Darling Girls, page 6
Turning towards the sound, Norah saw a large girl pointing a menacing finger at Jessica, who was sitting on a swing. The large girl was Sandra. Sandra was the youngest child of a dairy farmer and had six older brothers; she was as tall as Norah, with wide shoulders and hips, and as strong as one of her father’s cows.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ Jessica was stammering.
Norah moved closer.
‘Not sorry enough.’ Thrusting her hand forward, the girl knocked Jessica backwards off the swing onto the tanbark. A couple of onlookers shrieked, high on the scandal of it.
When Sandra advanced on Jessica, now sprawled on the ground, Norah sprang into action. It wasn’t that she was a fan of Jessica. Truth be told, she found her annoying and whiny. But a strange code existed in foster care. While you could torment your foster siblings all you wanted at home, out in the real world, you were a pack.
Norah easily knocked Sandra off balance with barely a push. Once the girl was on the ground, Norah kneeled heavily on her side.
‘Get off me!’ Sandra cried.
‘What’s going on?’ Norah asked Jessica, who was crab-crawling away from Sandra. When she stood, tanbark hung from her like ornaments on a tree.
‘I said get off me!’ Sandra shouted, trying to wriggle free. ‘What’s your problem?’
‘That’s what I was about to ask you,’ Norah said.
Sandra pointed at Jessica. ‘She was supposed to do my homework, but she didn’t. Now I have a detention.’
‘I was going to do it last night,’ Jessica said weakly. ‘But I . . . I . . .’
She drifted off. Norah understood. Miss Fairchild had been in a volatile mood and had tasked Jessica with extra cleaning duties right up until bedtime.
‘I tried to do it in class this morning,’ Jessica continued, ‘but Mr Walker caught me.’
‘How much are you paying her?’ Norah asked Sandra, who was still pinned beneath Norah’s knees.
When Sandra looked baffled, Norah looked at Jessica, who was scuffing her feet. Her cheeks were pink. ‘Jessica?’
‘She’s not paying me,’ the girl muttered.
Norah frowned. ‘Well, what’s she doing for you in exchange?’
‘Nothing.’
Norah stared at her. ‘Then why are you doing her homework?’
Jessica shrugged. ‘Because she asked me to.’
‘Will you get off me?’ Sandra spat.
Norah responded by adding more pressure. ‘From now on, it’s two dollars per worksheet,’ Norah said to Sandra. ‘Ninety per cent or above, or you get your money back.’
It took a minute for Sandra to catch her breath. ‘I’m not paying –’
‘We’ll also take payment in food. Homework in exchange for lunch. Your mark will vary in direct correlation to the quality of the lunch.’
When Sandra didn’t respond, Norah leaned forward to put more weight on her knees.
‘Fine!’ Sandra gasped.
‘Good.’
The bell went then, so Norah stood up, releasing Sandra. The girl’s face contorted as she struggled to her feet. ‘Who the fuck are you anyway?’ she said to Norah.
‘I’m Jessica’s sister,’ Norah said. ‘The name’s Norah. With an “h”.’
By the end of the day, Norah and Jessica already had two additional customers for their homework racket.
‘Why did you tell Sandra I was your sister?’ Jessica asked that afternoon as they trudged home from school.
Norah shrugged. ‘Announcing you’re a foster child rarely leads to anything good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know. Strange sad looks from parents. Kids asking what happened to your parents. Teachers who want you to stay late after school to help them organise the sports shed.’ Norah drew air quotes around the words ‘organise the sports shed’.
Jessica’s face became horrified. ‘Oh.’
‘I know you’re not my actual sister, obviously,’ Norah said after a moment’s thought. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’
When Jessica replied, her voice was small. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I liked it.’
Norah didn’t know what to say to that, and clearly neither did Jessica, because they walked the rest of the way home in silence.
*
‘Why hasn’t the laundry been put away?’ Miss Fairchild demanded.
Jessica and Norah had been having a nice afternoon until that point. As they did their chores, they’d actually chatted a little. Norah wasn’t a huge one for chatting, but she had managed to turn the conversation to dogs, and before she knew it she was enjoying herself. Until Miss Fairchild had arrived home from running errands and found them taking the washing off the clothes line together.
‘How sweet,’ she’d said, in a voice that made it clear she meant the opposite. ‘You two are friends now.’
Ever since then she’d been in a mood. Norah could have sworn it was brought on by the sight of Jessica and Norah getting along. Norah had finished folding the laundry a minute ago and had ducked to the bathroom when she heard Miss Fairchild hollering. By the time she got to the kitchen Miss Fairchild was glaring at Jessica. ‘Well? Why hasn’t it been put away?’
Their foster mother was wearing a lolly-pink dress with puffed sleeves and her lipstick was a similar shade; she resembled a children’s party entertainer, which made her thunderous expression even more terrifying.
‘Laundry is Norah’s job,’ Jessica protested. She shot Norah an apologetic look, but Norah didn’t mind. It was accurate, after all. Besides, she could handle Miss Fairchild far better than Jessica could.
‘I was just using the bathroom,’ Norah said. ‘I’ll finish now.’
She headed towards the piles of laundry, but Miss Fairchild’s arm shot out, stopping her. Her gaze remained on Jessica. ‘What did you say?’
An alarm bell went off inside Norah. Danger – but not for her. Miss Fairchild looked incensed.
The other girl was rigid with fear. ‘I said laundry is . . .’ But she couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears welled in her eyes.
‘You selfish, selfish girl. Only ever doing things if they are your job.’
This was spectacularly inaccurate, given that Jessica spent the majority of her waking hours seeking out jobs she could do to win Miss Fairchild’s favour, but Norah had already learned there was no point in arguing with her. Her wrath, when it came, was like a runaway train – once it got going there was no way to stop it.
Jessica’s chin trembled. It wasn’t the first time Norah had watched as other kids were shouted at and punished. But in those instances, the kid typically hated their foster parent. Jessica loved Miss Fairchild. She was stupidly, hopelessly loyal. It was like watching a dog being kicked. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered.
‘You will be.’
Miss Fairchild marched to the sink. A moment later she returned, clutching a fresh bar of soap. Norah watched in horror as she plunged it into Jessica’s mouth.
‘This is what we do to people who talk back!’
The soap was so large Jessica’s eyes bulged as her lips strained around it. There seemed no possible way it would fit, but Miss Fairchild kept pushing until the entire bar was in Jessica’s mouth. Then she covered Jessica’s mouth with her hand.
Jessica’s eyes became wide and panicked. Bubbles formed around the edge of her lips, leaking between Miss Fairchild’s fingers.
‘I think . . . I think she’s choking,’ Norah said. But her uncertainty about the situation kept her rooted to the spot. Did Jessica want her to intervene? Or would that make things worse?
Miss Fairchild ignored her.
Jessica gagged. Tears leaked from her eyes. Bubbles came out her nose. Miss Fairchild kept her hand over the girl’s mouth, staring into Jessica’s rolling, terrified eyes.
Finally Norah couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Stop it!’ she cried, stepping forward and slapping Miss Fairchild’s hand away from Jessica’s mouth. Instantly, the soap shot from Jessica’s mouth and skidded across the floor. Jessica ran to the sink and vomited. Her body heaved violently as she gripped the edge of the counter.
Norah looked at Miss Fairchild, who just stood there breathing heavily, as if recovering from a terrible shock.
‘Put the laundry away,’ she said finally, and turned and walked out of the room.
There was no retribution for Norah for intervening – at least, not that day. When it came to vengeance, Miss Fairchild preferred to play the long game.
Scott returned for his first visit when Norah had been at Wild Meadows for four months. As usual, he smelled like the communal microwave at the police station, and the sweat patches under his arms dipped nearly to his waist. Norah found herself unable to look at him, focusing instead on the blue plastic clipboard on his lap. He’d scribbled Norah’s name at the top, spelling it without an ‘h’. When she pointed this out, he didn’t bother to correct it.
‘How are things, Norah?’ he asked.
Miss Fairchild wasn’t in the room when they had their catch-up – that was one of the rules. Scott, like the social workers before him, always told Norah she should speak freely, and tell him if anything about her new home made her uncomfortable. Her previous two social workers had said the same thing, word for word, leading Norah to deduce they were all reciting from the same brochure.
‘Which things?’ she asked.
‘Any things?’ He looked up from his clipboard, already frustrated. ‘All of the things?’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
Scott sighed. ‘Do we have to do this every time?’
Norah sighed back. ‘If you keep asking me about things without specifying what you mean, then yes, we do.’
‘Are you settling in?’ he said slowly, as if Norah were the dimwit.
‘I guess,’ she replied equally slowly.
‘School’s okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Do you have any concerns that I can help you to resolve?’
That one was easy. Norah was completely confident that Scott was incapable of resolving any concern she might have. ‘No.’
‘Right then.’ Scott ticked a couple of boxes on his form. ‘I’ll make a note that the placement is working out well.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Norah said.
But Scott was already on his way to the door, like he was in a big hurry. Fine by Norah. Except a few seconds later she heard him talking to Miss Fairchild in the hallway.
‘I’ve got another one, if you’re interested,’ she heard Scott say. ‘About the same age as these two. A respite case. Her grandmother, who’s been raising the girl, has been taken to hospital.’
‘A respite case?’
‘Short-term. A few weeks or months. It’s her first time in foster care and she’s had a fairly stable upbringing, no trauma that we know of, so she shouldn’t give you any trouble.’
Miss Fairchild didn’t respond for a couple of seconds.
‘You’d prefer a traumatised child?’ Scott asked in disbelief.
‘Of course not.’ She sounded irritated at the suggestion. ‘I just want to help the kids who need it the most, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ Scott said, ‘respite money is quite good. But I can give it to someone else if you’re not interested . . .’
‘I’ll take her,’ Miss Fairchild said. Money, of course, trumped everything.
But when Alicia arrived a few days later, Norah started to wonder if Miss Fairchild did want a traumatised child. Because this time, there was no honeymoon period of adjustment, no demented smile or declarations that she was safe at Wild Meadows. Rather, it seemed like Miss Fairchild hated Alicia on sight.
10
ALICIA
By midnight, Alicia was wishing she’d got up and left Jessica’s house when Norah had. She was dog-tired, weary with emotion, aware that they were making the two-hour drive from Melbourne to Port Agatha early the next morning. And still her sister droned on. Jessica had prepared a list of possible questions, each one written in a different colour, and she had been pacing the floor for hours, running through ‘parameters’ around what they should say to ‘protect’ themselves.
‘But if we don’t tell the cops everything,’ Alicia said, ‘how will they figure out who the bones belong to?’
Jessica threw up her hands. ‘I don’t know. But with Norah’s criminal record, I’m not prepared to take that chance. What if we become suspects? What if she does?’
Jessica was right to be cautious. Alicia was grateful for her caution, because it allowed her to think beyond it, safe in the knowledge that Jessica wouldn’t let them do anything stupid. But the fact remained, there was more to what happened to them when they were children than even they knew. Alicia didn’t want to do anything to put them in danger, but what if this was their one chance to get to the bottom of it?
‘Are you really ready to go back there, Al?’ Jessica asked.
‘What do you think?’ Alicia said. In the twenty-five years since she’d left Port Agatha, Alicia hadn’t gone anywhere near the place. She could barely bring herself to say its name aloud.
‘I’m off to bed,’ Phil said, poking his head in.
‘Good night,’ Jessica said, without looking at him.
‘Why don’t you go to bed with your husband, Jess?’ Alicia said. ‘I’m calling it a night.’
‘I think we should bring a lawyer with us,’ Jessica said.
Alicia sighed. Phil, who’d been waiting in the doorway hopefully, slunk away.
‘Jess, no,’ Alicia said. ‘How will it look if we show up with a lawyer?’
‘Smart,’ Jessica said. ‘It will look smart.’
‘Or guilty! Listen, we haven’t been accused of anything. We’re assisting. Showing up with a lawyer is going to give off the wrong vibe.’
Jessica paused. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
It made Alicia nervous when Jessica accepted her counsel. After all, Alicia wasn’t known for her wise, well-thought-out decisions. She was the one who threw caution to the wind, who took risks, who acted first and thought of the consequences later. An easy thing to do when you had so little regard for your own mortality. But Alicia had a very high regard for her sisters’ mortality, not to mention their good health and happiness.
‘Let’s just play it by ear,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to answer anything we don’t want to. At the first hint of trouble, we’ll get a lawyer.’
‘Okay,’ Jessica said. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’ Alicia slung her handbag over her shoulder and walked towards the door. ‘So, you’ll pick me up in the morning?’
‘Eight o’clock,’ Jessica said.
Alicia had just started the car when her phone began to ring. The number came up as unknown, which, combined with the hour, meant it was work.
‘Alicia Connelly,’ she said.
‘You owe me ten bucks.’
The voice sounded like it belonged to a child. Not a young child; more of an adolescent. It took her a moment to place him.
‘It’s Aaron,’ he said, registering her pause. ‘Trish’s foster son.’
Alicia kicked herself. She knew that to the kids she worked with being remembered was significant. At the same time, she noted the hint of disdain, as if she were an idiot not to have realised, and it helped to ease her guilt.
‘I know who you are, mate,’ she said, matching his tone.
‘Sorry for calling so late,’ he said.
She started to drive. It wasn’t the first time she’d received a non-urgent call from a foster kid late at night, but it was the first time anyone had apologised for it. It seemed there was something about those late hours that made kids think of her. Alicia considered it a compliment. ‘Late? I was about to go out clubbing.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course not.’ She laughed.
Aaron didn’t join in and Alicia could just about see him rolling his eyes.
‘Is everything okay? How’s Theo?’
‘He’s doing much better. We spent the night snuggling on the couch and watching movies.’
‘You did?’ Alicia cried. That was so much better than she’d dared hope; she’d have been happy just to hear that he’d come out from under the table.
Aaron snorted. ‘No! But he’s eating as long as I handfeed him. And he let me put him to bed, though he wouldn’t have a bath or change his clothes and I’m pretty sure he’d shat himself.’
Alicia felt her mood lifting considerably, which under the circumstances was unexpected.
‘Did you actually put him to bed?’ she said, not wanting to be caught out twice.
‘Someone had to. Clearly you and Trish weren’t getting very far.’ This time he didn’t pause for a response. ‘Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that I’ve been searching for information about university scholarships and you mentioned that you might know of some funding?’
‘I certainly do. I can email you some links, if you like.’ Alicia indicated right and made the turn. ‘If anything looks interesting to you, I’d be happy to help you fill out an application.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Cool,’ Alicia said. She gave him a minute to see if there was anything else. When he didn’t speak, she asked: ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’
‘Okay.’ Then, on a whim, she said, ‘Hey, Aaron . . . you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I wondered . . . what happened to your parents?’
It wasn’t a question she typically asked – partly because, if the kid was one of her cases, she already knew, and in those instances where she spent time with a kid who wasn’t one of her cases, she tended to avoid it as the answer was usually loaded. She wasn’t sure what made her ask now. When Aaron paused, she worried that she shouldn’t have.
‘My mum has never been capable of looking after me,’ he said finally. ‘She has an intellectual disability, and some physical disabilities too. No one knows who my dad is. My gran raised me until three years ago, when she went into a nursing home.’
