Darling Girls, page 11
‘It’s either the sixteenth or the eighteenth, I can’t remember which.’
‘You don’t know when your birthday is?’
Norah wasn’t listening. ‘It’s the eighteenth today. So either way, I must be twelve.’
Norah seemed happy enough with that, but Alicia was appalled. ‘Can’t you ask Miss Fairchild? Or your social worker?’
‘Probably. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?’
Alicia was about to say that yes, it did matter, because birthdays were special. Then it dawned on her that birthdays might not have been all that special for Norah.
‘Have you ever celebrated your birthday?’ she asked gently. ‘Had a party or anything?’
Norah thought for a minute. ‘There was a photo of me at Mum’s house with balloons in the background. I think that was a party. But I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s.’
‘Do you know when your birthday is?’ Alicia asked Jessica.
She nodded. ‘May twelfth. I had a party the first year I came to Wild Meadows, when I turned five.’
Alicia felt a tug of emotion. ‘That’s the only birthday party you’ve had?’
Jessica nodded again, clearly not wanting to expand on this.
Alicia had had a party every year of her life, she was pretty sure. Certainly every year that she remembered. Not big parties. One year, she was allowed to pick a friend and go to the movies and have McDonald’s afterwards. Another year she had two friends over to Grammy’s friend Judy’s house to swim in her backyard pool. But there was always cake, a few balloons and the birthday song.
‘What’s so good about parties anyway?’ Jessica asked.
‘Well,’ Alicia said, ‘the food, for one thing. Chips and lollies and sausage rolls. Soft drinks. Cake!’ Her stomach rumbled at the thought. ‘And presents. Everyone who comes brings you one.’
Norah rolled over to face her. ‘What do you do at the party?’
‘Sometimes you play games like pass the parcel, or there’s an entertainer – a clown, maybe,’ Alicia said, enjoying their entranced expressions. ‘But when you’re older, like us, you . . . I don’t know – hang out. Talk. Listen to music. Dance.’
‘That sounds fun,’ Norah said. ‘I like to dance.’
Jessica snorted. ‘When have you ever danced?’
‘I dance,’ Norah said defensively. ‘If I hear music on the radio or in the supermarket or something. I’d dance at a party for sure.’
‘Fine.’ Jessica held her hands up in surrender. ‘You dance.’
They were all quiet. The silence felt slightly wistful.
‘Why don’t we dance now?’ Alicia said suddenly. ‘We can have a dance party for Norah’s birthday.’
Jessica scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. Like Miss Fairchild wouldn’t lose her mind.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Alicia said, ‘if it was a silent dance party.’
Jessica and Norah looked unconvinced.
‘Come on, spoilsports.’ Alicia rose, crossed the room and pretended to put a tape into a cassette player, feeling excited and a little foolish. ‘Norah, what’s your favourite song?’
‘“Kung Fu Fighting”,’ she replied without a moment’s hesitation.
‘Good choice,’ Alicia said. ‘I’m putting it on. There you go, it’s playing. Now . . . dance.’
Alicia closed her eyes and began shimmying her hips, her shoulders, her hands. Before long she was bopping wildly around the room. There was something about it – the sense of release – after the tension of the past few weeks. It felt fantastic. Alicia got lost in it.
When she opened her eyes a few minutes later to check on the others, Jessica and Norah were also dancing. Norah was standing on her dressing table, playing air guitar and kicking her legs high. Both girls were smiling.
And to her surprise, Alicia realised she was smiling too.
‘Alicia? Can you come in here a minute, please?’
The next day, Miss Fairchild called out to her as soon as she walked in the door from school. It was her polite voice, which perhaps should have tipped Alicia off that they had visitors. Usually when they arrived home Miss Fairchild either ignored them or ordered them to do chores.
When Alicia saw the social worker in the living room, she squealed. ‘Sandi! You’re here! Am I going home? I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. I thought you would call in a few days. What happened?’
Even as she talked, her delight turned to irritation, and then tears. She hadn’t known emotions could transition so fast.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ Miss Fairchild said, standing. She was dressed particularly nicely today, in a linen dress and pearls, and she’d curled her hair. Obviously she’d known Sandi was coming.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alicia asked when she and Sandi were alone.
Sandi stood. She was wearing the same electric-blue frosted eyeshadow as last time, with spidery mascara. Her nails were orange and she smelled of sickly floral perfume.
She took Alicia’s hand in one of hers. ‘Your grandmother couldn’t call, honey – she was too ill from the pneumonia.’
Alicia blinked. ‘Grammy has pneumonia?’
‘She did.’ Sandi clasped both of Alicia’s hands now and looked at her desperately. Tears filled her eyes. ‘She became ill in the hospital. I’m so sorry, honey. Your grandmother passed away this morning.’
Alicia pulled her hand away.
Sandi put her arms around her. ‘Shh . . . Oh, it’s okay, honey. I know. I know. Shh . . .’
Sandi didn’t need to shush her; Alicia wasn’t crying. She stared, unblinking, over the social worker’s shoulder. ‘Grammy’s . . . dead?’
‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’
Sandi hugged her tighter. Alicia just stood there. It was as though someone had turned a dimmer switch. Everything became dark. Her limbs became heavy and cold and she buzzed, like static was running through her.
Finally Alicia pushed Sandi away. ‘Why didn’t someone tell me she had pneumonia?’
‘I thought you were told.’ Sandi glanced at the door Miss Fairchild had exited through.
‘I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,’ Alicia said dumbly. And then, almost immediately: ‘What will happen to me?’
Your grandmother has just died and you’re already thinking about yourself! the little voice said. You are a selfish girl. You didn’t deserve her.
‘I’ve explained the situation to Miss Fairchild. Obviously, you were only meant to be a respite placement, but under the circumstances she’s willing to keep you on here indefinitely.’
The lights seemed to dim further.
‘I know this is distressing. And it’s a lot to take in.’
Alicia shook her head. ‘I can’t stay here.’
Sandi blinked her spidery eyelashes. ‘Oh. Well, we can look into another placement for you . . .’
‘I don’t want another placement. I want Grammy.’
Sandi’s face crumpled in sympathy. ‘Oh, I know, baby. Shh. It’s all right. I know. Come here.’
Sandi opened her arms, and this time Alicia sank into them. Despite what Sandi said, it wasn’t all right. With Grammy dead, nothing would ever be right again.
Alicia lay in bed all afternoon, crying so hard her head ached and her throat became sore. Jessica sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Alicia’s arm. Norah was at the foot of the bed, her long legs stretched out, almost reaching Alicia’s nose. Neither of them seemed to know what to say or do.
‘Are you going to stay at Wild Meadows?’ Jessica asked.
Alicia hadn’t thought she had any tears left, but at this, her vision blurred again. ‘I told Sandi I didn’t want to. She said she’d look into another placement. But I don’t want another placement.’ She let out a sob. ‘I want Grammy. She was all I had. Now I’ve got nothing.’
They let her weep for a minute or two. Alicia assumed it was because they knew she was right. She had nothing. But when she looked up, Norah was shaking her head.
‘You have us,’ she said. ‘That’s not nothing.’
Alicia felt a stab of guilt. Before she could say anything, Norah continued, ‘You don’t have to leave, you know. There are worse places than Wild Meadows.’
Alicia nodded, but she didn’t believe it.
‘It’s true,’ Norah said. ‘For example, the family that locked us outside from seven in the morning till five in the evening every day – boys in one paddock, girls in another, while the parents sat inside watching daytime television. Or the family that made us pick up dog poop with our bare hands if we forgot to wash up before dinner, to teach us a lesson. The place with the foster brothers who locked me in the cupboard and wouldn’t let me out until I touched their ding-dongs . . .’
Alicia stole a look at Jessica. Her eyes were full of tears.
Norah crossed her legs, resting her ankles on Alicia’s side. ‘And the family who made us watch movies with naked people in them . . . that was gross.’
As the stories went on, each one definitely, unequivocally worse than Wild Meadows, Alicia began to cry too. No child should have to choose between this place and one of those others Norah described, just because their parents had died or were unable to care for them. It wasn’t right.
‘At least here we have each other,’ Norah said at last. ‘Maybe if we stick together, we can become like . . . like sisters.’
Even through the grief that pierced Alicia, it was hard not to be affected by what Norah was saying. Especially when, after a couple of seconds, she extended her pinkie. Norah wasn’t one to be sentimental; it made the gesture all the more moving. ‘What do you say?’
Jessica offered her own pinkie without hesitation, which Alicia found equally moving.
She could see that, after the stories Norah had just shared, it did make sense to stick together, forge their own family. But that meant staying at Wild Meadows with Miss Fairchild. It felt like an impossibly cruel choice.
And yet, there were Jessica and Norah looking at her, their pinkies extended, their expressions painfully hopeful. Alicia sighed. How could she say no to pinkies?
She closed her eyes, sent up a prayer to Grammy. Extended her pinkie. Within seconds it had been snatched up into a three-way.
‘Sisters,’ she said.
18
NORAH
Detective Hando, to Norah’s delight, was a dog person. He had four dogs at home – one more than was legally allowed in his inner-city dwelling: a German shepherd called Roger, a Staffy named Ian, a beagle-cross called Martha and a terrier with one eye called Boris Johnson. Norah had already offered to take one of them, which of course would be one more than she was legally allowed to have, but like Hando, she cared not for silly dog rules.
After ten minutes of them sharing photos of their dogs on their phones, Hando glanced at his watch and suggested ruefully that it might be time for Norah to make her statement.
‘Fine,’ Norah said, sitting back and crossing her arms. ‘If we must.’
He pressed record on the device, then proceeded to state their names, the date and some file numbers corresponding to a manila envelope that was sitting on the coffee table.
‘Right,’ he began. ‘I want you to tell me about your life at Wild Meadows, starting with how you came to be there.’
‘I was booted from my previous placement for kicking someone in the balls.’
Hando blinked. ‘May I ask why you were in foster care? Where were your parents?’
‘My mother was a drug addict,’ she said.
Hando made a sympathetic face, but life with her mum hadn’t been so bad. Norah had liked the predictability of it. The two of them had a routine. Her mother took drugs before she went out for the evening. She arrived home as the sun came up, then slept all day, waking up around the time that Norah got home from school. After dinner, she took drugs again. Rinse and repeat.
It was all fine until the day Norah got home from school and found her mother still asleep. She was so still, and so pale, that Norah began shaking her.
‘What are you doing?’ her mum asked groggily.
‘Just making sure you’re not dead.’
‘Hold my hand, then,’ she said, closing her eyes and holding out her hand.
Though she scorned herself for it later, at the time Norah had interpreted her mother’s comment to mean that if Norah was holding her hand, she couldn’t die. Norah took her side of the bargain very seriously. She sat beside her mother’s bed and gripped her hand tightly.
Three hours later, when her mother’s boyfriend arrived with a couple of friends, Norah’s mum was still asleep. He tried to wake her, even slapping her face, but her mother didn’t stir.
‘Norah, get out of there. I need to call an ambulance.’
But Norah sat holding her mother’s hand, even as the paramedics ran into the room, tailed by police. When one of the cops tried to prise Norah away, she went ballistic.
‘No,’ she screeched. The strength of her voice surprised her. ‘I have to hold her hand.’
‘Honey, we need to help your mother,’ the police officer said. His eyes were bright with urgency. ‘I’m going to take you back to the car, okay? Have you been in a police car before?’
He started tugging Norah away from her mother, but she wouldn’t release her mother’s hand.
‘You need to let go, honey,’ said the police officer.
‘I can’t,’ Norah cried.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You have to.’
The cop gave a final tug, and her mum’s hand slid from her grasp.
‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Hando said again.
Norah shrugged.
‘What about your dad?’
‘Already dead by then.’
‘Oh.’
Through the window, Norah saw a man in a baseball cap walking towards the door of the police station. There was something familiar about him, the way he walked as if his feet were glued to the ground. Underneath the baseball cap, his hair was red.
‘I know this is difficult,’ Hando said, ‘but I promise it’s incredibly helpful to our investigation.’
‘If you say so. But I don’t see how telling you about my childhood has anything to do with it. You’d be better off asking who the bones belonged to.’
Hando sat up straight. ‘Do you know who the bones belong to?’
‘No.’
He looked so disappointed, Norah felt bad. She considered making a guess, but before she could, he said, ‘In that case, talking about your childhood is all we’ve got.’
Bugger.
‘Perhaps you can tell me how you felt about Miss Fairchild?’ the detective suggested. ‘Did you like her?’
‘No. She was awful.’
‘Awful how?’ Hando asked. ‘Violent?’
‘Depends on your definition of violence.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Norah sat forward in her chair and rubbed the belly that Converse had exposed. ‘Let’s just say she found more interesting ways to hurt people.’
19
JESSICA
BEFORE
It was Saturday afternoon, and Jessica was on the sofa, watching taped episodes of Beverly Hills, 90210, while Norah, beside her, read a book. Unusually, Miss Fairchild had left them alone for the afternoon.
‘What should we do?’ Alicia asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica said.
‘I mean . . . what shall we do?’ Alicia said. ‘With the afternoon?’
Jessica paused the TV on Brenda and Dylan making out on the couch at the Walsh house and frowned at Alicia. It was just such an odd comment. As if she expected them to suggest a trip to the seaside or an outing to the zoo. Alicia had been at Wild Meadows for six months – long enough to know that when they weren’t doing homework or chores or running errands, they read books or watched TV or hung around the house. Which was exactly what they were doing now.
Norah looked equally confused.
‘We’re not allowed to go anywhere,’ Jessica said. Miss Fairchild had been very clear on this. She’d said it was for their own safety, but they knew she just didn’t want people to know she left her foster kids home alone for hours on end.
‘We don’t have to go out,’ Alicia said. ‘We can stay here and do something.’
‘Like what?’
Alicia gestured towards the window. It was a beautiful sunny day. Beyond the pool, at the bottom of the field where the paddocks gave way to a wooded area, the horses were having a canter. ‘How about horseriding?’
Jessica laughed.
‘What?’ Alicia said.
Jessica stopped. She’d assumed Alicia was joking. ‘Do you even know how to ride a horse?’
‘No,’ Alicia said. ‘But Grammy always said it was a crime to waste a beautiful day.’
Jessica began to pulse with panic. She was torn. On the one hand, she was terrified to do anything that might make Miss Fairchild angry. On the other, four months had passed since Alicia’s grandmother died and Alicia was yet to regain her spark. It was as if the spirit had drained out of her. Jessica could see that she tried her best, moving through the rituals of the day – playing, chatting, even laughing – but it was like an actor performing Alicia rather than the real thing.
And Grammy said it was a crime to waste a beautiful day!
‘They’re not even Miss Fairchild’s horses,’ Jessica said desperately.
‘But there’s a man out there,’ Alicia said. Norah and Jessica followed her gaze to the man by the stables. ‘See?’
‘That’s the stable guy,’ Jessica said. ‘He looks after the horses.’
‘Maybe he can teach us to ride?’ Alicia said. ‘I’ll go ask.’
She took off quickly, going through the kitchen, out the back door and down the porch steps. Jessica and Norah scrambled to follow, but by the time they caught her she was halfway across the lower paddock, striding confidently towards the stables.
‘Hello?’ Alicia called to the horse man as they approached.
He was bent over examining a horse’s hoof when she called. He didn’t rush to look over, but when he did it was only for a second – a quick glance before he looked back down again. ‘What do you want?’ he said gruffly.
‘You don’t know when your birthday is?’
Norah wasn’t listening. ‘It’s the eighteenth today. So either way, I must be twelve.’
Norah seemed happy enough with that, but Alicia was appalled. ‘Can’t you ask Miss Fairchild? Or your social worker?’
‘Probably. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?’
Alicia was about to say that yes, it did matter, because birthdays were special. Then it dawned on her that birthdays might not have been all that special for Norah.
‘Have you ever celebrated your birthday?’ she asked gently. ‘Had a party or anything?’
Norah thought for a minute. ‘There was a photo of me at Mum’s house with balloons in the background. I think that was a party. But I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s.’
‘Do you know when your birthday is?’ Alicia asked Jessica.
She nodded. ‘May twelfth. I had a party the first year I came to Wild Meadows, when I turned five.’
Alicia felt a tug of emotion. ‘That’s the only birthday party you’ve had?’
Jessica nodded again, clearly not wanting to expand on this.
Alicia had had a party every year of her life, she was pretty sure. Certainly every year that she remembered. Not big parties. One year, she was allowed to pick a friend and go to the movies and have McDonald’s afterwards. Another year she had two friends over to Grammy’s friend Judy’s house to swim in her backyard pool. But there was always cake, a few balloons and the birthday song.
‘What’s so good about parties anyway?’ Jessica asked.
‘Well,’ Alicia said, ‘the food, for one thing. Chips and lollies and sausage rolls. Soft drinks. Cake!’ Her stomach rumbled at the thought. ‘And presents. Everyone who comes brings you one.’
Norah rolled over to face her. ‘What do you do at the party?’
‘Sometimes you play games like pass the parcel, or there’s an entertainer – a clown, maybe,’ Alicia said, enjoying their entranced expressions. ‘But when you’re older, like us, you . . . I don’t know – hang out. Talk. Listen to music. Dance.’
‘That sounds fun,’ Norah said. ‘I like to dance.’
Jessica snorted. ‘When have you ever danced?’
‘I dance,’ Norah said defensively. ‘If I hear music on the radio or in the supermarket or something. I’d dance at a party for sure.’
‘Fine.’ Jessica held her hands up in surrender. ‘You dance.’
They were all quiet. The silence felt slightly wistful.
‘Why don’t we dance now?’ Alicia said suddenly. ‘We can have a dance party for Norah’s birthday.’
Jessica scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. Like Miss Fairchild wouldn’t lose her mind.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Alicia said, ‘if it was a silent dance party.’
Jessica and Norah looked unconvinced.
‘Come on, spoilsports.’ Alicia rose, crossed the room and pretended to put a tape into a cassette player, feeling excited and a little foolish. ‘Norah, what’s your favourite song?’
‘“Kung Fu Fighting”,’ she replied without a moment’s hesitation.
‘Good choice,’ Alicia said. ‘I’m putting it on. There you go, it’s playing. Now . . . dance.’
Alicia closed her eyes and began shimmying her hips, her shoulders, her hands. Before long she was bopping wildly around the room. There was something about it – the sense of release – after the tension of the past few weeks. It felt fantastic. Alicia got lost in it.
When she opened her eyes a few minutes later to check on the others, Jessica and Norah were also dancing. Norah was standing on her dressing table, playing air guitar and kicking her legs high. Both girls were smiling.
And to her surprise, Alicia realised she was smiling too.
‘Alicia? Can you come in here a minute, please?’
The next day, Miss Fairchild called out to her as soon as she walked in the door from school. It was her polite voice, which perhaps should have tipped Alicia off that they had visitors. Usually when they arrived home Miss Fairchild either ignored them or ordered them to do chores.
When Alicia saw the social worker in the living room, she squealed. ‘Sandi! You’re here! Am I going home? I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. I thought you would call in a few days. What happened?’
Even as she talked, her delight turned to irritation, and then tears. She hadn’t known emotions could transition so fast.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ Miss Fairchild said, standing. She was dressed particularly nicely today, in a linen dress and pearls, and she’d curled her hair. Obviously she’d known Sandi was coming.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alicia asked when she and Sandi were alone.
Sandi stood. She was wearing the same electric-blue frosted eyeshadow as last time, with spidery mascara. Her nails were orange and she smelled of sickly floral perfume.
She took Alicia’s hand in one of hers. ‘Your grandmother couldn’t call, honey – she was too ill from the pneumonia.’
Alicia blinked. ‘Grammy has pneumonia?’
‘She did.’ Sandi clasped both of Alicia’s hands now and looked at her desperately. Tears filled her eyes. ‘She became ill in the hospital. I’m so sorry, honey. Your grandmother passed away this morning.’
Alicia pulled her hand away.
Sandi put her arms around her. ‘Shh . . . Oh, it’s okay, honey. I know. I know. Shh . . .’
Sandi didn’t need to shush her; Alicia wasn’t crying. She stared, unblinking, over the social worker’s shoulder. ‘Grammy’s . . . dead?’
‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’
Sandi hugged her tighter. Alicia just stood there. It was as though someone had turned a dimmer switch. Everything became dark. Her limbs became heavy and cold and she buzzed, like static was running through her.
Finally Alicia pushed Sandi away. ‘Why didn’t someone tell me she had pneumonia?’
‘I thought you were told.’ Sandi glanced at the door Miss Fairchild had exited through.
‘I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,’ Alicia said dumbly. And then, almost immediately: ‘What will happen to me?’
Your grandmother has just died and you’re already thinking about yourself! the little voice said. You are a selfish girl. You didn’t deserve her.
‘I’ve explained the situation to Miss Fairchild. Obviously, you were only meant to be a respite placement, but under the circumstances she’s willing to keep you on here indefinitely.’
The lights seemed to dim further.
‘I know this is distressing. And it’s a lot to take in.’
Alicia shook her head. ‘I can’t stay here.’
Sandi blinked her spidery eyelashes. ‘Oh. Well, we can look into another placement for you . . .’
‘I don’t want another placement. I want Grammy.’
Sandi’s face crumpled in sympathy. ‘Oh, I know, baby. Shh. It’s all right. I know. Come here.’
Sandi opened her arms, and this time Alicia sank into them. Despite what Sandi said, it wasn’t all right. With Grammy dead, nothing would ever be right again.
Alicia lay in bed all afternoon, crying so hard her head ached and her throat became sore. Jessica sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Alicia’s arm. Norah was at the foot of the bed, her long legs stretched out, almost reaching Alicia’s nose. Neither of them seemed to know what to say or do.
‘Are you going to stay at Wild Meadows?’ Jessica asked.
Alicia hadn’t thought she had any tears left, but at this, her vision blurred again. ‘I told Sandi I didn’t want to. She said she’d look into another placement. But I don’t want another placement.’ She let out a sob. ‘I want Grammy. She was all I had. Now I’ve got nothing.’
They let her weep for a minute or two. Alicia assumed it was because they knew she was right. She had nothing. But when she looked up, Norah was shaking her head.
‘You have us,’ she said. ‘That’s not nothing.’
Alicia felt a stab of guilt. Before she could say anything, Norah continued, ‘You don’t have to leave, you know. There are worse places than Wild Meadows.’
Alicia nodded, but she didn’t believe it.
‘It’s true,’ Norah said. ‘For example, the family that locked us outside from seven in the morning till five in the evening every day – boys in one paddock, girls in another, while the parents sat inside watching daytime television. Or the family that made us pick up dog poop with our bare hands if we forgot to wash up before dinner, to teach us a lesson. The place with the foster brothers who locked me in the cupboard and wouldn’t let me out until I touched their ding-dongs . . .’
Alicia stole a look at Jessica. Her eyes were full of tears.
Norah crossed her legs, resting her ankles on Alicia’s side. ‘And the family who made us watch movies with naked people in them . . . that was gross.’
As the stories went on, each one definitely, unequivocally worse than Wild Meadows, Alicia began to cry too. No child should have to choose between this place and one of those others Norah described, just because their parents had died or were unable to care for them. It wasn’t right.
‘At least here we have each other,’ Norah said at last. ‘Maybe if we stick together, we can become like . . . like sisters.’
Even through the grief that pierced Alicia, it was hard not to be affected by what Norah was saying. Especially when, after a couple of seconds, she extended her pinkie. Norah wasn’t one to be sentimental; it made the gesture all the more moving. ‘What do you say?’
Jessica offered her own pinkie without hesitation, which Alicia found equally moving.
She could see that, after the stories Norah had just shared, it did make sense to stick together, forge their own family. But that meant staying at Wild Meadows with Miss Fairchild. It felt like an impossibly cruel choice.
And yet, there were Jessica and Norah looking at her, their pinkies extended, their expressions painfully hopeful. Alicia sighed. How could she say no to pinkies?
She closed her eyes, sent up a prayer to Grammy. Extended her pinkie. Within seconds it had been snatched up into a three-way.
‘Sisters,’ she said.
18
NORAH
Detective Hando, to Norah’s delight, was a dog person. He had four dogs at home – one more than was legally allowed in his inner-city dwelling: a German shepherd called Roger, a Staffy named Ian, a beagle-cross called Martha and a terrier with one eye called Boris Johnson. Norah had already offered to take one of them, which of course would be one more than she was legally allowed to have, but like Hando, she cared not for silly dog rules.
After ten minutes of them sharing photos of their dogs on their phones, Hando glanced at his watch and suggested ruefully that it might be time for Norah to make her statement.
‘Fine,’ Norah said, sitting back and crossing her arms. ‘If we must.’
He pressed record on the device, then proceeded to state their names, the date and some file numbers corresponding to a manila envelope that was sitting on the coffee table.
‘Right,’ he began. ‘I want you to tell me about your life at Wild Meadows, starting with how you came to be there.’
‘I was booted from my previous placement for kicking someone in the balls.’
Hando blinked. ‘May I ask why you were in foster care? Where were your parents?’
‘My mother was a drug addict,’ she said.
Hando made a sympathetic face, but life with her mum hadn’t been so bad. Norah had liked the predictability of it. The two of them had a routine. Her mother took drugs before she went out for the evening. She arrived home as the sun came up, then slept all day, waking up around the time that Norah got home from school. After dinner, she took drugs again. Rinse and repeat.
It was all fine until the day Norah got home from school and found her mother still asleep. She was so still, and so pale, that Norah began shaking her.
‘What are you doing?’ her mum asked groggily.
‘Just making sure you’re not dead.’
‘Hold my hand, then,’ she said, closing her eyes and holding out her hand.
Though she scorned herself for it later, at the time Norah had interpreted her mother’s comment to mean that if Norah was holding her hand, she couldn’t die. Norah took her side of the bargain very seriously. She sat beside her mother’s bed and gripped her hand tightly.
Three hours later, when her mother’s boyfriend arrived with a couple of friends, Norah’s mum was still asleep. He tried to wake her, even slapping her face, but her mother didn’t stir.
‘Norah, get out of there. I need to call an ambulance.’
But Norah sat holding her mother’s hand, even as the paramedics ran into the room, tailed by police. When one of the cops tried to prise Norah away, she went ballistic.
‘No,’ she screeched. The strength of her voice surprised her. ‘I have to hold her hand.’
‘Honey, we need to help your mother,’ the police officer said. His eyes were bright with urgency. ‘I’m going to take you back to the car, okay? Have you been in a police car before?’
He started tugging Norah away from her mother, but she wouldn’t release her mother’s hand.
‘You need to let go, honey,’ said the police officer.
‘I can’t,’ Norah cried.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You have to.’
The cop gave a final tug, and her mum’s hand slid from her grasp.
‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Hando said again.
Norah shrugged.
‘What about your dad?’
‘Already dead by then.’
‘Oh.’
Through the window, Norah saw a man in a baseball cap walking towards the door of the police station. There was something familiar about him, the way he walked as if his feet were glued to the ground. Underneath the baseball cap, his hair was red.
‘I know this is difficult,’ Hando said, ‘but I promise it’s incredibly helpful to our investigation.’
‘If you say so. But I don’t see how telling you about my childhood has anything to do with it. You’d be better off asking who the bones belonged to.’
Hando sat up straight. ‘Do you know who the bones belong to?’
‘No.’
He looked so disappointed, Norah felt bad. She considered making a guess, but before she could, he said, ‘In that case, talking about your childhood is all we’ve got.’
Bugger.
‘Perhaps you can tell me how you felt about Miss Fairchild?’ the detective suggested. ‘Did you like her?’
‘No. She was awful.’
‘Awful how?’ Hando asked. ‘Violent?’
‘Depends on your definition of violence.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Norah sat forward in her chair and rubbed the belly that Converse had exposed. ‘Let’s just say she found more interesting ways to hurt people.’
19
JESSICA
BEFORE
It was Saturday afternoon, and Jessica was on the sofa, watching taped episodes of Beverly Hills, 90210, while Norah, beside her, read a book. Unusually, Miss Fairchild had left them alone for the afternoon.
‘What should we do?’ Alicia asked.
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica said.
‘I mean . . . what shall we do?’ Alicia said. ‘With the afternoon?’
Jessica paused the TV on Brenda and Dylan making out on the couch at the Walsh house and frowned at Alicia. It was just such an odd comment. As if she expected them to suggest a trip to the seaside or an outing to the zoo. Alicia had been at Wild Meadows for six months – long enough to know that when they weren’t doing homework or chores or running errands, they read books or watched TV or hung around the house. Which was exactly what they were doing now.
Norah looked equally confused.
‘We’re not allowed to go anywhere,’ Jessica said. Miss Fairchild had been very clear on this. She’d said it was for their own safety, but they knew she just didn’t want people to know she left her foster kids home alone for hours on end.
‘We don’t have to go out,’ Alicia said. ‘We can stay here and do something.’
‘Like what?’
Alicia gestured towards the window. It was a beautiful sunny day. Beyond the pool, at the bottom of the field where the paddocks gave way to a wooded area, the horses were having a canter. ‘How about horseriding?’
Jessica laughed.
‘What?’ Alicia said.
Jessica stopped. She’d assumed Alicia was joking. ‘Do you even know how to ride a horse?’
‘No,’ Alicia said. ‘But Grammy always said it was a crime to waste a beautiful day.’
Jessica began to pulse with panic. She was torn. On the one hand, she was terrified to do anything that might make Miss Fairchild angry. On the other, four months had passed since Alicia’s grandmother died and Alicia was yet to regain her spark. It was as if the spirit had drained out of her. Jessica could see that she tried her best, moving through the rituals of the day – playing, chatting, even laughing – but it was like an actor performing Alicia rather than the real thing.
And Grammy said it was a crime to waste a beautiful day!
‘They’re not even Miss Fairchild’s horses,’ Jessica said desperately.
‘But there’s a man out there,’ Alicia said. Norah and Jessica followed her gaze to the man by the stables. ‘See?’
‘That’s the stable guy,’ Jessica said. ‘He looks after the horses.’
‘Maybe he can teach us to ride?’ Alicia said. ‘I’ll go ask.’
She took off quickly, going through the kitchen, out the back door and down the porch steps. Jessica and Norah scrambled to follow, but by the time they caught her she was halfway across the lower paddock, striding confidently towards the stables.
‘Hello?’ Alicia called to the horse man as they approached.
He was bent over examining a horse’s hoof when she called. He didn’t rush to look over, but when he did it was only for a second – a quick glance before he looked back down again. ‘What do you want?’ he said gruffly.
