The Sister's Gift

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Freya. ‘But don’t let on that Seb or I know anything about the baby.’

  ‘No,’ said Billie. ‘I’ll be careful. I’d hate to upset their holiday. I just hope the news doesn’t bring Mum tearing home.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘It’s been ages, Billie. We should catch up.’

  When Sonia Brassal’s daughter phoned Billie, announcing that she was home on the island for a short break and wouldn’t it be great to meet up for a coffee, Billie might have excused herself. Nicole Brassal had never been what she’d call a close friend, but she had been part of the general gang of island kids who’d hung out together, fishing and skin diving and building rafts, sailing small dinghies, lighting camp fires on the beach.

  And when Nicole’s call came a mere day after Billie’s conversation with Freya, her aunt’s comment about keeping in touch with girlfriends was still nagging at her. Billie knew she’d been remiss about keeping in contact, but she’d always told herself there were justifiable reasons. Almost all her mates had left the island straight after high school and then, a few years later, so had Billie, following her desire to travel.

  She’d found she was quite good at making new friends wherever she went, both male and female. Backpackers mostly, from all walks of life and from all over the world. Billie had found these folk, for the most part, fascinating, easygoing and fun, and quite generous with sharing all manner of practical info re hostels, rideshares, the best place to buy hiking boots, the nearest pharmacies.

  Usually these friendships were little more than very brief acquaintances, but Billie had struck up a few longer-lasting relationships. A standout girlfriend had been Claire, a cheeky, freckle-faced Irish girl Billie had met in Bangkok. She and Claire had spent ten weeks together, travelling through Thailand, trying out a cooking class in Chiang Mai, hanging out on the gorgeous beaches at Phuket, attending a yoga retreat in Koh Samui. But since Claire had gone back to her university course in Dublin, they’d only exchanged random emails.

  It had been the same with the others Billie had met – a certain two-timing Greek included. Friends for a season.

  So, with Freya’s comment in mind, Billie found herself responding positively to Nicole, who was one of the sensible island kids who’d gone to university and found a well-paid job. Nicole worked for a marketing company in Melbourne, and she’d also scored a respectable husband. They had a little boy called Preston, who, according to Nicole’s Instagram posts, was some kind of two-year-old genius. Billie had always rolled her eyes at these ‘mumfluencer’ updates, but now that she, too, faced impending motherhood, she was trying to show more interest in other people’s kids. Especially now that she’d cleared the final hurdle and had rung her parents to share her pregnancy news.

  The call, which Billie had made straight after her conversation with Freya and before she lost her nerve, had begun with predictable drama. Her mum had screamed down the phone line.

  ‘A grandma, Billie? What are you talking about? You can’t be —? You’re not —’ And then a choked gasp. ‘You’re not really pregnant, are you?’

  ‘I am, Mum. I’m having a baby.’ And after Pearl had calmed down enough to put her phone on speaker, so that Troy could listen in, too, Billie told them about Petros. She did so as briefly as possible, leaving out the additional chapter of Reg Howe and the yacht and the trip to Cairns, and, thankfully, they let her get her story out with minimal interruptions.

  Her mum had a little weep, of course, but she assured Billie she was shedding happy tears – on the whole. Then her dad had quizzed her about doctors and scans and whether she planned to attend antenatal classes and, all things considered, the phone call had gone pretty well.

  ‘I’m fine, guys,’ Billie reassured them. ‘Honestly. I haven’t said anything till now, because I wanted you to enjoy your holiday and the last thing I want is for you to worry, but I’m keeping really well. I’m happy. The baby’s growing perfectly and I’m already halfway there.’

  And don’t you dare come rushing home, she wanted to add, knowing that they’d made it to Tasmania and were loving the island state, but she didn’t want to risk putting the idea in their heads.

  So, now that the important conversations with Petros, her parents, and Freya and Seb were finally behind her, Billie felt as if a huge weight had rolled from her shoulders and she was quite receptive to a dose of girl talk with Nicole.

  Island Thyme was closed for the day, although Freya and Seb were meeting this morning to discuss the applications that had come in for the chef position, as well as any menu changes for the coming week. Billie, however, was happily commitment free, and she was determined to enjoy the morning and to be especially nice to Nicole’s little genius. So she was surprised, when she arrived at Picnic Bay, to discover that Nicole had not brought Preston, but was alone and looking almost unrecognisably glamorous, as if she’d stepped straight out of a fashion magazine.

  Nicole’s hair was far darker than it had been in their schooldays and was styled in a smooth, trendily layered bob. Her makeup was immaculate, if a tad try-hard, and she was wearing a botanical print sundress, glamorous high-heeled sandals, green to match her dress, and was sporting green nail polish as well.

  Billie, in denim shorts, simple flat sandals and a white eyelet cotton smock that hid her tummy, felt as if one of them had walked onto a movie set wearing the wrong costume. Nicole greeted her effusively, however.

  ‘How gorgeous to see you again,’ she said, giving Billie an enthusiastic hug. ‘It’s been way too long.’

  ‘Yes, ages,’ said Billie. ‘How are you? How’s Jason?’ Thank heavens she remembered the husband’s name. ‘Did he travel up here with you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nicole, as if there was no other possibility. ‘We both managed a week off, which was brilliant, but I knew Jason wouldn’t want to sit around here this morning, listening to a whole lot of girl talk, so I left him on Dad duty. He’s taking Preston to Arcadia.’

  Billie assembled a quick smile. ‘How lovely.’ Of course, Nicole’s husband would be perfect. He probably fixed dripping taps, too. And picked up his socks and jocks. Pointless of her to think of Detective Dan Dexter just then, but he was also probably one of those dream men, caring and considerate, who would cook dinner for you if you were tired. Sigh.

  They ordered their drinks. Billie, not wanting to draw attention to her caffeine avoidance, chose tea. Proper leaf tea in a pot, which was nice. Nicole ordered a skinny latte with a double shot and they sat at an outdoor table shaded by a huge banyan tree.

  ‘I hope a parrot doesn’t poop on us,’ Nicole said and they both laughed, which was a good start, and they were quite relaxed as they settled to enjoy the perfect view of curving beach and headland and sleepy blue sea.

  Billie decided to launch the conversation. ‘So, you’ll have to tell me everything, Nicole. About your job and what it’s like living in Melbourne.’

  ‘Oh, Melbourne’s uh-mazing,’ the other girl gushed. ‘So much culture, you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I would.’

  ‘Have you ever been there?’

  ‘No, I haven’t actually.’

  Nicole looked so shocked it was almost comical. ‘Oh, but, Billie, you must come to Melbourne. You’d just love it. It has such a fantastic vibe and the city shopping is amazing. As for the theatre – oh, my God. And the autumn leaves. I adore autumn, but you never really get an autumn here in the tropics, do you?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Billie decided not to mention the sea almonds and other northern trees that turned bright red in the spring, no doubt preparing for torrid summers rather than freezing winters.

  ‘As for my job,’ Nicole gushed on. ‘It’s crazily busy like you wouldn’t believe.’ On saying this, she cast an amused glance down the quiet tree-lined esplanade where a couple of families were eating ice creams, a small group of backpackers whizzed along on bicycles and a solitary dog sniffed at rubbish bins. ‘I alw
ays get such a shock when I come back to the island,’ she said. ‘It’s so easy to forget how quiet it is here.’

  ‘But perhaps that’s also why so many Victorians spend their winters here.’ Billie couldn’t help being defensive and at least Nicole had the grace to smile.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Enough about me. If you’ve seen my Instagram posts you’ll already know most of it. But you’re the dark horse, Billie. I want to hear what you’ve been up to.’ Nicole leaned forward, all girly smiles. ‘Is there a man in your life?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’ Billie was pleased that she managed a smooth response. ‘There was a guy in Greece.’ She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘But I left him behind.’

  ‘Probably for the best.’ Nicole was clearly an expert on such matters. ‘But I bet he was easy on the eye.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Very.’ Quickly, Billie added, ‘But it was just a holiday thing.’

  ‘So you’re still on the hunt?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Billie might have answered this too quickly, but she couldn’t ever imagine hunting for a man, thank you very much.

  Nicole looked as if she might have wanted to counter this, but fortunately, she didn’t persist. ‘And what about your career?’ she asked next.

  Now Billie snorted. ‘My career? I help out at my parents’ bistro.’

  ‘But that’s just while they’re away on holidays, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes, more or less.’

  ‘Weren’t you studying art?’

  ‘Way back, straight out of school,’ Billie said, nodding. ‘But I didn’t stick at it.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘Nah. I didn’t have what it takes. Not to be a serious artist. Anyway, I wanted to travel.’ Billie could travel on a shoestring, but she’d always liked to earn a good amount before she left. She’d hated the idea of sending messages home, begging her parents for a little more money. They wouldn’t have minded, but it was a matter of pride. ‘I knew there was hardly any chance of earning decent money as an artist,’ she said. ‘Not unless you’re brilliant.’

  ‘But you had so much potential.’

  Billie frowned. Nicole had never been in her art class, not even at school, so how would the girl know anything at all about her potential? Unless . . .

  Good grief. Hadn’t Sonia Brassal made almost exactly the same claim on that night at the restaurant?

  ‘Did your mum tell you about my potential?’ Billie asked.

  Nicole’s brightly painted lips twisted into an awkward smile that might have been apologetic. ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘I mean – it makes sense that you would have an artistic gene.’

  ‘It does?’ Billie thought about this. ‘Freya is fairly artistic, so I suppose it might run in the family.’

  ‘Well, yeah, obvs. Of course you’d get it from her,’ Nicole responded more confidently. ‘Not to mention your dad.’

  ‘My dad?’ Billie frowned again. Poor Troy couldn’t draw to save himself. Even his stick figures weren’t very convincing. ‘You mean those bright colours he painted our house all those years back?’

  ‘No, not Troy.’ Nicole dismissed him with a flick of her green-tipped fingers. ‘Your real dad.’

  Your. Real. Dad. The words slammed into Billie with the force of lightning bolts.

  ‘W-what are you talking about?’

  Instantly, Nicole’s eyes widened, huge and horrified, as if she’d realised she’d made a massive mistake. ‘I – I j-just assumed . . .’ she stammered. ‘You must know – you’re working with them at the restaurant and everything.’

  Billie thought she was going to be sick. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of this crazy statement. She wanted to ask vital questions, but she didn’t think she could bear to have the answers spelled out.

  Unfortunately, it was all too easy to stitch together the implications in Nicole’s message. Her so-called friend believed Billie’s real parents were Freya and Seb.

  How fucking ridiculous. And suddenly Billie was angry. No doubt Sonia bloody Brassal was responsible for this misinformation.

  Nicole looked stricken. ‘Oh, God, Billie, I’m so sorry. We were sure you must know.’

  ‘Know what, exactly?’

  But now Nicole shook her head.

  Anger flared. ‘For God’s sake, girl, why don’t you just spit it out? What am I supposed to know?’

  ‘About —’ Another frustrating pause.

  ‘Yeah, go on.’

  ‘About the adoption.’

  Billie’s head fairly exploded now. ‘Adoption?’

  Miserably, Nicole nodded.

  ‘You’re saying that Freya’s my mother, but Pearl and Troy adopted me?’ Billie was surprised she could speak so calmly, when inside she was panicking.

  Nicole was absolutely no help. She was a mess now. Blubbering. Covering her face with her hands.

  Billie sagged, all breath knocked out of her. Was this true? Could it possibly be true? Both Freya and Seb had lived on the island back before she was born, but they’d been seeing her every day for weeks and were as cool as bloody cucumbers. Then again, she couldn’t help wondering if something like this was at the heart of the never-ending tension between her mother and Freya.

  Oh, God, did this mean her mum wasn’t really her mum? Her dad, her darling Troy, not her dad?

  For pity’s sake, this couldn’t be true. But if it was, Freya must have been pregnant, but perhaps Seb rejected her. Was that why they’d both been edgy about seeing each other again? And why they’d been so understanding about the whole Petros thing?

  Was history repeating its bloody self?

  Tears were streaming from Nicole’s thickly mascaraed lashes. ‘I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.’

  You feel terrible? Billie wanted to scream. What about me?

  She was desperate to get away, but there were too many things she needed to know.

  Sick to the stomach, she forced herself to ask, ‘Is that what everyone on the island thinks? That Freya is my real mum? That she let Mum and – I mean, Pearl and Troy – adopt me?’

  Nicole’s tears made dark, sludgy tracks down her cheeks. ‘N-not everyone.’

  ‘Who then? Just you and your mum?’

  ‘Maybe a couple of others.’

  Billie wanted to slap her. Instead she stood abruptly, making her chair fall backwards to clatter on the cement paving.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Nicole said again.

  ‘Bit late for that.’ Billie left the chair upended as she fled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Everything was settled. Freya had quite enjoyed talking with Seb about the applications for the chef job. They’d narrowed down the candidates to three people they thought warranted interviews, but as neither Seb nor Freya were experts, they would organise a conference call with Pearl and she would make the ultimate choice.

  Easier decisions had been the menu changes for the coming week. Seb was introducing duck breasts, a calamari salad and nannygai, a delicious local reef fish, while Freya would add treacle tartlets and a raspberry and coconut slice to her repertoire.

  It had been a good morning and as she rechecked her shopping list, she experienced a rewarding sense of satisfaction. ‘I feel hungry just thinking about all this delicious food,’ she said.

  Watching her, Seb smiled. ‘Perhaps I should take you out to lunch.’

  That was a suggestion Freya hadn’t expected, but what a delightful one it was. She knew, though, that she mustn’t read anything into it. She hadn’t allowed herself any silly Seb-related fantasies lately and now she tried hard not to look too pleased. ‘What a great —’

  Freya didn’t finish her sentence. She was distracted by a noisy clattering on the stairs and then loud footsteps stomping over the deck towards them.

  Billie burst through the doorway. Her face was bright red, her blue eyes glittering and her chest heaving as she stood there, glaring at them, hands tightly clenched at her sides.

  ‘So you’re
both still here,’ she said tightly before Freya could speak. ‘Good.’ But there seemed nothing good about her intentions. Her face quivered with visible anger and she almost spat the word out.

  ‘Billie,’ Freya cried. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  ‘I’ve finally learned the truth,’ the girl answered in a cold hard voice Freya barely recognised.

  The truth? A ghastly shiver snaked through Freya. Surely Billie didn’t mean —

  No, she couldn’t possibly.

  Billie’s eyes were bullet hard. ‘You were never going to tell me, were you?

  ‘Tell you what?’ Freya certainly wasn’t going to admit to anything till she knew exactly what Billie had heard. ‘Billie, calm down,’ she said, while her own heartbeat took off like a flight of screeching bats. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’

  Billie stepped closer, reaching out to grab the back of a chair so tightly her knuckles showed white. ‘The matter, my dearest aunt, is that someone has finally told me the truth. About me. About my birth.’ She ground this between tight jaws. ‘The matter is that for my entire life I’ve been living a lie.’

  ‘No, that’s so wrong.’ Freya wished she didn’t sound so terrified. ‘You haven’t, Billie. Not at all.’

  Beside her, Seb joined in. ‘What is it exactly that you’ve been told?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? The fucking truth, of course.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Billie rolled her eyes, gave a huffing, cold little laugh. ‘That you two are my actual parents.’

  ‘Your what?’ Seb and Freya cried in unison. They turned to each other, their faces mirror images of shock and confusion, then back to Billie, who, for the first time, looked less certain.

  But the change was only momentary. She was quickly glaring again. ‘You’re not going to deny it?’

  Seb frowned at her. ‘Of course we are.’

  This time, Billie froze, staring at him in obvious despair, swallowing hard. Tears shone in her eyes, but before Freya could find the right words to calm her niece, Billie swung on her heel and stomped out of the room.