London must be treating him well.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I ask.
‘Rose called me. She does that when she gets herself into trouble.’
‘And you came all the way from London?’
He looks confused. ‘London? No, I came from Brunswick.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘When did you get back from London?’
‘I haven’t been in London, Fern.’
‘Of course you have. You’ve been living there for the past year.’
Now he gives me a meaningful look. ‘I was going to ask what you’re doing in here, but clearly you are mad.’ He chuckles. ‘Why’d you think I was in London?’
‘You haven’t been living in London?’
‘No. Why would . . . wait. Did Rose tell you this?’
‘Yes. She said you have been working on a project over there. She went over to visit you last year.’
He laughs, but it is one of those nervous laughs. ‘Fern, for the last year I’ve been living on the other side of town. A few months back, I actually came and visited you a couple of times at the library. I didn’t want to go to your flat as I thought that might get you in trouble with Rose. When you didn’t get back to me, I assumed Rose had turned you against me and I gave up.’
‘I remember a mystery visitor coming to the library. That was you?’
He nods. It’s too strange. Owen glances over his shoulder as if afraid Rose is going to burst in. I also feel afraid of that.
‘What did Rose say when she called you?’
‘She said you’d had a baby,’ he says, perching on the side of the bed. ‘And that it was your sincerest wish that she and I raise it together. My instinct was to stay away from her madness, but as it involved you, I had to come and see what was going on.’
‘But why would Rose say you were in London?’
He sighs. ‘Why does Rose do anything? Because of how it reflects on her.’
‘What do you mean?’
He exhales and runs a hand through his new stylish hair. ‘I left her. Things hadn’t been good between us for years, Fern. She was so changeable – happy one minute, enraged the next. I couldn’t live like that. I suggested counselling, but she wasn’t interested. It was all my fault. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore.’
‘So you moved to Brunswick?’
He nods. ‘I can’t believe she told you I moved to London. But, then again, I can. She always has to own the narrative. She could never admit that someone left her.’
I take a minute to digest this. ‘What do you think is wrong with her, Owen?’
‘I’ve spent a lot of this year in therapy trying to work that out. And I have to say, she possesses all the classic traits of a narcissist. Possibly even borderline personality disorder.’
‘What kind of traits?’
‘Her mind games. One minute she was sweet and kind, the next she was ridiculing me in front of our friends. If I became upset with her, she said I was too sensitive, it was all just a joke. If I gave an opinion that differed to hers, she didn’t speak to me for days. And her sense of grandiosity! She spent so much money. More than we had. She was forever quitting her job – or getting fired, I honestly don’t know which – but it never curbed her spending. I don’t think she’s held a job for longer than a year the whole time I’ve known her. At first, I thought she had bad luck, but then it just kept happening. I stopped asking her about it, because she would get furious if I brought it up.’
I think of the times she’s talked about going to work this past year. And I think about the number of times I’ve seen her in work clothes. They don’t match.
‘She’s not well, Fernie. You can’t give her your baby.’
‘I know.’
We sit for a moment in silence. I realise I have a lump in my throat. Owen’s face is more sombre than I’ve ever seen it. He reaches forward and puts his hand on mine. It’s warm and strong. It’s not just bearable. It actually feels good.
‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘I wish I could do more.’
I smile, even though I’m sad – and for the first time, I understand why people do that.
‘I wish you could too,’ I say.
Twenty minutes after Owen leaves, Detective Brookes comes to the door.
‘May I come in?’
If she’s come to arrest me for kidnapping Willow, she won’t have to ask any such permissions soon. In jail, I imagine the police can come and go as they please. They won’t ask if I feel like stew or spaghetti for dinner, they’ll just hand me a meal. It’s possible, I realise, that I won’t go to jail. I might go to one of those places for the mentally impaired – One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest-style. Apparently, those places aren’t as bad as they once were. I read an article about it recently. Electroshock therapy is only used sparingly, and the facilities are geared toward rehabilitation. Still, I doubt babies are allowed to visit. That’s the most frightening part of this – not jail, or a disruption to my routine, not the smells or lights or alarms – it’s the fact that I might not see Willow again for a long, long time.
I wrap my arms around myself.
‘Fern?’ Detective Brookes says. ‘Are you all right?’
I shake my head and start to rock. There is another police officer with Detective Brookes now, this one in uniform. He remains at the doorway, while Detective Brookes slowly enters the room.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just need to have a word to you about something.’
‘The kidnapping?’
‘Fern, Willow is your daughter. I cannot arrest you for taking her to the library.’
I frown. ‘You can’t?’
‘No.’
I am perplexed. ‘Then . . . why did the police come after me? Why did they take Willow?’
‘My understanding is that your sister called to report you and your baby’s sudden departure from the hospital. This would have prompted a welfare check from the police. As you were distressed when they found you, a request for psych assessment would have been made, and I’m not privy to those. But there is no suggestion that you kidnapped your daughter, Fern.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
I take a minute to process this.
‘Then . . . why are you here?’ I ask.
Detective Brookes takes a seat by the bed. ‘It’s to do with your mother.’
‘My mother? What about her?’
‘We have the autopsy report. It shows two hypodermic injection sites just under your mother’s hairline. This indicates foul play.’
‘Foul play?’
‘It indicates someone may have poisoned your mother. But there were no traces of poison in your mother’s blood.’
‘That’s strange.’
‘Yes, it had us a little baffled too until you mentioned your sister was a diabetic. You see, one trend we’ve started seeing a bit of in nursing homes is insulin overdosing. It’s popular because in general insulin degrades quickly in a body. With your sister being a diabetic, she would obviously have access to insulin and be experienced in giving injections. In addition to this, we found a bracelet, identical to yours but with a rose on it, in your mother’s room. And given the fact that their relationship was troubled, and your mother was trying to convince you not to give her your baby . . . that’s a motive.’
I blink. ‘You think Rose murdered Mum?’
She shrugs. ‘I’d say it’s not looking good for her.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t believe it.’
But maybe I do believe it. I think about the way Rose felt about Mum. Even the mention of her name was enough to infuriate her. And Rose had done so many things that I’d never thought she would do. Go behind my back with Wally. Lie about Owen. Accuse me of being dangerous. Take my baby from me.
‘It’s a lot of compelling evidence. Enough to rule your mother’s death a murder. And enough that your sister is the prime suspect.’
> I stare at her. I’m about to ask where Rose is, but halfway through I realise it’s the wrong question. I have a new priority now. A more important question.
‘Willow,’ I say. ‘Where is Willow?’
I lie on my hospital bed and stare at the closed door. It’s all too much to take in.
Detective Brookes told me that Rose will be formally charged and then most likely remanded in custody until trial. The idea makes me nervous. Rose won’t be happy about any of that.
On her way out, Detective Brookes told me that she would find Willow, but that was twenty minutes ago, and I’ve heard nothing since. She told me to stay in my room, so they can find me easily, but it is torture. I’m not in any trouble for taking Willow, Detective Brookes stressed. She is my baby; I’m free to take her anywhere I want. I like the sound of that, even if I’m not sure I trust it.
Finally, there is a knock at the door. I lurch upright as the door opens. It’s not Willow.
‘Wally?’
He pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles. He’s dressed in the first outfit I ever saw him in – jeans, the flannelette shirt, the bobble hat.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask as he comes in. He closes the door behind him and takes a seat beside my bed.
‘Carmel called me, eventually. She said you would be here. I’d been back to maternity but you weren’t there and no-one would give me any information. It’s taken me hours to find you.’
I take a minute to marvel at this. Wally, looking all over the hospital . . . for me.
‘Wally, I have to tell you something,’ I say when I realise I can’t wait a moment longer to tell him.
His gaze slides from over my shoulder to meet my eye. It calms me. ‘What is it?’
‘The baby is yours,’ I tell him.
He closes his eyes and drops his chin to his chest. He is silent for so long I wonder if he hasn’t heard me. But when he lifts his head, his face is covered in tears.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wanted to. I should have. But I didn’t think I was capable of raising a baby . . . you know, after what happened with Billy. And you . . . you said you didn’t want a baby.’
‘I did say that, didn’t I? I don’t know why. I guess because it was a theoretical answer. I enjoy answering theoretical questions. But if you’d told me you wanted a baby . . . or that you were pregnant . . . I promise you would have got a very different answer.’
‘I would?’
He nods. I feel something, actually feel it, shift inside my chest. I’m about to ask what the answer would have been when someone comes to the door.
‘Knock, knock?’
A woman in black slacks and a pale blue blouse is standing there. She’s wearing black orthopaedic sneakers. ‘I apologise for interrupting. My name is Nadine Riley – I’m an administrator here. I understand your daughter has been up in our paediatric unit in the care of your sister, but that your sister has been unexpectedly . . . called away?’
‘That’s right,’ I say.
‘I see, well, as your adoption paperwork hasn’t been finalised, the hospital policy is to keep the baby here in the room with you. I’m told you will be moving back to the maternity ward shortly, but in the meantime, one of the nurses is bringing your daughter here to you . . . Ah, here they are now.’
I stop breathing. Nadine Riley moves to the side and a young nurse enters the room, pushing a crib on wheels. My hands begin to shake. I see the top of her head through the clear plastic crib. Someone has removed her little hat.
‘I have a little girl here who would like to see her mother,’ the nurse says, strolling into the room smiling widely. She is the perky sort of nurse – young and blonde with a high ponytail, white teeth and fresh, clean skin. She parks the crib beside my bed and applies the brake before reaching for her. Neither Wally nor I speak, or even move. My heart beats so fast and hard I contemplate whether I might be having a heart attack.
‘Ooh, is this Dad?’ the nurse says, gesturing to Wally. ‘Of course it is, silly me, she’s got your hair. She really is just a darling little thing. Who wants to take her?’
She gathers her up with the ease of someone who spends much time around newborns, and then glances from me to Wally, as if expecting a tussle. She doesn’t get one. We are both too shell-shocked. Wally is so still I think he may have ceased to breathe.
‘Give her to him,’ I say, finally. ‘He’s got some time to make up for.’
Wally remains frozen for just another second. Then he nods, visibly relaxes a little, and opens his arms.
Wally stays in the chair beside my bed for twenty-four hours. When he’s not tending to Willow or checking on me, he’s downloading parenting books onto his phone and reading them furiously. He introduces me to an app for my every parenting need – a tracker for feeds, sleep times and nappy changes; a white-noise maker; a height and growth chart. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by this, I find the ritual of entering information into the different fields surprisingly soothing. I am hopeful that soon the new rituals and routines will become a new kind of normal.
For someone who didn’t want children, Wally certainly appears enamoured with Willow. He holds her like one might hold hot tea in a fine china cup and looks at her the way one might admire a favourite painting or sculpture. In the middle of the night, I wake to find Willow in his arms and him looking down at her like this. I watch for an indeterminable amount of time. The sight of them nearly overwhelms me.
‘I’m glad,’ I say, startling him, ‘that you are my person.’
He looks up at me and smiles. ‘I think a few people might fight me for that role.’
My face must convey my confusion.
‘I don’t think you realise how many people you have, Fern. Carmel. Gayle and your library colleagues. Owen. And yes, me. And don’t forget Willow.’
I take a minute to consider that. While I’m doing so, Wally says, ‘Rose said you weren’t capable of raising a child. I suspect she may have convinced you of that too, right?’
I shrug.
‘Is it just the Billy thing that worries you?’
‘It’s mostly that. But also my sensory issues. You have to admit, I’m not the ideal mother. What if the baby wants to watch fireworks? Or have a birthday party? I couldn’t even handle school pick-up or drop-off with all those shrieking children and swarms of mothers in puffer jackets, making small talk.’
Wally thinks about this. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Well, I’ll do the school pick-ups and drop-offs and the birthday parties.’
‘You? When? When would you do the school drop-off? When you’re in your van creating your app? When you are travelling around the world promoting FollowUp?’
‘I sold FollowUp, Fern.’
I blink. ‘You sold it? Already?’
He nods. ‘For a lot of money. It makes the deal for Shout! look cheap. So I can do the school run every day, if you like. And you can stay home, or go work in the library, or come to school pick-up with me and wait in the car. You can do whatever you like!’
But it can’t be that easy. Nothing in life is that easy.
Willow chooses that moment to start fussing.
‘Is she due for a feed?’ I ask.
Wally checks the app and determines that she is. He brings her to me. As she latches on, he enters the feed time into the app. The ritual of this, even over the past twelve hours, is one I’ve come to quite enjoy. As she feeds, we watch her. It’s surprisingly satisfying. I’ve never found watching an adult eat enjoyable.
‘She’s a miracle,’ Wally says.
I think about that. ‘Well, no, not really. Pregnancies are actually biologically quite straightforward.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Sure, but . . . you were on birth control. Which means, what were the chances? Point zero three per cent or something?’
I look at him. ‘I wasn’t on birth control.’
He blinks. ‘But you told me you were.’
‘No, I didn’t. Why wo
uld I say that?’
‘I don’t know, but you did say it,’ he says emphatically. ‘The first night. I remember it clearly. You told me it was safe.’
I frown. ‘It was safe. But what does that have to do with birth control?’
Wally closes his eyes for a moment, then he exhales and smiles. ‘Well, I guess that solves that part of the mystery.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean . . . it explains how you mysteriously became pregnant.’
If Wally is bothered by this, he is keeping it well hidden. But his proclamation about ‘mysteriously’ becoming pregnant triggers a realisation that there is something I haven’t been clear about.
‘There’s something else I have to tell you, Wally,’ I say. ‘The pregnancy wasn’t an accident.’
Wally frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Rose couldn’t have a baby. She confessed this to me when I found prenatal vitamins in her bag and assumed she was pregnant. It turned out she’d been trying for a baby for a while and couldn’t have one. So . . . I decided to have a baby for her. It sounds crazy, I know. I just thought . . . I can have a baby and Rose can’t. Why wouldn’t I help her out? It seemed so simple. Then . . . I met you and . . . and . . .’
‘. . . and you asked me on a date so you could become pregnant with a baby for your sister?’
‘Yes.’
Wally places both hands on his temples. ‘Wow.’
‘But by the time we had sex, I wasn’t even thinking about that anymore. I wasn’t thinking about–’
Wally walks to the corner of the room, shaking his head. ‘Wow,’ he says again. ‘It’s genius.’
‘What is?’
‘Rose,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She must have known what you would do if you found out she couldn’t have a baby.’
I shake my head. ‘But she didn’t even tell me she wanted a baby, I found her prenatal vitamins.’
‘Which she just happened to leave lying around?’
The Good Sister Page 23