A Perfect Likeness

by Renee Kira

  The doctor looks from me, to my deeply gashed arm, and then to Liam.

  ‘Yes, I was trying to clean up some broken glass and I slipped over,’ I lie.

  The doctor knows I’m lying. She nods, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. There is a quick glance to the nurse that’s beside her. He disappears out of the room.

  Why are they so suspicious? It’s not like I came in with bullet wounds.

  The hospital at Waringal has a good reputation. It’s oddly calm in here. The walls are a faded green. Disinfectant stings my nose. There are doctors in Cape Cross. It would have been easier to go there than drive the forty minutes to Waringal. But Liam insisted.

  ‘You’ll wait two hours, pay too much and get a messy job with a bad scar,’ he had said.

  He was right, at least about the wait time. Since the old hospital had been closed, the local doctors had been under pressure. And while any treatment in a hospital was paid for by the government, a doctor in a clinic would give me a large bill. I can’t speak to the quality of their stitches. I’ve never needed them before.

  The triage nurse at the hospital sent me into a private room. Within fifteen minutes, a doctor had come in to stitch up my arm. While I told them I had broken it on glass, I had lied and said it happened at my home.

  ‘It’s shallow,’ says the doctor. ‘You’ll have a scar, but it will fade.’

  I nod.

  With a swish of the white privacy curtain, the nurse comes back into the room. He smiles a lot. I don’t think I’d be smiling so much if I worked in a hospital.

  The triage nurse looks straight at Liam, who is leaning against the wall. ‘Sir, could I borrow you for five minutes?’

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘What for?’

  He smiles even wider. ‘I need a Medicare form filled out for Isobel. I was hoping you could help since she’s out of action right now.’

  Liam stands straight, lifting his weight from the wall. ‘I’m just a friend.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

  He looks confused, but follows him out of the room.

  ‘Sorry this is taking so long,’ the doctor apologises. ‘There’s glass inside the wound.’ She pulls a piece out of my arm with tweezers and drops it into a plastic specimen container. ‘I think that’s the last one.’

  I grit my teeth and wait for her to stitch. My eyes turn towards the green of the wall, I didn’t want to watch.

  The doctor doesn’t start. Instead, she speaks. ‘So, he’s a friend?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you in any danger?’ Her tone is blunt.

  ‘What kind of danger? From Liam?’ I’m surprised. My arm is cradled in one of her hands. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. It’s our policy to check when people come in with injuries like yours. If you are, there’s people here who can help.’

  I nod. ‘It’s fine. It really was just an accident. My Mum’s been through the same thing plenty of times. It’s fine. It’s your duty to ask.’

  ‘Your Mum’s in here a lot?’ Concern grips her face. I was doing a good job of raising red flags today.

  I nod. ‘She has brittle bone disease. So, if she’s not here for her latest fracture, she’s over the road in the specialist rooms seeing a doctor.’

  ‘Right. Sorry to hear that. I probably know her if she’s here that often.’ She looks across at my chart. ‘You have the same surname?’

  I nod. The doctor smiles. ‘Is your mother Jennifer Franco?’

  ‘Yep.’

  The doctor shifts her gaze to my arm and stars stitching. I look away.

  ‘Unusual surname. She stayed for a while a couple of years ago. I remember her well.’

  I nod. She has a good memory. ‘That would have been when she was first diagnosed.’

  ‘And what about you? I see nothing on your chart, so I’m guessing you came up negative?’

  ‘Negative to what?’

  There’s a strange pause. 'Brittle bone is hereditary. It’s standard practise for you to be tested.’

  ‘I never have been. Mum never mentioned anything. I didn’t know it was genetic.’

  The doctor takes a deep breath. ‘Your Mum would have got a letter and a referral to give you. Sometimes family members don’t pass them on… it sounds strange to us but sometimes they feel guilty for passing on a disease. Not that it's something anyone controls. It’s a common reaction.’

  My Mum wasn’t like that. She was a straightforward woman, and if I could have an illness, she would never keep it from me. There had to be another explanation.

  ‘Could she have a type that isn’t passed on?’

  The doctor shakes her head. ‘Sometimes parents want to protect their children. Even when it makes little sense.’

  The doctor put her tools down on the small table to one side of her. ‘Before you go, I can get a referral letter for you. You don’t have to get tested if you don’t want to. You’ll see a genetic counsellor first. But now you’ll have the option.’

  I thank her. If it’s true, I don’t understand why my mother wouldn’t tell me.

  ‘I’m finished, but take a few minutes if you need to. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have the referral ready to go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She gives a small smile and leaves the room. I go to stand straight away, but feel a pull in my stomach. Waiting a few minutes is a good idea. After those stitches and that revelation, I feel a little giddy.

  After ten minutes, I go back to the triage nurse at reception. Like the doctor had promised me, the referral was there. Liam sits on an olive-green plastic chair, hands clasped, staring at his feet. I call out to get his attention.

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry, Iz. They wouldn’t let me back in.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I grin. ‘They were making sure you weren’t my abusive boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s ‘cause you don’t go around beating up on women.’

  As he walks through the automatic doors, I see him grimace. I don’t think he appreciates my humour.

  I shrug it off. Liam holds open the passenger door and I sit down in his car.

  Liam drives a hatchback, the same model as my car but a few years older. It was surprising. When we were younger, I always thought he would have ended up as a wealthy doctor or something. Now he is in his thirties and working in a bar.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll help you with the seat belt,’ he calls as he turns around the back of the car to get in the driver’s side.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I manage with my good arm.

  Liam sits down in the driver’s seat and lets out a huff. ‘You really haven’t changed.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘You don’t let anyone help you.’ He turns the key in the ignition and the engine tumbles into life.

  ‘You have,’ I say.

  ‘What? Changed?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You used to be so serious. You were all about your grades and what uni you were going to.’

  He looks over his shoulder as he reverses. ‘There was a lot of pressure on us. Our cohort, that is. What were we, class of 2004?’

  ‘Yep. What kind of pressure?’

  ‘Pressure to be successful. And a thin definition of what that meant. A university degree out of school. A corporate job by twenty-one. Then a house by twenty-five.’

  I nod. ’That’s kind of what I did,’ I say. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look tired.

  ‘Do you think it was the right thing? I know you have a house, but do you think things could be different?’ He merges the car on to the highway that leads led back to Cape Cross.

  ‘If I didn’t go to university?’

  ‘If you didn’t do what people expected you to. What your parents expected.’ His eyes stay on the road.

  ‘My parents are laid back. It was my grandfather that was the problem.’

  ‘And if he wasn’t in your life, what would you have done?’
r />   I sighed. ‘I’m not sure. Back at school, I liked psychology. Or teaching. Who knows? I might have changed my mind once I got to uni and ended up in law. Maybe the same things would have happened, anyway.’

  It sounds like he had been thinking about this a lot. I’d had a couple of friends like that over the years. They worked hard for the ten years after school, then had some kind of early midlife crisis and packed everything in. Quit their jobs, lived in a van.

  ‘You don’t have any regrets?’ He asks, still not looking at me.

  I hesitate. ‘I would have had children. Right away, in my early twenties.’

  ‘Really?’ He turns his gaze from the road and his eyes met mine for a second. ‘I would have never picked that, Iz.’

  ‘Me and kids? Am I really not that maternal?’ I smile.

  ‘No. You having kids that early. You always seemed happy to be working. Is that why you came back? You want a family?’

  ‘No. I mean, yes. There was a rough plan around that. But it’s not going to work out.’

  ‘Is this the boyfriend you left in Melbourne?’

  ‘You know about him?’

  He smirks. ‘Yep.’

  Either side of the highway is a lush green. Farmhouses dot the countryside. It’s a nice day. For a moment, I just look outwards. But then something inside me changes, like a switch being flicked. I’m tired of talking around things. I’m exhausted from avoiding the truth.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t what?’ His eyes glance to mine.

  ‘I can’t have kids. Premature ovarian failure. Basically, it means I used up all of my eggs before I was twenty-five. A woman in her late forties has a better shot at getting knocked up than I do.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Iz.’ He shakes his head, looking at the highway in front of him. ‘I had no idea.’

  I shrug. ‘It’s okay.’

  For five minutes, no conversation passes between us. Turning to the window, I go back to the watching the scenery. There’s a field of cows. A few sheep. It’s not great land for growing food, but the livestock do well.

  He doesn’t push for anything else. I remember something I had always liked about him; he was easy to talk to. I could never trust my mother with a secret. By the time I got to high school, I’d learnt to hold back. Liam was the first person I could talk to. How had I forgotten that?

  ‘We tried, Ben and me. It didn’t happen. Sometimes it takes years to find out why someone can’t conceive. Often they don’t find why. It only took six weeks for me to get a diagnosis.’

  He nods, listening.

  ‘I had IVF. The first transfer worked, but I lost the pregnancy early on. After two more rounds, I gave up.’

  Something about telling him made me feel free. I used to feel strong for keeping my secrets to myself. But some secrets have been keeping me.

  After a minute, he speaks. ‘There are other ways to have children in your life.’

  The specialist had told me about other options. There was egg donation. There was adoption. Whenever I think about it, I get overwhelmed.

  ‘Maybe one day. I’m not ready for that.’

  Liam flicks on his indicator and leaves the highway. We are almost back to Cape Cross.

  ‘You want me to take you home?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod.

  21

  Isobel

  Liam wants to come inside, but I usher him away. He’s already gone when I notice my front door is unlocked and open. Again. My heart flips in my chest. Has someone been inside? Is someone still in there?

  Since I found my door open and a note on my bed, I’ve become hypervigilant. I’ve had a second deadlock installed as well as a door chain which secures from the inside. There are cameras I can check from my phone, sensor lights and a monitored alarm.

  With my arm that isn’t bandaged, I push the door open a few more inches. There’s no one in sight.

  ‘Hello?’ I call.

  At first, silence. Then I hear the clamour of someone moving around on the timber floors upstairs. I take a backwards step, off the concrete front porch and on to the garden bed. Someone is in there.

  Liam is gone, his car already around the corner. Should I call him? He would only be a few streets away. In my handbag, I reach my hand in and feel the sleek plastic cover of my phone. I’m still walking backwards, heading to the street. Pressing my fingerprint on the screen, the phone unlocks.

  Two weeks ago, I would have called the police. I don’t trust them anymore. Liam can be here faster. He’s the safer option. I dial his number and count the rings as I wait for him to answer.

  ‘Isobel?’

  It’s not Liam, the voice isn’t coming from my phone. Someone is calling me from inside the house. I let the phone drop to my side, still ringing.

  ‘Isobel is that you?’

  I look up and my mother is coming down the stairs, her pace slow and uneven. There is a slight hunch to her and a film of sweat on her face.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Isobel! I’ve been looking for you all morning? Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Why are you here, Mum? God, I was about to call the police.’

  With a click on the red button I cut the call to Liam. When I get closer, I see she doesn’t look good. There are dark circles under her eyes.

  ‘Mum, what’s going on? Come on, let’s go upstairs.’

  She turns and takes the stairs slowly, one at a time.

  ‘Go sit down, Mum. I’ll make you a tea.’

  What is she doing here? I left a copy of the new key at their house. It was a backup, in case I got locked out or lost my bag somewhere. It wasn’t an invitation to come in. Given both her and Dad hate coming here, I never thought I needed to state that explicitly.

  Has she been in here before? If she wasn’t already so agitated, I’d demand an answer.

  Instead, I direct to her to the kitchen table and flick the kettle on. I pull out two cups from an overhead cupboard, and place a teabag in each while the water boils.

  ‘What happened to your arm?’ she says.

  ‘I cut in on some glass. An accident. I needed a few stitches; I’ve been at the hospital.’

  Twelve stitches, but I wasn’t going to volunteer that.

  ‘You went all the way to Waringal?’ she raises her eyebrows.

  I nod. ‘I didn’t want to spend half the day in a waiting room. It’s easier to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Why didn’t you answer the phone?’

  My bag is on the kitchen bench. I fish my phone out and look at the screen. Four missed calls from Mum. Two from Dad. And now one from Liam who has called me back already. ‘Sorry, I leave it on silent a lot.’

  ‘Well, don’t.’ The bluntness of her voice shocks me. ‘Not at the moment. Not with everything that’s going on.’

  The kettle lets out a gurgle as it boils and flicks itself off. I pour hot water into the two cups, then take out the tea bags.

  ‘That’s not how you make tea, Isobel,’ she says. ‘You’re meant to let the tea bag sit. You’re not meant to move it like that.’

  I ignore her. Dad’s the only one who takes on board criticism like that. I place the tea in front of her and sit on the chair opposite here.

  ‘What do you mean by everything that’s going on?’ I ask.

  She looks in the cup. ‘You forgot milk.’

  ‘Mum, what do you mean? Is that why you are here? Has something happened to Dad?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Haven’t you considered your own safety?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone in this town was murdered. No one has any clue who did it. That means there’s still a murderer at large.’

  ‘Mum, whoever killed Veronica had a problem with her. It was personal.’ I take a sip of my tea. She’s right, it’s better with milk.

  ‘What, and you don’t think you’ve pissed people off? You’re a divorce lawyer. There would be hundreds of people out there with a grudge against you.’r />
  I roll my eyes. ‘You watch too many legal dramas on television. Statistically, Veronica’s killer was known to her. It could have been a lover. Maybe a client. Who knows?’

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her tea.

  ‘Is Dad alright?’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘And what about the police? Have they questioned him again?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. Have they spoken to you?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not related… I thought there was a break-in here. I think I left the door unlocked.’ I grimaced. She was going to tell me off for that.

  ‘When?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When did you think someone broke in?’

  ‘Um, Monday? Last week. It wasn’t a break in though. I don’t think I pulled the door shut properly.’ There’s no way I’m telling her about the note.

  ‘Why did you think that?’

  ‘The front door was unlocked… Mum, were you here then too?’

  ‘No!’ she says. She looks over to the kitchen.

  ‘Why are you here, Mum?’

  ‘You didn’t answer the phone. Are you upset I came inside?’

  ‘I’m not upset but you scared the shit out of me. I thought someone had broken in.’

  ‘I was worried. I thought you might be here. I just… I’ve just been overreacting to things lately. It’s not nice to have your husband be a murder suspect.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s a murder suspect. I think he drives the wrong type of car.’

  ‘So, is your arm alright?’ She points at the bandage that stretches from my wrist to my elbow.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum. Just a silly accident.’ She seems worried. More than she should be. I think about the brittle bone diagnosis and the conversation with the doctor and wonder again why she would keep it from me. There is enough drama at the moment. I decide it’s going to be easier if I just go get tested and don’t say anything.

  ‘Where’s the glass? You want some help cleaning up?’ She stands, picks up her empty cup and places it on the bench next to the sink.

  ‘Nope. It was somewhere else. I was with a friend.’ I stand up as well.

  ‘Which friend?’

  ‘What’s with the inquisition today, Mum?’