The Sister's Gift

by Barbara Hannay

‘I drove.’ Billie pointed to the little blue Honda parked a bit further along. ‘Probably best if you follow me.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Freya looked around her, letting her gaze sweep over the little harbour with the ferry and yachts at their moorings and the tourist buses parked outside the terminal. She looked out to the shimmering sea beyond the harbour wall and then back to the island’s green tree-covered hills, and she took a deep, long breath, as if she needed to fill her lungs with fresh and salty sea air. She let the breath out slowly.

  ‘It’s so good to be back,’ she said and, for a moment, her eyes glinted with a hint of tears. ‘I still think of this place as home.’

  Her smile was a tad shaky as she climbed back into her car, but then she winked and sent Billie a wave. ‘Lead on.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘And, of course, I’d really appreciate it if you could manage to keep these pot plants alive.’

  Freya stiffened. Bloody hell. This latest request from Pearl was one dig too many, thank you.

  The tension between the sisters had begun, of course, with Freya’s arrival.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Pearl had said the very moment Freya emerged from her car. ‘You haven’t brought a dog?’

  ‘Lovely to see you, too, Pearl,’ Freya had replied, nursing poor little Won Ton to her chest like a baby. ‘She won’t be any trouble. She’s house trained.’

  ‘She’s an inside dog?’ Pearl managed to convey an air of greatest tragedy.

  Freya, parked on the steep driveway, looked to Pearl’s house, cleverly wedged between granite boulders and poised above a dramatic drop to the sea below. No yard. No sign of a fence.

  Perhaps she should have warned Pearl about Won Ton, but what would she have done if her sister had said no?

  ‘She’s a very good little dog,’ she said. ‘I’ll take her outside to do her business. She’s been staying at a friend’s house and has behaved herself beautifully. She’s never been any trouble.’

  ‘You mustn’t let her on the beds or the sofas.’

  ‘No, Pearl, I promise. I’ll keep her in the laundry if you like. How are you, anyway?’

  Somehow they’d got through that first evening, but the tension had ramped up the next day almost as soon as Troy had left for work and Billie had headed off to the bistro. Freya, left alone with Pearl in her beautiful home with its soaring cathedral ceilings, glass walls and spectacular ocean views, had wondered about the possibility of a cosy chat over a cuppa.

  The expensive white linen sofas were like islands in the huge space, however, and not exactly cosy. And the ‘chat’ had begun with a long and painful lecture from Pearl about the importance of keeping insurance up to date, as if somehow that neglect and its disastrous results had been entirely Freya’s fault.

  Then they’d retired to Pearl’s office for an even longer treatise on how to run the business side of Island Thyme. Admittedly, Freya didn’t have a background in food preparation or food services management, but Billie and the chef would look after that side of things.

  Pearl instructed her in the banking, the quarterly BAS reports to be sent to the accountant, the checking of emails and orders, and the staff pays on Sunday nights. Nothing was left out and it was all very important, of course.

  Freya wouldn’t have minded the detailed instructions so much, if she hadn’t been spoken to like a totally clueless novice. Anyone would think she was still a reckless kid who jumped on the backs of motorbikes without caring about a helmet, who put vodka in her school water bottle, or who needed to be rescued from drowning in an outback creek.

  Mind you, given the tone of their recent phone calls, Freya had been all too conscious of her sister’s reservations about her general competence, so she’d been prepared for the lectures regarding the business. But for Pearl to stand there now, with her mouth all shrivelled and drawn in tighter than a cat’s bum while casting doubts over Freya’s ability to water pot plants?

  Bloody hell, there were only three plants. Pearl had obviously embraced the new minimalist trends in decor, which were far too boring for Freya’s tastes. She’d felt the same way about Island Thyme when she’d been taken on a tour. Not that she would mention this, of course, but for her, the best beachside bistros were also galleries for local artists and crafts people. She would have liked to see sculptures and paintings on display, pottery and candles and hand-crafted lanterns. Lots of pot plants.

  And here at home, Pearl’s living space was almost cell-like in its Scandi-style restraint. Her greenery consisted of one rubber plant, an asparagus fern and a yucca.

  You know those plants are almost impossible to kill, Freya wanted to tell her, but then she’d remembered her own despair over Amber’s pot plant neglect, so she once again cut her sister some slack. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, Pearl,’ she said instead, but perhaps this sounded slightly facetious, as it was met by another searching frown.

  ‘I love pot plants,’ Freya added more warmly and with an extra dose of sincerity. ‘I’ll enjoy looking after them.’

  Her sister gave a cautious nod and an even more cautious smile, confirming for Freya that her worst fears about her stay on the island were, unfortunately, correct. Pearl was as nervous as a goose in a doona factory.

  Problem was, Freya was pretty damn sure the nerves weren’t really about her ability to look after the business. The true source of Pearl’s agitation was Billie – and the simple fact that she would be leaving her daughter and Freya alone together.

  For the first time.

  Ever.

  Even though Billie was all grown up now, with a strong mind – make that a very strong mind – of her own, this new arrangement of leaving them together and in charge of the business demanded a huge, previously untested leap of faith from Pearl.

  The tension between the sisters was decades old, of course.

  There had never been a row, exactly. Pearl had always remained civil to Freya, if not exactly sisterly, but while Freya had hoped they might form a deeper bond after the surrogacy arrangement they’d shared all those years ago, the opposite had happened. Her generous gesture had, ultimately, caused a sad drifting apart that had never really been bridged.

  It wasn’t worth dragging up that history again now. Pearl wouldn’t want to discuss it, but the bald facts were that Freya had been too young and far too carefree at the time, and way too eager to help her older sister out.

  Ruby, their mother, had warned her, of course. ‘Are you sure you’ve thought this through, Frey? You’ve always gone at everything like a bull at a gate.’

  Freya had liked to think that her generosity outweighed any rashness on her part. At the time, she’d been filled with sympathy for Pearl, understanding at a deep gut level how very thrilled her sister was when she’d landed a husband like Troy, how overjoyed she’d been to have found herself a steady, warm-hearted guy.

  It had been clear to everyone that Troy would be a perfect family man, a caring, loving husband and father. A salt-of-the-earth type and a nurse, no less, with all the qualities that Freya and Pearl’s own father had so obviously lacked. So when Pearl and Troy had no success in producing a family, Freya had been almost as disappointed as they were. And after several years of heartbreak, when they’d almost given up hope, she’d been anxious to help.

  Okay, sure – with the wisdom of hindsight, Freya would agree that surrogacy was not a decision to be taken lightly, but she’d always been the reckless one. And she had owed Pearl a huge debt ever since the drowning incident.

  ‘A life for a life,’ she’d insisted.

  Altruistic surrogacy hadn’t even been legal in Queensland at the time, but that hadn’t fazed her. She’d happily gone to Canberra with Pearl and Troy for the IVF treatment.

  Everything had been extremely civilised. No sex was involved. It was purely a medical procedure in which Freya was the ‘womb mother’, or gestational carrier as the white coats had called it, and the baby was Pearl and Troy’s own genetic child formed from their egg and sperm.


  ‘Your bun. My oven,’ Freya had quipped, but in reality they’d been ever so sensible and serious about everything, with plans in place for every tricky possibility. They’d settled on how many embryo transfers they would attempt and what would happen if a scan result showed that something was wrong with the baby, even what would happen if the pregnancy was putting Freya’s life in jeopardy.

  Fortunately, none of these difficult decisions had been required. They’d been incredibly lucky. The first embryo transfer resulted in a positive pregnancy test and a relatively straightforward, uneventful nine months had followed. The baby was completely healthy, grew like Topsy and had kept Freya entertained with her near-constant internal acrobatics.

  Okay, so yeah, Freya had loved the little tyke. How could she not? Secretly, from the day she’d first felt those thrilling, tiny flutters in her womb, she’d called her Butterfly. Just the same, she’d always, always thought of the baby as her niece and never as her own child. And when Billie – or Belinda as she’d been then – was born, sweet and perfect, with Troy’s sandy hair and Pearl’s upturned nose and her grandmother Ruby’s deep-blue eyes, Freya had been quite relieved that she couldn’t see herself in the baby at all.

  She’d handed the tiny girl over quite readily, keen to get on with her own life again. And everything would have been hunky-dory – on the home front at least – if Pearl’s insecurity hadn’t reared its ugly head.

  The big problem was that if Pearl wanted to be the baby’s legal mother, she was still required to adopt her. Pearl had deeply resented this, and from that point on, she’d always been mega-nervous about Freya getting too close to her daughter. She’d insisted that Billie must never know the role Freya had played in her birth, and although Freya had agreed and had kept her word, the rift had grown. Never exactly huge or unbreachable, it had always been there.

  A definite tension – which only got worse after Pearl realised that Freya would not be able to have a baby of her own. Perhaps she’d felt a little guilty, but almost certainly she’d feared there would be repercussions. She’d become even more insanely possessive of Billie, coming up with crazy excuses whenever Freya had tried to plan get-togethers.

  And now, all these years later, that same tension was still causing trouble. But after everything Freya had been through in recent weeks, she was determined that this old hurt shouldn’t be left to hang between them like an unexploded bomb.

  Folding her arms and leaning back against the doorjamb at the entry to Pearl’s office, she tried to look far more relaxed than she actually felt and she spoke calmly, but with quiet resolve. ‘I’d like to make one thing quite clear, Pearl.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You really can trust me. With the office.’ Freya drew a quick breath. ‘And with Billie.’

  Her sister’s eyes grew huge and worried. ‘I – I – well, yes – I guess —’

  ‘You guess?’ Freya repeated, incredulous. ‘Well, I mean it.’

  Her sister still looked doubtful.

  Freya stifled an urge to groan. ‘Look, I’m truly grateful you’ve invited me here. Heaven knows, I need to keep myself occupied and I need a roof over my head. So I’m not going to blow it.’

  Pearl had one of those foreheads that wrinkled very easily and deep furrows formed now as she frowned. ‘I never suggested . . .’ She left the sentence dangling.

  ‘You don’t have to suggest.’ Freya was fast running out of patience. ‘We both know you’re worried sick that I’ll say something to Billie, that I’ll somehow spoil our agreement.’ She swallowed, suddenly nervous. ‘That I’ll break my promise.’

  To Freya’s dismay, Pearl gasped and clutched at the back of a nearby chair, as if she desperately needed its support. Clearly, the mere mention of their pact was enough to rattle her.

  A frustrated grunt burst from Freya. ‘For God’s sake, Pearl. What have I ever done to make you think I can’t be trusted?’ Her voice was raised now. Fishwife shrill? Maybe, but she couldn’t help it. She was too tense and scared to speak calmly. ‘When have I ever broken my word?’

  ‘On the day she was born.’

  Thud.

  Now it was Freya who gasped, and her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. A flash of panic followed and it was as if she was drowning all over again.

  In that moment, she could no longer escape the real reason for the decades-long rift between her sister and herself. Pearl had never forgiven her for that one decision she’d made to experience Billie’s birth on her own.

  The fact that Freya had given the gift of her body and nine long months of her life, not to mention the hellish pain of the labour and delivery, had not, had never, been enough.

  ‘It was twenty-four years ago,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  ‘What difference does that make?’ Pearl snapped back. Her jaw was tight now, jutting at a stubborn angle, and her eyes glittered with tears. ‘Babies only have one chance to be born.’

  Oh, God. Pearl would never see the other side of this picture.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, woman?’ Freya cried. ‘You have everything – a husband who loves you, a beautiful home, a lovely daughter —’

  She wanted to say more, but the wave of emotions crashing over her strangled the words in her throat. With a broken cry, she turned and made her way as fast as she could stumble down the hallway and out of the house.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘Is that all you’re having for breakfast, Billie?’

  Billie glanced from the piece of toast she was cutting to Freya’s bowl of glowing orange pawpaw topped with yoghurt and passionfruit, and her stomach heaved unhappily.

  She hoped Freya didn’t notice anything amiss. Her morning sickness hadn’t been too bad, luckily, more a lingering sense of exhaustion and nausea than anything, but toast was all she could face for breakfast these days. Preferably dry toast, although she’d added a smear of butter and Vegemite this morning, so as not to arouse Freya’s suspicions.

  ‘I’m good with tea and toast,’ she said.

  Freya’s mouth tilted in wry smile, as if to suggest there was no accounting for some people’s tastes, but she refrained from commenting, for which Billie was grateful. This was their first morning alone since her parents had left and the atmosphere, as they breakfasted, was pleasantly relaxed, which was a huge relief. The tension in this household over the past few days had totally freaked Billie.

  At least she’d managed to throw a rather nice farewell bash at Island Thyme. The chef, Gavin, had produced a slap-up dinner for her parents and their best friends, Pattie and Joe Harper, as well as Freya. And as far as Billie, who’d been waiting tables, could tell, they’d all got on quite well.

  With Gavin’s help, Billie had also created a rather awesome cake, if she did say so herself. It was shaped like an old-fashioned caravan, complete with sparklers and her mum’s favourite peppermint icing, with Happy Travels spelled out in edible silver pearls. She knew her mum had loved it and there’d been plenty of laughter and good wishes from the other diners, many of whom were regulars, so that had been a good night.

  Word had spread and the next morning there’d been a pleasing crowd of friends to wave her parents off at the ferry terminal. So the farewell had been a success, much to Billie’s relief.

  At home, though, during those last couple of days, her mum and Freya had barely spoken to each other and even her dad had been withdrawn. He’d made out that he was preoccupied with checking and crosschecking all their gear and the arrangements for the trip, but Billie still sensed there was something else bothering him. Unfortunately, she’d been too busy trying to hide her tiredness and nausea to pay really close attention to the others.

  But she couldn’t help asking Freya now. ‘Um . . . I was wondering if you noticed anything different about Mum or Dad before they left?’

  Freya frowned. ‘Not especially.’ Her expression was decidedly cautious. ‘Why? Did you?’

  Billie sh
rugged. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘What are you hinting at, Billie? Pearl’s always been a worrier.’

  ‘I know, but this seemed different somehow.’

  ‘Do you think my arrival upset her?’ Now Freya looked worried, too.

  ‘Not really.’ Billie didn’t want to stir, or to cause unnecessary concern, but she was also tired of skirting the truth. ‘Well, actually, I guess I could see you and Mum weren’t the best of buddies, which is a shame. But I actually thought something was bothering her even before you came. I thought I noticed it as soon as I got back from Greece.’

  ‘Oh?’ Freya’s face, framed by her flame-coloured hair, was serious as she regarded Billie across the table. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t really help you. I guess I was too caught up in my own issues. I should have been more observant.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Billie. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate and anyway, it was probably just my imagination.’ She picked up a triangle of toast, set it down again. ‘I know they’re heading off on the trip of a lifetime, but maybe it’s some kind of – I don’t know – last-gasp remedy. I’d actually wondered if they might be thinking about a divorce.’

  ‘Pearl and Troy?’

  An eddy of panic whirled through Billie. Now that she’d said the words out loud, the possibility seemed all too real. But she couldn’t imagine her little family breaking up. There were only the three of them. ‘It seems to happen to the best of couples.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Freya remarked with a rueful smile. ‘Been there, done that.’

  ‘Sorry. I wasn’t pointing the finger.’

  ‘Well, I am divorced, so your comment’s relevant.’ She was still smiling, though, as she said this, much to Billie’s relief. ‘And you’re right – divorce is incredibly common these days. What’s the statistic? One in three marriages? But not Pearl and Troy, I just can’t imagine —’

  ‘I know. They haven’t been fighting as far as I can tell.’

  ‘Neither were Brian and I, of course. We just kind of . . .’ Freya waved her hand, as if searching for the right words. ‘Grew apart.’