Parent–teacher interviews next Monday and Tuesday, then the last day of school on Friday. Brendan sighed and massaged the back of his neck; this would all be a distant memory. With rugby every Saturday, he’d only managed to get to the snow three times this term—and they’d all been quick trips. Now he’d have a whole week of shredding the back country and drinking schnapps. Sick! The perfect end to term three, which always seemed the longest.
Should he invite Jeff up to the snow as well? The other lads wouldn’t mind. This was only Brendan’s second year at Merrigang—and Jeff’s first. They’d clicked right from the day Jeff had bounded into the staffroom, dressed in his PE gear with Arsenal football socks. Rugby, soccer, league, Aussie Rules—they both loved it all. They played rugby but they weren’t like those other blokes who were passionate about one code and hated the rest. Over the years, Brendan had tried all of them and chosen his sport according to the social scene. At high school in Albury, the cool girls would come and watch AFL so he’d played that. At uni, he’d started with soccer then swapped to rugby. The rugby lads partied the hardest.
In Brendan’s last teaching job, on the other side of Canberra, the only other male teacher had been seven hundred and sixty-three years old. Well, maybe fifty-eight, but he treated the kids like they were in a Dickens novel. At the mention of alcohol or drugs or sex, the man’s face turned beetroot. In the staffroom, Brendan and the cute kindy teacher would stand next to him and talk about their gay friends going on dates, watching as he began to sweat. One time, they thought they’d pushed it too far. The ancient teacher started hyperventilating and had to lie down sideways across four chairs.
‘We just need to get him laid,’ the cute kindy teacher had suggested the next day.
‘Are you offering?’ Brendan asked.
The man really would have a heart attack then.
Brendan had been relieved to leave that school, particularly after the slapping incident. The ancient teacher had exploded when one of the kids vomited on his desk following a Mother’s Day morning tea. Brendan didn’t know if it was the sight of spewed cake or the fact that the other kids were screaming that led to the meltdown. Apparently, the teacher slapped the annoying boy who was yelling out: ‘Chun-der! Chun-der! Chun-der!’
He’d slapped the boy multiple times on the legs and arms.
The parents took to Facebook to complain, and were contacted by a newspaper. Before the principal had a chance to arrange a meeting with the family, the story went viral. At school, they dealt with the fallout for months: new training programs, a department inquiry, families leaving midway through the year, parent discussions, low class numbers, unsettled kids. The ancient teacher had the full mid-life crisis—left his wife and children (whom he’d never mentioned) and went to live in Thailand.
Merrigang Primary School was much, much smaller but it had three male teachers in total. Apart from the over-sensitive year six teacher, the staff were good value and the Christmas party had been a hoot. Brendan hoped Jeff would stay for another few years, but it all depended on student numbers. And Jeff himself. He seemed to like moving schools; setting up a new sports program, streamlining the athletics carnival, bringing in extra programs like gymnastics and yoga, and then leaving it for someone else to run. This was Jeff’s sixth school.
‘I like the challenge,’ Jeff had told him. ‘The thrill of the chase.’
‘But don’t you want to make sure your programs keep going?’
‘Nah, that’s the boring part.’
Jeff would be ace up at the snow. He said he’d only been snowboarding a few times but the man was an athlete, he’d pick it up in no time. And Jeff partied as hard as he played. Yep, Brendan would invite him this arvo.
Brendan dragged his focus back to the classroom and finished checking off the roll. He should tell Kathleen in the front office today that Fox was still absent. At least with the Tiny Terror away, they’d have an easier day. Brendan would gather all the kids on the mat for a story to calm them down. Then whizz through their maths. Maybe after lunch they’d read the short play and do some acting. The play featured a lion, a lion tamer, a clown, three acrobats and two strongmen. That would take their minds right off the missing girl.
At recess and lunchtime, the talk in the staffroom centred on Bella. Everyone seemed to expect an announcement each time they entered the staffroom. A clue, a child found, a dead body.
And each of the nine teachers had a theory.
‘It’s always the father. Always.’
‘I reckon she’s fallen into one of those stormwater canals. I wrote a letter to Municipal Services about how dangerous they are.’
‘Abducted for sure. Like Madeleine McCann. Mark my words, the parents will never see her again. It’s a child sex ring with links to Europe.’
‘What if she’s in the school grounds and we haven’t found her?’
The librarian and the year six teacher looked at each other in horror, and burst into tears. The other teachers turned away, wiping at their eyes and sniffling.
‘This sort of thing doesn’t happen in Merrigang,’ the year three teacher said.
‘I’m sure the police will find her today.’ Brendan repeated the reassurance he’d given to his class.
In the silent staffroom, the crying teachers turned to him with hope in their eyes.
17
MARTY
MARTY STOOD UNDER THE SHOWER, LETTING THE HOT WATER SOOTHE his exhausted body. The policewoman’s questioning in the car had shocked him into a realisation: I will be a suspect. And Lexie too. She wouldn’t be able to cope with that. In her fragile state, Lexie would say the ‘wrong’ things, react the ‘wrong’ way.
Not long after he’d started working in paediatrics, Marty had been involved in a child abuse case. The boy presented with a broken femur but it was the older, untreated fractures they noticed on the X-rays which caught their attention. The senior consultant contacted the hospital’s child protection unit. Marty watched the six-year-old boy, bewildered and in pain, his big brown eyes desperate for love and protection; Marty wanted to take him home, keep him safe and undo the damage. The boy spent a week in hospital and then, to Marty’s dismay, he was returned to his parents, where more injuries were inflicted. The child was eventually removed and the parents charged. When Marty attended the trial, the media focused on the mother, even though both were to blame. The reporters asked: How could the mother let it happen?
He’d been married to Angela then and had his first crisis of confidence.
‘I’m not cut out to be a paediatrician. I wanted to kill those two fucking mongrels.’
‘The boy is safe now,’ she reassured him. ‘And the parents are going to jail.’
Marty shook his head and grimaced. ‘It’ll happen again and again to other kids. And we won’t pick it up and one of them will die. The system is stuffed. I can’t do anything. These people are monsters.’
Angela had frowned at him. He knew he sounded like a naive medical student. Of course the system was stuffed and people were monsters, but this little boy had begged for help and Marty had failed him.
‘You need to be in the system to change it,’ she told him. ‘If you’re on the outside, you can’t do anything.’
Every moment he’d been home that month, he’d held baby Victoria against his chest. While reading medical journals, putting away the washing, collecting the mail, even eating meals. He’d felt her tiny heart beating against his, her plump hands reaching for his nose, her reliance on him.
And he’d decided to fight.
Now, Marty expected he’d be the one accused. What would the police imply? Neglect? Emotional abuse? When Caruso had asked him about Bella’s broken wrist, he’d stuck to the same story as Lexie. Not gone into any details. He’d dismissed Victoria’s escapade as a wayward teenage jaunt, furious that Caruso even knew about it. Victoria’s disappearance had nothing to do with Bella.
Victoria and Kimmy had insisted on going for a walk by themselve
s before dinner, ignoring Marty’s suggestion that they all go together. Two hours later, it was almost dark, dinner was ready and Victoria wouldn’t answer her mobile. Could these teenagers with such attitude actually be lost?
He’d driven through the streets of Merrigang looking for them as the last smudge of daylight dribbled over the mountains and a half-moon appeared. Had they tried to buy alcopops? He stopped at the small supermarket near the playgroup. Marty didn’t remember Angela being involved in a playgroup with Victoria. But, then, she’d had friends who all gave birth around the same time. Half that group was divorced now. Marty and Angela had been the first. Drained by weeks on call, along with worries about two more suspected child abuse cases and an unhappy wife at home with a toddler, Marty had made a terrible mistake. Succumbed to the lilting Welsh charms of Cerys, on exchange from a hospital in Cardiff. Stricken by guilt, Marty had confessed to Angela. He’d offered to go to counselling, showered her with roses and chocolates, cleaned the house, brought home takeaway, knelt on the carpet and begged. But Angela would not be swayed. So, Marty found himself suddenly single again—trying to date between hospital shifts, paediatric training and weekends with his daughter. He vowed never to make the same mistake again. When he’d met Lexie at the charity ball, he couldn’t believe his luck in getting a second chance. And after all these years, Marty still hadn’t told Lexie the full story about his marriage break-up. Too ashamed.
In the Merrigang supermarket, Marty had peered down the aisles. No teens apart from the girl at the cash register. He drove five kilometres along the dark empty road into Canberra, to the nearest big shopping centre, Cooleman Court. Would they have hitchhiked this stretch of bush into the brighter lights of the suburbs? The place was deserted, apart from the Vietnamese restaurant which teemed with a crowd for Father’s Day. Father’s Day with Victoria—what a blast!
As he’d been checking the empty mall, Victoria called and said they were in Ainslie on the other side of the city. They’d got a lift with ‘some guy to a party’ and now the guys were hassling them. Could Marty pick them up quickly? Christ. The suburb of Ainslie was sort of near the university. Were they hanging out with drunk uni students? He drove there as fast as he could.
Marty realised he was holding his breath when he spotted them standing under a streetlight on the footpath, his own relief reflected in their young faces. Once the girls were cocooned safely in the car, Marty made his short speech about being sensible in a new city.
‘I love you, Dad, you’re the best father ever,’ Victoria cooed.
Marty was stunned into silence. He’d been expecting a tart retort—blah, blah blah, Daddy-o. We’ve heard it all before. He was still deciding how to respond when Kimmy spoke.
‘And I love you, Victoria. You’re the best friend ever.’
Kimmy threw her arms around Victoria and the girls hugged in the back seat. In fact, why had Victoria climbed into the back seat?
‘Have you girls been drinking?’
The teenagers, still entwined in their hug, burst out laughing.
‘Absolutely not!’ Victoria shouted. ‘Don’t you know how bad alcohol is for the developing teenage brain?’
‘Marty …’ Kimmy interrupted. ‘Is it okay if I call you Marty, or would you prefer Dr Marty or Dr Ross? Oops! Not Dr Ross. That’s your old name, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Dr Parker, I won’t tell. Do you ever accidentally call yourself Ross? Poor Vee has a different name to her dad.’
‘That’s okay, I like Mum’s name. But of course I like Parker too, Dad. And Ross. I like all the names.’
Oh fuck, had they been taking drugs? He pulled the car over to the kerb, switched on the interior light and swivelled around to examine the girls. Victoria looked up at him and he could see it. Dilated pupils. Both of them.
‘What did you take?’
The girls turned to each other and began giggling.
‘Nothing. We’re just happy to be in Canberra with you, Dad,’ Victoria said. ‘It’s a party town.’
‘That party had the best beats. Mr Blue Shirt was a bit gross but that other one was fit. He wanted me.’
‘No fucking way! He wanted me.’
‘So not true. He was stroking my arm.’
‘Mine too. Didn’t you see?’
‘Oh my God—he was playing both of us.’
‘Do you think he was too old?’
‘Nah, he was perfect.’
Listening to the girls’ banter, Marty felt sick. How old were those guys? Had they given drugs to the teenage girls planning to have sex with them?
‘I need to know what you’ve taken. Was it ecstasy?’
The laughter came again. Higher-pitched this time.
‘Smartees and skittles,’ Kimmy said, giggling.
Christ, didn’t they know that kids died from ecstasy pills cut with different chemicals?
‘Please don’t tell Mum.’ Victoria suddenly sounded sober. ‘She’ll kill me. I promise we haven’t done this before.’
He had to tell their mothers, of course he did. What if they were doing this every weekend?
‘If you tell Mum, she’ll never let me come to Canberra to see you again.’
In the kitchen Marty poured himself a coffee and checked his mobile again. He’d checked it one minute before, between mouthfuls of toast. Lexie had texted earlier—something about a media conference at ten o’clock—but no news of Bella. Taking a sip of coffee, he glanced at the phone again. Still blank. The coffee was sweet—how many sugars had he added without noticing?
He’d better get down to playgroup, where the detective would question him again. He and Lexie had agreed not to mention North Shore yet; that didn’t have anything to do with Bella.
‘It would only distract them,’ Lexie had convinced him. ‘They won’t look for her properly if they know.’
She was right. The police would hare off to Parliament House and interrogate Natalie Alvarez and her cohorts. Sure, Nurse Natalie was a duplicitous, devious, dirty troublemaker who’d do anything for a headline, but she didn’t know Marty was back in Australia.
18
TARA
TARA HEARD JOSH GET UP, SHOWER, GIVE ZOE A BOWL OF RICE BUBBLES and go off to work. Her head ached from lack of sleep. At least the baby hadn’t cried out yet. With bleary eyes, she stared at the mobile by her bed. Nothing.
When Lexie had returned to the house in the early of hours of the morning and switched on the light, Tara was asleep on the couch. Her waking impression was of a ghost come to life. No surprise that Daisy had screamed her head off. Lexie’s face was white, her hair plastered to her head, her arms stiff—a Morticia Addams lookalike. Tara thought they’d found Bella. Dead. She’d wanted to rush to Lexie, comfort her, but Lexie had cradled Daisy in her arms instead. A fierce protectiveness had fired up inside Tara and she’d fought the urge to whip Daisy away—don’t smear your bad luck on my baby. She’d controlled herself until Daisy began to bawl: an excuse to snatch the baby and get the hell out of there.
On the way to the car, Imogen explained the search had found nothing.
At home, when Daisy had finally settled again, Tara had clung to Josh in their bed.
‘How could this have happened here?’ she whispered. ‘In our safe Merrigang?’
It could have been Zoe. The thought replayed itself over and over. Tara tried to control the fear coursing through her body, that feeling of devastation earlier when she’d assumed Bella was dead. She’d never been afraid before. Not properly. And it made her furious. How dare someone make her—Tara—feel vulnerable like this?
Two hours later, Daisy had been awake again. Josh snored as Tara clambered out of bed, stubbing her toe against his boots by the door. With Daisy clamped on her breast, Tara had pictured Bella. Alone in the blackness, hiding in a shed. The baby must have felt her mother’s distress. Daisy gnawed on her nipple and the little fingernails clawed at her breast.
Tara hadn’t told Josh about the Tim Tams; she was the one who had encourage
d Lexie to go to the shop. Tara was the reason that Lexie had left Bella alone at the playgroup. Had anyone mentioned that to the police?
‘Mummy, are you awake?’
Zoe crawled into bed next to her, wrapping an arm tight around Tara’s belly. She moved it up higher. Tara hated people touching her bulging tummy—that was the part she needed to get rid of before going back to work. Rolling over, she enveloped her daughter in a cuddle and peppered kisses across her cheeks.
Giggling, Zoe tried to kiss her back, the smell of breakfast cereal on her breath.
‘Now, Zoe, I need to do some quick computer work before Daisy wakes up,’ Tara said. ‘What’s on TV now? Is it Peppa Pig time? Or do you want the iPad?’
‘Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig,’ Zoe chanted.
‘Shhh—Daisy’s asleep.’
This was Tara’s constant refrain. Shhh—don’t wake Daisy. Don’t wake the baby. Not after I’ve spent two hours getting her to sleep.
Tara sat at the computer in her pyjamas and brought up the online news. Bella’s face stared out at her. No update. Almost twenty-four hours since she’d gone missing. Where the fuck was she?
Taking a deep breath, she began typing.
BLOGSPOTCRAZY HAZY DAYZ
Terrifying times—our little Bella is missing
A little girl disappeared yesterday, a little girl that we know and love.
The police have searched all night and there is no sign of her.
Our hearts are breaking.
Beautiful Bella is my daughter’s best friend. My little one doesn’t understand what’s happening.
And us adults don’t understand how Bella disappeared in an instant. She was being watched over by caring, loving mums in a safe community.
Please help us find her. Please help us bring Bella back for her birthday next week.
Hug your kids and hold them extra tight today!
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