The Daughter's Promise (ARC)

by Sarah Clutton

  She noticed the occasional set of headlights along the main road in the distance as they curved around the headland towards Sisters Cove. It was so quiet here; so removed from the world. One day she would travel. She hoped she could persuade Dan to go with her, but he seemed to want to stay around here, practise law, settle down. She knew she could change his mind.

  She let her eyelids drop closed, and as she was drifting off, she had a fleeting thought. Perhaps Annabelle had told Dan her plans for tonight. Dan had been sitting at their kitchen table with her dad, finishing his cup of tea, when she and Lillian had left for the party. Annabelle had been dancing around the kitchen, chattering about something of little importance. Perhaps Dan will know where she is. Her eyes were heavy and her mind was thick from the wine.

  Sylvia must have been asleep for a while when the crunch of tyres and headlights sweeping through the kitchen window woke her. Her neck was stiff and her mouth was parched. She straightened up and looked outside, rubbing at her eyes. The moon had emerged from behind the blanket of clouds and she could see that the car that had pulled up was Dan’s. The headlights went out and she was momentarily blinded in the blackness.

  She got up and crossed the kitchen to the front door. She wasn’t sure what stopped her from going outside to meet him. Perhaps it was the cold that had set in during the afternoon and plummeted further while she was at the party. She was shivering in her jumpsuit, even though it was still late summer. She stood at the window inside the closed-in porch that faced the driveway. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Dan’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. The rain had stopped and the moon was bathing everything outside in a deep navy-black light. Another figure was sitting in the passenger seat. Waves of hair were silhouetted around her shoulders, and Sylvia could see it was definitely a girl. They were facing each other. Talking. She moved closer to the hat stand that was obscuring her view and ducked in behind it, leaning against a bed of coats.

  Suddenly Dan leaned over and took the girl into his arms. Sylvia’s stomach plummeted. No. After a minute, he straightened up, but they sat in the car for another five minutes or more. Sylvia lost track of time. She was cold, transfixed, turned to stone. What were they talking about? After a while, Dan leaned over again and the two heads came together – a terrible, faithless silhouette. Dan sat back after a moment and raised his hand to the girl’s face, caressing it, touching her. Sylvia wanted to scream.

  Without warning, he sat up. The girl opened her door a crack and the interior light came on. Sylvia thought her eyes must be deceiving her. She stared, but it was as if she was watching a film. It was a joke, surely? Annabelle swivelled and got out of the car. Dan stood too, but stopped at his door and said something that Sylvia couldn’t hear. She stepped backwards, and the hat stand swayed madly. She grabbed at it, righting herself, then stumbled into the kitchen. Her whole body was shaking. As she headed towards the hallway, hot, angry disbelief was pulsing through her head. How dare they? How could they? Cowardly, treacherous bastard! And with her sister. Her own sister!

  She heard the latch move on the front door. Her chest swelled with the enormity of the betrayal. She leaned on the dining table for support. Annabelle hadn’t turned on the light. She must have been hoping to sneak back in without waking anyone. Above the pounding of her heart, Sylvia could make out soft footfalls, and saw a silhouette against the window in the moonlight.

  ‘You little slut!’ The words came out like hissing bullets.

  Annabelle froze.

  ‘Sylv—’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Syl, I—’

  ‘How could you? I’ve been sitting here for hours, worrying about whether you’d driven off a cliff with Eadie, and then I…’ Sylvia felt a rush of pain.

  ‘Dan was just driving me home—’

  ‘If you say one more word about Dan, I swear, I will strangle you with my own hands.’ Sylvia felt herself becoming completely calm. The white-hot anger was bubbling beneath a blade of perfect clarity. She was now the carer, the mother. She was supposed to teach Annabelle right from wrong. She had failed, but so had Annabelle. She couldn’t think about Dan now.

  ‘Please, Syl.’ A sob escaped from Annabelle, echoing in the night-time quiet.

  Sylvia turned on the hallway light. Tears were running down Annabelle’s face. She was flushed and dishevelled. Of course she was. And she was wearing Sylvia’s favourite platform shoes. Little slut.

  Annabelle put her fingers to her eyes to shield them. She spoke in a whimper. ‘Don’t be angry at me. Please, Sylvia, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Go to bed.’ Sylvia’s voice was icy. ‘We will never speak of this. Do you hear me, Anna? We will never, ever speak of this again.’

  Sylvia dragged herself out of the distant memory. It was as clear as cut glass. Now, Annabelle was still bent forward on the couch, looking at the floor. Sylvia sat down in the patchwork armchair, her head spinning.

  ‘Annabelle, are you all right?’

  Annabelle looked past Sylvia, to the wood stove. Her face was vacant. Her make-up was ruined, and black smudges pooled in the creases under her eyes. She’s aged, thought Sylvia. Annabelle was fifty-eight, but strangers usually guessed her to be early fifties. Tonight, though, she looked like an old woman.

  Annabelle fixed her eyes on Sylvia. They were a piercing blue. There was something in them that made Sylvia blanch. A steely determination. Despite her blotchy skin and the mess of her face, there was something in the way she looked at Sylvia that cut into her soul.

  ‘Anna, I’m sorry. It’s unforgiv—’

  ‘No.’

  What did that mean? Sylvia needed to make this right. The past didn’t excuse what she was doing with Dan. Nothing excused what she was doing. She needed to let her sister know that she was sorry. That she would go away. That she had no place in this town.

  ‘Anna, please, I know—’

  ‘I have a lump,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In my breast. The doctor seems to think it’s cancer.’

  ‘No. That’s awful… That’s—’

  ‘And I need some of your herbs. Some powders or whatever. I came to find out if you have something that might help.’

  ‘Anna, if you saw—’

  ‘Yes. I saw the doctor. She said I needed to go to the breast clinic for the tests. And I will. But I thought you might have something herbal, maybe something from that Ayurveda thing you talk about.’

  Sylvia stared at her, mute.

  ‘Well, do you?’

  ‘I suppose so. But you’d only take them after your other treatment. You need meditation and yoga now. Maybe I can order you some incense and oils, but—’

  ‘Fine. Let me know when they arrive. I need to be getting home. Dan will worry if he gets back from his meeting and I’m not there.’ Annabelle caught Sylvia’s eyes and held them.

  Sylvia forced herself to speak. ‘Anna, the ambulance guy… he said you shouldn’t drive.’

  Annabelle stood up. She wobbled slightly and steadied herself on the edge of the couch.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Sylvia stood too, but Annabelle held up her hand.

  ‘No need to see me out. I have my phone for a torch.’ She lifted her chin and walked towards the door. She opened it, letting the cool of the night air blow into the house. ‘I’ll see you soon. For the oils or whatever.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘And Sylvia, please don’t talk about what’s gone on tonight. I couldn’t bear it.’

  Sylvia felt the guilt spreading hotly through her stomach.

  On the porch, Annabelle turned back. ‘You’ve probably forgotten what it’s like to live in a small town. But I’ve lived here all my life. If you tell people about my little… episodes,’ she paused and took a deep breath, and her voice wavered, ‘it will make things difficult. For ever. It wouldn’t be good for Dan either. And I won’t let anything bad happen to him. He’s my husband, Sylvia. If you talk about
this, any of…’ – she glanced back into the house, her eyes landing on the bedroom door – ‘this, it could ruin us. Do you understand?’

  Sylvia looked down at the ground, framing her next words.

  ‘Sylvia, did you hear what I said?’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Annabelle cut her off.

  ‘Be careful or you’ll ruin everything.’

  Thirteen

  Willa

  Willa sipped her coffee and looked out through the window at the children’s playground at the top of the beach. A trio of children were circling each other at the base of the slide, running and ducking in a game of catch. She had started coming to the surf club coffee shop in the mornings. It was energising. She could sit and watch people and enjoy being a stranger, without having to worry that people might want to talk to her.

  Later in the morning, the Sisters Cove surf lifesavers would come out of the shed at the other end of the building and walk down to their seats between the swimming flags. The fire-engine red and canary yellow of their uniforms contrasted beautifully with the perfect blue of the water and the powder-white sand. It was ridiculous, really, just how beautiful this place was. It was a crime that there were so few swimmers or sailboarders. Although, to be fair, the water was frigid.

  Yesterday, for some reason she couldn’t fathom, Willa had bought a swimsuit at the local boutique. It was hot pink with green stars on it – not one she would ever have chosen if there had been options. The lady in the boutique had been thrilled to have a sale.

  ‘Gorgeous! I adore that costume. Going for a swim?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Willa.

  ‘At Sisters?’

  ‘Yes, I’m staying there,’ said Willa.

  ‘Brilliant!’ said the woman. ‘I hope you’ve got a wetsuit. You’ll freeze to death if you don’t!’ She delivered the warning with irritating glee.

  ‘I’ll have to manage without one, I’m afraid,’ said Willa.

  ‘Good luck with that.’ The woman shook her head smugly. ‘Those waters are straight from Antarctica.’

  Willa had left the shop nursing a grudge that she’d spent a small fortune on the world’s ugliest bathing suit, and a renewed resolve to use it. Esme would have. But later, when she had braved the water, she realised the woman had been right. She had inched forward until the water was lapping painfully at her thighs, and when she dived under, she’d been rewarded with an immediate splitting headache and total body numbness.

  Now she took another bite of her croissant and opened up her laptop. Despite the pain at the time, she wondered if the swim yesterday had done something to her metabolism. She felt more alive today, as if the water had woken her, washed away the cobwebs in her mind. She clicked on the airline booking site. She should go home. She missed Hamish and Hugo. And the anniversary was coming up. She looked out of the window again at the sparkling ocean, and sighed. The second anniversary of Esme’s death had been a dark cloud hovering over her since Christmas. But now, in this perfect place, it felt like it might be a day she could manage.

  She closed down the booking site and looked across at the barista, who was frothing coffee for a customer, the machine giving off a buzzing background whine.

  A tanned, energetic-looking man in his fifties smiled at her from a neighbouring table. He had been here every morning for coffee too, and earlier she had spied him getting a paddle board out of one of the colourful beach huts that lined the shore. She wondered what his story was. A scientist? A retired business magnate? Sad and single since his wife had left him to find herself? She smiled back at him and wondered if he too was avoiding the hard bits of his life by coming here.

  There were boxes and boxes in The Old Chapel that she hadn’t dared to look in. They had all been left to her. The entire life of a woman she didn’t know had been gifted to her. Perhaps she was meant to know something about this woman. Perhaps looking in the boxes was something she was supposed to do. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff strapped to a hang-glider, even though you’d never wanted to fly. Some idiot had given you a gift voucher for an extreme experience, and here you were, being told to step off a cliff. No. No thank you! What if I plummet to the ground in some remote gully and they can’t locate my remains?

  She sighed. What would her mother have said? Stop avoiding it and get moving, probably. But what if she did find out that Lillian was her birth mother, and then felt some sort of obligation to find the rest of her blood family? What would that mean? Perhaps it was what was stopping her from opening the boxes of paperwork. The idea of hurting someone. The memory of her parents.

  ‘Hi, Willa.’

  Willa jumped in her seat. Indigo was grinning at her. She was wearing denim overalls over a black T-shirt and her hair sat in two long, messy pigtails beneath her ears. Willa noticed that her arms were toned and lovely. Beneath the sloppy outfit, she probably had a beautiful figure.

  ‘Indigo. Hi.’

  ‘Can I join you?’ asked Indigo. Without waiting, she sat down on the couch opposite Willa, and took a sip from the reusable coffee cup she was carrying.

  ‘Sure. Of course,’ said Willa. ‘What are you up to today?’

  ‘I’m off to my nannying job, unfortunately,’ said Indigo. She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Why unfortunately?’ asked Willa.

  ‘The little boys are cute, but the mother’s mental. Last week she sacked me when I got the nappy bucket and the bread bucket mixed up. Why would she buy the same colour buckets? It’s just dumb.’ Indigo shook her head.

  ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ said Willa.

  Indigo sighed. ‘Long story, but this woman is a try-hard hippy. Moved here to be organic and away from commercialism. Which is funny, because she’s actually rich and drives a brand-new Tesla. But she tries to make herself feel less guilty by making her own bread.’ She took another sip of her coffee. ‘Anyway, so she kneads the bread dough in one of those huge wide soft plastic buckets. She also doesn’t use disposable nappies, so the cloth nappies get soaked in an identical bucket. Apparently I mixed up the poo bucket and the dough bucket last time. She went tribal on me.’

  ‘Tribal?’

  ‘Super-angry.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Willa, smiling.

  ‘But she rang and apologised. Asked me to come back. She can’t manage those kids on her own. Needs to have a nap in the afternoon ’cos she’s so exhausted from growing veggies and making her own soap. I keep telling her there’s an organic produce shop down near the co-op.’ Indigo grinned again and wriggled her bottom further back into the couch like a child.

  Willa smiled. ‘Well it’s good that you’ll have the income, I suppose.’

  ‘The pay’s pretty bad compared to my weekend job.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  Indigo smiled uncertainly. ‘I’m a dancer.’

  ‘Really?’ said Willa. ‘And that pays well?’

  ‘Yeah, well, the kind I do anyway. If the tips are good.’ Indigo leaned forward, her voice low. ‘I’m a pole dancer. At a men’s club.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Willa. Her mind went into freeze-frame. Don’t judge, face neutral, open your mind. ‘How interesting.’

  ‘I don’t usually tell people. Mum thinks I teach fitness classes when I’m in Launceston. I do sometimes. Pole classes at the gym. It’s pretty mainstream now.’

  ‘I didn’t realise that,’ said Willa. She smiled as her initial surprise gave way to curiosity. ‘So, are you also a… stripper? I mean, is the pole dancing done naked?’

  ‘Sort of, to a point.’

  ‘Is it… all right?’ asked Willa.

  Indigo chewed her lip. ‘There’s a darker side. Most nights there’s at least one or two dickheads to deal with. They’re not allowed to touch us, but try telling them that. They’re like, “why have you got your bum out if you don’t want it slapped?” Which makes my head explode sometimes. But usually it’s fine.’

  Willa asked, ‘Why haven’t you told your mum?’


  ‘Dunno. She’s funny sometimes. Open-minded, until it comes to me, then she gets all weird about things.’

  Willa had some empathy for Sylvia. Most mothers would be terrified at the idea of men leering at their daughter as she writhed semi-naked around a pole for tips.

  ‘So anyway, how about you? What are you doing today?’ asked Indigo.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Willa, dragging herself away from the bizarre pole-writhing image. ‘I was thinking of booking my flight home, but maybe I’m not ready.’

  ‘I thought you were going to stay until you found out about whether Lillian was your birth mum. Or have you already worked it out?’

  ‘No.’ Willa looked down at her hands. ‘I’m really tempted to go through the rest of the boxes, but something is stopping me.’ She wondered why she was burdening Indigo with this.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ said Indigo. ‘I would have dug through every last scrap of paper by now. If she left it all in the house for you, there must have been a reason. Don’t you want to know what it is?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Willa.

  Indigo was staring at her, head cocked, a puzzled expression on her face.

  ‘Well, maybe I do,’ said Willa, ‘but what if she was my mother? I keep feeling really angry about that. What if she was, and she was so gutless that she didn’t want to meet me in real life? She knew I would have had questions, but she decided to disrupt my life when she was going to be completely unavailable to ask her things. That just feels like something a really selfish person would do.’

  ‘You reckon?’ said Indigo. ‘I dunno. In my experience, most people are just a bit confused.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Willa. ‘She was your godmother, I know. I feel terrible for thinking those things. And you’re probably right. I’m sure she was a really lovely person who had all sorts of reasons for doing what she did. It wouldn’t have been her fault, and it must have been so awful for her to have to give up her baby girl.’ Willa felt tears threatening at the back of her eyes, and focused hard on sucking her lips against her teeth to distract herself.