by Cassie Hamer
Never ate at a café? Never exercised in their gym gear? Lisa clearly didn’t understand these women but she wanted to like them and she wanted them to like her. After all, between Ava and Jemima she would be spending the next nine years of her life at St John’s.
Heather leant forward and cut in above the chatter. ‘So, Lisa, the girls are dying to hear about the party.’
‘Oh, yes, right … well …’ she stammered.
‘Oh, don’t be shy, Lisa,’ Heather cajoled. ‘Maybe they can help?’
Lisa took in the six sets of eyes all trained on her. ‘All right. Well, it’s quite simple really. My daughter had a party on the weekend, and a little girl turned up who, it seems, hadn’t actually been invited.’
‘No, no, no. That’s only the half of it.’ Heather wrung her hands. ‘Tell them about the note.’
Reluctantly, Lisa summarised the contents of the letter, emphasising the fact that Ellie’s mum sounded very much like a mother who adored her child but had found herself in a difficult situation.
‘See!’ said Heather to the rest of the group.
‘Ugh! That’s dreadful,’ said the brown-haired lady.
‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Kimberly frowned into her coffee before raising her gaze to meet Lisa’s. ‘You need to talk us through it again. Everything you know. One step at a time. Tell me like I’m a five-year-old.’
‘Kimberly’s a lawyer at one of the top firms in Sydney,’ explained Heather. ‘Part-time, because of her two daughters—Xanthe in kindy. Madison in Year Five.’
‘Oh, yes. Ava loves Xanthe. She was there yesterday, right? I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat. I was a little … er … busy,’ said Lisa apologetically.
‘My husband did the drop-off,’ said Kimberly. ‘He said it was a madhouse but he didn’t say anything about a gatecrasher. That’s appalling.’
Lisa flinched. ‘I wouldn’t call her …’ She began again. ‘I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you.’ She took a weary sip of the coffee which, despite its exotic provenance, didn’t even taste very nice to her admittedly-naïve-but-usually-receptive tastebuds.
‘Just one more time,’ said Heather, folding her arms on the table and leaning forward eagerly. ‘Step by step.’
She looked at the expectant faces around her. These women were her best shot. Maybe one of them knew this Missy Jones?
Resolved that the exercisers were motivated more by charity than voyeurism, Lisa went through her disastrous day minute by minute, from the accidental sleep-in to the dropped cake, the piñata debacle, the visit to Ellie’s house and, finally, their decision to keep Ellie at home, and keep the authorities out of it, at least for the moment.
‘Something happened to my sister and I … when we were teenagers.’ The women leant in. ‘We were orphaned.’ A collective intake of breath. Hands to chests. ‘And we had to go into care for a little while, and it was … well, it wasn’t too bad for us but we heard some awful stories from the other kids, about foster care. I can’t let that happen to Ellie.’
Five out of the six heads nodded with understanding. Only the lawyer—Kimberly was it?—was shaking hers in disapproval.
‘You really should call the police,’ she admonished. ‘I know I would if it was my family under threat.’
‘Under threat?’ enquired Lisa.
‘This woman invaded your family! Lord knows what else she knows about you—or what she’ll do next.’
Suddenly, all the ponytails were nodding gravely and the gin crate beneath Lisa started to feel unsteady. Maybe they were right? Maybe her family was under threat? Her precious family who meant the world to her. Perhaps Missy would prove to be some kind of insidious and destabilising presence in their lives. How had she not realised that everything she cherished was at stake? A stranger had invaded their lives, via a child, no less! Certainly, it seemed no real harm had been done. Not yet, unless of course you counted poor darling Ellie. But who knew what could happen next? The women were right. She needed to do something. Quickly.
‘You need to help me,’ she said weakly, sweat erupting from her forehead. Her fingers were clammy. The gin box creaked and swayed.
‘But how?’ enquired Heather.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Lisa.
There had to be something, anything! Who else could have known about the party? A thought leapt into her head and Lisa put the coffee down before she wobbled a little to stand from the crate.
‘Excuse me, ladies, but I’ve just thought of something I need to do.’ Lisa grabbed her handbag and set off down the street without waiting for their goodbyes.
‘But what about your banana bread?’ called one of them after her.
‘You eat it!’ she called back.
But she knew from the cackles behind her, they wouldn’t.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lisa pulled down her cap. She didn’t usually wear hats as her neck was a bit short and they made her look like a mushroom. But for this particular mission, she did not want to be recognised by anyone and if she needed to look like a vegetable to ensure her anonymity, that’s what she would do.
‘Can I help you?’
Lisa jumped at the long face standing over her. She’d been in this store at least twenty times before and no one had ever approached to offer assistance.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she stammered. ‘Just browsing, thanks.’
‘Let me know if I can help.’
You can tell me who Ellie Jones is, thought Lisa as the man in the blue polo shirt sauntered away to frighten some other poor unsuspecting customer. This place was renowned for its lack of customer service. Lisa only shopped there because of the array of home-office supplies that promised order and organisation. Plus, it was a cheap source of craft supplies for the girls and an excellent rainy-day time-waster. The girls could spend hours trawling its aisles of stickers, textas and paper. It also had the added bonus of offering a printing service for photos and invitations.
Lisa clutched the hurried list she’d made in the car after the coffee at Speakeasy. She was supposed to be reconciling bank statements for Suzie the seamstress, one of her sweetest clients, but her mind was too full of what the school mums had said about Ellie’s mother.
A woman capable of abandoning her own child might yet be capable of much, much, more.
Lisa had to find her.
Always methodical, she’d started with a list of all the people who’d known about Ava’s party. There was, of course, all the children from Ava’s class. How was she going to check with all thirty-two? Make each person produce their invitation? They’d probably chucked them into the recycling by now. Then again, maybe Missy had worked at the school? As secure as Principal Valentic made it out to be, there had to be any number of comings and goings.
She wrote it out in large letters—SCHOOL—and circled it. The options out of this one word were endless and overwhelming. St John’s alone was a whole world of possibilities. She shook her head. What was that saying about eating an elephant? You did it one bite at a time. School was like eating the entire elephant torso in one hit. There had to be a smaller chunk. A tail, for instance.
Who else knew about the party?
She bit the pencil. There was that party entertainer she’d emailed, Magic Paul, who’d come highly recommended from a mother’s group friend. But Magic Paul and his rabbit Booboo were already booked for the day for another child’s party. Could he be the link?
Hmmm … unlikely. I never even gave him our address or the time.
She scratched Magic Paul off the list, along with the butcher who supplied the hotdogs and the balloon lady who, while she worked in the party shop, was a cranky woman with very little time for children which made her choice of occupation very odd indeed. Once, when Ava had gone particularly feral among the fairy dresses and refused to take off the wings unless she got a chocolate, the woman had sighed at Lisa and declared that working in a party shop was a better contraceptive than any pill you
could buy.
No, Missy Jones wasn’t masquerading as the party shop lady.
It had to be someone who’d seen the invitation and knew exactly the time and place of the party.
STATIONERY SHOP.
Over that one, she paused.
The stationery shop. Her brain twanged. It was a possibility. Yes, a definite possibility. After all, they’d not only printed the invitations there but they also regularly printed her family photos. Lisa was a conscientious printer of family photos and collator of albums. Where was the romance in gathering around a computer screen to look through old memories? And what happened if someone stole your computer? Or you got a new one? Or the computer died? The concept of relying on digital devices for the preservation of one’s life memories was riddled with potential disasters and risks that Lisa was not prepared to take.
Anyway, the print shop was a possibility. Had her mania for printing put her family under threat? Did Ellie’s mother work there? Had she spied the invitations and formed her plan around them? With a flicker of hope in her chest, Lisa had turned the key in the ignition and high-tailed it to the shops.
Now, here she was, wandering through the aisles, not exactly sure who or what she was looking for, but confident she would know it when she saw it.
After half an hour of perusing staplers and leafing through empty exercise books, Lisa had narrowed her search down to two suspects. The first was a young woman stacking shelves in the Office Supplies aisle. Deeply tanned with platinum blonde hair, she looked nothing like Ellie, but then again Ava and Jemima were little clones of Scott with their blonde hair and button noses. There was no biological law that said little girls had to look like their mums. The shelf-stacker was a possibility. Lisa sidled up to her and cleared her throat.
‘Um … excuse me. I’m looking for … um … I’m looking for …’ Lisa looked around in desperation. She was the queen of pre-planned conversation. How could she not have planned this one?
‘Yes?’ The woman cocked her head. Actually, she was more girl than woman, Lisa could see now. There was a stud in the top of her ear, so tiny it could have been mistaken for a blackhead, and on her neck a dragon tattoo breathed fire beyond the collar of her blue polo.
‘Um … I’m looking for …’ Lisa spotted a sign for computers. ‘A mouse pad! Yes, a mouse pad. Desperately need one for my … you know … mouse, before it gets all scratched and um … un-mousy. They’re supposed to roll around all smoothly and easily, you know, scamper about, I suppose. Anyway, my husband had a big clear-out last year and threw out our mouse pad, and I was saying to him this morning I must go to the shop and get a new one … And he said, “Yes, before the desk gets all scratched and”—’
Lisa was aware she was babbling but she couldn’t stop herself. It was what she did when she was nervous.
The girl yawned.
‘Well, if you could just show me the mouse pads that would be great.’ Lisa clasped her clammy hands together.
‘Your computer must be pretty ancient.’ The girl started walking down the aisle. ‘Don’t get many people asking for mouse pads. But if we have them, they’ll be here.’ She gestured to a wall of computer accessories and squinted, running her eye over the shelves. ‘Here you go.’ She reached up on tip-toes and retrieved a mouse pad from the top shelf.
‘Oh, thank you.’ Lisa clutched it to her chest. ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘No problem.’ The woman started to walk away. She was walking away and Lisa hadn’t had a chance to ask her anything!
‘Wait!’ she shouted and the shop assistant turned. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you but I really did want to thank you again. My husband is very particular about his computer. You know, the children are always getting onto it and using the mouse, and rolling it around roughly, and well, you know how it is with children.’
The woman stared at her blankly.
‘Do you happen to have children?’ asked Lisa in what she hoped was a casual voice but suspected actually sounded rather high-pitched and shrill.
‘I’m nineteen,’ the woman said in a bored voice and started walking again. Nineteen! Oh dear. Lisa had always had a poor radar when it came to guessing people’s ages and it was seemingly getting worse. This girl couldn’t be Ellie’s mum.
But she might know who was.
‘Wait! Please!’ said Lisa in a raised voice.
The girl stopped again and scowled in the way teenagers did when an adult was causing them maximum annoyance. Did they really have to breathe the same air as such morons?
‘What about your colleagues? They might understand. That lady on the cash register, for instance. Does she have children?’ Lisa had spotted her on the way in. Her colouring was similar to Ellie’s—pale skin, dark hair.
‘I dunno. Ask her.’ And then, the dragon-tattoo girl was gone.
Lisa was trembling. This detective business was hard. Not to mention stressful. She trudged over to the office furniture area and slumped into one of the chairs, which swivelled unexpectedly and caused her to wobble violently. She caught hold of a desk to steady herself, and waited for the dizziness to pass.
This was a nightmare. This was not her. Lisa Wheeldon didn’t go around in disguise, snooping into other people’s lives and chatting up unsuspecting shop assistants.
Damn this Missy Jones!
Maybe she hadn’t meant any harm, but she was already turning Lisa into someone she didn’t want to be. This was what the school mums had meant. A person could still cause harm, even if they didn’t mean to. Even if you didn’t quite know who they were!
Lisa lay her head down on the desk, enjoying the dark and quiet cave she had created with her forearms. She was tired. Oh so tired. Exhausted. She’d barely slept a wink last night. Instead, her mind had endlessly replayed the events of the tumultuous party. An utter disaster from start to finish that she couldn’t help but feel was mostly her fault.
Lisa yawned. It was quite pleasant here, surrounded by folders and files and so many products designed to keep life ordered and organised. Such a relief from the chaos! She would take just a moment to have a brief rest before resuming her mission. Just a short break. Very brief …
‘Excuse me, ma’am.’
There was a tap on her shoulder and Lisa’s head flew up off the desk. Where was she? What time was it? What day?
‘Ma’am, are you all right?’ The question came from a police officer, one of two standing before her. Both women. A short, older one, and a taller but younger-looking one. Grave-faced and resolute.
‘Yes, yes I’m fine … I’m sorry. I just put my head down for a minute and then … and then I was asleep. I don’t know what happened,’ Lisa spluttered.
‘Ma’am, we’ve had a complaint about you,’ said the short, older one, clearly the boss of the pair.
‘A complaint? About me?’
‘The store phoned us. You’ve been asleep here for nearly an hour.’
Lisa checked her watch. Nearly 11 am! ‘Oh, goodness. I’ve got to go.’ Scott had clients at twelve, which meant she needed to get back to Ellie and Jems. Lisa leapt up and wobbled on her feet as the blood rushed to her head.
The younger one put her hand out. ‘Have you been drinking? Or taken something?’
‘No, no, of course not! I mean, I had a coffee after school drop-off, but that’s it. Nothing else, I promise.’
‘Could you please remove your hat and sunglasses.’
Lisa meekly obeyed.
‘What’s your name?’ The shorter of the two policewomen took out a notebook.
‘Lisa Wheeldon. W-H-E-E-L-D-O-N.’
The police officer wrote it down and snapped the notebook shut. ‘So, Ms Wheeldon—’
‘It’s Mrs, actually,’ Lisa interrupted.
‘All right, Mrs Wheeldon,’ said the police officer, emphasising the Mrs in a way that showed Lisa she wasn’t used to being interrupted. ‘What are you doing here then? The shop assistant said you were going on about a mouse or something
.’
‘Oh, yes! I’m so sorry,’ she said in her most conciliatory tone. ‘I really was just looking for a mouse pad, then I sat down, and I fell asleep. That’s the honest truth. I’ve had a crazy couple of days,’ she sighed. ‘I think it all just caught up with me.’
‘Everything all right at home?’ The older officer raised an eyebrow.
An image of the note from Ellie’s mother jumped into Lisa’s mind.
Please do not call the police.
‘Yes,’ she said in a bright tone. ‘Just life with two little girls. A husband who insists on having mouse pads. You know how it is.’
The officers exchanged glances. ‘Mrs Wheeldon, is there something you’re not telling us? If there’s a problem at home, there are ways we can help. Put you in touch with domestic violence services, for instance. Or we can talk to your husband, if you think it might help,’ said the older of the pair.
‘Oh god, no. Please. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Lisa’s heart hammered. ‘Really, it’s nothing. I’m fine. My husband’s the loveliest man. He’d never hurt a fly. He’s a podiatrist.’
‘Mrs Wheeldon, I’ve been in this job long enough to know that it takes all types. Even podiatrists.’
‘No, honestly. My husband is the kindest. He watches YouTube video tutorials on French-braiding so he can do our daughters’ hair! He gives me flowers every Friday. He adores us. You’re really barking up the wrong tree.’
The policewoman nodded. ‘All right then, Mrs Wheeldon. If you’re certain we can’t help, then you need to move along.’
‘Yes, of course I will. Thank you!’
But I haven’t ruled out all my suspects yet! The cashier!
The police officer nodded approvingly. Then, Lisa had a brainwave. ‘But I just need to buy a roll of that sticky book-covering stuff. My daughter’s just started school and—’
‘You mean contact paper?’
‘Yes. That’s it!’
‘Aisle two.’ The police officer gave her a tight smile. ‘I have two children myself.’
‘Right, of course. You know all about it then.’ Lisa kept up the chit-chat as the officer led her directly to the right spot, and she was still at her elbow as it came time to pay. Lisa made sure she got in the queue for the lady cashier, the one she’d spotted earlier. Perhaps there’d be some clue. A photo at the cash register. A wedding ring. Anything to hint as to a connection with Ellie.