember a girl named Monica who was an assistant? Did he ever mention her, Mum?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He never mentioned her.’

  I looked over at Simon and he caught my gaze. The blue of his eyes had faded a little over the years, but I could see the anger flaring in his body. He held my gaze until I felt compelled to lower my eyes. He knew I was questioning him in my heart and he was furious.

  He stood up. ‘You will forgive me, ladies,’ he said as though he were addressing strangers. ‘I’m very tired and my back is aching. I’ll go to bed now.’

  ‘Wait, we need to discuss this,’ said Portia.

  ‘Let him go, Portia,’ said Rosalind.

  ‘Simon . . .’ I began.

  ‘You will forgive me,’ he said again, and the coldness of his tone silenced us all. ‘I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom, my dear. That way I won’t wake you if I need to move about to get comfortable.’ And he left the room, touching each of his daughters briefly on the head.

  I felt my mouth working as my brain tried to form a coherent thought, but nothing would come.

  ‘It’s rubbish, all of it,’ said Rosalind. ‘It’s disgusting to think she would do this to an old man. What on earth can she be thinking?’

  ‘Why would she make it up?’ said Portia quietly. ‘Why would all these women be making this up?’

  ‘I’m not getting into this again with you,’ said Rosalind.

  ‘Bury your head as always, Roz. This is too much, there are too many. We can’t ignore this anymore. It’s not going to go away.’

  ‘Portia, just because you are surrounded by girls who have experienced this doesn’t mean that every man is a paedophile. He’s our father, our father. How on earth can you believe this of him?’

  ‘Girls,’ I said, interrupting them. ‘You need to go now. Thank you for being here, for always being here, but I think I need to speak to your father.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, Mum, I think I’ll spend the night,’ said Portia.

  ‘If you need me to stay I can call Jack,’ said Rosalind. ‘I’m sure he can manage.’

  I shook my head. ‘Please don’t make me ask you again. I think it would be best if we were alone. That way I might be able to get him to talk to me.’

  They left reluctantly and I went to the guest bedroom to speak to Simon, but he had locked the door and would not respond when I knocked.

  I was worried about him, worried for him, worried for all of us, but he wouldn’t speak to me; and until his very last day on earth, that was how he handled what was happening to us.

  ‘Please let me in, Simon,’ I called, only to be answered with silence. ‘Please let me in.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  A funny thing happened today. Not funny so that it makes you laugh but funny so that you feel strange.

  ‘Only two weeks before you’re off,’ said Jess to me last night. Jess has to stay here for one month without me. I think she’s worried that she’ll be lonely. Even though I will be with Isabel and Lila when I go home, I think I’ll be lonely for Jess as well. I have given her Lila’s phone number and my mobile number and I hope she will call me when she gets out.

  I nodded my head but I didn’t say anything. I want to be happy about going home, but when I think about what I’m going to do I know I need more time. Even after what happened today I still have my agenda. In fact, my agenda is more important than ever, because now I know that Rose is small but strong and she could have helped me if she wanted to. Now I know that the only reason she did nothing was because she didn’t care and didn’t like me. She liked Lila because Lila was pretty and cute and talked and smiled, but I was quiet and she didn’t like that. She protected Lila but she didn’t protect me. That’s not fair. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to live.

  Malcolm was here today. He was here because Natalie is sick. I like Natalie. On her birthday she brought in cakes. There were enough cakes so that everyone could have a slice, and we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’, and Natalie laughed and it was a good afternoon.

  We saw Malcolm at first muster. We were all standing out on the verandas, jumping up and down because it was so cold.

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Jess, ‘it’s him again.’ Last week Jess told us that when Malcolm is here he likes to come up to her and say rude things to her.

  ‘Like what?’ I’d asked.

  ‘You know, stupid stuff about how he could rock my world if I would just let him. I don’t know why he’s after me. I’m old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘What do you do when he says things like that?’

  ‘I tell him no, and I say it loud and clear so anyone who’s nearby can hear me.’

  ‘He’ll move on,’ said Maya. ‘He’s just looking for another friend because Paula’s going home.’

  Paula’s gone now. I saw her leaving. She was all dressed up with nice clothes and makeup. I don’t know if the clothes I wore to get here will still fit me when I go home. I think I’m getting bigger every week. When I email Lila tonight I’ll have to tell her to bring me some more clothes. In her last email she said that Isabel is really excited and that she has made a sign that says Welcome home, Mum. Isabel is really clever. Sometimes I worry about what she will think of me when she gets big like Lila, but Lila loves me so maybe Isabel will too.

  Yesterday I watched Rose in the garden and she looked so sad that I felt bad for having my agenda. I got bigger and bigger when I came here, but Rose is getting smaller and smaller. I’ve seen Allison looking at her with wo
rried eyes. Rose looks like maybe she is sorry for everything in her life. Maybe she is sorry for not helping me, but I think she is just sorry that he is gone and she killed him.

  She was digging with a garden fork and she had to push hard because the soil isn’t soft anymore and I thought about going over to help her because I’m strong now. But then I remembered that she could have helped me, that she could have saved me, and just like that the bubbling anger came back. Sometimes it comes back so fast I feel like I can’t breathe. I would like to tell Henrietta about the bubbling anger but I’m afraid that then she will say, ‘You can’t go home and be with Isabel, Birdy.’ I don’t want that. I want to go home and be with Isabel, but maybe the bubbling anger will make me a bad mother. I don’t want to be angry and crying like my mum was when I was little. I want to be a happy, kind mum to Isabel.

  I have to get rid of the anger before I go home. I don’t want to go back to the other place, but she has to be punished. People can’t do the wrong thing and be allowed to get away with it. I’m going to be smart about it and I’m going to be quiet. No one is going to catch me. Mum was punished and he is gone. There’s only one person left. Lester is . . . Lester is something I have to think about. Lila is right. He shouldn’t be allowed to teach kids. Maybe he’s already feeling punished because I won’t read his letters or talk to him. When I think about Lester I can’t remember his face very well. When I count on my fingers all the people I’m angry at there is only one finger left now. He is gone, and Lester is not in my life anymore and I know that if he tries to come near me or Isabel he will be very sorry. I can make him sorry. I am big and I can protect Isabel. I can protect her from anything. The finger for Mum has also been pushed down, so now there is only Rose. She’s the last one left.

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t the lovely ladies of unit seven,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, and I smiled at him because Mum taught me over and over again to be polite, especially to policemen. Malcolm isn’t really a policeman, or maybe he is. I don’t know. Jess looked at me and I could see her lips go thin. She doesn’t like it when I say hello to Malcolm, but he has a nice smile.