Darling Girls, page 20
‘Should we go to our lockers?’ Jessica asked, when they got to school.
Norah shook her head, pointing towards the principal’s office. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’
They had to wait for Mr O’Day for nearly twenty minutes. He was on the phone, and from where they sat in the small reception area, they heard every word of his side of the conversation. It might have been interesting had it not been about funding for new sporting equipment. Mr O’Day had been the PE teacher before he’d become principal and he made no attempt to conceal the fact that he didn’t have much interest in any other subjects, or anything about education in general.
Finally, he ended the call and ushered the girls into his office – a small brown room with white venetian blinds and a framed picture of Shane Warne on the wall. Opposite his L-shaped desk was a cabinet filled with sporting trophies.
He only had two seats for visitors, so Alicia remained standing.
‘I’ve got five minutes before I’m due to judge the year two art show,’ he told them, with a glance at the clock on the wall. ‘So, what’s this all about?’
Mr O’Day didn’t make it to the year two art show. Instead, he called the police, and the rest of the day’s appointments were cancelled.
Two police officers arrived at the school promptly, and joined them in Mr O’Day’s office.
‘Hello, girls,’ the older cop said, pushing Mr O’Day’s chair towards Alicia. He had white hair and kind eyes. He sat down on the corner of the desk. ‘My name is Sergeant Grady, but everybody calls me Max. This is my colleague Constable Hart.’ He pointed to the other cop, who was young enough to be his grandson. ‘You can call him Robbie. I understand your names are Norah, Jessica and Alicia?’
They nodded.
‘It’s very nice to meet you. Your principal tells me you’ve asked to speak to us – is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ Norah said. ‘Our foster mother is abusive.’
‘That is extremely concerning.’ The sergeant’s bushy eyebrows knitted together. ‘You did the right thing by coming to us.’
It was probably part of his standard spiel, but Alicia couldn’t help but find it affirming. They’d done the right thing! Alicia couldn’t remember the last time someone had told her that.
‘We’re worried about Amy,’ Jessica said.
‘Amy?’ Max glanced at his colleague briefly. ‘Who is Amy?’
‘She lives with us. Miss Fairchild adopted her six months ago. She’s two.’
‘I see. And you’ve witnessed your foster mother being abusive towards her?’
‘Yes,’ Alicia said. ‘And it’s getting worse.’
Norah sat forward. ‘We’re worried something could be happening to her right now!’
Max held up a hand. ‘We’ve already sent a car to Wild Meadows. Our officers will probably be there by now. We can get a message to them to check on Amy’s welfare.’
He nodded to Robbie, who left the room. As Alicia watched him go, relief mingled with heavy dread at the idea of the police car pulling up to the door. She could picture Miss Fairchild’s polite, concerned face covering up her white-hot rage at being questioned like a criminal.
‘Is this the first time you’ve reported the abuse?’ Max asked, when Robbie had gone.
‘Yes.’ Alicia felt a pull in her chest. ‘We should have reported it earlier but . . .’
‘What’s important is that you’ve reported it now,’ Max said. ‘Unfortunately, I’m going to need you to tell me a little bit more about the abuse. I know it might be upsetting, so take your time. Mr O’Day is waiting just outside in case you have any questions or are uncertain about anything.’
‘Well,’ Alicia said. ‘Yesterday was what brought it to a head.’
‘All right,’ Max said. ‘Let’s start there.’
‘We arrived home from school to find Miss Fairchild in the pool. Amy was in the pool too, but her head was underwater. We ran all the way from the gate, which would have taken nearly a minute and her head was under the whole time. She did the same thing to Jessica when she was a child. It’s a punishment for not loving her enough.’
‘She’ll say she was teaching her to swim,’ Jessica said, ‘but she’s only two years old. You don’t let a two-year-old flounder underwater for a whole minute.’
The policeman nodded, but he didn’t look as horrified as Alicia had expected. ‘And have there been other instances of . . . abuse?’ he asked.
‘Miss Fairchild dropped her on the highchair and she hit her head,’ Norah said.
The policeman raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘She dropped Amy? On purpose?’
‘Amy kicked her in the face as she was putting her in the highchair,’ Norah said. ‘Miss Fairchild let her go and she hit her head hard. Then Miss Fairchild wouldn’t let us comfort her. She said she had to realise there were consequences to her actions.’
The policeman nodded. ‘I see.’
‘She barely feeds us,’ Alicia said.
‘She’s obsessed with cleanliness and makes us clean for hours every day,’ Jessica said.
‘She drinks,’ Norah said. ‘At night she roams the halls and sometimes comes into our room and wakes us all up.’
They did their best to report each incident in detail, and Max paid close attention, taking notes and asking questions, but an hour went by and Alicia could see that they hadn’t given him nearly enough. Miss Fairchild had been clever. None of her abuse had been clear-cut. In every case, there was a way for her to spin it as discipline or an accident or lies. They didn’t have any tangible proof. It was their word against hers. The whole thing came down to who the cops chose to believe.
‘What else can you tell me?’ Max said.
‘She went through a period of fostering babies through respite care,’ Alicia said. ‘When she tired of them, she left their care to us. Check with the school. Our school attendance would have been fifty per cent at best. It was because we were looking after the babies that Miss Fairchild fostered.’
Max made a note of this.
‘And there was one day she made me take Amy down into the basement when the social worker came to visit. She locked us down there for nearly an hour. That was kind of weird.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Phone call for you, Sergeant Grady,’ Mr O’Day’s secretary said.
The police officer assured the girls he’d be right back and left the room.
‘Do you think they believe us?’ Jessica said.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Alicia said. ‘But he’ll have to investigate. He can’t just ignore us without looking into it.’
The door opened again. As Max re-entered the room, Alicia noticed a difference in him. There was something slightly stiff about his movements, a kind of tension.
‘Sorry about that,’ Max said, resuming his seat on Mr O’Day’s desk. ‘That was my colleague. He’s at Wild Meadows right now.’
Norah was already on her feet. ‘Is Amy okay?’
‘Don’t tell us we were too late,’ Alicia said.
Jessica was trembling, as if she’d already decided the worst had happened.
Max didn’t reassure them. His face was perplexed, his brows so tightly furrowed they almost touched. ‘The police at the house conducted a thorough search,’ he said finally. ‘They didn’t find Amy.’
Alicia looked at Norah and Jessica in horror. ‘But where else would she be? Miss Fairchild never takes her anywhere.’
‘Did they check the basement?’ Norah asked.
‘She must be somewhere,’ Alicia said.
Max shook his head. ‘They didn’t find any sign of a toddler at all. Not a nappy or a highchair. Not a single piece of baby clothing. Nothing.’
He waited, perhaps hoping they’d have an answer for this. But they all just stared back at him, bewildered.
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Alicia said finally. ‘She was there this morning when we left for school.’
‘Is it possible someone tipped her off?’ Max asked.
‘But no one knew,’ Norah said. ‘No one apart from the three of us.’
There had to be an explanation. Had Miss Fairchild packed Amy up and taken her somewhere? It was possible, of course, but it didn’t make sense. Why didn’t she tell them what she was planning? And why pack all Amy’s stuff away?
Jessica and Norah looked just as perplexed as Alicia.
‘There’s something else,’ Max said. ‘My colleagues have spoken with social services. The records show three children in Miss Fairchild’s care. You three. There’s no record of a toddler being placed for adoption or foster care at Wild Meadows.’ Max stood from the desk and paced, tired or frustrated or both. ‘According to our records, Amy doesn’t exist.’
36
ALICIA
‘There were no records for Amy?’ Anna said. She was eating her lunch at her desk, a chicken schnitzel roll, and leaning forward as if she were watching a terrifying and enthralling movie. ‘Weird.’
‘I know, right?’ Norah said. ‘It would make a great true crime podcast.’
‘What did you make of it?’ Anna asked.
‘We didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe that Miss Fairchild had done something to her and then covered it up? But even that didn’t fit. How would she have known that we were going to tell the police that day of all days? I mean, she was pretty good at reading us, but even if she had guessed, what did she do with Amy? And why didn’t the authorities have any record of her?’
‘Those are good questions,’ Anna said. She looked as confused as they had been. ‘Did you come up with any answers?’
‘Not at first,’ Alicia said. ‘It didn’t make sense.’
Anna nodded. ‘All right. Before we get into that, I need to make you aware of a new development.’
Alicia braced herself. She wasn’t sure she could take any more developments. In the past few days, she’d experienced enough developments to last a lifetime.
‘She’s spoken to the media.’
‘Who?’ Jessica asked, though of course they all knew.
Norah had already pulled out her phone. Alicia did the same.
It only took her a few clicks to find it. The others peered over her shoulder to read along with her.
FORMER OWNER OF ‘WILD MEADOWS’ SPEAKS OUT AFTER FOSTER HOME SCANDAL
The former owner of Wild Meadows Estate, Holly Fairchild, has spoken out about her horror at the discovery of human remains under the country home where she fostered dozens of children in the late 1990s.
‘My heart breaks at this terrible news,’ Fairchild said. ‘I will assist the police with their investigations however possible and won’t rest until this matter is resolved.’
Fairchild also spoke out about the ‘crisis of displaced children’ in Australia, imploring families to ‘open their hearts and homes to these poor, lost souls’.
When asked if she has any insight into what may have taken place, Fairchild responded:
‘I don’t like to speculate when there is a police investigation underway. I will say that having had the opportunity to work with many traumatised foster children, the damage can be extensive. Often the victims actually become perpetrators. I’ve seen it firsthand. Frankly, I don’t like to think about what they are capable of.’
‘Is she allowed to say that?’ Alicia asked, when she reached the end of the article. ‘She’s basically called us perpetrators!’
‘I’m not happy about it,’ Anna said. ‘But she hasn’t named you, and she’s spoken in general terms, so legally speaking she can.’
It was classic Miss Fairchild. It was her way of having the last word, of letting them know that she was in control of the situation, like always. She needn’t have bothered. No one knew it better than the three of them.
37
JESSICA
‘I‘ll get the drinks,’ Norah said the moment they walked into the pub.
Anna had another meeting, so they’d decided to grab some lunch before they reconvened in a couple of hours. Jessica had suggested they mix it up, maybe get fish and chips, but Norah wouldn’t hear of it. Desperate to get back to the bartender, obviously. Unlike last night, the place was bustling, and the line for the bar was three deep, but Norah pushed her way to the front, unbothered by the irritated comments from people waiting.
‘Good luck getting a table,’ Hando said, appearing behind them. Patel was by his side.
‘Our lawyer told us we’re not allowed to talk to you,’ Jessica said.
‘Understood,’ Patel said. ‘And we won’t ask you anything about the case. But we can talk about burgers, can’t we? The local cops tell us they’re the only edible thing on the menu. Apparently we need to avoid the chicken at all costs.’
‘Three burgers,’ Alicia called to Norah, who relayed the order to the bartender.
‘Five,’ Hando said, and the bartender nodded and turned to put the order through the window.
As they waited for a table to become available, Jessica and Alicia stood awkwardly alongside the detectives. Jessica received a text message from Sonja, informing her that she needed to speak with her urgently. Jessica reached into her bag for another pill, and turned off her phone.
‘Can I ask you guys something?’ Patel said. ‘Not about the case, promise.’ When no one responded, she pressed on. ‘Why don’t any of you have kids?’
People were jostling them. At the far end of the room, a horse race was playing on a large television and several men stood watching it, beers in hand. Everyone in Port Agatha must have been having lunch at the pub that day.
‘I’m a social worker,’ Alicia said. ‘I have thousands of kids.’
‘Never thought about fostering yourself?’
‘Once or twice.’ She shrugged. ‘But the timing hasn’t been right.’
As far as Jessica knew, Alicia had never considered fostering. Then again, Alicia might have been lying. After all, if crime novels were anything to go by, the only person more likely to commit murder than a foster child was a woman who was childless by choice.
‘What about you, Jessica?’
Jessica offered her usual answer. ‘I would have liked to, but . . .’
She shrugged, as if to imply that she was unable to have kids. She’d found it to be the easiest response, and the one least likely to provoke any supplementary questions. The truth was, Jessica had never tried to get pregnant. Whenever Phil half-heartedly brought it up she told him they would definitely try ‘in a few years’, and he always accepted it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids. If one had showed up in her life like a lost dog, she would have scooped it up and loved it and protected it forever. But making the decision to have one, to create one, was too big a leap.
Occasionally, over the years, she’d fantasised about Norah getting pregnant. Unlike Alicia, Norah had a lot of sex, and also unlike Alicia, she had a profound dislike of children. In the fantasy, Norah would birth the child and Jessica would graciously step in and raise it as if it were her own, leaving Norah to be the favourite aunty. She would perform every role required of a mother and more. She’d be fiercer, more loving than she’d ever been. Which really begged the question: if she could do that for Norah’s child, why not her own?
‘Have a nice chat with the barman?’ Alicia said to Norah when she finally reappeared. The noise from the crowd and the television were giving Jessica a headache. She was glad she’d taken two pills before coming here.
‘I was getting your drinks!’ Norah said. ‘Talk about ungrateful . . . Hey, there’s a high table – over there!’
Norah hurried towards it, almost knocking over a couple headed in the same direction. When the rest of them – the detectives included – joined her, Norah said, ‘For fuck’s sake.’
‘What?’ Jessica asked.
Norah pointed at the doorway, and the rest of them turned to see Miss Fairchild, neat and prim in jeans and an expensive quilted anorak, glancing around the room with a slight frown. To anyone else, she would have seemed to be assessing whether to stay at the pub or go somewhere else, but Jessica recognised it as a performance. Miss Fairchild knew they were there. Nothing in her world happened by chance.
There was a theatrical moment in which she appeared to notice them, and then she slithered through the crowd towards them as though they were friends.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly, looking at Jessica. ‘Grabbing some lunch? Me too.’
‘Get the chicken,’ Norah said. ‘It comes highly recommended.’
‘We read your interview online,’ Alicia said. ‘Nice touch, putting not only us but all foster children under suspicion.’
Patel and Hando stepped forward, clearly keen to prevent a confrontation.
Miss Fairchild’s face tightened. It aged her, emphasising the tiny lines around her mouth. ‘It’s important to me that this case gets the media attention it deserves,’ she said. ‘I might not have been able to stop what happened to that child, but at least I can ensure justice is done now.’
‘Which child?’ Norah snarled. ‘The one who didn’t exist?’
Miss Fairchild’s cheeks flushed pink, and she cast a quick glance at the detectives. ‘The one buried under the house.’
‘Say her name,’ Norah said, stepping forward. Her fists were clenched and Jessica was grateful there was a table between her and Miss Fairchild.
‘Why don’t you say it, Norah?’ Miss Fairchild countered. ‘You’re the one who’s been talking about her since you were a child. In fact,’ Miss Fairchild continued, ‘it really is the perfect crime, now that I think about it. You harm a poor defenceless child, bury her under the house and then claim she was my foster child. You always were the clever one, as well as the violent one.’
It happened so fast. Norah flipped the table, leaped over it and grabbed Miss Fairchild by the lapels. Alicia responded immediately, grabbing Norah by the shoulder and attempting to restrain her. Jessica tried to do the same, but her movements felt awkward and slow, like her body couldn’t quite keep up with her mind.
‘All right,’ Hando said, several moments after he should have. ‘I think that’s enough.’
