Promise

by Sarah Armstrong

  He nodded – a pained look on his face – and slid the phone into his pocket.

  Laughter came from the house. Charlie had been so excited at the idea of making a cake with Sabine.

  Anna turned off the tap and swished her hand around in the water. ‘I’m sorry if us turning up has, you know, created any difficulties between you and Sabine.’

  He smiled slowly. ‘No. It hasn’t.’ He adjusted the pillows under his arms. ‘It’s all good.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. Um, do you have some detergent?’

  ‘Just there.’ He nodded to the wooden shelf above her.

  ‘Oh! Right in front of me!’ She reached up for the box of Sunlight powder. ‘You put it at man height.’

  ‘Sabine height, actually.’

  Oh, yes. She felt chastened. This was Sabine’s home.

  ‘I’ll take your car down to my mate’s once I’ve finished making your bed.’

  ‘I’ll make the bed. Just leave it.’ She scooped soap powder into the water.

  ‘S’okay. It’s almost done.’ He started out the door.

  ‘How did the midwife visit go?’

  ‘Good.’ He turned back. ‘She says everything’s as it should be.’ He smiled and shrugged. ‘Which doesn’t mean all that much ’cause I don’t know how things should be. It’s all a mystery.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And . . .’ He sighed. ‘Thank god it’s all fine because Sabine won’t go to hospital, no matter what. Jo likes to think Sabine’s a hard-core home-birther but she’s not.’

  ‘Do you really think they’d put her in detention?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I guess the point is, she’s terrified of it. I think being locked up is her worst fear.’

  ‘Well . . . it’s good that the midwife’s happy, then.’ She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘So, did you plan this baby?’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘it’s happening now.’ He smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘The rollercoaster awaits.’

  She wondered what would have happened if she had refused to have an abortion all those years ago. Would they still be together? Perhaps they’d be living right here, with their own tribe of kids ranging around. Perhaps she’d be standing at this very washing machine doing a load of kids’ clothes. More likely, she’d be the broke single mother of a seventeen-year-old, putting a load through the machines at the Mullumbimby laundromat.

  Pat pointed to the machine. ‘So, the washing water goes into those buckets and then onto the fruit trees.’ He smiled. ‘Like before.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I remember.’ She slid the box of soap powder back onto the shelf and dusted off her hands. ‘I want to ask you about making a phone call.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He sounded less than enthusiastic.

  ‘I’d like to phone Dad. I left him a message as I was leaving Sydney but I want to talk to him . . . just to reassure him.’ To reassure me. ‘He’ll be frantic.’

  ‘But is that a good idea, you know, given he was a cop?’

  ‘Was a cop.’

  Pat raised his eyebrows. ‘I really think you’d do better just to lie low. Making those kinds of phone calls is how people get caught.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell him where I am. I just want to tell him I’m okay.’ And make sure that when he speaks to the cops he doesn’t suggest this as a place I might go. ‘He’s my dad.’

  Pat sniffed. ‘So how were you thinking to phone him?’

  ‘Well, maybe they’ll be monitoring his phone line . . .’

  ‘Yeah. I’d say so.’

  ‘So I thought I could phone him at the pub he goes to every Tuesday evening after squash.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Pat looked out the door to the orchard. ‘You should call him from a public phone.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What will he think of you taking off with Charlie?’

  ‘I imagine he’ll . . . wish I hadn’t, given that it’s such a serious offence.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Hopefully he’d think child abuse was more serious.’ He nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll take you into town tomorrow. I have to pick something up from a mate’s place, anyway. And . . . just in terms of your overall plan . . . to give us a bit more clarity . . . you’re going to turn yourself in soon, right? We’ll get your car back and you’ll present yourself at a police station?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He gazed at her, as if waiting for her to say more.

  ‘I’m still figuring things out. To be honest, Pat, I’m . . .’ She took a deep breath to stop the tears. ‘I have no idea what the best thing to do is. All I know is I want to make her safe from that man and from her mother. I’m scared she’ll be taken back to them.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘But it’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t see how waiting here for much longer will make it less likely that she’ll go back to them. You’ll just have to tell the cops what you know and they’ll talk to her, too, I guess.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t want you to wait for them to find you, Anna. Because that will tangle us up in it. And they will find you in the end, especially if you start doing things like making phone calls. I want to help you and the girl but you need to have a plan to turn yourself in.’

  ‘Okay. Yes. I’ll make one.’ Maybe her dad would help her make a plan. Even if he disapproved, he’d want her to be safe.

  Pat cleared his throat. ‘And if – as you hope – Charlie doesn’t go back to her mum, then where would she go? A foster family?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Does she have grandparents?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Why hadn’t she thought about Charlie’s grandparents? She remembered Gabby making light of being yelled at as a kid.

  Pat said, ‘Sabine and her little brothers ended up living with their grandma. Which wasn’t that great, but was better. Anyway, I’ll keep moving, so I can get your car down the hill. I’ll see you later.’

  She dropped the dirty clothes in the washing machine and turned it on and went to lie in a shady patch of grass just outside the laundry. She closed her eyes. Somewhere close by, a bird was calling. Whoop woo, a deep two-note call. Whoop woo. The damp ground soaked through the t-shirt that Sabine had given her but she was too weary to move.

  •

  Pat had assumed that Anna would want an abortion. She never told him of her excitement at the idea of a baby, and being tied to him and his place forever. He didn’t even raise the possibility of going ahead with the pregnancy, and Anna felt ashamed of her happy-family fantasy.

  So they drove to the clinic on the Gold Coast and broke up a few weeks later and Anna went back to Sydney. She didn’t feel all that much regret until her mid-thirties, when it began to look like she might never get another chance to be a mother. After Pat she had a couple of relationships, then Ben came along when she was thirty. Ben, who she really thought she’d settle down with. They even tried to get pregnant for a few months before it ended; he said he wanted different things from Anna, not that he could spell out what they were. She still wondered if he’d met someone else and wasn’t brave enough to say so.

  At thirty-six, after another short relationship, Anna realised motherhood was drifting out of reach. So she switched off any maternal desire, like she’d had to switch off her longing for her mother, and for Ben after he left. It was self-preservation and not really that hard; she just threw that line of thinking into some kind of suspension, until it became habitual not to go there.

  And now, she’d landed – with a child in tow – right in the middle of Pat’s family-to-be, with Sabine playing the role that might have been Anna’s all those years ago, if she’d spoken up. If Anna had had that baby, she would never have ended up living next door to Charlie, and the little girl would still be in that house with Harlan and Gabby. Or worse. That non-decision all those years ago was one of the things that led h
er here, now.

  She sat up to watch Pat driving her car between the bamboo clumps. She wondered if turning away from her maternal desire had something to do with not wanting to meet Dave’s kids. When she saw Dave again, she’d ask to meet them. She’d been silly not to.

  The sound of the car engine faded. She was stranded now, and it was a relief to have no means to get away. Even if Pat and Sabine asked them to leave, they couldn’t go until he retrieved her car.

  •

  Anna hung a sheet over the window in the bails, a mosquito whining around her head. She wedged the cloth in a gap between the frame and window. The sheet didn’t reach all the way across the window and a strip of light from the house shone in on one side.

  Sabine and Pat were still on the verandah where they’d all eaten dinner together. Sabine had made a herb omelette, ratatouille and green salad, and Charlie had pushed the food around her plate, complaining about not being allowed to eat more cake.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ asked Charlie from the queen-sized bed, where she sat cross-legged on the dark blue bedspread.

  Something scurried in the corner.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Anna. ‘Maybe a cockroach or a little mouse. Shall we tuck the mozzie net in? There’s a few mosquitos hanging around.’

  She pushed the cotton netting between the mattress and the wooden bedframe. At the top of each corner post of the bed was a point of delicate entwined twigs. The timber had been freshly oiled and smelt of orange. The bed was a commission that fell through and Pat hoped to sell it to someone in Byron Bay.

  Since she’d last seen the bails, Pat had lined the walls and ceiling and painted everything white. Through the blue wooden door was the dirt yard where cows used to gather each morning and afternoon for milking. This valley was once patchworked with farms supplying cream to the butter factory in town. When Pat bought the place, a handful of dairy farms were still working, but all the properties were now hobby farms or communities like Pat’s, the forest reclaiming what once were lush cow paddocks and banana plantations.

  ‘I don’t want a mouse in the room,’ Charlie said, peering into the corner, her face strained.

  ‘Well, even if it is a mouse, it’s not interested in us . . .’ There was no way Anna could exclude a mouse from the bails. The gap under the door was big enough for a small cat to squeeze through. She didn’t let herself think about the snakes.

  Charlie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I hate it. I want the caravan. Or the room inside. Why can’t we sleep inside again?’

  Anna heard the door shutting over at the house and the outside light flicked off. ‘It may not even be a mouse. It might be a gecko.’ She clapped her hands at the mosquito whining about her head. ‘We’re out here because it’s a bigger room.’ And, she suspected, because Sabine preferred not to have them in the house.

  Smoke from the mosquito coil drifted towards the bed. Anna had forgotten how toxic they smelt. She moved it to the corner near the door and tried to make her voice casual. ‘Charlie, where do your mummy’s mum and dad live?’

  ‘Mummy doesn’t like her. She’s mean to Mummy. I only meeted her one or two times and I don’t even remember.’

  ‘Mummy doesn’t like her?’ Anna wondered if Gabby’s mother used to hit Gabby or lock her out at night. She remembered Charlie crouching by the fence in the dark backyard, telling Anna how she’d pleaded to be let into the house.

  Charlie shook her head and lay back on the bed.

  ‘Charlie, you know, some people might think that I’m your mummy. Like Michael might think that.’

  The girl stared at Anna. ‘You’re not my mummy.’

  ‘I know. I know. You have a mummy. But it’s probably okay if people think I’m your mummy because we don’t want people to find us. We don’t want the police to find us.’

  She hated having this conversation, because she liked to think that their relationship was founded on truth. ‘We know I’m not your mummy.’

  ‘I want them to find us. I want Mummy to find us.’

  Shit. ‘But then Harlan would find us.’

  Charlie shook her head. ‘No. Not him.’

  Anna reached to the shelf by the bed and shook out the light blue t-shirt that the kid next door had unwittingly donated. ‘Let’s pop a clean t-shirt on you, for your jarmies.’ She wondered how the neighbour-girl would feel when she discovered that her things had been plundered. Anna hoped Sabine had left a note or something.

  ‘What’s a gecko?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘A small lizard.’

  ‘How small?’

  ‘This small.’ Anna held her thumb and finger apart.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Over there, I think.’ Anna needed to sleep. ‘Here, let’s get this t-shirt on you. That one you’ve got on is all dirty from the day. It’s been in the creek. This one smells of soap and the sun.’ Anna pressed her nose to the soft fabric.

  Charlie blurted out. ‘Mummy bited me.’

  Anna pressed the t-shirt to her chest. ‘Oh, Charlie.’ She lifted the mosquito net and sat on the soft mattress. ‘Did she bite your leg?’

  ‘And here.’ Charlie tapped her upper arm then forearm. She whispered, ‘It really hurt.’

  ‘I bet it hurt.’

  ‘She said she wouldn’t do it again but she did . . .’ Charlie pressed her lips together as if trying not to cry.

  Anna stroked the girl’s bare leg. ‘I’m sorry that happened.’ What could she say?

  Charlie shrugged her shoulders and lay down.

  ‘Let’s get the clean t-shirt on and you can go to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Charlie rolled onto her side, her legs clamped together.

  ‘Come on, it’s so much nicer sleeping in clean clothes. I’m going to wear the t-shirt Sabine gave me.’ She patted the girl’s leg again.

  Charlie kicked out at her. Her heel caught Anna hard on the thigh.

  Anna recoiled. ‘Hey! Don’t do that.’

  Charlie kicked her again. Anna dropped the t-shirt and took hold of the girl’s foot. ‘Do not kick me, Charlie.’

  Charlie jerked out of Anna’s grasp and thrashed her legs wildly until she became tangled in the mosquito net and dragged it down on top of them.

  ‘Stop it! Just stop!’ said Anna.

  ‘Fuck off! Fuck off!’

  Anna reeled back.

  ‘Fuck off!’ Charlie’s voice was full of venom.

  Anna got out from under the net as Charlie slid off the bed. The girl fell to the concrete floor, on her good arm, then staggered up and banged into the wall by the door. She stepped back and threw herself against the wall again, her shoulder making a terrible hollow sound on the timber boards. Anna tried to grab her but Charlie scrabbled at the door handle and ran out into the night. Anna blundered after her, her heart whirring.

  The girl stopped in the open area between the bails and the house, where two rectangles of light from the kitchen lay yellow on the grass.

  She cried out, ‘Where’s it gone? Where is it?’

  Anna stopped an arm’s length away from her. ‘Where’s what gone?’

  ‘The car. My car! Where is it?’ Charlie sobbed, looking up to the sky.

  Anna knelt beside the girl but didn’t dare touch her. ‘It’s okay. We don’t need the car. You’re safe.’

  That was all she knew to say: You’re safe. You’re safe. It was all she had to offer. Anna had made her safe from Harlan and Gabby – who bit her own daughter, for god’s sake – but what else could Anna give her? And how else might she have traumatised her?

  Over Charlie’s shoulder Anna saw the verandah light come on and Pat emerged from the kitchen door.

  Charlie slid to the ground, her voice breaking. ‘You’re not my mother. And I hate you.’

  Anna fell back onto her heels and closed her eyes.

  No, she wanted to say. I’m not your mother. But I’ve put a bomb under my own life to look after you.

  For a moment she let herself imagine w
alking away, just walking down the driveway and into town. What a relief that would be.

  As Pat came towards them, Charlie sprinted away along the driveway. Anna scrambled up and after her. She heard Pat running close behind her. The gravel track was potholed and the rocks bruised Anna’s feet. Ahead, Charlie was a pale flickering shape in the darkness. If the girl veered off into the black bush on either side of the track, it would be hard to find her. Charlie was surprisingly fast on the uneven ground, but Pat was faster. He overtook them and gathered the girl into his arms. Anna expected Charlie to fight him but she collapsed into him, taking in gulps of air. Pat sank to the ground, his arms wrapped around her. Anna sat beside them. No one spoke, all of them breathing hard.

  Charlie gave a few breathless sobs, which turned to sad weeping against Pat’s shoulder. Anna tentatively touched Charlie’s back. She had no idea how to comfort this child, although she knew well that kind of helpless weeping. She’d cried like that in bed at night and the only person who could have comforted her was her dead mother.

  Charlie wept for a long time, sometimes saying a few indistinct words. Dark, silent bats flapped overhead, and the crickets and frogs chirruped loudly.

  The girl shifted on Pat’s lap and whispered, ‘Anna, is Ralph asleep now?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Anna. ‘She’d be curled up, fast asleep.’

  ‘She’d be dreaming of bones,’ said Pat.

  A small animal rustled in the bushes close by. He said, ‘All the daytime animals are asleep or getting ready for bed. That includes us. We’re animals, you know. Human animals.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Charlie and sniffed.

  ‘Let’s go back. And go to bed.’ Pat lifted Charlie and carried her along the dark track. Anna walked behind them. She imagined him carrying his own child this way, one day soon. He’d be a good father. Attentive and careful but not mollycoddling.

  How different would Anna be now if she had become a mother all those years ago? And who was that person she and Pat had created but jettisoned?

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered to the baby. Sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stick up for you.