The Sister's Gift

by Barbara Hannay

  Seb reacted more quickly than Freya. Jumping to his feet, he hurried after the girl. ‘Billie, come back.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  This was flung over her shoulder as she ran across the deck.

  Seb followed. ‘Don’t overreact,’ he called. ‘You shouldn’t try to go anywhere in that state.’

  At the top of the stairs, Billie turned back. ‘Why would you care?’ she bellowed. ‘Why would either of you care? You clearly abandoned me. Gave me away.’

  ‘Billie.’ Seb continued towards her, his arms extended, his voice gentle, reasonable, in the tone he might have used if he were taming a wild animal. ‘You’ve got it wrong, love. Believe me, I’m not your father. Pearl and Troy are your parents.’

  Freya, watching from the doorway through tear-blinded eyes, had to lean against the timber lintel to steady her shaking body. She had never felt more terrified. Billie had obviously been exposed to dangerous gossip.

  This was exactly what Pearl had feared would happen if she left Billie, Seb and Freya alone. And Freya had blithely dismissed it as an impossibility, a petty little worry. How stupid am I? Don’t I ever learn?

  Seb, out on the deck, had an arm around Billie’s shoulders and was talking to her quietly, calmly. Then Billie was crying and he was cradling her to his chest, hugging her, just as a father might.

  After a little while, they turned and came back and Freya stepped out of the doorway to let them into the dining room. Billie’s face was pale and blotchy now and her eyes were shiny with tears. Freya went through to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, found a box of tissues.

  When she returned, Billie and Seb were both sitting at the table where Freya had left her notepad and pen.

  ‘Here,’ she said gently, setting the glass and tissues in front of Billie.

  ‘Thanks.’

  As Billie wiped her eyes and blew her nose, found a fresh tissue and repeated the procedure, Freya took a seat at the small table. Her gaze met Seb’s and she tried to signal her thanks. He gave a small shrug, and the message in his eyes suggested that he’d done as much as he could. It was over to her now. Which was fair enough.

  If only she could trust herself to get this right. Was it going to be possible to keep her promise to Pearl? In this moment, she felt as if her life had been one long series of mistakes.

  Billie sipped a little water and set the glass down.

  Drawing a deep and hopefully calming breath, Freya asked, ‘Who told you this nonsense, Billie?’

  ‘Nicole Brassal,’ she said, then she shook her head. ‘Actually, Nicole’s married now. I can’t remember her new surname, but she was only repeating what her mother had told her.’

  ‘Well, Sonia’s quite wrong,’ Freya said firmly. ‘Pearl and Troy are most definitely your parents.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Billie still looked miserable, as if she didn’t know who to believe.

  ‘I would never lie to you about something as important as that, Bills.’

  Her niece sniffed. Gave a small nod. ‘That’s good to know.’ Leaning her elbows on the table, she closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. She looked exhausted, with fragile blue veins on her eyelids and shadows beneath her eyes.

  Sitting back again, she looked from Freya to Seb, her expression still haunted and suspicious. ‘It still doesn’t make sense. Why would the Brassals make up something like that?’

  With all her heart, Freya wished she could tell the whole story, but she’d promised Pearl, had sworn she would never break that promise. ‘Sonia’s a dangerous gossip,’ she hedged.

  Seb nodded. ‘Always has been.’

  Thank you, Freya told him silently, and she wondered if he was remembering high school when Sonia had dobbed him in for smuggling a bottle of rum to the school social. Or had he heard all kinds of rumours flying around at the time of Billie’s birth?

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Billie persisted. ‘Mrs Brassal has lived here for yonks. She went to school with you and Mum and she was my teacher.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Freya agreed. ‘But she still managed to get the wrong end of the stick.’

  Of course, Freya knew that the islanders had known about her pregnancy – how could they not? – and had decided she’d given birth to Seb’s baby, then left it with her sister to bring up. It was the story Pearl had wanted them to believe, and it made sense that the Brassals might expect Billie to know this, too.

  She felt a little desperate, though, as she faced Billie now. ‘Honey, you know what the island’s like. It’s always been rife with gossip and most of the time that gossip’s half-cocked. Or totally wrong, as it is in this case.’

  Again Billie slumped forward, head in hands. ‘This is driving me crazy.’

  Me too, thought Freya.

  ‘How about a cup of tea?’ suggested Seb.

  They all agreed and he went to the kitchen, where he found a packet of Ginger Nut biscuits at the back of a cupboard and put the kettle on. As they drank the restorative brew, they avoided the explosive topic of Billie’s birth and talked about Pearl and Troy in Tasmania, speculating on where they might be by now. In the Tamar Valley? On Bruny Island? In Hobart, enjoying the cafés and galleries?

  ‘I don’t dare ring them about this,’ Billie said. ‘I just know Mum would feel she had to come home.’

  Freya nodded. The secrecy had been Pearl’s idea from the outset, and in many ways, she would have liked Billie to make the phone call and confront her parents with her questions. But perhaps it was best not to stir this particular pot. With any luck, the whole drama, or rather melodrama, would die down. Disappear.

  Or was she fooling herself, yet again?

  ‘Pearl was terrified that something like this would happen,’ Freya told Seb as they watched a subdued and calmer Billie finally leave. ‘I laughed at her before she left on her trip. Told her she was an overanxious old biddy.’ She winced as she remembered this. ‘Damn it, why am I always so smugly certain that I know better, when the truth is that I can’t get anything right?’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ Seb told her.

  ‘It’s true.’ Freya had never felt more weighed down by guilt, by the certainty that she’d been a source of disappointment for too many people. First Seb, then Pearl and, eventually, Brian. ‘I’m hopeless.’

  ‘Hopeless? You? What nonsense.’

  It was gratifying to have his support, but she knew he was only trying to say the right thing, while she was all too conscious of the many, many mistakes she’d made. ‘It’s true,’ she cried again, feeling utterly wretched. ‘Just ask my mother. She’d soon tell you I’ve always been reckless and impulsive, rushing in without thinking things through. I’ve managed to hurt everyone close to me. Including you. And now I’m supposed to be mature and sensible, but I don’t seem to have learned anything.’

  She realised, to her dismay, that she was on the verge of tears.

  ‘Freya, you’re being far too hard on yourself. I’m fine. I’ve told you that. So is Pearl. And rather than hopeless, you’re as full of hope and as strong as anyone I’ve met. Look at what you’ve dealt with in just this past year alone, not to mention taking on all the extra duties here at the restaurant. You deserve applause, not condemnation.’

  ‘But Billie —’

  ‘You’re not responsible for island gossip. Or for the fact that Billie’s parents have chosen to hide an important truth from her.’

  ‘But maybe I should go after her. She’s in a state. I should make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘And what can you say to help her that you haven’t said already? She’s an adult, Freya, not a child any more, and she needs time to process this. Actually, what she really needs is a down-to-earth conversation with Pearl and Troy. You’ve done as much as you can for now.’

  ‘Oh, Seb!’

  He was being too kind and concerned. Freya wasn’t sure she could handle it.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he implored.

  But she couldn’t help it. She was a mess, co
ming undone, so worried about Billie, about Pearl, and she’d been trying to be strong for too long. It seemed she’d been putting on a brave face all her life, but most certainly since the divorce and then the fire. And now Seb was being too nice to her and —

  ‘Freya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.’

  ‘I d-don’t want to,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Come on then,’ he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’ He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a simple gesture she found ever so comforting.

  ‘Let me take you to Horseshoe Bay,’ he said. ‘I’m starving and I’m sure you are, too. I’ll buy you fish and chips at the pub and we can watch the yachts, and then we can take a lazy stroll along the beach from one end to the other. Or lie under a palm tree. Or swim. Whatever you like. Maybe by then we’ll have earned a drink while we watch the sunset.’

  Freya reached for a tissue. ‘You’d do that just for me?’

  Seb’s smile was one she remembered from long ago. ‘I’d love to.’

  It was only as they left the restaurant that Freya remembered Seb’s sole mode of transport was a motorbike.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said as he approached his gleaming black and silver Harley-Davidson.

  Seb shot her a look of pure amusement. ‘You’re not chicken, are you?’

  ‘I might be.’ She’d been habitually reckless when he’d known her in their youth, but she was a sedate middle age now and her own, perfectly good Forester was parked mere metres away.

  ‘I have a spare helmet,’ he offered.

  ‘Oh, that makes all the difference.’ But her sarcasm was lost on Seb.

  He merely grinned and assumed she was coming with him. He handed her a helmet, which felt enormous, and she almost said no. But this was Seb and he’d just been so thoughtful and kind.

  ‘Here. I’ll help you with the chin strap,’ he said, and because he was so close now – touching close – Freya held back her protest.

  In no time the helmet was in place and he was swinging a leg over the huge machine. ‘Hop on.’

  Freya obeyed, despite her quaking knees. At least the seat was comfortable enough.

  ‘Get close to me so you can hang on.’ Seb, looking back over his shoulder, must have seen the tension – or possibly terror – in her face. ‘I’m quite good at this, Freya. I promise you’ll be safe.’

  She managed a weak smile.

  ‘And it’s fun,’ he said next.

  ‘Promise you’ll stop as soon as I start screaming.’

  ‘You won’t scream,’ he responded, all confidence and smiles. Oh, help. Despite her fear, a tiny part of her was secretly thrilled, so she obediently slipped her arms around his waist and then they were off, roaring through Arcadia, while she clung on for dear life. But she soon had to admit it wasn’t nearly as precarious or scary as she’d expected.

  Trees, rocky cliffs and sweeping seascape vistas flashed past as they took the curving road over hills and around headlands. Hanging on tightly to Seb, breathing in fresh air scented with eucalyptus and salty sea, Freya knew he was right. She wasn’t going to scream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Billie felt guilty about snooping in her mother’s office. She’d never done anything so underhand before, but then she’d never been in this amount of turmoil either. For pity’s sake, how many people were told they were adopted only to have that story quashed, most unconvincingly, and left dangling with no conclusive answer?

  She was sure Freya and Seb had been hedging – not lying, perhaps, but she’d seen a cagey look flash between them that suggested they weren’t telling her the whole truth. Which left her in an impossible situation. As if she’d fallen into some kind of vortex that kept spinning and sucking her down, with no hope of a way out.

  Billie’s anxiety certainly wasn’t eased when she remembered the long history of tension between her mother and Freya. She’d been conscious of it even during her childhood and she was sure there was still a missing piece to this puzzle. But she needed hard evidence. A piece of paper, a birth certificate, or some other legal document that would tell her the absolute truth.

  Thus, the snooping. Her mother kept a personal folder in her filing cabinet, separate from all the business papers. The folder held wills and power of attorney and other important papers – Billie had seen the tag, neatly printed in Pearl’s careful script. But there was no sign of it now.

  Her parents had probably taken the folder with them, or stowed it at the bank for safekeeping. Damn it.

  Disheartened, Billie wandered back to the living room with Won Ton following at her heels. The view, for once, wasn’t bright and sunny blue, but quite overcast. Clouds scudded across the sky, chased by a wind that whipped the sea into choppy grey peaks. When had that begun? Rain was quite possibly on the way and Billie wondered where Freya had got to, and when she planned to be home.

  ‘We’ve been abandoned, Won Ton,’ she said, stooping to give the little dog a comforting scratch between her ears.

  Normally, Billie didn’t mind her own company, but today she was restless and would have liked someone to talk to. Okay, she would have liked to probe her aunt till she wormed the truth out of her.

  Was Freya in hiding?

  Billie took a photograph album from a shelf in the TV cabinet. Her baby album, with a padded pink satin cover and lace-trimmed hearts. Incredibly kitsch and sentimental. She hadn’t looked at it in recent times, but she knew the photos pretty much by heart. Now she would look again, just in case they held a vital clue.

  Since she was an only child, there was a ridiculous number of photos of her as a baby, starting when she was really quite tiny, lying on a quilted rug, or in a bassinet or pram. In her mother’s arms. Later, she was propped on her granny Ruby’s knee.

  One photo Billie was especially fond of showed her laughing in her father’s arms, with a youthful Troy looking down at her with a soppy, doting grin.

  The album was incredibly sweet and terribly normal. No photos at the hospital where she’d been born, mind you, but that didn’t really prove anything. And there were no photos with Freya, which was kind of strange, now that Billie thought about it.

  After all, Billie had been the first in her family’s new generation. Surely an aunt deserved a guernsey in at least one of the family snaps. Unless Freya had already left the island by then. Billie was a bit hazy about the exact date of her aunt’s departure.

  She gave up when she got to photos of her chubbier self crawling and then learning to walk. With a hefty sigh, she closed the album, which had been no help at all. Or perhaps she was just a hopeless detective.

  Hang on a sec.

  Speaking of detectives.

  Billie jumped to her feet, momentarily elated. Dan Dexter might be the perfect person to turn to with a problem like this. Not only was he easygoing and considerate but, given his line of work, he was bound to have all kinds of useful knowledge. Bonus, he’d given her the number he reserved for personal calls.

  Then, just as quickly, she flopped on the sofa again, deflated. Dan Dexter might have been perfect, if they were still on speaking terms.

  She hadn’t heard from him since she’d told him about her baby, which was perfectly understandable, especially as she’d hinted that the baby’s father was still in the picture.

  ‘What am I going to do, Won Ton?’

  The dog’s ears pricked when she heard her name. Her little tail wagged.

  ‘Do you think I should ring Dan anyhow? Because he’s very approachable and I’m kinda desperate?’

  Won Ton made a gentle little yip, which might have been a message about her hunger, but Billie took it as encouragement.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring him.’ And she did so before she lost her nerve.

  ‘Hello?’ said a small childish voice.

  ‘Oh,’ said Billie, surprised. ‘Is that Molly?’

  ‘Yes. Who’s speaking, please?’

  The kid was very well tr
ained. Another tick for single dad Detective Dan. ‘It’s Billie, Molly. Billie from the island.’

  ‘Ooh,’ the little girl squeaked. ‘Hi, Billie!’ Then loudly, ‘Hey, Daddy, it’s Billie from the island on the phone.’

  In the background, Dan’s voice sounded. ‘Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘Daddy will be here in a minute,’ Molly reported dutifully. ‘He’s cooking our dinner. We’re having sausages.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Billie had been so caught up in her own problems, she hadn’t even bothered to check the time. Now her mind flashed to an image of Dan in the kitchen. He probably had to cook most nights, poor guy. ‘Tell him I’ll call back later.’

  ‘Billie will call back later, Dad.’

  ‘Here, I’ll take it.’ Dan’s voice sounded close now. ‘Can you set the table, Mollz?’ A beat later, ‘Hi, Billie.’

  ‘Hi.’ This time she was surprised by how good it was to hear his voice. Deep, warm, calm. ‘Look, sorry, Dan. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. I’ll call back later.’

  ‘No, no, you’re fine. Dinner can hold. How can I help you?’

  Now that it came to the crunch, Billie faltered. ‘This is going to sound pretty weird, but it’s sort of a police matter.’

  ‘Weird is part of my job description.’

  Billie could feel all manner of clenched muscles relaxing as she settled back on the sofa. Okay, here goes. No beating about the bush. Deep breath. ‘I was wondering if you could find out whether I’ve been adopted. Is there a registry, or something? Or if you can’t help me, is there a website?’

  Several seconds passed before Dan responded and Billie couldn’t blame the poor man for needing time. Her request was totally out of left field.

  ‘So, you think you might be adopted,’ he said, ‘but you don’t know for sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I told you it was whacked.’

  ‘I take it you can’t just ask your parents?’

  ‘Well, I can, I guess, but I haven’t as yet.’

  ‘Are they still touring around the country?’