‘Let’s see …’ Alex splayed the fingers on one hand and counted off. ‘If you’re a wallaby, an emu, a cow, a koala, a horse, a bird—any animal for that matter, anywhere near a dry paddock when the sparks from one of those beauties starts a scrub fire—you wouldn’t love it so much. It’s terrifying. It can also be one of the busiest nights on a vet’s calendar.’
‘Oh.’ Cait hadn’t thought about it that way.
‘I hoped we could grab a quick bite at the pub before the shit hits. You can tell me about your day. Up for it?’
‘I’m really not tonight.’ Despite ditching the contact lenses for glasses, her eyelids still felt like sandpaper, tiring her easily. All the crying she’d done earlier in the week hadn’t helped. ‘Food, yes, but a noisy pub …?’ She saw disappointment flash over Alex’s face. ‘Do you think we can get takeaway instead?’
‘Excellent idea. I’m on it.’ Alex was suddenly a kid in a candy store. ‘I may have to charm old Ethne into doing up one of her special pastas takeaway-style. I’ll bring it out to the house.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll break open a wine.’
*
When Alex arrived with pasta, a container of salad and greetings from Maggie, Cait pushed aside the papers she’d spread over the table as a fill-in while she waited.
‘What’s all that stuff? Looks ancient.’
‘Some of my dad’s old paperwork,’ she explained, setting two places with plates, knives, forks and serving spoons. ‘I was just starting to go through this.’ She dragged a small book in front of Alex while he disposed of the plastic takeaway lids, scooping the contents onto the plates.
‘Looks like the doctor had a little black book.’
‘Not likely. He called it a birth diary.’
‘And what’s a birth diary?’ Alex asked, sucking salad dressing off his finger.
‘No idea. Here.’ She thrust a paper napkin in his direction and swallowed a mouthful of food, ‘There’s a few names I recognise. Looks to me like he’s kept an alphabetical index of every baby he ever delivered. Kind of sweet, really,’ she said, full of daughterly pride. ‘In fact, see this one? Cindy Brown. I examined her little baby yesterday. A third generation baby. My dad delivered Cindy and Cindy’s mum. Now that’s a small town for you. Anyway, when you arrived I was looking at this entry. Here.’ Cait continued to shovel salad, hungry for food, hungrier still for Alex’s thoughts on her discovery. ‘By the way, this salad is divine. Thank you.’
‘Should you even be showing me patient stuff?’
‘Probably not, but it’s old and—’
‘And we’re both medicos—sorta. Besides, I’m too new in town to know half the people if this was all back in your dad’s day.’
‘Exactly. Now, first I looked up Gypsy to check what happened during Willow’s birth. I was curious about my own conclusions. Only there is no entry.’
‘So your dad missed an entry.’
‘He missed more than that. Viv, keeper of all knowledge at the surgery, let me see Gypsy’s records; I was wondering how she’d died.’
‘And?’
‘Pneumonia. Actually, cancer with complications, but the pneumonia hastened her death. The thing is I saw a reference to Gypsy undergoing a total hysterectomy when she was still in her twenties.’
Alex scratched his head. ‘I know I’m only a vet, but, ah …?’
‘Exactly. How did the woman give birth to Willow without a uterus? When I found this so-called birth diary in dad’s stuff tonight, I figured I’d find the answer. Right? Wrong. Nothing.’ She nudged her spectacles down the bridge of her nose until she was looking over the top of them at Alex.
‘Okay, Miss Marple, it’s official. You are really scaring me with the glasses thing.’
‘Shut up and focus.’ Cait thumped his shoulder before returning her finger to the long list of names and dates, stopping at the entry: Bailey.
‘As in your friend, Amber Bailey?’
‘No, she’s here.’ Cait’s finger travelled over the page. ‘Now look at this entry.’
‘Mate, your dad’s scribble is impossible to decipher.’
‘It also says Cheryl Bailey.’
‘And what do those little asterisks mean?’
‘Ah-huh! My thoughts exactly. Stay with me,’ she mumbled over a mouthful and stood up to reach for an old foolscap folder, one of the old-fashioned, very bureaucratic, red tape type with a string that wound in figure eights around opposing toggles. ‘In here is … taa-daaah!’
Alex chuckled. ‘You really are finding this all very amusing.’
‘Only I’m not laughing. This is serious. Something’s not right.’ Cait pushed her half-eaten plate to one side. ‘Honestly, I’m starting to feel sick to the stomach. See this entry here? Not quite a year after Amber’s birth. Nine-and-a-half months to be precise. It reads: Bailey. Cheryl. Twin girls. Breech.’
‘And Cheryl Bailey, the woman you told me about in the surgery that first day, is Amber’s mother?’
‘Yep.’
‘I gather from the look on your face you’re about to tell me—’
‘Amber doesn’t have twin sisters. She was an only child, a spoilt-rotten only child. Besides, if Cheryl Bailey had twins, why is it in this folder and not shown in the birth diary? My father was fanatical about his records. He didn’t make mistakes.’
‘I’m not sure how I can help here.’
‘Make it make sense. There’s every chance I’m too close to see.’
‘Okay, I’ll try, but it will take a serious amount of something.’
Cait took the hint, leaving Alex to ponder the documentation while she set a pot of green tea to brew and opened a fresh packet of Tim Tams.
‘I just had a thought,’ she called over the drone of the old electric jug. ‘Look up Fraser or maybe … Blast! I wish I could remember Sara’s mother’s name. Leigh? Lisa? Liz! That’s it. Look up Elizabeth Fraser.’
‘Nothing under Frase … oh, hang on. The name Fraser has those asterisks and there’s a record in here for Gypsy.’ He peered closer. ‘Twin girls: Cedar and Willow. Someone liked their trees!’ He laughed, but Cait was no longer in the mood. ‘And they’ve got the same little mark alongside. The little asterisk thing.’
‘Where? Show me.’ She sat at the table, repositioned her glasses and peered at the point where Alex tapped an index finger. ‘I say again: no uterus, no baby, and especially no blasted twins. Are there any more of those marks?’ She poked the pages impatiently with her finger and handed Alex a pen and pad. ‘Write anything with an asterisk down on this paper. I don’t think I can watch.’
Nausea nudged its way up Caitlin’s throat. She tried to swallow it down again with a glass of tap water while staring out into the darkness beyond the now cosy kitchen. Every now and then she’d see a flash of light illuminating the sky and she remembered what Alex had said about the fireworks. She hoped no animals would come to any harm and drag Alex away. She needed him here. She needed to work through the feeling of dread lingering in her gut.
‘Gotcha!’ Alex dropped the pen victoriously, the way Caitlin used to do when she was first to finish school exams. ‘First time I’ve ever seen a family tree with actual trees.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘See for yourself.’ He scooted the pad across the table and Cait slipped into her seat, fixing her gaze on the names and dates Alex had drawn in boxes. Then she followed the lines and arrows connecting them in a rough family tree diagram.
‘Amber—born to Cheryl and Jack Bailey. Cedar and Willow—born to Cheryl and … John Hamilton? Oh. My. God.’ At first she didn’t believe her eyes, lifting her glasses to her forehead and looking again.
‘Okay, Miss Marple, you want to fill in your offsider? Who’s John Hamilton?’
Cait didn’t answer straight away. Even if she knew the words, her mouth seemed incapable of forming them, her eyes wide and staring at the diagram that tied twin sisters Willow and Cedar to—of all people—Poppy and
Amber.
‘They’re half-sisters.’
‘Who?’ Alex asked impatiently.
‘Willow, Poppy and Amber. Look!’
‘So what about Sara?’
‘Alex, I can’t believe this.’ Caitlin stopped pacing, her feet now glued to the floor.
‘Okay, steady on. What now?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me. Spill, preferably before your head explodes.’
‘Cheryl Bailey had twins, and one was a breech birth. Gypsy, despite a total hysterectomy, had a daughter—her miracle daughter, her gift from God—while the Frasers … Oh no. No!’
Cait saw one more document remained inside the old folder, and as she drew it out a realisation winded her, the thud inside her chest so forceful her ears throbbed: she had in her hands the answer to the one question all four women had asked in Sydney that day.
44
Alex stayed with Caitlin until morning. Neither slept.
Instead they’d sat in front of the fire, which Alex had kept stoked and ablaze, snuggling under the same blanket like a couple of old friends who’d shared a lifetime of joy and tragedy. In a way they had. Caitlin’s quota of joy and tragedy had been packed into one long night, culminating in an emotional telephone conversation with her mother that had drained Cait of tears.
Alex remained snuggled in front of the fire, only his eyes visible from underneath the blanket, his face scrunched against the pillow now wedged in the crook of the sofa.
‘How you feeling?’ he asked.
‘After shattering my mother’s world, you mean?’
Alex stretched, yawned and talked all at once. ‘You do know lettin’ the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in, don’t you?’
‘Did I have a choice? She had to know something about all this and I had to know for sure.’
‘Any more enlightened? Did she know about your father’s … ahem … activities?’
‘Yes and no. I think, from the sound of it, Mum favoured an ignorance-is-bliss philosophy to protect the family’s reputation. Funny thing is she said the decision is mine.’
‘To tell, you mean?’
Cait nodded. ‘I’m no longer required to do what’s expected, apparently.’
‘Do you have to tell? I can keep a secret.’
‘I appreciate the thought, but I think my father has kept enough of those for one family.’ Cait flopped onto the sofa, snaffling a chunk of blanket from Alex and burrowing underneath. ‘Maybe in time I’ll find out what made him think he had the right to shuffle babies from one family to another without any regard for the law. For now, I have to tell the others and hope we can keep our wounds covered and protected. Once this becomes common knowledge, the implications, my family’s reputation, the future of our family business—everything will be on the line. My brother is not going to like it one bit. I’ll have to deal with that later.’
‘You’re going to tell the girls next?’
Cait shrugged. ‘Is there a chance I’ve astral travelled onto some bizarre parallel world and this isn’t really happening?’
‘I can pinch you, but I’m fairly certain all that will do is bloody hurt. Reckon you’ve got enough pain on your plate, Doc.’
‘Thanks for your help. If I’d had to deal with this on my own … Thank goodness I met you that first day.’
‘And I turned out to be so friggin’ wonderful, you mean?’ Alex tickled her ribs and both dogs, asleep on the hearth, pricked their ears. ‘So it was fate rather than karma when we met, eh?’
‘Fate?’ A cynical little snort escaped with Cait’s laugh. ‘Gypsy liked talking about destiny and fate.’
‘Yeah, well, last night was something all right. Can’t believe I wasn’t called out for a rescue. There must have been no sparks, no fires and no injuries.’
‘Well, stick around, vet boy. There’ll be plenty soon enough when the others get here.’
45
‘Today’s the day. How’s it feel?’ Alex asked Cait as they stood on the veranda, both pairs of eyes fixed on the horizon.
‘Surreal.’
Rain the previous night had washed Calingarry Crossing clean, which seemed fitting. A clean canvas for a fresh start. All overly optimistic probably. Cait had had a few days to come to terms with the news. Now she was about to climb back on that roller-coaster and tell Amber, Poppy and Sara about her discovery. Fear nibbled away inside as she wondered what her old friends would think of her once they found out her father had played God with their lives. She couldn’t begin to imagine. The truth was hard enough for Cait to fathom, and her lineage—the very root of her existence—was not in question. Everything these women had known, where they came from, everything, had been based on a lie—a lie perpetrated by her father.
‘Hey, Doc, if you keep shaking that head like you’re doing, it’s likely the thing will work loose and drop off. Tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘Telling you what I’m thinking will prove I really do have a screw loose up here.’ Cait tapped a finger several times against her temple. ‘Maybe Dad did too. Why else would a man of my father’s intellect not have considered the ramifications? And if I don’t get it, how can I expect anyone else to understand? What was he thinking?’
Only one conclusion seemed likely, but Cait wasn’t sharing.
Arrogance.
A God complex was not uncommon in the field of medicine.
‘I hope I’m not wrong about any of this,’ she said.
‘You know you’re not. You’ve been over and over that stuff for days. No matter how many ways you look at it, the truth is as real as they are.’ Alex pointed to a thin, black trail of ants, their determination unwavering, like the line they marched in. ‘You need to say it straight, just don’t let any of them stomp on you.’
‘Thanks. You’re a big help.’
‘Tell it like it is. Even I can see how everything fits, and that’s saying something.’
Despite the overnight shower dampening the ground, a distant dust cloud still managed to float into the sky. Cait knew it marked the steady progress of a vehicle travelling along the old punt road towards the Dandelion House.
‘You know the last time I watched a cloud of dust like that I thought some moron in a ute was about to run over my dog.’
‘Make that some shit-hot, hunky moron and I’m happy.’
Cait managed a smile, her focus on the slow-moving dust spiral. ‘Knowing that dust cloud is one of them feels like I’m the one about to be run over—but by a blasted train.’
‘Three trains from the looks.’
He was right. Three dust storms headed their way.
Laughing released the belly-full of butterflies that had kept Cait tight and jittery ever since requesting the girls come back to the house. She’d said as little as possible over the telephone, mostly that she’d found something at the Dandelion House about Gypsy’s bequest and they’d need to come back together sooner than planned. She’d explain everything then.
Explain everything? Humph! Wish someone would explain it to me.
Poppy had sounded miffed at Caitlin’s evasiveness, and her won’t take no for an answer attitude. Sara was as compliant as ever, and Amber’s unusual acceptance of being told to do something, especially by Caitlin, took her by complete surprise.
The butterflies in Cait’s stomach now fluttered in plague proportions. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘No you’re not. Keep it together. You’re all friends, remember.’
‘They’re clearly more than that, Alex. Why couldn’t one of them have discovered all this? Why did it have to be me?’
‘Maybe karma is biting you on the backside for being the smarty pants of the bunch. Ouch!’ Alex failed to block Cait’s teasing elbow to the ribs. ‘Looks like the first car’s getting close. A bit of a lead foot I’d say too.’
‘Blast!’ Cait’s feet fidgeted, her legs doing a nervous jig as she squinted through the liquidambar t
rees, their exposed and tortured limbs the perfect analogy for Caitlin’s nerves. ‘Which one is it? Please be Poppy. Please, please be Poppy.’
‘Come here and calm down. You’ll be fine.’ Alex dragged her closer, draped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’m going to take both dogs so you have one less thing to worry about. We’ll leave you to your friends. Okay, you two. Heel. If I get going now I can take the punt over so it’s waiting.’
Cait tried her best please don’t leave me pout, but Alex just laughed and made childish chug-chug train noises all the way to his ute.
‘Git-on, you two.’ He whooshed a hand command and both dogs sprang into action. ‘Now why can’t I get that sort of bloody response from a bloke?’ he laughed. ‘See ya.’ And with a final ‘toot-toooooot!’ out the window, he was on the punt and Cait was alone.
*
A four wheel drive roared up the driveway. Caitlin braced, taking a deep breath followed by a tentative first step down to greet her once best friend. Poppy had taken the most convincing to come back. Of course she would. A journalist wanted the facts, something Cait was determined not to give until they were face to face.
Poppy stepped down from the vehicle, still clearly annoyed by the mystery behind the phone call.
‘What on earth is all this about, Caitlin?’
‘Thank goodness it’s you.’ She almost bowled Poppy over in the rush to greet her, hugging and crying and spluttering apologies. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Poppy’s voice mellowed. ‘What is it, Cait? Are you all right? Are you sick or—?’
‘No, no, this isn’t about me.’
‘Don’t tell me Sara’s sick. Shit! I knew there was something. In the office that day she was—’
‘No, Poppy, no one’s sick, not that I know of, anyway. That’s not what this is about.’
‘Then what?’
‘Come inside.’
From the veranda, both women turned at the sound of the punt cable kicking into motion.
When the small car with a rear-mounted push bike drew closer, they said in unison, ‘Sara,’ knowing Amber Bailey-Blair would no more ride a bike than have brunch on a weekday.
House for All Seasons Page 42
