Six Minutes

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘No, nothing.’

  Brendan Parrish lived three hundred metres from the playgroup. He had photos of Bella in his house; he’d been at the shops at the same time she’d disappeared.

  ‘Please can I come down and help look for her, Dad? Pleeeeaaaase.’

  Her begging tone reminded him of Bella asking for a chocolate ice cream.

  ‘The police and the SES are doing all the searching,’ he said, trying to sound calm. ‘They’ve got it under control. It’s better that we let them do their job. Stay up there with your mum and when … come down when Bella is home again.’

  ‘Is this ’cos of that Saturday night?’ Victoria demanded. ‘Has Mum banned me from coming to Canberra? You haven’t told her, have you?’

  ‘No, no, I followed your script.’ Marty struggled for a moment to recall the concocted story: they’d gone to a party with some teenage girls and sucked on helium balloons.

  That Saturday night felt like last year, not last month. And the thought of his teenager in a house with those twenty-something-year-old guys nagged at him. It could have ended so differently. Or maybe something had happened? Clearly, his daughter was adept at lying.

  ‘You haven’t been in contact with those guys, have you?’

  The slight hesitation told him the truth. Christ, he couldn’t cope with teenage stupidity right now.

  ‘Actually, Dad, Kimmy keeps texting him. But I don’t want to do it again. I told her we’d made a dumb mistake.’

  Marty sighed. One taste of ecstasy and Kimmy was desperate for more.

  ‘Do you want me to talk to her?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Kimmy thinks you’re pretty cool now.’

  ‘Well, in the meantime, tell her it’s not worth risking her life for a quick high.’

  That scumbag. An older guy trying to sell drugs to a teenager. Was that his modus operandi—give them one high for free, get them hooked and then start selling?

  ‘Thanks, Dad, love you—I knew I could count on you.’

  Tears in his eyes, Marty ended the conversation. How could it be that his older daughter was coming back to him at the same time as his younger one had gone away?

  With his eyes focused on the street signs, Marty turned left, then right, then right again. Number twelve. It glowed like a beacon for him.

  Marty hammered on the door.

  The man who opened it matched Mr Whitlaw’s description. Young with messy blond hair, dressed in muddy rugby shorts and socks.

  A look of recognition flashed across Parrish’s face and his eyes widened. He began pushing the door closed.

  ‘Do you have her?’ Marty demanded, jamming his foot into the gap. ‘Do you have my daughter?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Fear danced across the man’s face.

  ‘You were there when she went missing,’ Marty shouted. ‘You were at the shops.’

  ‘No—I was at school all day.’

  Parrish tried again to push the door shut. Marty rammed his weight against it, knocking the younger man off balance and sending him sprawling backwards onto the tiled floor.

  ‘What the hell?’ Brendan groaned. ‘You can’t come in here. I’ll call the police.’

  The edge of the door had caught him, cutting the skin. Blood dripped down his forehead.

  Adrenaline pumping, Marty stepped around the slumped man and raced along the short hallway. He thrust open the first door into a room with a desk and chair.

  ‘Bella, where are you?’ Marty shouted.

  The only hiding place was under the desk. Once he’d seen that was clear, Marty moved on. Bathroom. Toilet. Bedroom. Yanking back the doona. Crouching to check under the bed. Empty. Slamming open the mirrored sliding doors on the built-in cupboard. Marty rifled through the clothes, pulling the hangers to one side as he searched for spots where a child could be hidden.

  ‘I’m calling the police right now,’ he heard the teacher yell behind him. ‘Don’t touch my stuff. Get out of my study. Get out of my house!’

  Marty spotted a shed in the backyard. There! She must be in there. Running across the grass, he imagined Bella locked inside, crying in the dark. He was going to kill the fucker. The shed had a large padlock wrapped around a bolt on the metal door. Marty banged against it.

  ‘Bella, are you in there? It’s Dadda, I’m coming to get you.’

  Jiggling the padlock, Marty realised he couldn’t break it off. He retraced his steps to the small kitchen. The man was holding a clump of tissues against his forehead, the phone in his other hand.

  ‘Give me the key to the shed,’ Marty hissed.

  The fucker recoiled, shrinking behind a kitchen stool.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me. The police will be here any minute.’

  ‘Get me the key!’

  Snivelling, the teacher inched over to the cutlery drawer and pulled a key ring from it.

  ‘I told you, I don’t know anything about Bella,’ he said as he tossed the key towards Marty. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. She’s not here.’

  Ignoring the man’s entreaties, Marty sprinted back to the shed. His hands were shaking and it took a few moments to get the key into the lock.

  ‘I’m coming, Bella. I’m coming.’

  Finally, it clicked open. He flipped the padlock off and tossed it on the ground. Inside, the shed was small and dark. His eyes adjusted. A mower against one wall. Two snowboards stacked on racks. A bike hanging from hooks. An old wardrobe. Aha! Tugging on the doors, he almost toppled the whole thing over.

  ‘It’s okay, Bella. Daddy’s here.’

  When the doors opened, a pair of snowboarding boots hit him in the chest. Snow jacket, gloves and goggles tumbled out. Heaving them aside, he turned back to the wardrobe. Another jacket, hiking boots, a tent, sleeping bag … Marty kept hurling the stuff onto the concrete floor until the shelves and hanging space were bare.

  She has to be here.

  He glanced around the shed again and then stared out of the door at the house. Where has the bastard hidden her? Marty studied the walls and the roof line. A two-bedroom townhouse with no secret rooms. Unless there was a space under the house. Had he put her in a cellar?

  30

  TARA

  TARA FINISHED READING THE ARTICLE ONLINE AND REACHED FOR HER mobile. Fuck-a-duck. There’d been a baby before Bella. God, poor Lexie, such a tragedy. And hottie hubby had been crucified in the media. Tara didn’t remember the story—she hadn’t taken any interest in baby stuff before Zoe was born. Why hadn’t Lexie told them at playgroup? If that had happened to Tara, she’d have been shouting about the injustices of this cruel world, asking for help, looking for sympathy and support. But Lexie had changed her surname, moved house and kept it a secret.

  Without saying hello, Tara launched straight into the phone call.

  ‘Mel, did you see the paper? Oh my God, did she tell you about the first baby?’

  ‘No, she never said anything to me.’ Mel sounded as hurt as Tara felt. ‘How awful to lose a baby.’

  ‘She must have been devastated, but she had Bella straight away.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think the second baby replaces the first.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Tara sighed. Mel was too nice about everyone; Tara should have rung one of her school friends. They would have echoed her sentiments but they wouldn’t have understood her sense of betrayal. Did Mel?

  ‘Don’t you think it’s weird,’ Tara continued tentatively, ‘that Lexie didn’t say a word about him?’

  ‘Mm. Maybe. Why do they have a different name?’

  ‘The paper said it was because of his work. He’d have no patients if they knew his real name.’

  ‘You’re right, it is weird. Will you go down to playgroup today?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Tara knew she wouldn’t have time. ‘Josh is there now but he’ll back soon. What about you?’

  ‘No, I’m taking Sammy to the zoo. He’s really upset; he needs some special time with me.’

  Zoe
was upset too. Could she ask Mel to take Zoe as well? No, Josh was flying out to Adelaide at lunchtime and Tara had already organised the mother-in-law to babysit.

  ‘Mel, do you think …’ Tara hesitated. ‘I feel bad saying it … Do you think Lexie had anything to do with the disappearance?’

  The other woman was silent. Had Tara pushed it too far? She was about to apologise when Mel cut in.

  ‘I guess it’s a possibility.’

  That was all the encouragement Tara needed.

  BLOGSPOTCRAZY HAZY DAYZ

  Where is Bella?

  The police have searched and searched. But not a single trace of Bella. We have to give up on the idea that she wandered off.

  Did you see the Telegraph today? I’m starting to wonder if it’s not as straightforward as we assumed. What’s the family hiding? Perhaps one of them arranged for Bella to be taken from playgroup so the blame would fall on the playgroup mums? Maybe the husband wants to get back with his first wife and take Bella with him? Maybe the mother wants a divorce and doesn’t want to share custody? What do you think has happened?

  I hope wherever Bella is, she is safe and happy.

  Tara stared at the screen. Would her readers abuse her for implicating Lexie? If Lexie or Marty had orchestrated the disappearance, it meant that Tara’s own kids were safe. All of Merrigang was safe. Tara read over the post, then typed her sign-off line.

  Let’s bring Bella home for her birthday!

  ‘Muuummmeee, the TV stopped.’

  Gritting her teeth, Tara stormed out to the lounge room.

  ‘You sat on the remote control,’ she shouted at Zoe. ‘Get off it. Don’t touch it again.’

  Tara put the remote on the highest shelf of the bookcase, out of Zoe’s reach.

  ‘I’ll get you some morning tea in half an hour. Look at the clock—when the big hand is straight up and the little hand is on the ten.’

  ‘Can I have something now? I’m hungry.’

  Tara realised her mistake—don’t mention food until you’re placing it on the table.

  ‘In half an hour. Watch Peppa Pig until then.’

  Tara shut the lounge room door, and then the bedroom door, hoping that Zoe wouldn’t follow her, whining for biscuits. Returning her attention to the screen, she saw two people had already commented.

  BLOGSPOTCRAZY HAZY DAYZ

  COMMENTS (2)

  Josephine says: The issue of custody is a good theory. I want to leave my husband but I can’t. He beats the kids and if I’m not there, then I can’t stop it. I wish I could disappear with my kids and make a new life somewhere else. Or, better still, that he would disappear.

  Diai says: Don’t believe what you read in the papers. You know they sensationalise it for a good story!

  Tara considered typing a reply to the last comment—Actually, I know the mother quite well, maybe I can give my side of the story—and then remembered that she needed to safeguard her anonymity. No-one must know who she was. Especially the playgroup mums.

  Her best work trousers, the black ones from Portmans, were too tight and the waistband dug into her skin. God, she needed to lose those kilos. Last night, after being unable to face dinner, she’d comfort-eaten a family-size pack of salt and vinegar chips.

  An assistant met her in the lobby of Rydges and took her up in the lift. Tara almost felt she was at work; she’d organised events in this lobby and in the function rooms in this hotel. Only four more months and she’d be back. Talking to adults, setting up conferences and dinners, achieving something every day. Finishing a cup of coffee before it went cold. Bliss.

  The interview was to be in a suite—right at the top, overlooking Lake Burley Griffin. The view opened up as she walked towards the picture window: the bridge stretching out in front of her, Parliament House, the National Library, the Carillon, and the Brindabella Ranges in the distance. From this height, the National Museum’s orange rollercoaster sculpture seemed tiny. She’d have to take Zoe there again before she started back at work.

  I can’t believe I’m going to be on national television.

  Tara flattened her hands over her tummy, patting down the butterflies.

  I am doing the right thing.

  The assistant called Tara away from the window to introduce the reporter. Evelyn Li was much taller in real life than she looked on TV each Sunday night. Dressed for the interview in a white linen shirt and blue pants, Evelyn was an ad for Country Road.

  ‘I love your shirt,’ Tara said as they were introduced.

  Evelyn squinted down at her top and shrugged: ‘I’m just told what to wear.’ Then she bent down to hug Tara. ‘It must be dreadful losing Bella from your playgroup. Right in front of your eyes. And your children must be missing her too.’

  ‘It has been so awful.’ Tara sniffed back a tear. ‘We’re so scared.’

  The producer had agreed to her request for anonymity. They would film her in a darkened corner and disguise her voice. Her interview was the main part of the story, but they would also have footage of the playgroup and from the police appeal—as well as snippets from the old story on the first baby and the hospital inquiry. Tara had been hoping for their most famous reporter, Jasmine Driver, but apparently she was hosting the whole segment from the studio tonight. And Evelyn had kids, whereas Jasmine didn’t. Maybe she’d still get to meet Jasmine if they did a follow-up, after Bella had been found.

  ‘I’ve brought along some photos from inside the house,’ Tara told Evelyn. ‘Do you want those as well?’

  She swiped through the photos on her phone, showing Evelyn each shot. The reporter made her pause on one of Bella’s drawings—a rainbow with a stick-figure fairy flying underneath.

  ‘My daughter loves rainbows and fairies too.’ Evelyn looked up to the ceiling and held a finger under each eye to stop the tears from falling. Then she called out to the crew: ‘Lizzie, can you come and fix my make-up please?’

  Evelyn began the interview by asking what sort of games the children played together each Thursday.

  ‘Zoe loves doing dress-ups with Bella.’

  The reporter held up her hand and Tara shut her mouth, wondering what she’d done wrong already. Her stomach was gurgling now. She hoped the microphones didn’t pick it up. What if she had to fart?

  ‘You don’t want to use Zoe’s name, do you?’ Evelyn said gently. ‘We can either beep out the name or you can use the phrase “my child”. What would you prefer?’

  ‘I’ll say “my child”—I’m sure I can remember that.’

  Tara took a deep breath and patted her tummy. Suck it in, keep it in, don’t fart.

  As the talk focused on the children, she started to relax. It’s just Evelyn and I chatting about playgroup. Forget about the camera. But don’t swear. Oh fuck-a-duck, what if this is a mistake? No, we need to get Bella back and for life to return to normal. Make Merrigang safe again.

  ‘Bella is a very happy child,’ Tara said. ‘Now that I know her history, I’m surprised.’

  ‘So, Lexie didn’t tell you about her past?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘No, she didn’t. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a playgroup but, basically, you share everything.’ Tara laughed. ‘If our poor husbands heard us talking, they would die! So we shared everything, but Lexie kept very quiet about her past.’

  ‘Did you guess that something traumatic had happened to her?’

  ‘Not at all. She came across as the perfect mother. Always well-dressed and on time. She’d bring biscuits to playgroup and make everyone tea and coffee, as though she was the hostess at a party. She made the rest of us feel bad.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She was Little Miss Perfect. You know those mothers who do everything right? And they’re never stressed, never tired, never complain about anything. It’s exhausting being around them because you can’t live up to their high standards.’

  Tara remembered all the times Lexie had made her feel like a terrible mother. For swearing in front of th
e kids. For Facebooking when she should have been playing with Zoe. For not having perfect hair and clothes. For being tired and grumpy and fat. For fuck’s sake, how many times could you play peekaboo with a baby and paint with a toddler? It was shitfully boring.

  ‘You think it was a mask?’

  ‘Well, she must be a very good actor. How could she just pretend to us that she’d never had a first baby? It’s strange.’

  ‘Have you been to her house?’

  ‘Lexie never invites anyone over. She’s got a beautiful house.’

  A memory flickered. The small hours of Friday morning in Lexie’s lounge room. After coming back from the search, Lexie had stood motionless clutching baby Daisy against her breast, her face distraught, her body sagging. Lexie hadn’t been acting then.

  ‘Do you think she’s hiding something at home?’ The reporter leant forward. They were two friends gossiping about another mother.

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Tara pushed the memory away and concentrated on her new friend Evelyn. ‘The house is huge. It would’ve cost heaps.’

  ‘And did you ever meet the teenage daughter from Martin’s first marriage?’

  ‘No. But we heard about her going missing.’

  ‘The teenager went missing too?’

  Tara was surprised the reporter didn’t know that titbit. Some extra gossip to share.

  ‘Yeah, a few weeks ago. She was here for Father’s Day. The girl and a friend went for a walk and didn’t come back. When Lexie told us about it, she was trying to make it into a funny story. You can’t keep them locked up like toddlers, that’s what she said.’

  ‘What do you think she meant by that? Locked up like toddlers?’

  ‘Fuuu—ah, far out!’ Tara narrowly averted saying the word fuck. ‘Do you think she has Bella locked up somewhere?’

  Ideas were ticking over in Tara’s mind. Why had the teenager run away? Was Lexie really an evil stepmother who was always mean to the kids? Not Little Miss Perfect after all?

  ‘Was there anything else that seemed odd?’ Evelyn asked, her tone conspiratorial.