Her neutrality was important, she’d learned. She’d spent the past six months learning about narcissists. She’d read books and listened to podcasts and had therapy, all designed to help her understand the abuse she’d suffered and acquire the skills which would allow her to take back control of her own life. (Phil had read the books and listened to the podcasts too. ‘It’s like a sick, tragic book club,’ he’d said cheerfully, as he arranged a cheese and fruit platter.)

  Miss Fairchild looked betrayed. ‘For goodness’ sake. Not you too.’

  ‘I’m just stating facts.’

  Miss Fairchild leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. Jessica was familiar with this stance. It was designed to intimidate her. It was so interesting watching it happen, knowing what it all meant.

  ‘I’ve. Been. Maligned,’ Miss Fairchild said.

  Jessica mimicked her stance, leaning forward. Showing she wasn’t intimidated. ‘So you didn’t illegally procure a child, and then send her away when she didn’t meet your needs?’

  Now Miss Fairchild groaned. ‘Listen to yourself. Procure! Meet my needs! Dramatising everything. You’re as bad as the media.’

  The media had been swift in condemning Miss Fairchild. Rightly so. To someone as image-obsessed as she was, this was bound to drive her crazy.

  ‘Scott was the one who brought her to me. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t legal?’

  Scott, it seemed from Miss Fairchild’s emails, was public enemy number one in her eyes. After Zara had named him as the one to facilitate her adoption, the police had brought him in. Once he’d realised he was going to jail, he hadn’t even tried to protect the identities of those he’d worked with. He admitted to everything, but even so, he would be going away, and for a lot longer than Miss Fairchild.

  ‘I’m just sorry that we weren’t able to charge her with anything regarding her treatment of you three girls,’ Patel had told them just last week. The police had kept in touch over the past few months, and the sisters discovered the police weren’t the enemies they’d perceived them to be. ‘Unfortunately, with the house gone, and a lack of supportive evidence, it was very difficult to build a compelling case.’

  In the end, it didn’t really matter. Miss Fairchild was paying the price regardless.

  ‘So you thought it was legal to return a child you’d planned to adopt and then pretend she never existed?’ Jessica said to her.

  Miss Fairchild rolled her eyes. ‘Why are you even here if you’re just going along with the popular narrative that I’m a monster?’

  Jessica wasn’t surprised that her former foster mother wasn’t accepting any responsibility for her actions. Still, there was something shocking about seeing how readily she could deflect guilt and paint herself as the victim.

  ‘I’m here because I want to understand something,’ Jessica told her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know you had a daughter named Amy when you were a teenager. Your stepfather killed her, as far as we know. Ten years later, you fostered me. Why? Was I meant to be a replacement for Amy?’

  Miss Fairchild’s expression changed. She seemed thoughtful.

  ‘Not a replacement, no,’ she said. ‘No one could ever replace her. Maybe it was my attempt to make it up to her? When I returned to Wild Meadows after my mother and John died and heard that there was a little girl who needed me, it felt like a sign. A second chance.’ Miss Fairchild’s expression was so pure Jessica had to force herself to keep her guard up. ‘I’ll never forget the moment I saw you. The connection I felt. I loved you in an instant. And you loved me back!’

  ‘I did,’ Jessica acknowledged.

  ‘But then you started loving other people. Friends at school. Norah and Alicia.’

  ‘You brought all of them into my life. What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘You were supposed to love me!’ Miss Fairchild cried, so loudly that the guard stepped forward and told her to keep her voice down. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. More miserable. ‘Norah didn’t love me. Alicia didn’t love me. The respite babies didn’t love me. Even my own mother found someone else to love. The only person who ever loved me and only me was Amy. My daughter.

  ‘It was Scott who suggested that instead of fostering I adopt a baby. He told me that for a rather large fee, he could fast-track an adoption with a healthy baby who would attach easily. He could even find one who looked like me, he said. I went along with it in good faith. I didn’t know the details.’

  Jessica stared at her. ‘I assume you know the details now?’

  Miss Fairchild just rolled her eyes.

  ‘Scott took kids from foster care and sold them,’ Jessica said. Miss Fairchild knew this, of course, but Jessica wanted to spell it out, so she had nowhere to hide. ‘He told the parents, usually vulnerable young women or parents from a non-English-speaking background, that they had lost custody permanently and would never see their kids again.’

  Miss Fairchild shook her head, her lips pursed. ‘He took kids from parents who were ill-equipped to look after their babies. I would have given Amy a better life. But she decided she loved you girls more than me. It was so demoralising, Jessica.’

  ‘So you gave her away?’

  ‘I had no choice! You told me you were going to report me to the authorities. I called Scott. He came immediately and took Amy and placed her with another family – the family who raised her. I’m told they were good people. So it all worked out in the end.’

  Jessica stared at her. ‘It didn’t work out. Zara was stolen from her birth parents. Sold to you and then to another family. She has been displaced and a set of parents lost their child!’

  Miss Fairchild shrugged. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘You were supposed to be an adult!’ Jessica cried, ‘and do the right thing! You were supposed to provide security, consistency and love! If you weren’t capable of that, you had no business having children in your care.’

  Miss Fairchild started crying noisily. But they weren’t tears of realisation for what she’d done, Jessica realised; they were tears of self-pity.

  Jessica had had enough.

  When she stood to leave, Miss Fairchild’s tears dried in an instant, replaced by icy coldness. Jessica was no stranger to Miss Fairchild’s changing moods, but even so, the speed with which the transformation occurred was chilling.

  ‘Jessica,’ she said slowly, her gaze settling on her stomach. ‘Are you . . .?’

  Jessica paused. ‘Yes. I’m pregnant. Five months along.’

  One surprising upside of rehab was how it had brought her closer to Phil. As she was only allowed visitors on a Sunday, and she didn’t have the use of her phone, they found an old-fashioned way of connecting: writing letters. In his letters, Phil told her all the things he’d wanted to say to her through their marriage. That he found it hard to connect with her when she wouldn’t ever stop moving. That he knew she wasn’t okay all those times she insisted she was. That he yearned to have the kind of bond with her that she had with her sisters. In response, Jessica told him things she’d never talked about before – describing her childhood, her addiction, how she was haunted by her innermost thoughts. She explained that her sisters had been her safe place, her family, growing up. She apologised for not widening that circle to include him when they married. And she promised that things would be different when she came home.

  By the time she had finished with rehab, they’d said everything they needed to say. They were able to start over. A month later, Jessica was pregnant. And while the prospect of having a baby still terrified her in many ways, she found her terror was balanced by the moments of joy she and Phil experienced. Such as when they’d learned the week before that they were having a baby boy.

  Miss Fairchild was still taking it in. It annoyed Jessica that she still felt the yearning. Longing for a reaction to her news from the woman who’d been a mother figure to her. Maybe she would always feel it. But unlike in the past, her reaction wasn’t going to control Jessica. Because she knew now that Miss Fairchild hadn’t been a mother figure. She had been an abuser. And Jessica wasn’t going to be manipulated by her anymore.

  ‘Were you going to tell me?’ Miss Fairchild demanded.

  Jessica turned and walked to the door, gesturing to the guard that she was ready to leave. ‘No,’ she said, ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Why would you?’ Miss Fairchild blustered. ‘Surely after everything I deserve to –’

  The door buzzed and Jessica pulled it open. Miss Fairchild was still talking as Jessica walked out. The click of the door shutting securely behind her felt like a new beginning. One she was finally ready for.

  58

  NORAH

  A YEAR LATER . . .

  Norah walked into the pub. It smelled warm and yeasty and the air felt shot through with deep-fryer oil. Larry sat at the bar, nursing half a pint. Behind the bar stood Ishir. Apart from the two of them, the place was empty.

  ‘I’m back!’ Norah announced.

  Larry looked over briefly, then immediately went back to his beer. But Ishir beamed. His moustache rose up at each corner, making him look like a circus ringmaster. Norah had grown to adore the delighted way he greeted her arrival.

  ‘Where are the dogs?’

  ‘Already out the back,’ she said. ‘They couldn’t wait to see Banjo.’

  ‘He missed them,’ Ishir said. ‘It would really be much better if they – and you – were here all the time.’

  As he’d warned her, Ishir was terrible at playing it cool. As Larry still hadn’t offered to buy the pub, he’d been stuck in Port Agatha, and he’d been begging her to move there too. Norah was considering it. With her job she could work from anywhere, and the dogs adored it here. She’d also found a kickboxing class in the area that she loved, which really helped channel her difficult emotions. There were a lot of reasons in favour of moving – not the least of which was Ishir.

  In the past, she wouldn’t have considered living so far away from Alicia and Jessica, but since her stint in jail she’d realised that it wasn’t impossible. She’d spent eleven days in prison as a result of her assault on Kevin. It could have been a lot longer had Anna not represented her and had the women’s prison not been over capacity. It wasn’t so bad, on the whole. Not dissimilar to Wild Meadows, really, except she hadn’t been locked under the stairs and didn’t have to worry about something happening to her sisters. Jessica would have loved the schedule. Prescribed times for personal hygiene, phone calls and ‘leisure’. The food wasn’t great, but it was only eleven days. Norah had emerged with a clean slate. Four months after leaving prison, it was still clean. And the best part of the whole experience? Thanks to Anna and a female judge, Kevin got four months for extortion, and would never work around children again.

  After that, leaving Melbourne didn’t seem so unthinkable. It was only a couple of hours’ drive. And, despite everything that had happened in Port Agatha, she had to admit that there was something about the town that felt like . . . home.

  But she hadn’t made any decisions yet.

  Ishir poured Larry a fresh pint and placed it on the bar in front of him. Then he lifted the hinge on the counter and came around the bar to kiss Norah. She loved the way his moustache tickled her top lip.

  ‘Is that your phone,’ he said against her lips, ‘or are you just happy to see me?’

  Norah fished her phone out of her pocket.

  It was Meera.

  ‘I have news,’ she said. ‘We found Zara’s parents. Her biological parents.’

  ‘No!’ Norah cried.

  ‘Here’s what we know. They were newlyweds and had just emigrated from Russia to Australia when Zara’s mother discovered she was pregnant. They were in their early twenties, and confessed they didn’t know much about caring for a baby. Zara was taken into care after a neighbour heard her crying. Apparently they’d left her home alone while they took a night class, learning English. They were told if they took a parenting course she would be returned to them, but they never saw her again.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘They returned to Russia a decade or so later. They’re having a FaceTime with Zara later today.’

  ‘I hope Scott gets extradited to Russia to face them,’ Norah said. ‘I bet they’d love a few minutes in a cell with him.’

  Meera laughed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  They ended the call, and Norah walked back to the bar to see that Ishir had pulled them a couple of beers.

  ‘Larry, can you hold the fort for a few minutes?’ he asked.

  Larry continued staring at the television as if Ishir hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Awesome, thanks,’ Ishir said. Then he turned to Norah. ‘Come on. Let’s go play with the dogs.’

  And so they did.

  This, Norah realised, was home.

  59

  ALICIA

  ‘What do you think your grandmother would say if she could see you now?’

  Eliza did that thing where she cocked her head and waited. Alicia hated it when she did that thing. She hated Eliza’s stupid office with its calming blue paint and soft furnishings. She hated her neat grey hair and pressed beige slacks. She hated the way Eliza wouldn’t let her deflect her feelings with sarcasm. She hated the fact that, in nearly every session over the past year, she’d cried.

  ‘I think,’ she started, ‘Grammy would say she was proud.’

  And there she went, blubbering like an idiot.

  Eliza didn’t even need to push the tissues towards her. These days, Alicia just grabbed the box on her way in the door and held it in her lap. She took one now and dabbed at her eyes.

  Eliza smiled her calming smile. ‘I think you’re right.’

  Eliza charged Alicia $185 for making her cry, and then, like the sadist she was, Alicia made an appointment for the following week. For all of the suffering Eliza caused her, Alicia had to admit there was something addictive about the sessions. Each time she left the psychologist’s office, Alicia felt lighter.

  Back home, Alicia heard the hum of life as soon as she put her key in the door. Meera was in the kitchen making a salad. Aaron was sitting at the counter, demolishing Meera’s beautifully prepared charcuterie board as if it were McDonald’s.

  ‘How’d it go?’ Meera asked, shaking a jar of dressing.

  ‘Awful.’ Alicia kissed her. ‘I talked about myself and my problems for fifty minutes. Now I feel dreadfully sorry for myself.’

  ‘Serves you right,’ Aaron said, ‘for forcing foster kids to go to counselling.’

  ‘Touché. Look, I think it might be . . . useful. I will say I feel much better about certain things now.’

  ‘What things?’ Aaron said, loading what must have been seven dollars’ worth of prosciutto on top of a cracker.

  ‘None of your business,’ she said, sitting on the stool beside him. ‘And leave some of that for me. Where’s Theo?’

  ‘Napping,’ Meera said, then she lifted her head slightly at the sound of movement. ‘Was napping.’

  ‘I awake!’ the little boy called. ‘Awon?’

  Theo was now talking so much it was hard to imagine he had ever been silent. His favourite and most oft-used word was Aaron – or Awon, in toddler-speak.

  Aaron sighed, standing. ‘I guess I have to do everything around here,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

  Alicia snorted. Nothing brought her more joy than Aaron giving them cheek. A child comfortable enough to give their carer cheek is a secure child. At least, she hoped that was the case, now that they’d officially adopted him. She, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as secure. She was already feeling that low tug of dread when she thought about the fact that Aaron was leaving to go to university in the new year. He had come into his own in the last six months.

  ‘Sit down and finish eating your inheritance,’ Meera told him. ‘I’ll get Theo.’

  Aaron sat back down.

  It was during the car trip back to Melbourne from Port Agatha that Alicia had managed to verbalise to Meera what she’d been unable to stop thinking about.

  ‘Meera, I’m wondering if you would consider representing me if I petitioned to legally adopt Theo and Aaron?’

  Meera, of course, knew exactly how she would go about it, and outlined the process in detail. It wasn’t until they were nearly back home that she said, ‘Your application would be stronger if you adopted as part of a couple.’

  And so it was decided. Given their connections, and the fact that they had both undertaken all the required checks and training, the process was relatively straightforward. Theo had struggled with the adjustment, but having Aaron with him had done wonders for his integration into their family.

  Being thrust into parenthood of a teen and a toddler had also done wonders for Alicia. To her great surprise, she loved being part of a family. Loved the banter in the kitchen as they made dinner. Loved telling Aaron to clean his room. Loved moaning about Theo drawing on the walls again. Loved that moment at the end of the day when Theo was asleep and Aaron was in his room, and she and Meera curled up on the couch and heaved a silent, satisfied sigh at having made it through another day. Alicia remembered Grammy releasing that sigh when she returned to the living room after putting her to bed. This was what parenthood was meant to be, she realised. Nothing at all like what she’d experienced at Wild Meadows.

  ‘Aaron!’ Alicia cried, as Aaron picked up an entire cube of quince paste. ‘What the –’

  ‘Dare me to eat it?’

  ‘No!’ she said. Then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Meera wasn’t around. ‘Actually, go on.’

  He didn’t hesitate, just crammed the entire thing in his mouth. Almost immediately he started making gagging faces. Alicia began to laugh uncontrollably.

  As he ran to the rubbish bin to spit it out, Alicia felt that unfamiliar feeling again – the one that bowled her over at least once a day, and always at the strangest times. When Theo hit his head and held his arms out to her for comfort. When Aaron had a girl over and asked if they could hang out in his room. When they all ate dinner in front of the TV. When Aaron did something dumb like eat an entire cube of quince paste. The feeling was gratitude mixed with a little horror. The feeling was: We could have missed this.

 

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