Darling Girls, page 26
‘John spat at me. “Whore.”
‘He bent over, pulling open my makeshift bag and withdrawing the tin of cash. After checking to see it was all there, he spat again, and returned to the car.
‘“Don’t hurt her,” I called after him weakly, but he wouldn’t have heard because the engine was roaring to life again. “Please! Don’t hurt Amy.”
‘He did a U-turn, then drove away back to the house. I never saw Amy again.’
54
NORAH
It was just so unexpected, so out of left field. For a moment, Norah couldn’t see how it fit. Everyone glanced at one another. Hando kept blinking, then shaking his head, then blinking again. Rhiannon and Bianca were open-mouthed. Miss Fairchild looked as if she were having a mild stroke.
It was Patel who broke the silence.
‘You have six toes?’ she said to Zara.
‘Hold up.’ Patel looked utterly lost. ‘You’re Zara, right?’
Hando stepped in. ‘I interviewed Zara. She wasn’t on our list. She read about the body in the newspaper.’
‘I didn’t know you had a list until I arrived and bumped into Rhiannon and Bianca,’ Zara chipped in.
‘But how did you know that you’d been at Wild Meadows?’ Patel asked.
‘When I was adopted, my parents were told that I’d come from a foster home in Port Agatha. When I turned eighteen, I tried to get in touch with the person who facilitated the adoption but his contact details were old. So I came to Port Agatha with my parents and we asked around. That’s where I heard Miss Fairchild’s name. But of course, you were in Melbourne by then.’ Zara looked at her. ‘I’ve tried to get in touch for years. I emailed and phoned. You never got back to me.’
Miss Fairchild had been silent through all of this. Her chest rose and fell with what looked like deep, anxious breaths.
‘I kept tabs on Port Agatha. I saw that the home had been sold. Then I saw the news about the body underneath. I decided to drive up here to see what I could find out.’
‘And you have six toes?’ Norah said, still stuck on that important fact.
‘I did have,’ she said. ‘One was removed just after my third birthday, when I’d been living with my adopted family for nearly a year. Which meant I was at Wild Meadows around the time I was two.’
As she spoke, Zara was undoing her shoelaces. It sent Norah back to the day they met Amy, on the floor of the living room at Wild Meadows when Miss Fairchild removed Amy’s little sock. Now, Zara removed her sock, showing a tiny silver scar between her pinkie toe and the next one. A tiny telltale bump, in the exact spot where Amy’s toe had been. ‘Am I Amy?’
Norah looked at her closely.
‘Do you have any pictures of yourself soon after you were adopted?’ Alicia asked.
Zara got out her phone. ‘Here’s one from my first Christmas with my family. I use it as my profile pic on Facebook. I would have been about two and a half.’
Zara thumbed her phone for a moment, then handed it to Alicia, who only looked at it for a second before lowering the phone. She closed her eyes; her hand found her heart. She lifted the phone again for another look.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, handing the phone to Norah. ‘Oh. My. God.’
Norah took the phone. Stared at it.
‘Amy,’ she said to the phone. Then she looked up at Zara. ‘You’re Amy.’
‘Which adoption agency did your parents use?’ Alicia asked her.
‘Are you police detectives now?’ Miss Fairchild said, finding her voice suddenly. She looked at Patel beseechingly.
‘It wasn’t an agency,’ Zara replied, ignoring her. ‘It was a man. Scott something. Mitchell or Maxwell or –’
‘Scott?’ Norah cried.
‘Scott Michaels?’ Patel said, ignoring Miss Fairchild.
‘Who is Scott Michaels?’ Meera whispered to Alicia.
‘That’s it!’ Zara said. ‘Scott Michaels. Do you know him?’
‘Scott was our social worker,’ Norah said. ‘He and Miss Fairchild were friends.’
Everyone looked at Miss Fairchild then. She rolled her eyes and looked away, as if this were a stupid conversation that didn’t interest her. She’d pulled her phone out and started typing something into it.
‘But if you’re Amy,’ Norah said, looking at Zara, ‘whose body is under the house?’
There was a short silence that made it clear no one knew the answer. Then the silence was broken by Miss Fairchild, who suddenly began to wail.
55
ALICIA
‘She lied,’ Miss Fairchild said. ‘She said Amy was with a good family. All these years, I’ve pictured her living with them. Being loved by them. But she lied.’
‘Who lied?’ Patel asked, looking exhausted, though it was barely nine in the morning.
‘My mother.’
‘Wait,’ Zara said, confused. ‘Are you talking about me? I was living with a good family.’
Alicia was as lost as Zara, and so were the cops, apparently. Miss Fairchild looked stricken, her lip trembling, her face wet with tears. She looked small, suddenly, like a child. It was shocking, seeing her in this light. Alicia had to remind herself not to feel sorry for her.
‘What happened to the baby?’ Miss Fairchild asked suddenly. ‘Did the body give any hint as to’ – she winced – ‘how she died?’
‘The coroner reported a flat depreciation at the back of the skull consistent with a blow or fall,’ Hando said.
Miss Fairchild shuddered. Her hand went to the back of her own head and fresh tears poured from her eyes. Patel and Hando exchanged a look.
Patel came and sat beside her. ‘You know, we’ve been asking these girls about their upbringing at Wild Meadows. But they’re not the only ones who grew up in that house, are they?’
Miss Fairchild shook her head, her eyes cast down, her lips pressed together.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hando said, ‘but I’m going to have to clear the room of everyone except Miss Fairchild.’
‘But we need to hear this,’ Alicia cried.
‘I understand,’ Hando said, meeting Alicia’s eyes. He didn’t look like the enemy anymore. ‘And you will. But we need to hear it first.’
Alicia, Norah, Meera, Zara, Bianca and Rhiannon filed out of the meeting room and back into the foyer, which was too small to contain the six of them as well as the intensity of their feelings – not to mention the questions that remained.
‘We need to bring in Scott Michaels,’ Alicia heard Hando shout to someone. ‘Dirk Winterbourne is in room four. And can you arrange for Zara to come back in later this afternoon to give a statement? Her parents too.’
‘Okay, I need more information,’ Zara said. ‘I’m Amy – and you thought I was the body under the house?’
Alicia shrugged. ‘We thought it was possible.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘You may,’ Alicia said. ‘And we will explain everything. But there’s someone who I think should be with us for this. Someone who will be very glad to see you again.’
She looked at Norah, who nodded in agreement.
THE OFFICE OF DR WARREN, PSYCHIATRIST
‘What did you do after John and your mother took Amy?’ Dr Warren asks.
‘I walked into town and waited until morning. Then I intercepted Troy on his way to school, and I told him everything. We ran all the way back to Wild Meadows. She greeted me at the door.’
‘Who?’ Dr Warren asks.
‘The woman I would never again call my mother.’
Dr Warren can barely contain his delight.
‘She seemed nervous. I knew immediately something had happened.
‘“Where is she?” I cried. “Where is she?”
‘She tried to put her hands on my shoulders, but I threw them off. Her eyes were full of tears. “Where is who?”
‘I began to scream. I screamed so loud and for so long that I must have blacked out. It was a mercy, because those few minutes of unconsciousness were the last moments I can remember when I wasn’t in pain.’
‘She pretended Amy had never existed?’ Dr Warren asks.
‘Only because I had Troy with me. To make me look crazy. But later, after he left, she told me that some ladies from the church had come for her. She said they’d taken her to a good home.’
‘And you believed that?’
‘After everything that had happened, I didn’t think my mother would have stood by while John killed my baby. But it turns out that’s exactly what she did.’
Dr Warren closes his eyes for a moment as he takes this in.
‘The reason I became a foster mother was because I was looking for a replacement for my daughter. But it was never the same. None of the girls were Amy. The trauma of it all . . . it sent me mad, I guess.’
A knock at the door.
‘Time’s up,’ comes a voice from outside. There’s a buzz, and the door opens. The guard enters to escort me back to my cell. ‘Let’s go.’
Dr Warren stands too.
‘I’ll see you in court,’ he says, and then the door clanks closed between us.
56
JESSICA
When Jessica opened her eyes, she didn’t have the luxury of the foggy, confused feeling that people in movies seemed to experience after waking up in a hospital. She knew where she was. She could feel the oxygen tube in her nose, she could smell the antibacterial soap, hear the hum of the medical equipment around her. She also knew that she’d brought it all on herself.
While her surroundings were not a surprise, the person at her bedside was. Phil. He sat on the side of the bed and brushed a strand of hair back off her face. ‘Hey.’
She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt shy, seeing her husband of fifteen years sitting there.
‘Phil . . . what are you doing here?’
‘Where else would I be? I came as soon as Alicia called. I would have been here last night if I had known.’ He smiled sadly. ‘The nurse told me you overdosed on Valium.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jessica said, because really, what else could she say? ‘You must be . . . I don’t know . . . shocked.’
He scrunched his face up, almost a grimace. ‘Honestly . . . I found a bunch of pill bottles at home a few months ago with different people’s names on them. I should have said something.’
Jessica was taken aback. She’d thought she’d hidden it so well. She was so organised, so efficient, so in control. She’d imagined that everyone – Phil included – would be blindsided to know what had been going on.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t know the extent of it, obviously. But you haven’t seemed yourself for a while.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I should have.’ He focused on the bedrail, running his fingers along it. ‘I wish I had. I just . . . I thought you’d get through it – bounce back. You have your ups and downs. My job is to be calm. I know you need that.’ He shook his head, sighed. ‘When I found the Valium, I knew I should bring it up. But you seemed stressed out, and I didn’t want to upset you. I thought that if I just stayed calm . . . I don’t know. That sounds idiotic.’ He let go of the bedrail and exhaled heavily.
‘Actually, it sounds familiar.’
Jessica felt ill. Had she unwittingly created a home environment like the one in which she’d grown up? An environment where you had to assess the lie of the land before you felt safe to speak? An environment where, after a while, you stopped speaking completely?
‘I grew up in a house where I was constantly trying to assess if it was safe to say something,’ she heard herself saying. ‘Where I held myself responsible for my foster mother’s feelings – good and bad. I know it’s too much pressure to put on a person. But that’s exactly what I did to you.’
Jessica thought back to when they’d first worked at the restaurant together. The way he always rushed ahead to clear a table for her if she was busy. The way he stood behind her when a difficult customer complained. The way he was always right there, silently supporting her. She’d been too consumed by her pain to notice how he really felt.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She started to cry. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Shh, it’s all right.’ He reached for a box of tissues and plucked a couple out. ‘It’s all right. Thank you for telling me about the house you grew up in. It makes sense now.’
He handed her the tissues and Jessica wiped her eyes and nose. ‘I can tell you more about it . . . if you want to know.’
‘I do,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘Very much.’
The sound of her sisters in the corridor drifted into the room. A moment later, Jessica heard a gasp.
‘She’s awake!’ Alicia cried. ‘Norah, she’s awake!’
Her sisters thundered to her side. Alicia was beaming but Norah’s eyes, Jessica noticed, were full of tears.
‘You scared the shit out of us,’ Alicia said.
Norah gave Jessica a light punch in the arm. ‘Idiot.’
‘Sorry,’ Jessica said.
Norah nodded, blinking back her tears. ‘You should be,’ she said gruffly. But she gave Jessica a quick kiss on the head.
‘I should have known it was only a matter of time before you two showed up,’ Phil said to them.
Alicia grinned. ‘Make that four of us.’
Jessica hitched herself up in bed. She assumed Meera would be with them, which made three. ‘Four?’ she said.
‘Meera’s just grabbing some coffees. And we brought someone else we thought you’d like to meet.’
They stepped apart dramatically to reveal Zara.
Jessica smiled, confused and a little underwhelmed. ‘I know I’ve had a drug overdose, but I remember that I’ve met Zara before.’
The three of them came further into the room. There was something odd about their expressions.
‘What’s going on?’ Jessica asked.
‘Jessica,’ Alicia said solemnly, ‘we’d like to introduce Amy.’
‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ Phil said.
He was almost at the door when Jessica said, ‘Wait, Phil. Stay.’
She continued to stare at Zara. She didn’t completely understand. But at the same time, she did.
Phil hesitated in the doorway. ‘Are you sure this isn’t family stuff?’
‘It is,’ Jessica said. ‘And you’re family.’
Phil made no further protest; he just returned to Jessica’s bedside.
Jessica looked from Zara to Norah to Alicia.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Fill me in.’
57
JESSICA
NINE MONTHS LATER . . .
When they’d found out the baby under the house was likely Miss Fairchild’s daughter, Jessica had almost felt sorry for her. They’d been unable to get total certainty around it, as both John and Miss Fairchild’s mother had long since passed away, but without any solid proof, the police had concluded that John had caused the death of baby Amy and buried her.
It had been nine months since Miss Fairchild was charged with kidnapping (even though she hadn’t actually been the one to ‘take’ Amy, she’d knowingly kept a child obtained illegally, which legally amounted to the same thing) and perverting the course of justice (for blackmailing Dirk and lying to the police). It was six months since she’d been held on remand after being caught trying to flee the country. During the time she’d been in jail, she’d reached out to Jessica several times, asking her to visit. Alicia and Norah had been adamant that Jessica shouldn’t go, but in the last month, Jessica had told them that she felt ready, and they supported her, as they always did.
Jessica could not have been better prepared for her visit, as least insofar as logistics went. She’d almost been too focused on the preparations, however, because it wasn’t until she was following the guard down a wide corridor towards the visitors’ room that she truly considered what she was doing.
If Jessica ever needed a Valium, it was now. Her anxiety was palpable. Unfortunately, now that she was in recovery, it was out of the question.
After leaving the hospital in Port Agatha, she’d been transferred to a drug rehabilitation centre in the city. With client after client coming forward to report drugs missing from their homes, it had been futile to deny it, so Jessica handed the reins of Love Your Home to Sonja and issued a statement apologising for the harm she’d caused. She would be stepping away from the day-to-day running of the business to seek help. She’d even called Debbie Montgomery-Squires to apologise personally.
Rehab had been much harder than Jessica had expected – both the detox aspect and the humility part. She’d thrown herself into it, like the good student she was, following every suggestion, completing every activity, determined to be the best and most enthusiastic at recovery. Still, even six months later, she continued to crave the feeling she got when the pill slid down her throat. The knowledge that calm was coming. Now, her therapist told her, they were shooting for a different type of calm. A less chemical type. A more reliable type. And today’s visit was part of that.
Jessica heard a buzzer, and the guard opened the door. Inside, Miss Fairchild sat at a small table.
Last night, when she’d had dinner with Norah and Alicia, they’d discussed what it might be like, seeing Miss Fairchild. Norah was curious as to whether she might have been beaten up in prison. Alicia wondered if she would have lost weight or become ill. Jessica had steeled herself for the oddness of seeing her in prison clothing. Oddly enough, the prison uniform didn’t look bad on her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which suited her, made her look younger. If it weren’t for her bitter expression, she might have looked pretty.
‘Jessica,’ she said tearfully, getting to her feet. ‘Thank you for coming. I knew you would.’
Jessica sat down in the seat provided, ignoring the other woman’s outstretched arms.
After a moment, Miss Fairchild sat too. ‘Can you believe they put me in here?’ she hissed. ‘Like a criminal?’
‘You are a criminal,’ Jessica said neutrally.
