The Secrets We Keep

by Shirley Patton

  Things were changing. And Lee, the strategist, the activist, would say that was enough.

  For now, she thought.

  Two crows fighting for space on the clothesline pulled her from her reverie. The sky had cleared. A great day for celebrating, she thought, dismissing her father from her mind. She picked up the icing bag and piped the last of the yellow rosettes around the edge of the cake. Just nothing pink, Kerry had instructed. Aimee smiled, remembering her own thirteenth birthday doll cake, a pink iced dome with a real doll sticking out the top.

  Thankfully that wasn’t the order Kerry gave her for Amber’s cake on the home visit last week. She’d simply wanted a large iced cake with Happy 13th Birthday, Amber on it.

  Kerry had been frantic with the council elections.

  ‘How can I help?’ Aimee had asked.

  ‘Wave a magic wand, and whip me up a cake. I’m worried I won’t get time to make Amber’s birthday cake.’

  ‘Actually, I could do that, you know.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Kerry replied, amused.

  ‘I am, my mum taught me. But I haven’t made one for a long time so I might have to borrow some bits. Do you have piping bags and nozzles?’ She’d left with Kerry’s piping equipment, instructions and gratitude.

  Aimee glanced down at Amber’s cake and back out the kitchen window. The early morning sky looked the same, the trees, the rows of asbestos fences; but things were not going to be the same. She thought of Lee. Her face flushed.

  ‘Come to Tassie,’ Lee said again, their last night together, lying in bed, legs entangled.

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ Lee teased, tickling her mercilessly. Legs flailing, caught up in the sheets, they fell in a heap on the floor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. And since Lee’s departure, they’d spoken on the phone every few nights.

  She rubbed the sides of her face with her hands and stared at the cake. The delicate glossy lettering of Amber’s name shimmered in the light through the kitchen window. And things aren’t going to be the same for Kerry, either. Or for Amber, she reflected, wrapping a ribbon around the cake.

  Kerry had told Amber.

  She’d felt such a fraud in the face of Kerry’s courage. Over the past few months they’d talked about Kerry’s fear of losing Amber’s love when she found out she was adopted. Fear that could send Kerry into rhyming and counting, a form of order and control that helped reduce the anxiety, make it recede even.

  ‘But I get it now,’ she’d reflected. ‘Talkin’ about it has made it easier and I’m ready. I’ve written Amber a letter.’

  Aimee had nodded, conscious of the process they’d been engaged in, building trust to discover when Kerry’s anxiety had started and, then, after Paul’s death, supporting Kerry through her grief until she could re-imagine a future she’d thought lost. A future that nearly was lost that day Kerry sat alone in the bush, her wrist bleeding. Aimee had shivered, remembering.

  Kerry had pulled a sheet of paper from her handbag and placed it on her lap.

  ‘I’ve written a letter to Amber, but it’s for me, not her. I found the idea in one of the adoption books. It helps you get your feelings out, you know, before you actually talk about it.’ She’d looked up at Aimee and started reading.

  Aimee’s throat had thickened. She took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Breathe slowly, she repeated to herself, breathe slowly. But the hypocrisy of her own situation overwhelmed her. Telling the truth, no secrets, trust, sharing your story, expressing your fears—she’d avoided it all. She’d struggled to keep her face still and maintain eye contact with Kerry. Her head exploded in a barrage of pinging lights amid the sound of her heart pumping. For a moment, a minute—she was unsure how long—she disappeared. When she returned, Kerry was still there, folding up her letter and looking up at her in eager anticipation.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  Aimee had emerged from her own shroud of secrets and managed to refocus. Throwing a cloak of good practice over her shoulders, she’d responded, ‘Oh, Kerry, please, read it again,’ for she’d heard none of it.

  Smiling, Kerry had happily obliged.

  Aimee stared unseeing at Amber’s birthday cake. Well, it’s done now, no use mulling over Kerry’s timing with the election and the birthday, she realised. There’d be work ahead for Kerry but at least the truth was out. She thought again of Lee. She blinked, and noticed one of the rosettes melting in the sun. She shoved the cake further along the kitchen bench and looked for a box big enough to carry it in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Aimee was grateful to Patrick for carrying the cake. She’d parked a block away from Kerry’s and had been trying to balance the box, a bottle of champagne and her bag when he walked up behind her. He was parked even further away. The street was lined with cars.

  ‘Want a hand?’

  ‘Paddy! Yes, please.’

  He reached for the box with one hand. In the other he was carrying a plastic bag.

  ‘Careful, it’s Amber’s birthday cake,’ she warned.

  ‘Right you are.’ He held it out in front of him as they walked. ‘Oh, by the way, thought you’d like to know, I’ve been in touch with Noel Carmody, as you suggested at our last staff meeting. He’s putting together a group of local people to have input into the diversion program.’

  ‘Great idea. Actually, Lori suggested Noel to me. By the way, where is Lori?’

  He blushed. ‘We’re arriving separately—I’ve been at work this morning, putting together a funding proposal for an independent group led by Noel, long term. It’s time for change, Aimee, and we need to do it differently.’ His eyes sparkled.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, Paddy.’ Step by step, she thought.

  Together, they walked into the party. Since Paul’s death, a lawn had been planted out the back by Rotary, and it was covered in people, trestle tables, umbrellas and chairs. Kerry came running up to greet them. She hugged Aimee. Patrick passed her back the cake box and thrust out his hand to introduce himself. They’d never formally met.

  ‘Hello, I’m Patrick O’Connor. I’m with Lori, is she inside?’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Patrick. No, she’s not here yet. Do you want to put your plate on one of the tables over there?’ Kerry suggested. ‘There’s a stack of eskies under the tables for drinks. Glasses are on the far table, plastic only, safer, with the kids around.’

  Patrick looked a little disconcerted as he wandered over to the tables, his bag in hand. She imagined he’d expected Lori to already be there. She turned back to Kerry who looked radiant, a little dark under the eyes, but that wasn’t surprising. The dark blue linen shift she was wearing made her eyes even bluer and she’d done something different with her hair.

  ‘You’ve cut your hair!’ It was a gamine cut, perfectly framing her small face, and tapering into the nape of her neck.

  ‘I know, I had it done this morning, what do you think? Amber loves it and now she wants hers cut.’ Kerry twirled around showing off her new look.

  Nearby, she noticed two men watching Kerry’s every move. She recognised one as the union rep, Bill. She wasn’t sure who the other one was, a younger man with red hair who looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Where is the birthday girl?’ she asked. ‘And congratulations again, Councillor Steele!’ They’d all been with Kerry late yesterday at the Town Hall when the election results were announced but today was the big celebration.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, it hasn’t really sunk in yet. Amber? She’s inside with all her friends. Here let me take that, I can’t wait to see it. It’s so good of you Aimee, I’m really grateful.’ She reached for the cake and held Aimee’s eyes. ‘You know I couldn’t have done this without you.’

  ‘Of course you could,’ she replied, although touched by Kerry’s gratitude. ‘It just might have taken a bit longer. But thank you. I have something special for Amber in my bag.’ They stood holding the box betwe
en them. ‘How is Amber?’

  ‘You know, I think she’s going to be okay. In a way, it’s almost like she sort of knew. Like, she didn’t act shocked or anything, just asked me lots of questions. And as you said, I kept telling her how much we loved her, that she’s safe, and, you know,’ Kerry smiled bravely, ‘when she’s twenty-one, if she wants to, maybe she can look for her birth mother, and, and … father.’ The cake box wobbled.

  Paul, never far from Kerry’s thoughts, must be very close today, she guessed. Her mind whirled with her own secrets. ‘Kerry, I want you to know how—’

  ‘Mum, Mum, look what Melanie’s bought me!’ Amber called out from the back step, jumping up and down and holding up something pink.

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Kerry called back, taking hold of the box. ‘Come on, let’s take this cake in and see what chaos is going on in there.’

  As they walked into the kitchen, Lori came in from the hallway carrying a gift-wrapped box.

  ‘Sorry, I’m late, as usual. I’m a shocker, eh. Got talking to Aggie. Is Paddy here? He is? Oh, poor thing, has he been introduced?’ She walked over to the kitchen window overlooking the backyard. ‘Oh, he’s right, he’s talking to Bill Cruickshank, he’ll bend his ear. I’ll rescue him shortly,’ she said laughing.

  Kerry cleared a spot on the bench for the cake box and lifted the lid. ‘Oh, Aimee, it’s beautiful. Amber’s going to love it.’

  Lori peered over her shoulder, ‘Did you make this, Aimee?’ she asked, looking doubtful.

  ‘Yes!’ she retorted, with fake indignation.

  ‘Oh, you’re a dark one,’ teased Lori.

  Her head jerked back. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Only joking,’ Lori said. ‘But cake decorator? I wouldn’t have picked it!’ she stirred, poking her in the arm.

  Aimee drew back her arm. She felt unsettled, prickly. At that moment, a bundle of girls fell into the room, Amber at their centre.

  ‘Amber, happy birthday, don’t you look gorgeous,’ Lori said, kissing Amber on the cheek. ‘Here, I have a present for you.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, Lori!’ Amber exclaimed. ‘Mum, can we have some more cooldrink, the jug’s empty. Hello, Miss McCartney,’ she called over her shoulder as she ran, with her present and her posse, back into the lounge room.

  ‘It’s a novelty wall clock,’ Lori whispered. ‘Do you think she’ll like it? My nieces love them.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll love it,’ assured Kerry. ‘Mum and I went halfers in a bike for her,’ she said, as she lifted out the birthday cake and placed it in the centre of the kitchen table. They all stood back and admired it. Then they all looked at each other.

  Lori put her head on one side. ‘Special day, eh.’

  ‘Yes,’ they both responded and held each other’s gaze.

  ‘In more ways than one, Councillor Steele,’ Lori laughed, breaking the moment. ‘What’s the date again? The nineteenth of September. You won’t forget the first day you woke up as Councillor Steele, Kerry, will you—Amber’s thirteenth birthday. We should drink to that.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Aimee said. She felt herself relaxing again. A glass of bubbly would hit the spot. ‘I’ve brought a bottle of champagne, let’s crack it.’ She reached for the bottle beside her bag on the bench. Amber’s present was still inside the bag. She’d wait for a quiet moment to give it to her.

  ‘Actually, it’s not her birthday till Tuesday, the twenty-second,’ she heard Kerry say to Lori.

  ‘Oh, really, okay,’ said Lori.

  Aimee pulled at the champagne cork. The date bounced around in her head.

  ‘That’s the spring equinox,’ announced Lori. ‘Time of rebirth and new beginnings. I’ll drink to that. Hurry up Aimee, what are you doing? Strangling that bottle.’

  The spring equinox. The twenty-second of September. She shook her head. The cork popped.

  Kerry thrust three glasses under the bubbling liquid.

  Aimee poured.

  ‘To new beginnings,’ Lori cheered, raising her glass.

  ‘New beginnings,’ echoed Kerry and they clinked glasses.

  Aimee took a large gulp, fuzzing her head further.

  ‘Is there anything you want taken outside, Kerry?’ Lori said, looking out the window. ‘I better let Paddy know I’m here.’

  ‘Yes, probably, I’ll have a look in the fridge in a minute,’ Kerry answered, placing her glass on the sink beside a stack of plastic cups. ‘I’ll just wash these up, they can be used again,’ she said filling the sink with hot water. ‘I’ll tell you what would help, could you grab the jug from the lounge room and fill it with cooldrink?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lori replied, leaving her glass on the bench.

  Aimee came over and stood beside Kerry. She drained her glass. Her head spun.

  ‘Kerry?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kerry answered, hands in the sink.

  ‘Can I … can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’ she turned and looked at her. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, um, Amber? Ah, do you mind me asking, her name, it’s a beautiful name, is that her birth name or did you name her yourselves?’ she heard herself say from some place, faraway. Only her heart pounding told her she was still in the room.

  ‘No, I don’t mind.’ Kerry lifted her suds-covered hands from the sink and turned to her. ‘We named her. It was her eyes, they reminded me of amber, honey-coloured, bit like yours, actually,’ she said, looking fondly at Aimee. ‘No, she had an awful birth name, she wouldn’t have wanted to be lumbered with that. Charmian, it was. I’m not even sure if I’m saying it right. And she looks like an Amber, doesn’t she? She …’

  Aimee didn’t hear the rest. For a moment the world stopped turning. She drifted away, free from its gravity, into space, whiteness, a blinding whiteness.

  Smash. Her glass fell to the floor.

  She ran from the room. She crashed into Lori who’d come running at the noise. She pushed past her.

  Out the door, I’ve got to get out the door, her mind screamed, I’m going to be sick, I’m going to be sick. She ran out the front door, across the verandah, down the steps and vomited over the lawn. She fell to her knees. Great, heaving sobs convulsed her.

  Lori came running out the door behind her, as did Kerry and then Amber and the other children. They all stood staring at her. Lori jumped off the verandah and knelt down beside her pulling the damp strands of hair away from her face.

  ‘Come on kids, come on Amber, back inside,’ Kerry urged, herding them through the front door, ‘Miss McCartney’s feeling sick. She’ll be right in a minute.’

  Lori put an arm around her and stroked her forehead. Aimee leant into the comfort of Lori’s shoulder and stared blankly up at her. Her mind battled against a lifetime of forgetting as another wave of nausea shook her. This was one day she’d never forget.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The long howl of a train’s horn breached the pre-dawn silence, marking the end of its journey out of the desert, through Parkeston’s rail yards at the edge of town, past the mines and dumps on its left, the hospital on its right, into an empty station. Aimee lay awake. No need for the alarm; she pushed herself up on one elbow and turned it off, then puffed up her pillow. Arms behind her head, she stared unseeing out the bedroom window, unable to avoid the inevitable re-run of events.

  The first week after the party, it had been the opposite—she’d slept in every morning unable to face the day, unable to get to sleep until the early hours of the morning. A stomach virus, she’d explained to Patrick, and anyone else who asked, and took a week’s sick leave. Lee had rung twice but, overwhelmed, she’d excused herself after initial pleasantries, pleading illness. Now she was on a month’s annual leave. Patrick was surprised when she rang but she’d told him she was still unwell and she was due leave and had urgent family matters to attend to in Perth. It wasn’t a lie; she just hadn’t told him the truth. His sympathy and
assurance that someone else would caretake her caseload threatened to undo her but she managed to wait till he hung up to fall down weeping with relief at not having to face Kerry. Or Amber. The first three weeks she’d hidden, but now she was going to Perth.

  Since leaving Kerry’s house over a month ago, she’d seen no one from work, staff or clients. Except Lori, who’d called in several times, looking somewhat confused by her change in demeanour, and Gerry and Jan, who she’d had lunch with last Sunday but, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. She wriggled in discomfort at the memory. She’d opened her eyes every morning hoping it might be a dream, until she remembered.

  She tried to blink away the tears, but there was no stopping them, they kept welling up and there was nothing she could do about it. Grief—she knew that. She buried her face in her hands and wept. When she opened her eyes again, a faint light had crept over the horizon, tinting the sky, rose pink and pale gold.

  I may as well get up and start packing, she thought, or I’ll go over and over it. She’d had enough of going over it, but the truth was, she knew it had only begun. And she wasn’t sure where it ended, or how far she’d go. Throwing off the sheet, she climbed out of bed and ran her hand through her hair—it felt greasy. God, when did I last wash it? she wondered. Last Sunday for lunch at Gerry and Jan’s—four days ago. She usually washed it every second day. When did I last shower? She couldn’t think. She shook her head, it didn’t matter, she’d be hopping in the shower shortly, she’d pack her case, and she’d get going before it warmed up. A coffee at Southern Cross—it’d be ‘dust’, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

  An hour later she was driving down the Great Eastern Highway to Perth. Only eight hours to go. These first few hours have to be the most boring drive in existence, she thought, at least until she got to Northam, where things would green up a bit and the terrain change. Until then, it would be flat, brown and thinly bushed, interspersed with thin, tired strips of housing.