‘Hi there.’ Pat climbed the steps and sat on the bench beside Sabine.
‘Hi.’ Sabine sounded weary.
Anna slipped inside to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and rested her head in her hands. Ten years for abduction, her dad said. Fear of what was coming – in a month’s time – was lodged somewhere down near her solar plexus, like a big dense rock. She managed to not think about it most of the time. But it was there, just on the periphery of her awareness. It was worth it, she told herself. It was worth it to save Charlie. My freedom in exchange for Charlie’s life. She tried to persuade herself that the equation made sense.
She wondered if Charlie had ever feared for her life. What about that boy in Newcastle, or the four-year-old in Perth Anna read about online, did they know they were about to die?
As Anna stepped out onto the verandah, Pat and Sabine fell silent.
‘Um, Pat,’ said Anna. ‘Did you say you have a couple of spare toothbrushes?’
He stood up. ‘Yes. Sure.’
‘No,’ said Sabine abruptly. ‘I bought you toothbrushes today. You, and Charlie, too.’
‘Oh, really? Thank you.’
Sabine pointed over her shoulder. ‘On the kitchen table.’
In a white paper bag, Anna found a blue toothbrush with a soft head and a small pink one with a cartoon princess on it.
‘Thanks, Sabine,’ she called to the dark verandah. ‘Really. Thank you.’
Anna brushed her teeth at the bathroom sink, taking her time and using heaps of toothpaste, the foam spilling from her mouth. She heard raised voices on the verandah.
‘You know that! You know that!’ Sabine said loudly.
Pat mumbled back. She knew Pat would do anything to avoid conflict. Pat and Anna were both like that and she suspected it had been part of their demise. If they’d had a frank discussion about the abortion and their relationship, they would have made a mutual decision, whichever way it went.
Anna returned to the verandah, and moved towards the steps, ready to head over to the bails.
Sabine said, ‘You have to understand, Anna, that Jo is my midwife. I have to tell her everything.’
Anna turned back and moved so she could see Sabine’s face in the light from the kitchen. ‘Yes, but . . . I thought –’
Sabine interrupted, ‘Yesterday she could tell I was upset, and my relationship with her must be one of absolute trust and honesty.’ She nodded her head emphatically. ‘My birth won’t go well otherwise, you understand.’
‘I just thought we’d agreed not to tell anyone.’
She wouldn’t point out that Sabine had not been so frank as to tell Jo that she was in the country illegally.
‘Jo said she would not tell. And I believe her, so you must believe her too.’ Sabine rested her hands on her belly. Was this the moment she would ask Anna and Charlie to go?
‘Please don’t tell anyone else, Sabine. Please.’
‘I know. I know,’ Sabine snapped. ‘I get it. Believe me, I get it.’
Pat ran his tongue along the paper of his joint. ‘Anna, honestly, you can trust Jo. She’s the keeper of many secrets, I am sure. And we won’t be telling anyone else.’
Anna was not so sure that Pat trusted Jo.
He balanced his unlit joint on the edge of the ashtray and stood up. ‘So, who wants something to drink?’
‘Lemon myrtle tea, please,’ said Sabine.
‘No, thanks.’ Anna slid the toothbrushes into the pocket of her dress. Sabine’s dress.
Sabine stretched out a foot and pushed the mosquito coil a bit further away. ‘When I was in town before, I checked the internet at a friend’s place. They still say they think you are out west. But much smaller story now. Also, I bought you some things. A few clothes from the op shop for Charlie. And there’s some more of my clothes for you.’
She gestured to her right, into the shadows of the verandah, where Anna could make out a washing basket piled with folded clothes.
‘Thank you, Sabine.’ Anna closed her eyes, ashamed for feeling suspicious of someone so thoughtful. ‘That’s very kind. I’ll pay you.’
‘Eighteen dollars.’
‘I’ll get it now.’ She took a step towards the stairs.
Sabine waved her hand around. ‘No, no. Not now. No rush.’
‘I need to give you some money for food too.’
‘Talk to Pat about that but I am thinking a few days’ food is nothing.’ She flapped a hand towards Pat, who was rinsing out the teapot, his back to them.
‘Okay.’ It seemed that Pat hadn’t talked to Sabine about them staying up at the cottage for a month. But perhaps Anna was dreaming to think that was even possible. Perhaps they’d be found before the month was out. Could the phone call to her dad be their undoing?
Sabine picked up and shook a box of matches that Pat had left on the bench.
‘Are you still in love with him, Anna?’
‘What?’
Sabine stared at her. ‘Are you still in love with Patrick?’
‘No. Not at all.’ Anna resisted glancing at him. Surely he could hear them?
Sabine said, ‘You had plenty of years to come back and try again.’
‘I’m not. Not in the slightest. Please don’t worry about that.’
Why the hell was Sabine asking this? Anna hadn’t done anything to suggest she was in love with him, had she?
‘I’m not worried. Because he’s not in love with you. He told me.’
‘Yeah. Well, there you go.’ She forced a smile and ran her thumb over the toothbrush handles in her pocket.
‘Better if we are all clear.’
‘Yes, yes. Good to be clear. We’re just old, old friends.’
Was it Pat who thought she was still in love with him? She felt the sting of a mosquito on her ankle and reached down to brush it away. ‘Well, I’m glad they still think we’re out west . . . Thank you so much for the toothbrushes and clothes. I’d better get back to Charlie. I’m really . . . so tired.’
‘Good night.’
She started down the steps with the basket of clothes and called to Pat, ‘Night!’
He waved a hand. If he’d heard their conversation, he showed no sign of it.
Anna crossed the grass, the basket bumping on her hip. She had not even a flicker of romantic love for Pat. But she cared about him, and cared that she had brought trouble to his doorstep. Moving up to the cottage would be good for everyone.
Inside the bails, Charlie sprawled over the bed, the sheet pushed aside. Anna lifted the neatly folded clothes from the basket: singlets and t-shirts, a delicate white lace dress with spaghetti straps, a red singlet dress and three pairs of undies. Anna took off her own undies and pulled the new ones on.
There were shorts and dresses for Charlie and a pair of small green sandals. She closed her eyes against tears. Oh, Sabine. Anna couldn’t read her at all. She was struggling to understand everyone and everything around her. Perhaps other people’s lives had this level of uncertainty always, and Anna had managed to craft herself a life of predictability. Had her way of life become so routine, so constrained, that some part of her had seized the chance to walk away? Had she taken Charlie in order to leave that old life behind?
Chapter Twenty-three
It was only mid-morning, but already the heat and humidity pressed down on everything, muting even the bird noise. Anna lay on the grass under the mulberry tree, looking through the big glossy leaves to the blue. Charlie sat on a low branch, one arm hooked around the trunk, walking her wooden koala along a twig.
Anna had cut her own hair that morning, chopping away in front of the bathroom mirror, long hanks of hair falling to the floor behind her. Charlie had picked up the hair and let it slide through her fingers. Anna wanted to cut her hair into a bob but as she tried to even it up, it got shorter and shorter until it was just beneath her ears. In the end she tied a scarf around her head to hide the mess.
Charlie pointed her koala towards the forest. ‘Wha
t’s that?’
A child’s voice came from the trees. ‘Wait! Wait for me!’
Two of Beatie’s kids appeared on the path near the shed. It was the oldest boy and the girl. The boy was bare-chested again, and the girl wore a dress and long red cape that trailed on the ground. They stopped at the veggie patch to pick cherry tomatoes.
The boy flopped onto the grass beside Anna. ‘Hi,’ he said. He had muddy feet and a smear of fresh blood on his shin.
‘Hello,’ said Anna.
The girl stood, eating a tomato, twisting a hand in her velvet cape, and said to Charlie, ‘You have a hurt arm.’
Charlie climbed down from the tree and sat close to Anna.
‘Yes, she does,’ said Anna, and looped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders.
‘Have you been to the cave up the top?’ the boy asked and flicked a grass seed off his knee.
‘I think I know the one,’ said Anna. Pat had taken her up there once and they had to edge along a narrow path across a cliff face.
The boy leant forward to look past Anna to Charlie. ‘We can take you sometime if you like.’ He gave her a dazzling smile. ‘It has a sand floor and high roof, and you can see over the whole valley! It’s my hideout and I even slept up there with Dad once.’
His sister crossed her arms. ‘Mum’s waiting for sugar, Macky.’
The boy smiled at Anna. ‘Zeb spilt it so we can’t make the lemon cake. What’s your name?’
She hesitated. ‘Anne.’ She should have a different name ready.
‘I thought it was Anna.’
‘Anne or Anna. Why did you ask if you already knew?’
‘I wanted to check if it was you who knows my mum.’
‘That’s me. But from years ago.’
He nodded and gazed steadily at her. He was so self-assured. Was it real or put on? Anna remembered acting confident with adults when she was a kid, because she knew that’s what they liked.
A distant chainsaw buzzed. It would be Pat, who’d disappeared up the hill before Anna and Charlie got out of bed. He’d left Anna a note on the kitchen table: I’ll take you up to the cottage this afternoon. All sorted. She couldn’t wait to get there.
‘You were Pat’s girlfriend.’
Beatie must have told him.
‘That’s right. A long time ago.’
Could Sabine hear them from the house? When Anna had fried up French toast for breakfast, she’d heard Sabine moving about in the bedroom but she didn’t come out. Perhaps Pat had told her Anna wanted to stay for a month.
The boy’s sister wandered up the steps and into the kitchen.
He stood in one fluid motion. He had the mindless grace Anna remembered of Luke at the same age.
‘Come over to the verandah,’ he said to Charlie. ‘I’ll show you the carving I did on the post.’
On the verandah, Anna sat beside Charlie on the bench. The boy pointed to a small face gouged into a verandah post. It was a lopsided gargoyle with a big mouth.
‘I’m still learning,’ he said. ‘Pat-Pat’s teaching me. We’re going to make this a totem pole. Do you know what a totem pole is?’
Charlie pointed at the boy’s thin wrist. ‘What’s that?’
He fingered the leather-and-bead thong. ‘I made it.’ He sat beside her and untied it with a quick twist. ‘You can have it if you like.’
She took a sharp breath and smiled at Anna.
The boy tied it around her wrist. ‘Your wrist’s much smaller than mine,’ he said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Five.’
‘Claudy’s five.’ He gestured into the house. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Charlie.’
‘What did you do to your arm?’ He pointed to the bandage.
‘I fell down the stairs.’
He nodded matter of factly. ‘I’ve broken my arm twice.’
Sabine appeared in the doorway, a hand on Claudy’s shoulder. She looked like she’d been asleep, her face creased and hair messy.
‘Hi Macky. You want some sugar?’ Her voice was flat.
He stood. ‘Yes. Is Pat-Pat home?’
‘No.’
Sabine avoided eye contact with Anna and turned back into the kitchen. ‘Come in and I’ll get you some.’
Macky stood, and Claudy took his place on the bench beside Charlie. ‘Would you like to see the frog I found?’ she asked.
Charlie nodded.
Claudy pulled a silky blue pouch from somewhere under her cape, and carefully tipped a small bronze-coloured frog onto her palm. She prodded it gently with a dirty fingernail. ‘See. It’s got green on its legs.’
Charlie bent her face close to the frog, one hand resting on Claudy’s bare thigh. ‘Is it dead?’
Claudy nodded. ‘Mmm. But it just died, just . . . today. Probably. Because it doesn’t stink yet. Dead things really stink, did you know?’ She grinned. ‘Do you want to have a hold?’
Charlie didn’t respond, then it seemed they came to an understanding because Claudy took hold of Charlie’s hand and tipped the frog onto her palm. Claudy delicately flipped it so it sat the right way up.
‘It’s got another bit of green just here,’ she said. Their two heads touched as they inspected the frog.
The boy wandered back onto the verandah eating a piece of cake, a jar of brown sugar in one hand.
Sabine appeared. ‘Does anyone want pecan cake?’
Charlie handed the frog back and Claudy slid it into the pouch.
‘No cake,’ said Claudy.
‘Me,’ said Charlie.
‘Come and get it then,’ said Sabine.
The boy swallowed a mouthful of cake and said to Anna, ‘Mum wants you to bring your daughter for morning tea.’
Charlie glanced at Anna and frowned.
Don’t say I’m not your mother.
Anna said, ‘Thanks, anyway, but we’re . . . about to leave. This afternoon. We’re leaving.’
‘Are we?’ said Charlie.
The boy said, ‘Come this morning, then.’
‘Oh, thanks anyway, but . . .’
His face fell then he shrugged. ‘She said you were friends.’
Charlie stood in the doorway. ‘I want to go.’
‘Oh –’
‘And that’s why we’re making lemon cake,’ said Claudy. ‘For you.’ She stood and swirled her cape about.
Anna took a breath. The sooner she and Charlie got to the cottage, the better. She remembered Beatie as tremendously practical and quite shy, and imagined she would understand if Anna said she didn’t want to talk about why she and Charlie were there.
‘I want to go,’ said Charlie.
‘Okay. What if we come in about an hour and a half, Macky? Is that enough time for you to make the cake?’
The boy nodded. ‘And you can come too, Sabine. If you want.’
Sabine shook her head. ‘I’m tired.’ She glanced at Anna and offered a weak smile.
The boy said, ‘See ya later, then.’
He took the steps in one leap, broke into a jog and disappeared into the forest, his sister trailing after him.
Chapter Twenty-four
Beatie’s kitchen windows looked onto an expansive lawn that sloped down to the forest, and by the look of the grass clippings on the kids’ feet as they played badminton, the lawn had just been mowed. In the middle of the cleared area was a fire pit, surrounded by old timber benches.
At the kitchen bench, Beatie refilled the teapot with boiling water. ‘The first time Macky broke his arm, it took us three days to realise.’
Anna said, ‘Oh, this is just a nasty bruise. The only reason for the bandage is to remind her not to bump it.’
The tea made her perspire even more. She wiped her top lip and forehead.
Beatie fitted the lid on the teapot and lowered her voice, ‘Did your husband hurt her arm?’
‘You know . . . I’d rather not talk about all that. If it’s okay.’
God, how Anna hated lying, especially to Beatie, w
ho’d turned out to be the same warm woman Anna remembered.
Beatie nodded energetically. ‘Oh, sure. Sorry.’ She carried the teapot over to Anna at the table. She’d lost the sprite-like quality that Anna remembered – she’d put on weight – but she still seemed to move lightly through space.
Over Beatie’s shoulder, Anna saw a laptop on the kitchen bench and wondered if Beatie or her husband read newspapers online. There was no television that Anna could see. Instead, the living room was dominated by the stone fireplace that Beatie was building when Anna was here seventeen years ago. The house was an unfinished two-room cottage back then. Now, the living area – filled with couches and woollen rugs – opened onto a long hallway that seemed to have a dozen rooms off it. When Anna and Charlie first arrived, Macky took them on a tour, and one section of the house – the kids’ big bedroom, festooned with paper streamers and twig mobiles – was reached by steep wooden steps, like a ladder, which had delighted Charlie.
Beatie wiped her hands on her shorts. ‘Anyway, I’ll go and tell Macky to make sure your girl doesn’t bump her arm. They can get pretty wild, my lot.’
Charlie had drifted off to one side of the badminton game and stood with her back to the chook house, a racquet tucked under one arm.
Anna knew well that solemn watchfulness. That’s how she’d been in the days after her mother’s death. She’d seen the pity it provoked in the eyes of the grown-ups around her, and in the way her friends’ mothers patted her arm, as if any old mother’s touch would do. The pity was a wet, suffocating cloud around her. On her first day back at school – third class – Mrs Edwards hugged her for too long, and gave her a watery-eyed smile. Anna hadn’t felt solemn inside, it was just the best way to keep a watch on her edges, to make sure that nothing spilt out. She could hardly bear the thought that it might be the same for Charlie, that the girl was simply enduring things, making the best of it, while longing for her mother.
Anna poured herself another cup of tea. She watched Beatie cross the lawn towards the kids and thought of those mothers who’d tried to comfort little Anna. They were kind women like Beatie, but no one could have eased Anna’s pain. She poured milk into her tea and told herself that taking Charlie away from her mother was the lesser of two evils. She hoped that it wasn’t becoming a self-justifying mantra.
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