Billy didn’t come on. He didn’t turn his head to suck in a breath or cough and splutter or gasp for air. He didn’t do anything.
I dragged him to the shore and started trying to administer CPR. I had no idea what I was doing, but I’d seen it done on television. As I tried to breathe life back into Billy, Fern stood beside me silently. When it was clear Billy wasn’t coming back, I fell onto the shore beside him and dropping my head into my hands.
All I could think was . . . Fern couldn’t go to jail. She couldn’t. It was misguided, the wrong thing to do, but she’d clearly done it to protect me. She didn’t understand the consequences, not really. I needed to protect her.
‘Billy was desperate to stay underwater longer than you, right?’ I said, after several silent seconds. ‘To beat your time?’
Fern blinked in confusion.
‘He dived into the water, Fern. He got tangled in the reeds. We thought he was holding his breath. By the time we realised he was in trouble, it was too late. That’s what you need to say when anyone asks you questions about this. Billy got tangled in the reeds and he drowned. Okay?’
Fern listened intently and agreed. Luckily, this time, she followed instructions . . . to the letter.
FERN
When I rouse from sleep, I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds, steeling myself for an onslaught to the senses. It’s been an arduous twenty-four hours. Every time I open my eyes, there’s someone different in my room, checking on the baby, or me, or bringing me food or medicine. The last time I awoke from a nap, for example, it was to quite the kerfuffle. Rose was here. She was over by the baby’s crib, speaking to one of the nurses.
‘Has she been breastfed?’ Rose had said. The kind soothing voice Rose had used during my labour had gone. She sounded angry.
‘Yes. Last night and early this morning. What is the–’
‘The problem is I am the baby’s mother, and I did not want the surrogate breastfeeding!’
‘I do apologise,’ the nurse (not Beverly) had said. ‘It wasn’t written in the notes. Let me look into this for you.’
Rose and I had discussed breastfeeding on occasion during the pregnancy, of course. Each time, Rose said how awful it was, the pressure that ‘breastfeeding Nazis’ put on new mothers, and assured me that formula was perfectly adequate in this day and age. But she’d never explicitly said she didn’t want me to breastfeed. And so, during the night, when Rose had gone home and the nurse put the baby to my breast, I hadn’t seen any reason not to give it a go.
The breastfeeding had brought on some afterbirth pains, and the nurse had been kind enough to administer some medication, which was fantastically effective. Possibly too effective, bringing on a temporary euphoria and then putting me to sleep within minutes of taking it. I’ve never been a big taker of painkillers, but after a few of these pills, I have to admit, I’m wondering why.
Now, when I open my eyes, Rose is at my bedside again, this time reading a John Grisham novel. I don’t know how long I stare at her before she turns to look at me and frowns. She looks like she’s going to speak but she is interrupted by a young blonde nurse with a high ponytail who appears in the doorway.
‘Time for a feed,’ the nurse says brightly and Rose immediately puts down her book and starts rummaging in her tote.
‘Come on in,’ she says to the nurse. ‘Ah, here they are! I brought these bottles from home. We’re going to be formula feeding.’
Something about the way Rose says it sounds funny. Formula feeding. I laugh out loud. It is, perhaps, the medication. Rose and the nurse both frown at me for a moment before turning their attention to the baby.
‘How is the little one doing?’ the nurse asks. ‘Does she have a name yet?’
‘Not yet,’ I call, but they ignore me.
‘I was thinking about Alice,’ Rose says.
‘Very pretty,’ the nurse says. ‘And how’s Mum doing?’
‘Fine,’ Rose says. ‘She’s good.’
Neither of them even look at me. It’s as if, having now birthed the baby, I’ve been absorbed into the environment, disappeared . . . The idea makes me laugh again. This time they look at each other, but not at me.
‘I’ll go make up the formula, shall I?’ the nurse says, and Rose nods. When the nurse has left, Rose comes to my side.
‘Did you ask Wally for money?’
She blinks. ‘How do you know about that?’
I laugh. ‘Wally told me.’
‘You’ve seen Wally?’
‘Yes. Yesterday afternoon. At the library.’
In her crib, the baby begins to fuss. The sound of it causes my breasts to leak through my nightie. But I’ve barely had a chance to look at her before Rose picks her up and puts her to her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ she says carefully. ‘But . . . it makes sense, doesn’t it? He is the baby’s father. And he has plenty of money. Why shouldn’t he support her?’
‘Why would he?’ I ask. ‘He doesn’t know she is his daughter. Besides, do you really need the money? Surely Owen makes enough money to support her?’
The baby’s fuss becomes a cry. I want to take her from Rose, but she walks away from me, to the window.
‘What is it?’ I ask when she remains silent. ‘Rose?’
‘I wasn’t going to tell you until after I took Alice home.’ Rose’s back is still to me as she looks out the window. ‘But . . . as it turns out, Owen wasn’t coping so well with the idea of raising another man’s child. After giving it a lot of thought, he’s decided he can’t do it. He’s staying in London indefinitely.’
I stare at her back.
Rose turns around. ‘I know how important it is to you that this baby is raised in a two-parent family. But it wasn’t meant to be.’ She comes to the side of my bed and puts a hand over mine. ‘Look, you’ve had a big twenty-four hours. What you need right now is sleep. I’ll get the nurse to get you some more painkillers. Everything will make sense later.’
I have my doubts about that. My baby might be raised by a sister I’m not sure I trust. With no husband and no money. At the same time, I can’t bear to think about any of this anymore. So when the nurse returns a few minutes later with the formula and some more medication for me, I swallow it down and go back to sleep.
I sleep. Late-afternoon, Rose heads home for a shower and to change her clothes and I am left alone with the baby, who is tucked up close next to my bed, wrapped snugly in her pink blanket. It’s astonishing how easy it is to while away the time just staring at her, marvelling at her tiny eyelashes and squashed up chin and wisps of black hair falling out the sides of her knitted hat. I must do it for hours before my eye is drawn to a woman standing just outside my door, talking to one of my nurses.
‘Her sister has advised that now would be a good time,’ the woman is saying. She appears to be in her late thirties or early forties, and she smiles when she catches my eye. ‘Ah, Fern,’ she says, taking a few steps into my room. ‘You’re awake.’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Naomi Davison. I’m an adoption counsellor. I’ve been speaking with your sister, Rose, and I wondered if now would be an okay time to have a chat with you? I promise I won’t take long.’
The nurse remains beside the woman. I get the feeling that if I give some indication that I’m not interested, she will be whisked away. But I am curious.
‘All right.’
She drags a chair up to the bed, and glances briefly into the baby’s crib before sitting and pulling some paperwork out of a leather satchel. ‘As I said, I’m an adoption counsellor. As you may or may not know, it’s mandatory in Victoria for birth mothers considering adoption to have counselling prior to relinquishing their parental rights.’
Naomi places a stack of documents and pamphlets on the tray table in front of me.
‘My services are free of charge to both yourself and the intended adoptive parents. My role today is to ensure that you understand all your option
s, not just adoption. Okay?’
‘Okay?’ I mimic her tone.
‘I understand that you have been considering intra-family adoption,’ she says.
My blank face must convey confusion because she goes on. ‘Intra-family adoption is the adoption of a child by a step-parent or relative.’
She looks up. I hesitate, then at a loss, nod.
‘Okay. Well, we can talk about that in a moment, but first I want to talk to you about your other options.’
It’s the first I have heard about other options. But Naomi informs me I have several. Placing the baby in temporary foster care. Shared care. Open adoption – where the child is aware of their adoption and knows who his or her birth parents are (this has been found to be the most beneficial to the child) – and closed adoption, where the child doesn’t know its true parentage. She talks about the permanence of adoption; how once a child has been adopted, the adoptive parent will continue to be the child’s legal guardian even in the event of a marriage breakdown or divorce. There is also the option of raising the baby myself. It’s a lot of information. A lot of options I didn’t know I had.
‘If you decide to proceed with intra-family adoption, you will be required to sign papers relinquishing your parental rights. After signing these papers, you will have thirty days to submit a signed revocation, should you change your mind. After this time, you will be unable to change your mind. In order to make the adoption official, we require the signature of both biological parents except in such circumstance where the father isn’t known, which I understand is the case here?’
This time she doesn’t wait for a nod, and I’m glad.
‘As a registered adoption counsellor, I can witness you signing consent documents. Your sister has already signed this one. If you feel ready, you can sign it today. If not, you can take as long as you need, and then give me a call, and I will come back.’
I look at the document with Rose’s signature at the bottom, and my mind swims.
The problem, I realise, is that there are two Roses. The Rose I rely on, and the other Rose. The Rose who hated Mum. The Rose who goes behind my back to speak to Wally. The Rose who would possibly betray me to get the baby she wants so badly.
I don’t know which Rose I’m getting. I don’t know which Rose my baby would get.
‘If it’s all right with you,’ I say, ‘I’d like you to come back.’
JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE
Everyone accepted that Billy had accidentally drowned, even Daniel. The river was full of reeds and he had been trying to beat Fern’s time for the whole week. The coroner recorded a verdict of ‘Death by misadventure’. Which meant our plan worked.
Fern got away with murder.
But lately I’m wondering if I did the wrong thing, covering for her. Maybe by not allowing her to face the consequences of her actions, I’ve created a monster. There’s no doubt that Fern can be dangerous when she’s angry. And now that there is a baby involved, I’m terrified that she will pay the price for my mistake.
FERN
When my three-hourly medications are due, the nurse makes her rounds and I opt to take the full dose. Oblivion is preferable to all the thoughts swirling in my mind. Owen is not going to raise the baby with Rose. Rose wants Wally to give her money. Wally thinks there is something wrong with Rose. Mum is dead, and Rose was the last person to see her. It’s too much for my brain to handle. I can see, all at once, the appeal of drugs. Understand the calling of an addict.
By the time Rose returns to the hospital, I am nearly asleep. I keep my eyes closed, but I feel her in the room. I’m not sure if her presence is a comfort or a threat. I am still musing on this when I hear a distinct American accent coming from just outside the doorway.
‘I’m here to see Fern.’
My eyes spring open . . . I’d have thought I was having some sort of drug-induced fantasy – if it weren’t for the speed at which Rose jumps out of her chair and runs to the door.
‘I wish you’d called ahead, Rocco.’ Rose says. She walks into the hallway, pulling the door to my room nearly all the way closed behind her. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not a good time.’
I try to sit up, but I feel dizzy and have to lie back down.
‘I don’t need you to tell me when an appropriate time to visit Fern is,’ Wally says. His voice lacks its usual warmth. In fact, he sounds downright angry.
‘Actually, you do. Because she’s asleep.’
‘Fine. I’ll wait.’
There’s a short pause. ‘Look, I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t you and I go somewhere and we can–’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
There’s a short silence and then Rose closes the door fully. When she speaks again, I have to strain to hear.
‘We need to talk, Rocco.’
‘Fine. Let’s talk about how Fern says she doesn’t need any money–’
‘Of course she won’t tell you that. She’s ashamed. She’s ashamed that she can’t even raise her own baby!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s adopting the baby out to me. I’m going to raise it.’
‘What?’
I hear the wheels of a cart on the linoleum floors and then Rose says, ‘No, thanks,’ and the sound recedes.
‘Why is Fern giving her baby to you? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘Is it?’ I can hear a thread of strain in Rose’s voice. ‘Come on. We both know Fern isn’t capable of looking after a child–’
‘Of course she is. I think Fern would make a terrific mother.’
More silence. I feel the painkillers swirl in my bloodstream which, while not unpleasant, is quite distracting.
‘There are things you don’t know, Rocco.’ Rose sighs. ‘Fern’s dangerous.’
Wally scoffs. ‘If you’re talking about what happened by the river when you were twelve, Fern told me about that.’
There is a long silence. When Rose finally speaks, she sounds uncertain. ‘Fern told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘She told you she drowned a boy in the river?’
‘Yes. But I don’t believe it.’
‘It is hard to believe,’ Rose agrees. ‘But it’s true. I was there. I am the only person on earth who knows the truth about what happened.’
But that isn’t true. There was someone else at the river that night, someone other than her, me and Billy.
The night before he died, Billy and I had wandered down to the river together to skim stones. We were breaking the rules. We weren’t supposed to do that. Mum and Daniel told us we weren’t allowed to leave the camp at night, but when Billy asked, I threw caution to the wind. There was something about Billy that made me want to do things like that. Something about his company that made him difficult to resist.
He took me by surprise when he kissed me. One minute we were skimming stones and the next our teeth were knocking together. He said ‘Ow’ and I laughed. Then he kissed me again. It was better that time. Still strange, but better.
We were on our third kiss when Rose stepped out of the bushes, startling us both.
‘Fern?’ she’d said.
She’d been so quiet after that. It was almost as though she was annoyed with me. Her strange mood permeated the camp the next day. That was what happened when Rose got into one of her moods – you could feel it in your bones. By evening, Mum and Daniel were so fed up they sent us down to the river. ‘Go swim,’ Mum said to Rose. ‘Shake it off.’
I think Mum wanted to help, but I hated it when Mum told Rose to shake it off. It only ever made her madder.
Billy and I followed Rose down to the river, at a distance. But once she was there, she just stood on the bank, sulking. After a few minutes, Billy strode past her and into the water – he didn’t know how Rose could get when she was in one of these moods. I wanted one last swim with Billy, but I felt like I shouldn’t, so I stood off to the side, watching them. Billy had spent that whole
week trying to hold his breath underwater longer than me and this was his last chance, he said. But it was clear he was never going to do it. It was funny. I could have watched him try all night.
After an hour or so, Rose called me over to her. I was taken aback. She’d been giving me the silent treatment all day. Usually she kept it up for two or three days before she broke it.
‘Help him,’ she whispered.
‘Help him what?’
‘Help him beat your time.’
I’ll admit, I wasn’t too keen on the idea.
‘Go on,’ Rose urged. ‘He’ll never do it otherwise. And boys love to win!’
Rose was so animated. She looked practically happy. There was something appealing about a happy Rose, especially when she’d been in such a bad mood. Letting Billy win would be a small price to pay, I supposed. So I agreed.
The next time Billy broke through the surface of the water, I told him my tricks. ‘Breathe slowly and calmly for at least two minutes. Then exhale everything in your lungs and take the deepest breath you possibly can. Then once you’re underwater, relax and let your thoughts drift away.’
Billy listened carefully before attempting it. And he did quite well, for a first timer. He was still no match for me, though. And when oxygen bubbled to the surface, I felt pleased. Until Rose said: ‘Help him.’
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Help. Him. Win.’
‘You mean . . .?’
She nodded.
We stared at each other. I was sure I’d misunderstood. ‘But–’
‘It’s the only way he’ll beat you. Hold him down.’
And so, I did. I put a hand on his back, and another on the back of his head. ‘Only forty seconds,’ I said to Rose. ‘Check your watch.’
Rose did. Billy started to struggle but in karate I’d learned to grip well. I’d spent months developing forearm and finger strength, so he had no chance of getting free. But he was twisting and kicking. I felt very uncertain. ‘How long has it been–’
The Good Sister Page 21