‘Must have been hard on you.’
Angela pressed her lips together. ‘It will get better now.’ Another pause.
Tamara kept trying to catch Craig’s eye. She had to get out of there.
‘Tam, I need to talk to you. Explain some things,’ said Angela. ‘But here isn’t the place. Would you come to dinner? Tonight?’
‘Ah . . .’ Tamara was torn. She wanted to hear what her mum had to say, but her need to keep some distance between them was very real. She couldn’t just forgive and forget the way her parents had thrown her out onto the streets. Did she really want to open the door for her mum to come back into her life?
Angela started to speak very quickly, as if she only had one chance to say what she needed. ‘I didn’t get to bring you up the way I wanted to. I’m sorry. I’m sure you realise Evan was very controlling and needed things done his way. He wasn’t like that when I married him, but I soon found out it was easier to keep the peace than it was to live with the consequences. He got worse after we . . .’ Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped speaking.
Bloody hell, Tamara thought. I don’t want to hear her sob story. She should have protected me. Uneasily, she shifted from foot to foot again. ‘Look . . .’
Her feelings must have showed on her face, because Angela pulled herself up straight and interrupted. ‘I know I have no rights to you or your life. But as your mother, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you that I must explain some things to you.’
The desperation in her voice made Tam want to push her away. It was all too much. The past week had brought the death of her father, contact with her mother, breaking off her relationship, and then Craig’s unexpected kindness. Goosebumps rippled over her arms and she shivered.
‘So will you see me? Tamara?’
What did ‘must explain’ mean? What could there be to explain?
‘Right,’ said Tamara. ‘Well.’ There didn’t seem to be any more words left in her vocabulary. ‘Okay. Fine. Yes.’ Once the clipped and stilted words were out, she couldn’t take them back.
Angela wilted in relief. ‘Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?’
Tamara nodded reluctantly.
Later, when Tamara was sitting in her motel room again, her phone beeped with a text message from Craig. ‘How are you?’
She responded straight away. ‘Okay. Thanks for coming today.’
‘Glad I was helpful. Be good to see you soon, I hope.’
She read and re-read his words, then closed the screen and clutched her phone to her chest, hating herself. Why had she thought that going to the funeral might help? She felt even more confused and shaken up.
But maybe dinner with her mother would be a good thing, even though she was dreading it. She just had to do her makeup again and find the right outfit.
Chapter 14
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Holly asked Lauren. They’d met up five minutes before their meeting with Dirk’s mother and were waiting for her to arrive.
‘Of course!’ said Lauren. ‘I hope we can resolve the issue with Dirk before my surgery tomorrow morning. A weight off my mind.’
‘Okay,’ said Holly. ‘It’s just that I can do this with Joy if you need me to.’
‘No, no.’ Lauren chuckled weakly. ‘I’m fine.’ Of course she wasn’t feeling all that great, but she had to see this through. She had to.
When Zoe walked in, they all smiled and shook hands.
‘Zoe, thank you for meeting with us,’ said Lauren. ‘I really appreciate it. This is Holly Young, our resident psychologist.’ Lauren hadn’t wanted to introduce Holly like that, worried it would frighten Dirk’s mother, but those were the rules.
Something flickered across Zoe’s face. She carefully put her handbag next to her chair and sat down. ‘I’m not really sure why I’m here. Dirk is doing fine in his work, isn’t he? I haven’t heard otherwise. And I thought we cleared up everything else in our talk last week.’
‘Oh yes, there’s no doubt that Dirk’s a clever boy. And he gets along with all the other kids in the class and is lovely to have around.’ Lauren smiled to put Zoe at ease. Holly had told her to praise Dirk, then gently bring up the problems.
It seemed to be working because Zoe started to relax—her shoulders lost their stiffness and she smiled a little. ‘Yes, he’s a good boy. He’s our only child.’ She crossed her legs and sat back. ‘We’ve tried to have more, but we can’t seem to make it happen. I’m resigned to the fact now.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Lauren said quietly. ‘Children are very important, aren’t they? Nothing more important, really.’
Zoe started to look uncomfortable, and Holly kicked Lauren under the table.
What? Lauren wanted to say. I’m only stating the obvious.
A silence fell while Lauren composed her thoughts. Really, there wasn’t a soft way to do this. It was going to be like Michelle telling her about the melanoma. ‘Zoe, as much as Dirk is going well in class, we do have some concerns about him.’
In the chair, Zoe froze and her face became set.
‘Last Tuesday I spoke with you about the bruises,’ Lauren continued. ‘You then took him out of school for two days due to illness. He had a nosebleed on Friday and it took some time for me to stop it. He told me that this isn’t unusual.’
Zoe fixed her eyes above Lauren’s head. It seemed to her that the woman wasn’t listening. She’d shut off.
Lauren kept trying to get through to her. ‘Dirk also mentioned stomach pains, and I’ve noticed he doesn’t eat much. In fact, I reckon he’s lost a little weight. Of course, that always happens if a child has a growth spurt, but . . .’ She paused. ‘He doesn’t seem any taller to me.’
Again, silence filled the room. Zoe was chewing her bottom lip and had dropped her gaze to the floor. Everything in her demeanour worried Lauren. It also made her angry. This woman should have been doing something for her child—even something as small as putting him to bed for a week until he felt better.
‘I don’t think that this is any of your business,’ Zoe finally said, although she didn’t move from her seat.
Holly leaned forward slightly. ‘I understand your thinking, Mrs Anderson. After all, we’re just Dirk’s teachers. However, we have a duty of care to each child in our classroom. That’s why we’re having this conversation.’
Zoe nodded, but then she pressed her lips together and stayed silent.
‘I’m curious about something, Zoe,’ said Lauren. ‘When I asked all the kids to paint an object starting with the letter G, Dirk drew an ambulance instead. He said that it parked in your driveway?’
‘Yes, that’s right, to pick up our elderly neighbour who’d had a stroke. They don’t have any car access. Dirk thought it was very cool. He must have just really wanted to draw it.’
Was that true? It sounded plausible.
Lauren also wanted to bring up how quickly Dirk seemed to get upset—after all, it had only taken a blob of green paint to make him angry. Bugger it, she decided. It was more important to bring it up than not. A child’s welfare was at stake. ‘Dirk became quite angry when he spilled some paint last week.’
Zoe’s head jerked up. ‘Well, all kids can be moody.’
Lauren shook her head. ‘Don’t you see?’ Her voice rose a little. She noticed Holly giving her a sharp look, but she ignored it. ‘It is important, because something so small never would have upset him earlier. You know as well as I do that he was a happy-go-lucky child.’
Overhead, a jet rumbled as it roared into the sky. The windows shook gently as it flew west.
When Zoe started to speak, her voice was soft, so Lauren and Holly had to lean towards her to make out the words. ‘You’re right. There’s something wrong with Dirk. First the bruising started, and I made sure I watched him like a hawk. In the playground, he always seemed to give himself a little bump, but at times they just appeared. Then the nosebleeds started. I blamed the hot weather, but then he had one o
n a cooler day.’ She shifted in her seat, and Lauren read trepidation in her eyes. ‘Look, for a while I even suspected my husband of hitting Dirk. He didn’t want to eat with us. He told me that his tummy hurt.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘Of course, the idea was dreadful, but better than . . .’
Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren looked at Holly, trying to work out what to do. Did Zoe think that Dirk was sick or that her husband was hitting him? Lauren wasn’t sure. But Zoe was clearly putting in her head in the sand.
‘Mrs Anderson, what are your plans to help Dirk?’ Holly asked gently.
‘What do you think I should do?’ Panic radiated from the woman.
‘I’m wondering what you think the problem is?’ Holly prompted her.
‘I don’t know,’ Zoe admitted. ‘I really don’t know, but I’m too scared to find out.’ She put her arms around herself and held on tight as she looked at Lauren. ‘There can’t be anything wrong with him, there just can’t be! He’s my only son.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I have to go.’
Disbelief coursed through Lauren. She swung around to look at Holly in horror. Without stopping to think, she turned back to Zoe and spoke loudly. ‘You can’t not take Dirk to the doctor because you’re frightened. That’s completely ridiculous! If he’s sick, the sooner he gets medical treatment, the better. I’m sorry, Mrs Anderson, but you don’t have a choice. You must get him to a doctor.’
‘Unless you suspect that your husband is hurting your son,’ Holly said gently, shooting Lauren an annoyed stare. ‘Do you think that’s a real possibility?’
Tears overflowed from Zoe’s eyes. ‘I don’t think so.’ She was trembling. ‘I think . . . I think he’s sick.’
‘Whatever happens, whatever action is taken, we’re here to support Dirk for as long as he needs,’ said Holly, handing Zoe a tissue from the box on the desk.
They agreed on a plan of action: Zoe would take Dirk to her family GP the next day. After she’d thanked them, said goodbye and headed out of the room, Holly turned to Lauren and raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lauren. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ She’d never sounded so unprofessional in her life! She was just glad it had worked out.
‘That went better than it should have gone,’ said Holly, echoing her thoughts. ‘Lauren, it’s okay, I completely understand this time—but that can’t happen again.’
‘I know,’ Lauren said apologetically. ‘I think you and Joy should take it from here. I’m going to focus on getting better.’
Chapter 15
What’s the protocol when having dinner with your mother for the first time in twenty-seven years? Tamara wondered. Should she bring chocolate or flowers? A bottle of wine? No, her parents had been teetotallers. Occasionally her father would see something on TV about alcohol-fuelled violence and start on a rant about the evils of drinking. That was one of the reasons why Tamara had started—just to annoy him.
It was also why she’d be taking beer tonight. If Angela wanted to talk to her, she could bloody well accept her the way she was.
Deciding that flowers were a benign gift, Tamara stopped at a roadside florist on the way and picked up a bunch of brightly coloured gerberas.
Just before seven, she pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. She saw the curtain in the front window move aside. Angela peered out into the street, then the curtain fell back into place. A few seconds later, the front door opened. Angela stood in the porchlight where a million midges attacked the unsuspecting lightbulb.
Frozen to her seat, Tamara stalled for time as she slowly gathered the flowers and beer. Finally, there was nothing else for it. She took the keys from the ignition and pushed the car door open with her shoulder, then kicked it shut with her hip.
‘Hi,’ she said, holding out the flowers to her mum as she stepped onto the porch. The smell of a warm potato salad floated out on the air-conditioned breeze.
‘Thank you, they’re lovely,’ Angela said. ‘Come in.’
The house had changed a lot. When Tamara had lived there, everything had been sterile. The kitchen benches were scrubbed and the floor was so clean it would have been perfectly acceptable to eat off it. There had been no photos, wall hangings or knick-knacks on the shelves to show the personality of the people who lived there. Now, a cheery calendar with inspiring quotes and sunrises was pinned to the fridge. A small statue of a kitten sat on the top shelf of the sideboard, and an indoor plant flourished in the corner of the kitchen.
‘Do you want those in the fridge?’ Angela asked, holding her hand out for the beers after putting the flowers on the bench.
‘Thanks. Do you like beer? I didn’t know whether to bring you anything,’ Tamara said, still looking around in surprise.
‘I have the occasional glass of wine now and then, but I’ve got some in the fridge.’ Angela straightened up after putting the beer away and looked at Tamara. ‘So, how do you feel?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m here because you said you have something important to tell me.’ She crossed her arms as if they made a full stop at the end of her sentence. Then, realising that her body language probably looked defensive, she made an effort to uncross them. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands—she wished she still smoked. In the end, she slid them into the pockets of her freshly ironed linen pants and leaned against the wall.
‘I’m not expecting anything, Tamara,’ said her mother. ‘But I have to say my piece so you know the truth.’
‘The truth?’
Angela filled a vase, arranged the flowers and took it to the table. ‘You need to know some things about the past. I’ll serve up and we can talk over dinner. Please.’ With a movement of her hand, she showed Tamara into the lounge room. ‘Take a drink and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be in shortly.’
Tamara’s chest fluttered with anxiety. In the lounge room, she drew in a sharp breath when she saw three photos sitting on top of the old-fashioned TV. Without thinking, she picked them up to inspect them closely. The first one had been taken on that Christmas Day when she’d been given new clothes. She was standing underneath the spotted hibiscus bush, next to a bike that had colourful plastic streamers attached to the handle grips. Her smile was so large, her blue eyes so bright. Her shoulder-length hair had been put into pigtails, and there seemed to be more pink ribbon than hair.
She hadn’t even known this photo had been taken.
The next one was a professional school photo. How was this possible? She never knew her parents had bought one. She would always go along with her classmates to have her photo taken, but when the pictures were delivered to the school, none were ever handed to her.
Setting it down carefully, Tamara picked up the last photo. She remembered everything about this one. On her first day of Year Six, Angela had insisted on a family photo before Tamara left for school. After much whinging, Evan finally agreed. Angela had brought it home in a frame and proudly set it in the lounge room on the mantelpiece above the oil heater. Two days later, it was gone. Tamara didn’t know the story behind its disappearance, but she guessed it had something to do with her. Everything always had something to do with her.
Hearing a noise behind her, Tamara turned to see Angela placing two plates on the coffee table between two rocker chairs and removing a magazine that had been open to a crossword puzzle. Tamara had never seen her mum do a crossword before. The salt and pepper shakers were already on the coffee table, and next to them was a bowl of nuts. Evan wouldn’t have let them eat in front of the TV; dinner took place around the kitchen table in silence, so he could listen to the news on the radio.
‘You kept these?’ Tamara asked in wonder, still holding the family shot.
‘Of course I did. Just because they weren’t on display didn’t mean I threw them out. Come and sit. It’s nice to have someone to cook for.’
‘Why didn’t you have them out before?’ The question was out of Tamara’s mouth before she could stop it.
‘Well, in that one of the three of us, Evan said you weren’t smiling properly. The one when you were small I took when you weren’t looking, so you weren’t quite facing the camera properly, which meant the whole thing was off-centre. You know, your father didn’t like it when things weren’t straight. He was very . . . what’s the word for it now? Obsessive something?’ Her tone was matter of fact.
‘Obsessive-compulsive?’ Tamara put the photograph back down and went to sit on the rocker. ‘There was never anything out of place.’ Of course, as Doctor Kerr had pointed out, she was the same. Her mind flashed back to the motel room—everything was in lines or rows. A place for everything and everything in its place.
She was her father’s daughter. How depressing.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Angela. ‘And the school photo was never able to see the light of day, because it wasn’t his idea to buy one.’ Angela spoke in a flat, expressionless tone, like someone reciting a monologue. ‘Salt?’ Tamara shook her head. ‘Please start.’ Angela gestured to the plate, and Tamara picked it up, took a mouthful and chewed. The potato salad was creamy and smooth, while the cold meat was succulent and juicy. Angela had always been a good cook.
With the lights on and Evan’s foreboding presence gone forever, the house didn’t trigger her fears as much as she’d expected. Sure, there were some not-very-nice memories here. And obviously this ‘truth’ needed to come out. But it gave Tamara a nice feeling to think that the photos had been kept and were out now.
How do you know she didn’t put them out tonight? the Tamperer whispered.
‘Will you tell me a little about you?’ Angela asked tentatively.
Tamara put another mouthful onto her fork and thought about what she was ready to share. ‘Not much to tell, really. Once Dad kicked me out, I lived on the streets for a while. Then I was lucky enough that a shopkeeper saw some potential in me and gave me a chance. I’ve worked at Angelic Threads since then.’ She paused. ‘So, how did you know where to find me?’
The Missing Pieces of Us Page 13
